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Jerma's dying. He has to be. Only death could feel like this; his whole body aches, and yet there's a growing feeling of blank nothingness spreading from his stomach outward to his limbs. He hopes he at least dies quickly. God, he needs to just close his eyes and sleep. Actually, he needs to use the bathroom—wait, no, he's starving, he needs to eat right now. But he can't do any of those things because his body won't obey him when he begs it to do something, anything. All he can do is keep lying prone on the floor of his kitchen and wait for death to come.
Luckily, Death seems to be right on time. When he hears the front door open, Jerma braces himself for the end. But instead of a deadpan baritone telling him it's time to cross over to the other side, there's a familiar voice saying,
"…not here to clean or anything, I just forgot my– Jerma?"
The voice—Emilia's voice?!!, part of Jerma's brain yells—gets a little closer.
"Sleeping on the floor, huh?" Even half-dead, Jerma recognizes Emilia's characteristic wry tone. He hears light footsteps coming closer to him, and then– "Jesus!"
Jerma senses rather than sees Emilia bend down next to him. "Holy shit, your meters are low!" they exclaim.
"My… whaa?" Jerma slurs.
"You haven't been taking care of yourself. Or they haven't been taking care of you." Emilia sounds… angry? Jerma hasn't heard them like this since– well, since he stood them up on that date and then they yelled at him on TV. (Plus the other incident he doesn't like to think about.)
Make Cereal | 0%
Go to Sleep | 0%
Workout | 0%
Clean House | 0%
"Ah," they say after a beat, voice hard. "I see."
Jerma tries to ask what's going on, but all he can manage is a low groan. For a second, Emilia's hand presses against his cheek, but it's gone all too quickly. "Okay," Emilia says, and then without further warning they start manhandling Jerma, rolling him back onto his side so that his head's pillowed on one arm. He lets himself be ragdolled around, not having the strength to put up much resistance even if he wanted to. The hands on him feel hot, and Jerma wonders deliriously if he's really cold or if Emilia's hands just exude warmth the same way their smile does. They grab behind one of his knees unceremoniously to pull his leg forward, in a spot that would usually be ticklish and make him giggle, but the sensation barely even registers in his current state. He finally ends up on his side, supported by the knee that's pulled forward. The position can't really be called comfortable, but it's a lot better than lying face down on his kitchen floor. Especially since he can now look up at Emilia.
"Stay there," they instruct Jerma—as if he could get up right now—before standing up in a whirl of skirts and walking away. Jerma wants to ask them to come back so he can please look at their face in what might be his last moments, but the circuits between his brain and mouth are all twisted up and he can't get the words out. Rustling sounds come from behind him in the kitchen and a few seconds later, Emilia's back, kneeling down in front of him.
"You need to eat this," they say firmly, and then produce a piece of bread, holding it in front of his face.
Eat | 0%
Use Toilet | 0%
Check Mail | 0%
"C–can't," Jerma chokes out, and it's true. He's ravenously hungry—his mouth is watering just from this piece of plain white bread—but something won't let him open his mouth and swallow it down.
Emilia shakes their head.
"C'mon," they mutter, "they're not even here anymore, they abandoned him, why can't he… Oh." Whatever realization they had makes them straighten up slightly. They look down at Jerma and bring the bread a little closer to his face.
"Eat," Emilia directs him, insistent.
Jerma starts to open his mouth to tell them no again, he can't, but Emilia cuts him off before he can speak.
"I'm not asking, Jerma. I'm telling you."
A jolt like an electric current runs through Jerma at the words. His body actually jerks towards Emilia, and they have to place a hand on his knee to steady him so he doesn't fall over.
"You need someone to take care of you, Jerma," they murmur gently. "Are you going to let me take care of you?"
"Please," he begs, not knowing what exactly he's asking for. "Tell me again," he rasps.
"Eat," they command him—
Eat | 100%
—and suddenly Jerma can. Something inside him pulls taut and snaps, an unknown connection severed, and he starts tearing at the bread like a wild animal, wolfing down pieces until it's gone in a matter of seconds. He looks up at Emilia to ask for more, but they already know what he needs, bringing another slice to his mouth, and he devours that one too. Jerma feels better already, more alive. He's about to ask for another slice of bread, but Emilia looks down at him critically and declares, "That's enough for now," and Jerma realizes that he is, indeed, full.
