Sick Day With Jam

[grimoireofkenji]

 

Jam tending to you when you have a cold, but she can't make cup noodles to save her life, and when you weakly whisper to her to hold you, she turns bright red. She proceeds to wrap all four arms around you from behind. Immediately, you feel a shocking cold, almost painful. Despite this, you feel warmer than you've felt all day. The comfortable feeling of CRT television static fills your body.

"You can... tell me to let go, human, I don't produce any body heat." She says, sighing. Her mop of white hair drapes over your face gently.

“Since when have you cared what your body temperature is like?” You try to quip, coughing a little.

“Since we’ve been growing closer.” She replies. Despite her usual monotone, she sounds bashful. And while it’s true she has been more… handsy than usual, you didn’t notice until now.

“Jam…” You start. Through your clogged nostrils, you catch a whiff of what smells like your usual shampoo. Jam doesn’t really need to bathe, let alone use your toiletries. She’s bragged about as much to you.

“Yes, sickly human?”

“Is that my shampoo?”

You feel all four of her thin arms tense up at once.

Immediately, one of your Elder God roommate’s cold, freckled hands releases you, and you hear an indescribable sound.

“Human.”

“Yeah?”

“I made some cup noodles.” Jam replies, proudly.

“Oh, is there some alternate timeline where you can actually steep cup noodles?” You say, laughing a little.

Jam’s cheeks puff up in a cutesy pout and her yellow eyes flash with mysterious intent,, before returning to normal.

“I could reduce you AND these forsaken noodles to DUST.”

“You won’t.”

“And why NOT?”

“Because this is the first time you’ve ever successfully made cup noodles. I doubt you’d destroy the results of your efforts for nothing.”

In the past year or so you’ve lived together, you’ve repeatedly shown her how to make them. With all the timelines the two of you are together in, it’s likely in the millions.

Jam grimaces in acknowledgement, one of her free hands scratching her head as she thinks of what to say next.

“Human. I am going to play Phantasy Star IV. You are going to watch.” Jam says, matter-of-factly. The very idea of playing a loud 16-bit JRPG hurts your sickly head, but if it’ll make her happy to know she’s successfully changed the subject, it’s fine by you. You prop yourself up, feeling a body ache. To your dismay, it doesn’t go away once you’re nestled in Jam’s bony, freckled arms, but you feel a little more comfortable. If this is what a selfish eldritch deity wants, then it’s hard for you to imagine what it’d be like if she were more generous. You slurp at your cup noodles, and Jam steals a glance at you, her sharp teeth bared in a full grin, before turning back to the game’s prologue.