Hesitations aside, that night we did christen the new place.

Well, tried to.

It had all started with Naruto's maddening insistence that we set up our (my) bed. Very grudgingly on my behalf the queen sized bed was erected, neatly made and subsequently messed up as soon as we climbed under the covers -then ruined the peace with arguing on who slept on which side of the bed and who got the good fluffy pillow. I won.

Things were going fine and dandy - Naruto popped in a movie, situated me in between his legs and within a matter of moments the television at the end of our bed was loudly blaring explosions and screams. He'd rented some DVD about gigantic robots having some intergalactic lovers tiff. I wriggled around, trying to get comfortable as the DVD fired up. Comfort escaped me however - I could hear Cat meowing pitifully outside the bedroom door I had so thoughtfully slammed shut. I ignored it, turning the volume up on the television.

"You reek," I sniffed.

Naruto snorted, reaching over to grab some of the popcorn in my lap. "Some of us have been working all day."

I stole the remote from his hand and scoffed. "You stand around while others exercise. That's not work."

"You're right," he said with a mouthful of popcorn, "I forget how hard it must be to be an office lady like you."

It was with incredible (practiced) patience that I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from retaliating. I couldn't possibly count how many times I'd heard feminine jokes due to the fact that I worked in the office of a local optometrist to supplement my degree.

I opened my mouth to retaliate when he cut me off, grabbing my shoulders as wonderment crept into his voice. "Wait, don't say anything, I'm getting a hot mental image here… I'm thinking a blouse and a skirt," he gasped, "Oh my god, Sasuke, put on your glasses..."

My god. I turned the television volume up to near ear-piercing levels. Drown him out, drown him out.

Pornographic ideas or not, we settled into the atmosphere that the dim room offered. Crash, bam, kaboom, millions of dollars worth of special effects and an hour and forty-five minutes into the action it had gotten to the good part – the nail-biting climax and I couldn't tear my eyes away. I was chewing the popcorn we'd microwaved earlier, slowly raising each piece to my mouth and chewing unhurriedly as if eating at a normal pace would disrupt the film. The hero and his busty girlfriend were in dire-straits, their efforts thus far amounting to nought and all seemed to be lost. Crash, bam, kaboom….

The protagonist appeared to be down and out - all the whist going through some internal identity crisis when…Naruto bit my ear. I pressed pause on the remote, halting the story mid-explosion.

"…What are you doing?"

"Seducing you…?"

"Whatever," I snorted, pressing play, my eyes again eagerly drinking in the high definition violence. I got to enjoy a whole thirty-seven seconds more before a warm finger trailed a blaze down my neck. Without looking I bent the offending finger backwards and smirked when the blond groaned in pain.

"You're so mean," he laughed.

"And you fail at seduction," I replied, again pausing the movie to turn around and glare at him properly and noticed that in the dim lighting a sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. I frowned and held the back of my hand to his forehead. "You've got a fever, dumbshit."

"What can I say - you get me hot and bothered," he vampire grinned. I stared.

"Wow - Really? That's the best you could come up wi-?"

The remainder of my words were abruptly swallowed with an equally abrupt kiss to the mouth. I was none-too-gently pushed onto the mattress before my mouth was attacked again, strong hands gripping my hips and a heavy body covering my own. In the glow of the television I laughed into his mouth at his heavy tactics, to insult his masculinity - and he only tried harder, tangling his legs with my own and moving his sinfully hot lips to that spot on my neck.

The movie was forgotten.

After we had started dating again it was two months before I agreed to have sex.

Even then it had to be in the dark or not at all.

It was another six months before I agreed to have some sort of lighting involved. It was incredibly frustrating, not only for Naruto but for myself. I was a young male with a healthy sexual appetite and still, even then my body couldn't stop shaking from the touches on the areas of me that I hated. Sex was not something I wanted to be anxious about.