"What just–?"
"No time to explain," Emilia cuts him off. "We have to take care of your other needs now before you go back to being catatonic."
"My other needs…?"
"You have to use the bathroom," Emilia says, and Jerma realizes what they mean before they have to say it.
"Um, I don't think–"
"Listen, unless you want me cleaning up your big mess in the next few minutes, you're going to let me help you with this."
"Okay– woah, hey!"
Emilia's suddenly behind Jerma, their arms hooking underneath his and coming to wrap around his torso. They pull him to his feet, or as close as they can manage, and start dragging him in the direction of the bathroom. Holy fuck, who knew Emilia was this strong? If he didn't still feel like he was on the brink of death, Jerma would be kind of flustered right now. When they reach the door, Emilia swears under their breath, but they manage to hold Jerma up and work the door handle, eventually pulling him through. Soon enough, they heave him on to the toilet with a grunt.
When he doesn't immediately embarrass himself, Jerma takes the opportunity to glance at Emilia. Despite the impressive display of strength, there's colour in their cheeks and their face is shiny with perspiration; some of their tousled locks are sticking to their forehead with sweat. Jerma thinks they've never looked better.
His moment of reflection is ruined when Emilia asks, "Do you need me to…?"
"Um… I think so? I mean, I don't– I don't think I can without… that, otherwise I would have, uh, by now… But can you, like, leave the room?" Jerma pleads, shame making his face burn. Emilia frowns, concern blotting their face.
"Okay, but I'm coming in if there are any problems."
"Thank you," Jerma breathes. Emilia steps towards the door, opening it and putting one foot over the threshold to the kitchen.
"Go to the bathroom," they instruct him, and then leave so fast the timing’s almost comical, slamming the door shut behind them.
Use Toilet | 100%
It's really, really embarrassing to be in this situation, but the relief of finally being able to pee temporarily eclipses all of the mortified screaming in Jerma's brain.
A few seconds after the automatic flush of the toilet, Emilia calls out, "I'm coming back in now!"
When they re-enter, they take an appraising look at Jerma.
"Can I take a shower?" he blurts out, suddenly nervous under their scrutiny.
Emilia's brows furrow.
"Your energy's still pretty low, so–"
"Please," Jerma implores them. Eating and going to the bathroom have restored some of his energy and awareness, and he's just now realizing that he stinks (like the dead, funnily enough). He doesn't remember the last time he showered. And he knows, somehow, that he can't do it now unless Emilia lets him.
"Okay," they relent. "But I'm gonna have to drag you again."
After some amount of cursing and huffing, Emilia manages to haul Jerma across the room and into position.
"Shower," they order him, although they're the one who turns on the water.
Take Shower | 100%
Jerma just sits at the base of the shower, letting the warm spray wash over him. It feels so good, like he could just fall asleep right here…
Abruptly, the water shuts off.
"Alright, you're clean. Bed next," Emilia says, as if they've read his mind. "And God help me, I'm not letting you sleep on the floor after what you've been through. So, more dragging incoming."
Jerma's about to protest that he's soaking wet, including his clothes, but Emilia already has a towel handy. They pat him down a few times and he suddenly feels pretty dry. He's starting to feel really sleepy, so he yawns.
"Shit," Emilia groans, "c'mon, just hold out for a bit longer. This is gonna be way harder if you pass out." They heave him up into their arms again and before he knows it, Jerma's in the living room, being hoisted onto the couch into a sitting position.
"Emilia… " he mumbles, and then everything fades to black, Emilia's concerned face the last thing he sees.
* * *
When Jerma wakes, lying on his side on the couch, it's morning; sunlight's slanting through the windows and birds are chirping outside. Emilia is perched on the arm of the couch near Jerma's feet, legs daintily crossed. They're examining their nails, seemingly aloof, but he gets the feeling that they were watching him before he woke up.
"You stayed," are the first words that come out of his mouth. Emilia turns to look at him and smiles. It looks good on them.
"Yeah, well, I had to make sure you didn't die in the middle of the night."
Jerma can tell they're only half-joking. He sits up and stretches, his joints creaking and popping in protest at the night spent on the couch, although not as much as they did when he slept on the floor all those times.
"So, what the hell happened yesterday?"
Emilia grimaces.
"It's complicated."
"Try me."
