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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 17, 2010 22:26:16 GMT -5
Astin rolled his eyes. "You're so whiny," he half-joked. "Just stop complaining and go to sleep for a while." He continued to run his fingers through Dastan's hair, hoping it was soothing and not annoying. "Besides, if you take a nap, maybe I can get some rest. You're tiring."
That was pretty much true. Das was overwhelmingly whiny and bitchy and actually on the verge of being truly annoying, even adorable and pathetic as he was. Astin honestly was tempted to reach down and grab one of the books and slam it over Dastan's head to knock him out, but that would be mean and cruel and... something else bad, surely. He wasn't a violent person-- really!-- but he hadn't expected that Das would turn into a wuss because of a freaking cold.
Astin brushed Dastan's hair back from his forehead, where it was sticking because of the sweat. Managing to only cringe the slightest, Astin pressed the back of his hand to it. If Das had a fever, at least it was only a low one. So surely he could stop complaining!
Exasperated, Astin sighed. "Would it help you sleep if I sang again?" he asked tiredly.
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 17, 2010 22:35:51 GMT -5
"Thought you said I couldn't beat your brother in the whiny department?" Dastan joked, but he felt slightly guilty anyways. He didn't like being annoying to Astin, and he really didn't like the idea that he was so tiring that it was causing Astin undue stress; but he really didn't like being sick. And if he could go to sleep, he most certainly would. He just had a hard time of it. And lately, he'd been having nightmares on top of it all. Nightmares of Darkness and of Astin leaving and of him leaving Astin and of a million other things that he really didn't want to be thinking about.
"Would it help you sleep if I sang again?"
Dastan nodded against Astin's fingers. "Yeah, I think it might."
It had certainly helped last time, Dastan remembered. They had just been out on the lawn, and Astin had been petting Dastan's hair just like this, and even though he'd had a nightmare, Astin's singing had brushed the nightmare away.
Hm, Dastan thought, he ended up with his head in Astin's lap an awful lot. In fact, almost every time the two of them had anything happening, Dastan ended up laying his head on Astin's lap and Astin would play with his hair. It was sweet, but weird, to think that he was getting to be this comfortable with physical affection. He certainly hadn't been comfortable with it at first.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 17, 2010 23:17:54 GMT -5
"Yeah, I think it might."
"I thought so." Fondly, Astin remarked, "You have the mentality of a four-year-old, you know."
Friendly jokes and teasing aside, Astin sort of hated himself a little for bringing that up-- the singing bit. He felt a little like he was being judged, although he knew that wasn't the case. It was just... he felt sort of awkward. He didn't know why; he had sung to Marcel countless times before. But it was different, singing to Dastan. Besides, he wanted to be the best person he could when it came to Das; he wanted to be absolutely perfect and more.
Astin cleared his throat. Where had that thought come from? He'd thought he was going to at least attempt to respect Datan's wishes on staying friends. He had to start with these silly thoughts, somehow. Maybe he'd try to go on a date or something. That would help, right?
Taking a deep breath, Astin returned to the present. Eventually he'd stop wandering off in his head, but today, that was apparently not the case. He started to sing another French lullaby quietly, as if being any louder would make someone hear him or something.
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 0:29:30 GMT -5
"M'sorry I'm so annoying right now," he mumbled lightly before Astin began singing.
Dastan could barely hear the words, but they were soothing anyways. He also didn't care that Astin had insulted him by calling him a four-year-old. He wasn't in much of a position to argue, either. He simply wanted comfort at that particular moment, and relief. Merlin, he'd give everything he owned for a reprieve from the stuffy nose at least. The other pains were nothing compared to the irritation that was caused by that.
Sniffling lightly, he tried to force himself to breathe through his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to sink down into a dreamless slumber.
If only he could be so lucky.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 1:00:30 GMT -5
As Astin sang for his friend, he felt more relaxed. With Dastan's head in his lap and that recently annoying voice silent, he was even more sleepy. He rested his head against the back of the couch peacefully, and his French began to turn to unintelligible rubbish.
He tried to keep singing. Really, he did. But he was so warm and comfy and exhausted that eventually the gibberish he was spewing eventually tapered down to nothing, and his hand stilled, tangled in Dastan's (still slightly ridiculous) hair.
By the time a soft sigh escaped his lips and he nestled into the couch, he was already fast asleep, dreaming of giant cupcakes and orange gorillas.
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 2:12:19 GMT -5
As Astin's voice faded away, so, too, did Dastan's consciousness and before he knew it, he was falling into a void. Was that water all around him? He didn't know, but he could breathe. As he neared the end of his floating journey, he felt himself flipping and landing gracefully on his feet. All was black around him, but it wasn't a pressing, suffocating darkness, not like the Dark that had looked inside of him not long ago and found him wanting.
Apparently, he thought too soon, because almost instantly, the darkness began pressing closer, forcing itself into his eyes, mouth, nose. He felt as if he were being asphyxiated, as blackness clogged his throat and lungs. He swatted uselessly at the space around him, but his hand simply passed through the thick mist, and a laughing, cold voice filled his head, rang in his ears.