Even now, this far on, I sometimes get uncomfortable. The intimacy, the exposure. It's difficult to go from being disgusted with every inch of yourself to being comfortable and open with the most physical intimacy known. It made me feel so ridiculous because it had never been some emotional ordeal before, it was just sex.

The worst part probably was that I had never been some blushing virgin - and getting over my two-month-hesitancy was certainly not the first time we'd had sex. Somehow, however practiced, it was a one way trip down memory lane where my body and the thought of someone seeing it incited hot red panic - a place I didn't want to be back in again after having come so far. However sporadic my moments of dread, the alarm has largely subsided over time and I've grown more at ease with the whole concept, despite my mind telling me something otherwise.

However no wonders are done for fragile confidence when your partner needs to vomit in the middle of sex… on your chest… while inside you.

Yeah.

I grunted, breathing heavy as Naruto moved above me, blond locks plastered to his forehead. We moved together rough and fast, the mattress moving and its springs protesting madly. My whole body was on fire as my back arched up and down, strong arms on either side of me, with agonizing slowness nearing my peak and oh god…

"Sahh…" the man above me moaned, wiping the sweat from his eyes as the bottom half of his body continued his fervent pace, in, out, hard, fast, rough.

I closed my eyes just for a moment and gripped the newly laid sheets below me, my fingers curling into the fabric. The heat was in every muscle of my body, it was in my head, stealing my senses and I'd forgotten how to breathe. We moved in sync, Naruto rough and hard and fast and right there, his warm breath on my neck, the smell of sweat in the air. I rubbed my legs wantonly against his burning skin, wanting, needing more friction. As if sensing my growing impatience he buried his face into the crook of my neck, hair brushing against my chin, and bit down roughly on the over-sensitized skin. The wet of his saliva, the sharp teeth, the metal on his tongue, a searing catalyst. More.

I half moaned half gasped and threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging the locks with an equal roughness and scraping his scalp with my finger nails, hoping it hurt. He reacted by thrusting in and out, in and out faster, faster, harder, faster. Fuck.

I was on the brink, the heat too much. So close. Almost there, just a little more, yes, there, yes….

…and then he started slowing down… Moments passed and he stopped completely- but didn't pull out.

I looked up to see Naruto squeezing his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. "What now?" I panted, moving my hips.

He then promptly vomited his dinner all over my naked torso.

Revulsion rapidly welled up while something else swelled down before I could stop either of them. I pushed him off. "Fuck!"

It was with just slightly decreasing confidence that I dragged my naked vomiting boyfriend to the toilet and a swiftly decreasing arousal that I dragged my naked self into the nearby shower. Woah, what the hell just happened? Thoughts were a tempest in my mind, trying to consolidate whatever just happened. What? Oh god.

Over the next few minutes of washing off bile and undigested food I cursed repeatedly in my head, damning my luck and damning the stupid blond moron. The image of Naruto heaving his half digested dinner onto me kept repeating itself in my mind. I had to suppress my gag reflex - vomit was disgusting – I should know - and yet I had little sympathy for the man who I could hear gagging and retching over the running water. I feel repulsed; I think I might be sick.

After scrubbing scrubbing scrubbing to ensure no possible residual upchuck remained on my torso, I turned off the boiling stream, stepped out, dried myself and cringed at the sounds. On the bright side I was now sure that the hot water system was functioning.

I felt sure that I was clean and safe but unsure of the Naruto situation. On auto I walked into our adjacent bedroom and removed the soiled sheets from the bed, picked out some fresh nightwear, dressed myself and sighed – I was entirely too hesitant to walk back into that bathroom. A groan escaped and I ran a hand over my face, taking a minute to calm myself. What the hell, am I supposed to do something…?

Despite being relatively clueless I sucked it up anyway, marching straight back into the bathroom and throwing Naruto a pair of loose pants. I figure he might have caught them if his head wasn't in a toilet bowl. I crouched beside and raised my hand tentatively, this was awkward.

