Foxy, Chapter 2

Dave woke up slowly, letting his mind muddle through the layers of unconsciousness before reluctantly opening his eyes. In his sleep, he must have turned to face the window, because suddenly the bright red of the sunrise was assaulting his sleepy gaze. He wondered what had woke him up at this ungodly hour, after last night.

Last night.

Suddenly worried, he sat up and turned to Noel's side of the bed. Empty. Their clothes were still laying on the floor, but they were more rumpled and spread around, as if someone had stumbled through them.

He frowned as a loud crash met his ears. He got up and threw on the nearest thing - Noel's purple and green tie-dyed dressing gown, and ran into the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was Noel - still in just his boxers - standing with his hands protectively over his head, surrounded by all the pots and pans they owned.

"Noel? Are you alright?" Noel brought his hands down slowly.

"I'm sorry. You're mad, aren't you? I swear, I just opened the cupboard and--"

"Of course I'm not mad!" He tried not to look puzzled at how edgy Noel was as he walked towards him. He placed his hands on his bony hips and looked searchingly into his eyes.

"Noel?"

"Yes?" Noel replied, apprehensively, his emotions weirdly over-exaggerated.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dave chuckled, and Noel's expression changed instantly.

"I'm making cakes!" he exclaimed, his eyes incredibly bright, bounding out of Dave's grasp to watch the almost-done cakes in the glowing oven.

That was when Dave noticed the dark circles under his boyfriend's eyes, and the state of his normally artfully arranged, or at least 'stylishly messy' hair.

"Did you get any sleep? You look shattered."

"I'm fine!" He replied quickly, bouncing across the room and flipping the switch on the kettle.

Dave's brow furrowed slightly, but he let it drop. Putting the pots and pans away, then making himself a cup of coffee, he watched Noel flit about energetically, making icing and adding red food colouring drop by tiny drop, to try and get the perfect shade of pink.

As Dave sat on a stool, sipping his coffee and trying to wake himself up, he studied Noel. The raven-haired man seemed to be incredibly euphoric. Not that he wasn't usually so full of energy, but this morning he seemed particularly hyper.

When the cakes were done, he got them out and started slathering icing on them even though they were still hot. His tongue poked out between his lips in concentration as his slightly jerky movements meant there was more icing on the worktop than on the cakes.

Noel's movements slowed as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Dave got up and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"...Beautiful," Dave said, looking down at the sugary mess on the counter. "Is this icing explosion our breakfast?" He squeezed Noel playfully to show he was joking.

Noel made an unintelligible noise and jerked Dave's linked hands apart, running from the room.

Dave's brow wrinkled concernedly. Noel was all over the place this morning.

He found him in the bathroom, throwing up violently into the toilet bowl. Dave knelt next to him, and gathered his long hair back tenderly.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you that much!" he joked, stroking the nape of Noel's neck soothingly. But as Noel spewed for the third time in a minute, Dave realised there was something very wrong. He watched Noel silently and worriedly; he'd seen Noel throwing up many times, but this time something seemed different.

When he had finished, Dave wrapped the dressing gown around his naked shoulders and cleaned him up, whispering gently to him the whole time. He felt Noel's body go limp against him, so he lifted the sleeping man into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. Reminded of the previous night - well, that morning really - he lay down with Noel tight to his chest once more.

Remembering his ramblings, Dave's mind wandered, coming up with a million and one crazy explanations, all equally absurd but, scarily, equally possible.

Was he over-analysing it? Had Noel simply decided to experiment with new cocktail combinations, more potent than usual? Or had he taken something worse, like drugs? Was he high on some dangerous mix of drugs and alcohol? Or, he could be going mad? Was his sunshine boy having a mental breakdown of some kind? Was he struggling with some terrible mind illness?

Stop it, Dave! This isn't helping and most of those are completely out of the question. Aren't they?

A/N: Comments and reviews much wanted please. Will update soon. =)