He fell to his knees in the dream...and woke up back in the Room of Requirement, hacking and coughing and gasping, unable to find enough oxygen to fill his lungs. He sat up in a hurry, hoping that being in an upright position would enable him to breathe properly and feeling guilty because now he realized that Astin, too, had been falling asleep.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 2:40:55 GMT -5
Astin was having a perfectly okay dream, and he had finally rescued the Cupcake Queen from the clutches of an evil gorilla, and he was munching on a delicious and enormous blueberry muffin three times his size. Then he was woken by a sudden movement, and before he could open his eyes, he heard a quite grotesque-sounding cough.
His eyes fluttered open as he yawned and sat up straighter, seeking out the source of such noise so that he could stifle it.
When he saw it was Dastan, however, he sat up all the way.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice deep and thick from his brief sleep. He rested a hand on Dastan's back. He didn't know what else to do, and hoped that the answer to his question was, "yes," because he was clueless and helpless here.
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 2:57:02 GMT -5
"Are you alright?"
Dastan struggled to regain his breath; he had probably stopped when the dark had begun suffocating him in his dream, his brain having blurred the two realities. While some people wet their beds after using the bathroom in a dream, Dastan tended to have other physical reactions to them. Stopping breathing, for one, apparently. And if he fell in a dream, he tended to flail around in real life similarly.
"Fine," he rasped out once he'd gotten some semblance of control back, "Sorry. Go back to sleep," Dastan said, trying to smile but failing as another coughing fit took hold. Merlin, he was still miserable. He wished he could just go to sleep, but it was like he had some kind of block.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 12:41:17 GMT -5
"Sorry. Go back to sleep." Das wasn't being very convincing, especially when he started hacking up another lung again. Now knowing what else to do, Astin sighed and rubbed his hand on Dastan's back. He would have liked to go back to sleep, yes, but how could he? Not with Das sounding like he was practically dying.
"No, it's okay," Astin said, trying not to yawn. He was really tired, but Das was worse off, he reminded himself. And he'd rather stay up and make sure his friend was okay than take a nap and let him continue to suffer. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand to wake himself up a little. "Anything I can do for you, Das?" he asked as gently as he could.
He was trying to do this whole caring-for-the-sick thing the right way, but Dastan was worse than Marcel, although Astin wasn't going to admit that aloud. When Marcel was sick, as long as he had plenty of soup and an endless supply of tissues, he'd spend the time either unconscious or awake but practically comatose; he only began complaining when he ran out of the apparent necessities or when he got lonely. Dastan, on the other hand, never shut up. Ever. And when he did, Astin couldn't even bring himself to be angry because he was too pathetic.
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 16:15:35 GMT -5
Dastan forced himself to stop coughing; it was bordering on being dramatic. He should have enough control of his body to prevent himself from coughing so much. He'd only held his breath for a second; there was no need for all this mess. Swallowing down the next couple of coughs, Dastan stood up, scratching at the back of his head.
"I just need water," he tried, and almost instantly, a glass of water showed up on one of the end tables. He blinked, and then looked around, before reaching over and grabbing the glass off the table. He downed it in one gulp, hoping that would help with his little coughing fit. Wiping at his mouth, Dastan turned back to Astin. "I think I'm going to just go to my room. No need to keep you from sleep; you look like you need it," Dastan said, and then began moving to the door. He probably wouldn't actually go to his room; he'd probably go to the library or something, start a Potions essay he'd not even thought of since getting sick. It was evident that sleep was not going to come easily to him.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 16:36:13 GMT -5
"I think I'm going to just go to my room. No need to keep you from sleep; you look like you need it." Astin admitted that he did need it, but not enough to run Das off.
"No, stay," he said, "I'm the only one taking care of you while you're sick, aren't I? C'mon, let's get some more reading done or something. If I sleep now, I won't later tonight." Astin stood, gathered the books he'd thrown on the floor, and set them on the end tables. "Besides, you're not even going to actually go to your room, are you?" He was well aware of the fact that Dastan didn't tend to rest very often, even when he should; Astin was the same way when he was injured, but not when he was sick.
"I don't mind too much," he went on to say, "Someone has to look after you."
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 17:24:38 GMT -5
"Besides, you're not even going to actually go to your room, are you?"
Dastan was a bit surprised that Astin had caught on so quickly. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that they'd spent almost every spare moment together since they'd become friends years ago. Astin knew him too well. It was a little bit endearing, but also made Dastan feel like he was getting to be predictable, and that didn't sit well with him. He didn't want to be predictable.
"Someone has to look after you."
Dastan shook his head, but grabbed a Potions book that had miraculously materialized within one of the many book shelves and sat down, not surprised this time when the Room of Requirement also provided him with parchment and a quill. "I don't need anyone looking after me; especially not at the cost of their own well-being." Dastan wiped at his nose with one of the tissues. "It's not that big of a deal, even if I complain a lot about it. I just hate being sick. It's not like I'll die if I don't have someone watching my every step. So, if you want to sleep, you should."