I felt embarrassment heating up my cheeks - I was completely uncertain on what I was supposed to do to make this situation go away. It was always me that was sick. What was I supposed to do? Rub his back or pat his head?

I decided to first assess the severity of the situation.

"Are you… okay…?"

The sick blond breathed heavily, his face sweating as he turned his head ever so slightly to stare at me. He muttered something along the lines of 'fuck' before emptying his remaining dinner into the smelly toilet water below.

Well, okay.

Think, Sasuke. This probably wasn't good - I'd never seen the man this sick in my life. Sniffles and snot was one thing, involuntary regurgitation was another. Hmm. It must just food poisoning or a bug I rationalized, feeling better for the logic. People get stomach bugs all the time. I used that excuse all the time too but that's irrelevant. Maybe it was some hideous disease from his new tongue ring (because I knew that place looked dirty). Gross, I kissed him. Shit.

I decided on an awkward pat to his burning hot shoulder, knowing I could relate to his pain but in a totally different and inappropriate context. "I'll get you some water," I muttered, unsure if he heard it. A brisk walk to the kitchen and I filled one of our largest glasses with water. About to walk back into our bedroom I stopped, unsure if this was enough. Maybe he needed aspirin or some dry biscuits. Or a doctor. I don't know. I would ask, I decided.

Back in the bathroom I noticed that Naruto had found the strength to pull on the pants I had thrown at him. He was on the ground and leaning on the wall close to the toilet holding a shaking hand to his mouth and looking a little green. It smelled really bad in here but I didn't say anything, instead handing him his water – and then I opened the bathroom window.

"Oh man…" Naruto groaned from behind his hand. He looked awful. I crouched in front of him again and held a hand to his forehead – it was scorching. My insides turned into lead.

"Christ," I muttered, standing up and offering my hand to him. He looked at it appraisingly with watery eyes, as if he didn't know whether or not it was a good idea to stand up and be away from the toilet. It probably wasn't but he couldn't sit on the cold floor all night. He took my hand eventually and I led his weakened body onto the now bare mattress. I would have to wash the sheets. Yuck.

"I'm really sorry, Sasuke," he whispered pitifully into the pillow as he lay down. I rolled my eyes.

"It's fine, idiot," I assured him even though it actually wasn't fine because I'm pretty sure neither of us had been so humiliated in our entire lives. Well maybe Naruto had but not me. I quickly ducked into the bathroom again, wetting a face towel with cold water, doing anything alleviate the heaviness settling in my stomach. I rested it against his forehead when I returned moments later - My mother used to do this for me so I knew it was helpful. What else did she do when I was sick? Think Sasuke, think.

"It's not fine," he whined softly as he held his stomach. "It's really embarrassing…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Who am I going to tell?" No, really - Who on earth would I tell that I was regurgitated on during sex? He didn't answer either way, preferring to roll over and dry retch.

"…I'll get you a bucket…."

That wonderful and exciting Saturday night had long passed. Come Monday morning I'd had a whopping total of twenty-six minutes sleep, tipped out approximately twelve buckets of vomit and re-filled countless glasses of water. I felt like an overworked and underpaid nurse in desperate need of a warm bed and shower. Instead I have puke-stained bed sheets and an idiot of a boyfriend who refused to see a doctor. Just awesome.

I'd tried to sneak away to the couch a few times to catch a few z's, get some shut eye, visit dream land and what not but every time I tried he would start vomiting again, or Cat would jump on me or some horrendous part of me would say: God, you didn't hear him complaining when he had to hold the hair from your face whenever you had a migraine.

Speaking of migraines….

I trudged my weary body into the bedroom, half checking to see if Naruto was dead or not but mostly hoping that he was as good as new and had changed the bed sheets for me. Unfortunately miracle recoveries were not possible in my universe and judging by the lump on the bed, today wouldn't be an exception. Crappy universe.

