"Hrk...ght....blurghhh....splash."
Fred vomited violently into the wash-hand basin, his entire body trembling as his stomach twisted painfully. The sour taste burned his throat as he retched again, hands gripping the edge of the sink as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
He kept vomiting, wave after wave, until his vision blurred slightly.
Then a hand pressed gently against his back.
It began patting him slowly, rhythmically, grounding him.
He didn't need to turn around.
The familiar scent alone already told him who it was.
"I'm sorry, dear," Damien said softly, worry heavy in his voice. "Are you done… or do you still feel like you need to throw up more?"
Fred didn't respond.
He couldn't.
His body felt too weak, his throat too raw to form words. Seeing this, Damien reached for the tap and gently poured cool water over Fred's head, letting it wash down his neck and shoulders. He then handed him a cup of water.
"Here," Damien murmured. "Rinse your mouth."
