(A/Ns: this is my part of another fic swap with jack ( nawnomschnuff). his part is... uh, not going online. yeah. anyway this is just a cliché sickfic. have at it.

only content warning is some swearing (astolfo you brute)

disclaimer: i do not own Vanitas no Carte)

In Sickness & Health

Noé hated being sick.

It started last night, when he and Vanitas arrived back from the hotel restaurant. His head was throbbing, but when he tried to lie down, regardless of position, his nose always ended up blocked. He'd told Vanitas he felt slightly under the weather; Vanitas didn't say much.

As usual, though, Noé had slept like a baby.

Until now, at least.

Waking up groggy and tired was one thing. Waking up ill was another thing.

Firstly, his eyes itched, his fluttering eyelids exacerbating that. Each breath made him want to sneeze, but irritatingly, the feeling always left him a few moments later.

The headache was also worse, somehow, and the light pouring through the partly parted curtains did nothing to help the stabbing sensation behind his eyes. His face felt heavy, along with every limb in his body.

He tried to swallow.

Bad idea.

His throat, like sandpaper, could barely move the saliva past it. He coughed, trying to clear it, albeit to no avail.

Noé pouted, his eyes lulling shut again. He was fairly convinced he would die.

Ok, so it wasn't like he was really gravely ill or anything. He had a cold. It wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't going to kill him or anything. But it was a nuisance, particularly when Noé was slightly melodramatic.

"Vani…tas…" he croaked.

There was no response.

"Vaniiiitas…" Noé whined, slightly louder this time.

A second later, he winced, as the door slammed shut.

"What the hell do you want?"

Unless Noé's ears were playing tricks on him, Vanitas' voice surely hadn't gotten higher.

Noé blinked, his words lagging. "… you're not Vanitas."

"Don't even think about comparing me to him!"

Rolling his eyes behind closed eyelids, Noé eventually worked up the courage to sit up. He blinked again, unravelling the sheets from his sweat-glazed form, and waiting for his vision to stop being so burry. When he could finally see clearly, sure enough, Noé laid eyes on exactly who he'd thought: Astolfo.

"… why are you here?"

"A-Am I not good enough company for you?!" Astolfo yelped, a blush covering his face briefly before he turned away and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well… where's Vanitas?" Noé slurred, collapsing back onto the sheets with an audible thump.

"Vanitas asked Dante to come, but Dante asked Domi, then Domi asked Jeanne, and Jeanne apparently went back to Vanitas saying no one would look after you," Astolfo explained, spinning on his heel towards the bathroom. "So Vanitas asked Roland, but Roland was busy, so Roland asked me."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed. You should be grateful I'm ignoring the fact you're a vampire and I'm a chasseur, and it's technically my job to kill you right now." Astolfo furrowed his eyebrows, venturing over to the bed and handing Noé a glass of water. "Here, drink."

"It's cold."

"I don't care. Drink."

"Nuh-uh…" Noé whined, pulling the sheets tighter around his body and burying his face in the pillow.

"Noé, drink the goddamn water or I'm pouring it on your face," Astolfo said.

Only at the threat did Noé sit up, the sheets falling off his shoulders as he took the water with shaky hands.

The ice-cold liquid felt refreshing in his throat, but didn't sit too nicely in his stomach. Sipping it for a bit, he soon handed it back to Astolfo, before complaining, "My head hurts…"

"I'm starting to see why that rat didn't want to take care of you…" Astolfo groaned. Softly, so as to not make any loud sounds, he placed the glass on the bedside table, then proceeded to the bathroom. "Where the hell do you keep your painkillers?"

"We don't… usually keep medicine…" Noé said, before erupting into a coughing fit. Once it was over, he let out a soft grunt, and turned over, only to find Astolfo still staring at the medicine cabinet, blatantly unimpressed. "Vanitas has some… strong painkillers, for injuries, but he… never lets me touch them."

"Well, Vanitas can fuck himself," Astolfo sighed, pulling out the small orange bottle labelled 'Co-codamol'. "I'm sure these won't do too much harm."

"… ok…" Noé grunted softly again, lethargically hauling himself up into a sitting position again. Picking up the glass, he barely sipped enough water to swallow the two white pills without bursting into a coughing fit.

"Try and go back to sleep," Astolfo urged, passing Noé another pillow. A pillow which, instead of being used as a pillow, was used as a hugging pillow.

"Hn… I'm hungry."

"Well… what the hell do you want, then?"

"Can you make me soup?" Noé asked, glancing up at the other.

Astolfo would have liked to think of himself as resilient, and hard to persuade.

But when his eyes met Noé's melting-worthy puppy eyes, he genuinely could not bring himself to refuse.

"Fine," Astolfo reluctantly agreed, storming out of the room to find somewhere he could make soup… in a hotel.

Half an hour passed with Noé alone in the hotel room, the Archiviste drifting in and out of consciousness. Whatever Astolfo had given him from Vanitas' stash was strong, and Noé couldn't get past the feeling of floating on a cloud. The cough had died down, his headache was gone, and his nose seemed to be miraculously unblocked.

His perception of things, however, were even more fuzzed than before. So much so that he didn't notice Astolfo returning after that time.

"Hey, Noé." He knocked on the door softly, before tiptoeing into the room, and placing the mug of chicken soup on the bedside table. "Oi, are you even awake, dumbass?"

Noé had never heard the word "dumbass" spoken so… gently.

"…toflo…"

"… did you just call me Astoflo?!"

"Sorry… that's… wrong, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, it's wrong!" Astolfo couldn't really bring himself to shout. Instead, he perched on the edge of Noé's bed, reaching over to the bowl of soup-

Until Noé grabbed his wrist, and yanked him towards him.

"What are you- huh?!"

Before Astolfo could even resist, Noé took full grip on his arm, pulling him down. Even if he was sick, tired, and drugged up on enough codeine to put out a man twice his size (or, a Vanitas), he was still strong.

Sure enough, a second later, Astolfo found himself lying on the bed, Noé's arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

"… Noé."

No response.

"… Noé."

Still nothing, except a light shuffle from behind himself.

"Noé, if you don't get your arm away from me in five seconds, I'm going to stab you."

Yet again, Noé didn't respond.

Two seconds later, and Astolfo realised that he'd fallen asleep – using him as a hugging pillow.

It wasn't uncomfortable, though.

…Astolfo supposed he could spare him a minute or two like this.

Or, perhaps ten.