Subconsciously deciding this was unfair, I threw the packet of dry biscuits I had so thoughtfully fetched from the kitchen somewhere in the direction of the blonds head. I was rewarded with a pitiful moan and a sniffle. I almost felt bad (deep in my subconscious) but then I remembered that I'd had a grand total of twenty-six minutes sleep in the past thirty six hours and had to repeatedly feed his ugly cat - all sympathy for the bed lump was subsequently lost.

I sat on a portion of the bed that wasn't defiled. I'd had this bed for nearly twenty years without a mark – Naruto has it for one night and…. Maybe he should take out his tongue ring, I thought. I told him this. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"You're just trying to get out of going to work aren't you?" I yawned. The other turned on his side, squeezing his eyes, assaulted with nausea.

"Yes," he croaked, sarcasm dripping off his hoarse voice, "this is all an elaborate hoax."

"I knew it."

"Either that or I'm preggers."

Cough.

"…Yes, that's far more likely…"

"Thought so."

I stole one of his dry biscuits and chewed slowly. "So, mother of my child, feeling any better yet?

"Fucking peachy," he muttered. I frowned, pressing my palm to his pale forehead for the hundredth time. He didn't even say anything about my female jibe - he really was sick. "What's the time?" He asked suddenly, scratching the stubble on his chin, my eyes narrowed. He needed a shave and quickly - god forbid he try growing facial hair again. The obsessive compulsive freak in me wanted to whip out the shaving cream and attack the prickles while he couldn't fight me off.

"Nearly nine," I said, looking at my watch, "why?"

He grunted. "Isn't your appointment at ten?"

"Yeah….and?"

Red rimmed baby blues stared at me and a blanket covered foot nudged my hip. "So why haven't you left yet?"

I stared at him incredulously, sort of wondering if excessive vomiting could increase stupidity (and if that was the reason why I was dating him). My mouth hung slightly agape because I couldn't quite find a way to articulate the sheer idiocy.

"You're like, near death and you want me to see a doctor?"

"It's your last session," he insisted. I scoffed loudly, stuffing another biscuit into my mouth as if this would prove that I didn't need to go. Chew, chew swallow. Calm.

"Don't be dumb, dumbass. Who else will empty your disgusting vomit bucket?"

He rolled over and rubbed his eyes. God he looked like shit. "You're such a sweet talker, you know that?" He shuddered again under the blankets. "Seriously, go. I'll manage for like, two hours."

Yeah right. "Fine," I conceded, stealing another biscuit, eating my anxiety (just get it over and done with). "But you're seeing a doctor."

From underneath the blankets I could almost see his frown and the petulant expression taking over his face. "You're being - "

"Shut up, twit," I interrupted, getting up from the bed and pulling my shoes on. "It's been two days now - this is bullshit. The place stinks."

"I don't want to see a doctor," he whined childishly. I threw him back my most withering glare while opening the bedroom window, inhaling deeply -fresh morning air had never smelled so good. It was with relief that I stepped out of the bedroom and picked up the cordless phone resting on the kitchen bench, pressing in the number of my GP. Approximately one minute and forty seconds the later the appointment had been made - Sasuke one, Naruto zero.

"Two-thirty," I told the blonde, leaning against the bedroom doorframe and crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the feeling that I was looking after a child rather than a full grown man. "Whatever ridiculous phobia you have, get over it now."

He groaned. "Dick."

"Dumbfuck."

"Asshole."

"Moron."

"Sweetcheeks."

"Pumpkin."

He threw the blankets over his face and groaned at the awful pet-names which were probably more insulting than any cuss words. "Ew, yuck."

Shoving my wallet in my back jean pocket I felt around the front for my car keys and mobile phone. Check, check. "I'm leaving. Do I need to pick up anything?" I was thinking something along the lines of paracetamol and cleaning products, like disinfectant, but he mumbled something into his pillow sounding suspiciously like 'houseplant'.

"A houseplant…?"

"A transplant!"

"Oh…right," I coughed, "…good luck with that. Try to not die or something in the meantime."

"What, no goodbye kiss?"

