Title: Small Hours
Characters: Luigi/Amber
Notes: Probably going to recycle this into something longer later, so not bothering to crosspost it.
Rating: PG-13
It might have been a bad batch of Z, or maybe someone had slipped her something else, or hell, maybe she’d just had some cheap sushi downtown. Luigi didn’t know, and there was no point in asking – Amber probably didn’t know either, and she was far too busy throwing up to worry about it.
Listening to her, he thought of her as a small child again, coughing and throwing up because she refused to put her gas mask on before going outside even on the really bad days. He wasn't really sure why he ended up in the doorway of her bathroom, still in his pajamas.
"Fuck, Am, could you keep it down? You woke me up."
"If I could keep it down I wouldn't be-" she broke off as she bent over the toilet bowl again. Her wig slipped forward as she did, and Luigi leaned in and plucked it off her head before she made a mess of it. He dropped it on one of the two-dozen or so bare plastic heads that dotted the wall of her dressing room and then returned to her.
Amber was sitting on the floor, shaking, her arms folded tightly. He crouched down beside her, trying to decide if she'd be okay alone or if he should send a GENtern in, when suddenly she grabbed the lapels of his pajamas. Her short, dark hair and thin, tear-wet face was buried against the silk before he could push her away, and to be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He just held her while she cried, and shook, and figured bitching her out for it could wait until she was well enough to appreciate it.