Even Dave’s plea of ‘babe’ didn’t kick him out of his utterly dismal mood.  Brought on by lack of sleep thanks to his entire face feeling on fire, fuzzy and plugged up.  He couldn’t get comfortable in any position and his chest felt like it was in cinders by how hard he’d been coughing.  He’d bit through the antibiotics.  Managed to keep them down even.  Blaine knew inside the bottle of thick, syrupy gross that Dave held was the means of taking care of seventy-five percent of his issues.  However, this awfulness didn’t do him any favor and left his tastebuds fully functioning.

A red tipped nose scrunched up so badly Blaine’s eyes shut and he waved at the bottle like the devil was sticking his head out of the top.  “Just kill me.  You’d be doing me a favor,” he sank back down into the pillows blindly lifting his hand out of the covers and scrunching his fingers back and forth towards his palm.  His means of sort of giving in cause he could totally change his mind still.  Who knows?  Maybe Dave got lucky this time?

@damagebuilt ; continued from here.