I shuddered and left quickly, anxiety prickling burning holes in my stomach.

"You look dead," were the first words to be heard from my charming therapist.

"So do you," I replied, to the ageing woman, sitting down, trying to mentally kill the butterflies destroying my stomach.

"Ha ha," she muttered. "How are we today?"

"Yeah, fine." I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Tired…?"

"Tired."

She took a large chug from her water bottle before looking at me seriously. "So, we're finally here…"

"Mhmm…"

"How are you feeling about it?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding through gritted teeth and shrugged. "Don't know."

"You've come a long way, you know," she coaxed, shifting in her chair. "Is it hard to identify yourself with the person you were when we started?"

I shrugged again, trying to mentally disconnect from the question, from the reality that I was even here. Though how could I forget, when I was still staring at that same outdated Depression Awareness poster from what, four years ago? I didn't feel like digging around my hazy memories to go back to a place I never wanted to think of again. It was like wading through thick mud in the dark. Vision so pitch black that I was completely blind-sighted, holding my arms out, keeping everything at length, taking every small safe step. Even in my reluctance to think back on the last few years the answer to her question was unequivocally clear, to have such a sharp contrast between my thoughts and feelings and before and now. "I guess."

"Do you think that's a good thing?" she asked, tone neutral. For once she didn't have her notebook and there were no sounds of furious scribbling in the room. Was there a right or wrong answer?

I thought about this for a moment then nodded resolutely. "Yes."

"Why 'yes'?"

"I think…there needs to be a sense of separation."

"Why?"

"Because then you wouldn't know you've made progress."

"So, you feel that you've made progress?"

"Yes."

"Alright - and are you happy with that progress, Sasuke?"

"Yes."

"Tell me why."

I know that there has been progress. I know I've come too far to give up, give in and give away everything I'd fought for - all the relationships I'd damaged and repaired and the self esteem I'd gained. It wasn't much, but the inch of respect I'd struggled to gain for myself meant more to me than my miles of self hate ever could. I couldn't beat myself for the thoughts I couldn't control. I couldn't control my insecurities, the innate part of me that is hypersensitive to every thought and feeling and experience. I could control my behavior and I was in control of my behavior.

Probably most importantly I don't hate myself anymore. When I used to eat back then I felt that I was only nurturing a repulsive, worthless creature. These days I don't feel like a monster when I eat – and to me that is everything. I explained this in more or less words.

"Okay…fair enough. So you're confident to go it alone."

I nodded, almost feeling like she was asking me if I wanted to take the training wheels off my tricycle.

"Good. I'm dying to know Sasuke, how did the big move go? Are you all settled in the new place yet?"

"…." I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Moving. New place. Christening. Humiliation. God. "You could say that…"

"Uh-oh," she laughed. "Trouble in paradise?"

Yes. If by trouble you mean copious amounts of puke and enough trauma to never want to have sex again.

"It's fine."

"…You're fighting already?"

"No," I said hoarsely, silently damning my damaged voice, "…He's been sick."

"Like I-need-to-get-out-of-work sick or can't-get-out-of-bed-sick?"

"The second one."

She frowned. "Has he seen a doctor?"

"This afternoon."

"I hope he's okay. Hopefully it's just something going around."

I nodded.

"Are you worried?"

Pfft. "No."

"Uh-huh. Well I hope he gets better soon."

I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. Being an in-home-nurse rather sucked. Speaking of which, I probably should call Itachi and see how much excitement he's been having with an empty house. And if I can borrow the washing machine…

"Schools going well?"

I yawned. "Yeah."

"…and work?"

"It's fine."

"Descriptive as usual," she muttered. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Mmm," I hummed, thinking on the three words that had brought dread this past week. "Sakura's engagement party."

"Oh that's right," she laughed, remembering the news. "Not looking forward to it?"

"…Eh."

"Try to have a good time, wont you? Even if you have to drag Naruto's vomiting self to keep you company."