“Honestly—and don't take this the wrong way—I don’t know if I can explain it to you without shattering your entire understanding of reality.”
“Okay, then at least tell me why I almost passed out on the floor last night. Except, y'know, in the dying way, not the usual way.”
"Basically…” they begin, choosing their words carefully, “…have you ever felt like you made decisions without really knowing why?”
Jerma nods vigorously. Boy, has he made some bad choices that way.
“Let’s just say that the part of you that was responsible for those decisions is gone now—since yesterday, apparently. And… it seems like now I’m responsible.”
“For my decisions?” Jerma asks incredulously. Emilia nods, mouth twisting apologetically. “Like– like what kind of decisions?”
“Like… whether to eat, or use the bathroom, or shower…”
Understanding dawns on Jerma.
“So, like last night?”
“Exactly. But,” they add hurriedly, turning to face him, “we should probably test that out, in case I’m wrong. It could’ve, ah, resolved itself since then. So, what do you really want to do right now?” Emilia asks. “Eat, maybe, or go for a jog, or–”
“Kiss you,” Jerma blurts out. Well. It’s true. Even before they had literally brought him back from the brink of death last night, there had always been something between him and Emilia. Something more real, more solid, than the hallucinatory quality that his life took on most of the time. He couldn't help but be drawn to Emilia by the way they talk as if they're in on a joke he's not, the way they keep him on his toes. And for them to come in when he was at his most vulnerable and help him, even after everything that had happened between them… well, clearly they're the one person he can trust in this messed-up world.
“Are you sure?" Emilia looks surprised, but pleased.
"Yes! God, yes. If– if you want to."
Emilia smiles coquettishly.
"Oh, I want to. But let's see if you're in the same situation as last night. Go ahead, do what you want," they say, gesturing to the space between them and Jerma.
He tries to lean forward—but he's held back once again by the same invisible force as last night.
"I– fuck, I can't," he grits out, frustration taking over. He finally has the person of his dreams here with him on the couch and he can't even kiss them. What kind of hell is this? He throws his hands up in the air. "I don't even care about the other stuff, I just wanna kiss you!"
Emilia laughs. "Why don't you try asking nicely?"
"Please," he sighs. "Please let me kiss you."
“Okay, Jerma,” they smile. “Kiss me.”
Kiss Emilia!!! | 100%
He leans in.
"Told you I'd take care of you," Emilia murmurs as they move to meet him halfway. The kiss is chaste, sweet, demure, and despite all that, Jerma still lets out an involuntary moan. He's wanted this for so fucking long. Maybe he didn't even really know what wanting was until he met Emilia.
He feels Emilia smile against his mouth, still kissing him softly. It's like everything suddenly makes sense—all the fucked-up happenings, the bad dreams, his terrible decisions, they all had to happen so that he could end up here. In Emilia's arms, the one person he can trust with everything and know that they'll take care of him.
Jerma brings a hand up to the back of Emilia's neck, his fingers winding through the close-cropped hair at the base of their scalp. It spurs them on and they deepen the kiss, teeth scraping over his bottom lip. Emilia is still balancing on the arm of the couch, so they plant a hand on his chest to steady themselves. The pressure and weight of it effectively pins Jerma in place; not so much that he couldn't squirm away if he wanted to, but enough to send a shiver through him. Emilia must feel it, because they press almost imperceptibly harder against his pectorals, testing. A weak, needy noise escapes the back of Jerma's throat.
Emilia pulls away from him, smiling deviously. Before Jerma can say anything, they bring their other hand to rest on his shoulder, holding him down briefly, and then swing a leg over his lap to straddle it.
“This okay?” they check, and Jerma can’t even reply, just surges up to kiss them again. It’s not chaste this time, quickly turning into something hot and desperate when Emilia slips their tongue into his mouth. Both of their hands come to his shoulders, pinning him in place. He feels exposed, but also freer than he’s ever been, somehow, and he lets the feeling make him bold, bringing a hand up to rest on the soft skin of their thigh. Emilia responds by grinding down into Jerma’s lap, and he has to hold back a gasp. He wonders if they can feel him getting hard through the layers of their skirts.