Dastan flipped through the pages of the Potions book, looking for the ingredients he needed to do the essay on. It was a pointless essay, really, just about how to gather and prepare the ingredients to make them optimal for the potion that they would probably be brewing the next lesson. Dastan had prepared the potion a few times with Lord Alex, and more often than not, he was the one fetching and prepping the ingredients, so he had plenty of experience to go on. But to make the lesson more appealing for the teacher, he decided to add in bits of what the book said, and possibly point out what a better way was. It never hurt to get some extra brownie points.
"Besides," he suddenly added, "It's not like I had anyone to watch after me when I was sick most of the time before. I'm capable of taking care of myself."
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 17:46:04 GMT -5
"So, if you want to sleep, you should."
Astin shrugged. "I'll live." He grabbed a few more random books off the shelves with no regard to what they were. Returning to the couch, he plopped down next to Dastan. "Potions," he noted at the sight of the book Dastan was reading. "I still don't understand that stupid class," he muttered, leaning back.
Potions sucked. He didn't know how he was so horrid at it! He'd finally mostly gotten down Charms and even Transfiguration, but Potions? The class where all he had to do was follow a stupid recipe? Now, maybe a part of this stemmed from his mother's belief that recipes were useless; she only ever used recipes the first time or two that she made something new. But who could honestly even be this bad at Potions? It was relatively simple! Follow the directions in the book or on the board, and don't make up your own steps or do them backwards-- which Astin knew from experience was a very bad idea, indeed. He was not going to be able to pass that O.W.L. if he came with the potion pre-brewed and they accepted that.
"It's not like I had anyone to watch after me when I was sick most of the time before. I'm capable of taking care of myself."
Astin frowned. "Exactly. Sick people don't have to take care of themselves; that's what friends are for. So suck it up and deal, because you're my new patient."
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Post by Dastan Cross on Jul 18, 2010 17:59:25 GMT -5
"Exactly. Sick people don't have to take care of themselves; that's what friends are for. So suck it up and deal, because you're my new patient."
"Then don't blame me when my complaining kills you," Dastan pointed out, but didn't argue any further; Apparently, Astin wanted to be miserable. The other boy had a tendency to want things that would probably not end too well for him. Befriending him for one, deciding that Dastan was 'his special someone' another, protecting him from fully grown and deadly death eaters...the list went on. And now he wanted to take care of him, despite telling him that he was whiny and had the mentality of a four-year-old. Well, it was his funeral. Dastan would not be held responsible for any bitching he did while sick. He couldn't help it.
He sneezed again, wiped his nose, and then forced himself to start working on his potions despite how heavy his eye lids still felt. "It's an easy class," Dastan said, signing his name with a flourish at the top of the essay, "I bet I could tutor you better in this than I did in Transfiguration. I bet it's got everything to do with your impatience and nothing to do with inherent skill or lack thereof. Potions is an exact science. It's never a good idea to just toss stuff in and hope it works."
From what Dastan knew of Astin, the other was very impatient indeed. The box had been one good example of this. But in Potions, one couldn't be impatient. One needed to be precise, exact. There was a very small margin of error in Potion brewing. The slightest imprecision, and the whole thing could be undone in an instant. And mistakes in potion brewing could be dangerous; if Dastan remembered correctly, Astin had literally blown up a cauldron once in class. So, yeah, impatience, definitely a bad thing.
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Post by Astin Descartes on Jul 18, 2010 18:45:16 GMT -5
"I bet I could tutor you better in this than I did in Transfiguration. I bet it's got everything to do with your impatience and nothing to do with inherent skill or lack thereof. Potions is an exact science. It's never a good idea to just toss stuff in and hope it works."
Astin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm impatient, but it's more the whole... following recipes thing. I mean, c'mon. I'm French; I can cook. I have to for my little brother all the time. I don't use recipes, because my mom never does. And having to suddenly follow them is just... weird." He opened up a book, although he'd likely not read a bit of it. "I mean, I don't measure things or time them. I just throw things in when I know I should. But I've never had to deal with making potions and elixirs and shit, so I don't know when I should, which is the hard part." Astin shrugged. "It's just... unnecessarily complicated."
Astin suppressed another yawn. Really, he was not that tired, but for some reason, he felt like it. Maybe it was his brief nap, seeing as it was pleasant while it lasted, until he woke up. But if he went back to sleep, Dastan would feel all guilty and crap even though it was Astin who had gotten himself into this, and Das shouldn't feel at fault for any of it.
"But I highly doubt even you could successfully tutor me in Potions. I've gone through five tutors, you know. Five. One each year-- well, two last year. No one wants to tutor me anymore. It's that bad. I think Slughorn uses me as an example of people not to speak to in Potions class when I'm not looking, actually."
Astin quirked his lips, thinking. "Actually, I think I ran out of cauldrons last week. Did you know that you can burn holes in them if you make a Calming Draught and maybe accidentally drop a caterpillar into it, it can eat through cast iron? Who'd have thought?"
He hadn't entirely one hundred percent intended to put the caterpillar in it. Not really. Only a little bit. But, well, recipes sucked! And he knew that if he could just manage to follow the rules, he'd have it made; but he'd never been one to follow rules. Even as a Prefect, he'd broken thousands of them.
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