"I think he'll be dragging me."

"Oh don't be like that," she chided.

I just shrugged, silent.

"…You're worried."

"No, I'm really not."

"Yeah, you really are. It's okay, go home."

I looked at the clock, noting that we were only twenty minutes into our final session.

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I can't have you pouting like that for the next half hour."

"I wasn't."

"You were," she said. "Your bottom lip was doing this thing," she exaggerated, extending her bottom lip and pouting.

"Whatever," I stood. She followed my movements, standing and extending a hand which I took and shook.

"You really have come a long way, you know."

"I know."

"And I know you know that I'll wring your skinny neck if I ever see you in here again."

"Yes."

"So take care of yourself, use condoms and be happy."

"…Okay."

We shook hands once more and I walked out the door for the final time, a smile breaking across my face.

Standing on my tip-toes I felt around the upper frame of our front door, searching for our shared key. Neither of us had bothered to get a copy cut as of yet and so shared the one given by our landlord.

Twisting the key in and shoving the door open I scrunched up my nose immediately, the tang of bile lining the air as pungent as smoke in a house fire.

I removed my shoes at the entrance, kicking them off and not really caring where they landed, hastily moving to open the windows. Once satisfied that there was a source of air I poured myself and Naruto a glass of water from the sink, glancing at the wall-clock we'd picked up from a garage sale. A few minutes into eleven I noted, taking the two cold glasses into the dark bedroom that still had the curtains drawn.

Blond Lump had managed to kick all the sheets and covers off and was lying spread-eagled on the bed, despite the window being open on an exceptionally chilly day. Hmm. Hello alarm bells.

I moved and set both glasses at the bedside table and took a seat at the edge of the mattress, waking the other out of whatever stupor he was in. I noticed the bucket half full with vomit. I chose to ignore it and the bitter smell it was emitting at that moment.

"Back already, Nurse?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"We finished early," I replied, feeling his forehead again ignoring the nurse comment with saintly patience. Too warm. I shuddered slightly, feeling how much the cold had set into the room from the open window; I could feel the icy breeze from here. "Feeling better?"

He sighed shakily and held a hand to his pink forehead. "No and no. I feel like shit run over twice."

"You look like shit run over twice," I offered.

"Oh piss off."

I mocked surprise, holding a hand to my heart. "What's this? No 'You are shit run over twice, Sasuke'or some equally crappy comeback?"

"…can't be bothered."

I scoffed, pickied up the doona from the floor and cocooned myself in it. "You must be sick."

He took his glass of water from the bedside table, taking large mouthfuls. He groaned pitifully and moved the hand from his forehead to his eyes. "I don't feel so good."

Something heavy dropped from bottom of my stomach to my toes. "…I know."

I got off the bed and stalked in the direction of the adjacent bathroom, my heart suddenly beating funny. I knew we had a thermometer somewhere. I could have sworn I stole the one Itachi and I had from the old house and chucked it in a box somewhere. I mean, he wouldn't need it, his immune system was made of steel.

I turned to the box labeled bathroom shit that was currently sitting unpacked in our bathtub and began rifling through it with more saintly patience. Shampoo, shampoo, conditioner, soap, shampoo, razors, shaving cream, first aid kit, aftershave, nail clippers, shampoo, oh there it is. Right in the bottom corner, buried under everything as luck would have it. Does it actually work? Press button, beep, yes, good, onwards.

Back in the bedroom, Naruto had thrown an arm over his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest indicating shallow breathing.

"I don't feel so good," he repeated.

"I know," I said for a second time, shoving the thermometer in his mouth before he could speak again. I waited edgily for the ten or so seconds it took to register a temperature, the gymnasts in my stomach showing great athleticism.

Beep beep

I quickly extracted the device from his lips, ignoring the string of saliva and held it to my eyes.

Fuck.

"You're not going to the doctor," I said.

"I'm not?" Naruto asked hopefully, lifting his arm up enough to peek red-rimmed eyes.