As if they know what he’s thinking, Emilia grinds down again, and this time Jerma’s not able to restrain himself from making an embarrassing noise. His head thuds back against the couch cushions, and he should probably be more self-conscious about how much this is affecting him, but Emilia takes the opportunity to mouth at his neck, and then all thought pretty much goes out the window. They work their way from his collarbone up to his Adam’s apple, and then to a spot underneath Jerma’s ear that gets him panting. Emilia’s got a good rhythm going now with their hips, rolling them into his, each instant of friction between them sending licks of heat up Jerma’s spine. He’s wearing the white tank top and dark grey pants, and he wishes all of a sudden that he was in those stupid flamingo shorts again so that he could feel the brush of Emilia’s skirts and the skin of their bare legs against his own.
Emilia starts sliding their hands down his chest, nails catching on Jerma’s nipples through the thin fabric as they go, making him shudder. They get their hands underneath the hem of his shirt and he automatically jerks back a little, suddenly ticklish. Emilia laughs, teasingly pressing their hands into the soft flesh of his stomach, before making quick work of the button and fly on his pants.
“Do you want this?” they ask him, sitting back on their heels, hands hovering over his lap.
“Do I– what kind of question is that?!” Jerma responds, mouth agape, before realizing that he’s entirely at Emilia’s mercy here. “I mean– yes. I do. Please.”
Emilia swats him lightly on the arm.
“Good boy. Was that so hard?”
Jerma doesn’t even have time to react to the praise, because Emilia licks a long stripe up their palm and reaches a hand into his boxers. When they finally wrap a hand around his cock, Jerma forgets how to breathe for a moment. It’s– holy shit, nothing has ever felt this good. No amount of catching butterflies, jogging, or gardening could compare. Not even the first bite of bread after almost starving to death was this pleasurable. He’d let Emilia devour him, if they wanted, just so he never has to stop feeling this.
He groans and gives himself over to the sensation, nudging Emilia’s nose with his until they kiss him again. With what little willpower he has left, Jerma moves the arm around the back of Emilia’s neck to their waist, and his other hand on their thigh creeps upward, fingertips brushing the hem of their underwear. Emilia grabs him by the wrist, yanking his hand down so that it rests next to his thigh on the couch.
“Stop, Jerma,” they murmur against his lips, “just let me give you what you need.”
Jerma whimpers as they take his mouth with theirs again, still stroking him with one hand and holding down his wrist with the other. He can’t do much except grip Emilia’s waist and let them take him apart. He suddenly worries about the indecency of their situation, until he remembers—who's around to see them, anyway? It's just him and Emilia. Realizing this, Jerma also knows there’s something he needs to say to them.
"Emilia," he gasps, pulling away, "I n– ah, fuck– need you to know that I'm, I'm sorry about everything, I'm sorry about missing our date, I'm sorry about the–"
"It's okay," Emilia responds, the words resonating against Jerma's collarbone where their lips are brushing his skin. "That wasn't really you; I know that. But this is, right?"
They punctuate their words with a particularly rough twist of their hand over the head of his cock, and Jerma cries out.
"Yes, fuck, it's real, it's all for you, please," he babbles, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of him. Emilia smiles, pleased, and says something under their breath that sounds like “so good for me,” before leaning back in to wreck him with their mouth. Jerma’s shamefully close already, and he wants to say as much, but he has a feeling Emilia knows. They’re pinning him down like a specimen, ruining him for anyone else, as if there's any other person in this godforsaken world that Jerma would rather have. Emilia shifts on his lap, readjusting, so that his cock brushes against their inner thigh for a moment, and it almost pushes Jerma over the edge. Almost.
"I'm gonna– I want– Emilia, please," he chokes out, awareness dawning on him that this, like everything else, is not under his control.
They scrape their teeth lightly against the side of his neck. Jerma whines, the sound high in his throat where Emilia can surely feel it.
"Come for me," they order, breath hot in his ear—
Come for Emilia | 100%
—and Jerma does.
Emilia keeps touching him through it, and Jerma eventually has to pull their hand away, too oversensitive and wrung out. They wipe the mess off on his thigh, leaving an obvious stain on his dark pants, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Jerma breathes out and rests his head against Emilia’s sternum, still reeling from it all, before he realizes he’s forgotten something very important.
"Let me get you off," he pleads, raising his head to look up at them.
Emilia shakes their head.
“Your hunger meter's too low; you need to eat first. But afterwards,” they smirk, “I can think of plenty of things for us to do.”
Jerma thinks he won’t mind having Emilia in control of his every move. Not at all.