"No," I said, showing him the thermometer, "You're going to the hospital."

"No known allergies," I confirmed, impatiently running off Naruto's details for the hundredth time since arriving at the emergency area of Konoha Hospital.

"Okay, Mr. Uchiha, that's fine. Take a seat."

I refrained from rolling my eyes at the over-worked nurse, nodding politely and taking a seat next to Naruto who currently had his head in between his knees while clutching a courtesy hospital 'vomit bag'. My sitting down on the uncomfortable hospital chairs was apparently some sort of signal to Naruto to take up three more seats with his legs and lay his head on my lap.

"I feel like death," the other muttered into the plastic tunnel, suppressing his gag reflex. For the love of god don't vomit on me again.

"You look like death."

He hummed something like a half laugh half whimper into his bag. "Sweet-talker."

We were lucky. The emergency area wasn't half as busy as it should be on a Monday lunchtime hour. There were a few worried mothers with things stuck up their annoying kids' noses, three men who had been in a fist fight and a young woman with severe tonsillitis. I think we were in with a chance of being seen sooner – well, sooner than the thug with the blood nose anyway.

Breathe. I didn't like being here. It was too bizarre. Behind me was the counter where Itachi had checked me in and out countless times. I was in the same waiting room I had sat in while Itachi filled in the same paperwork every time. Only meters in front of me were the large double doors I had used to escape from the hospital while still in my hospital gown. The same doctors and nurses and staff were walking around as they did two, three years ago. While I felt entirely different nothing here had changed. It was too weird.

My insides squirmed like caught fish and tension dug its fingernails into my neck. I drummed my fingers irritably against Naruto's head. Negativity was another big fish, swimming in my veins and seeping out of every pore. My head was like a toxic pot of emotions that was simmering sickly, begging for something to be done about it. Self scrutinize. Starve. Purge. Attack. Do something.

I took a deep breath in and counted to ten, exhaled, trying to focus on something other than the lethal mix in my head.

"Why don't you go home, go to bed?" Naruto asked suddenly.

I scowled. "Why don't you shut up?"

"What?"

"You're so annoying," I sulked, frowning - God I was tired. "Why would I bother driving just to dump you here? I could have got an ambulance to do that."

"But-"

"Shut up," I interrupted. "You're disturbing the others."

Naruto raised his head slightly to see one of kids stop picking their nose to stare at him. "Cranky bitch." he muttered lowly.

We were quiet for a moment; the only sounds were that of a bustling hospital behind us - moans, cries and high heels clicking on the linoleum. It smelled like antiseptic. I hated it.

I yawned, trying hard to keep my heavy eyelids open.

"This is a little weird," Naruto said abruptly, starting to fidget with his feet and fingers. I frowned and looked down at the fidgeting monster in my lap.

"What is?"

"You taking me to the hospital."

"Why would that be weird?" I glared, hoping to scare him out of saying the stupid answer I knew would come out of his mouth.

"'Cause it's usually the other way around…" he trailed off awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"…Right."

"Sorry," he apologized genuinely, increasing the fidgeting. "I'm nervous. Y'know I've hated doctors ever since…"

"I know," I said, increasing the tapping on his head in what he took as a reassuring gesture, trying to change the topic. He half smiled, half grimaced as his stomach cramped up, drawing his legs to his chest.

"Thanks, y'know, for staying with me."

I flushed, embarrassed. "Whatever."

"No, really," he insisted, gripping my hand with his trembling fingers. "You've been so good when I was such a shithead to you when you were sick."

Sick? Oh god, here we go again. Even when you're projectile vomiting you don't shut up.

"…It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either."

I went pink and wished he wasn't looking at me. "Idiot…"

"Bastard."

Silence reigned in our corner of the waiting room for the next ten or so minutes, contentedly watching the awful daytime talk show on the TV before Naruto suddenly puked into his plastic bag, narrowly missing my legs. Before I could blink he had leapt off me and run off in the direction of the men's' toilets.

It was two minutes after he disappeared into the signed doors when a petite nurse called out his name.

"Mr. Uzumaki?"

I stood up and made my way over and informed her. "He's in the bathroom."

She turned, startled, and stared. Her eyes widened in recognition. Oh dear.

I cleared my throat and shifted my feet, suddenly very thankful for Naruto's timing when he walked out of the bathroom and sat on a vacant chair next to me. The young nurse followed my line of vision, making a strange noise as she spotted her patient.

"Mr. Uzumaki?" The blond looked up, pale as a ghost but the nurse just kept smiling. "If you could come through here," she said, gesturing to the area of beds behind the large double doors, "and if we could grab some details from you, that would be great."

"Uhh, okay." He stood up and followed her, death-gripping my hand and pulling me along before I could say I'll wait here.

"Okay, let's see," she began, "Any known allergies?"

After what seemed to be like a hundred years later, we finally had a diagnosis.

"Mr. Uzumaki, your stool sample has indicated a case of salmonella poisoning."

He looked confused. I could see the cogs turning towards panic in his brain, probably thinking something along the lines of I've been poisoned?!

"Food poisoning," I whispered.

"I knew that, Bastard," he whispered back.

The doctor ignored our little exchange and continued. "Right, well, given the severity of your symptoms I'm going to prescribe you a course of antibiotics," he finished, handing Naruto a sheet of paper with his prescription. "Take one three times a day until you've finished them all. Go home, rest, if it gets worse, come back."

"Thank you," the blond answered, taking the paper. The doctor left with a smile and the nurse from earlier came back in with Naruto's clothes and shuffled me some meters away from the bed, drawing the curtains around it so Naruto could have some privacy getting changed. I snorted, I'd seen far less than that.

"Mr. Uchiha?" She asked suddenly. My head snapped towards her so fast it hurt.

"What?"

"Do you remember me?"

Searching my memories omitted no results so I shook my head, confused. She smiled awkwardly and tried again. "Sorry, this is embarrassing. I used to bring in your meals?"

I vaguely remember throwing meals at nurses, but that was the extent of it. "…Sorry."

She dismissed my apology, waving her hand and smiling brightly. "Don't worry. It's just… wow. You look great, really great."

I went red, suddenly not knowing what to do with the hands hanging uselessly at my sides. "…Thanks…"

"Sorry," she laughed. "You caught me off guard. You really do look amazing, like a whole other person. Are you in recovery now?"

"I'm recovered," I answered, without thinking. Warmth blossomed from its bud in my chest and I let loose a short, relieved breath. "Yeah. I'm recovered."

Her face brightened considerably, her hand held to her heart. "That's fantastic. I'm glad."

"…" So am I.

I really am. I can't articulate how every battle, every fall and rise was worth being here at the moment, living.

"And Mr. Uzumaki…is he your…friend?"

"…Yes… friend. We live together."

"I see. You'll take care of him won't you?"

…What have I have been doing these past two days?

"Right," I replied, never feeling more relieved to see Naruto as he hobbled through the blue curtains towards us. He fidgeted nervously with the hospital band around his wrist and nudged his elbow into my ribs, as if to declare his presence.

The nurse apparently took the hint. "Well, take care of yourselves."

"Thanks."

After she left and was out of earshot Naruto's shoulders slumped and he took my hand, apparently very eager to leave. "Can we get the hell out of here now?"

I gripped his hand tightly, ready. "Yeah. Let's go home."

The End

"It is not a sudden leap from sick to well. It is a slow, strange meander from sick to mostly well. The misconception that eating disorders are a medical disease in the traditional sense is not helpful here. There is no 'cure'. A pill will not fix it, though it may help. Ditto therapy, ditto food, ditto endless support from family and friends. You fix it yourself. It is the hardest thing that I have ever done, and I found myself stronger for doing it. Much stronger."

- Wasted, Marya Hornbacher