**A Night of Ups and Downs**

Prompt: Simon yates woke up in the middle of the night, batteling a wave if nausea. It soon became clear that he was going to puke. He did not want to make a mess but he voulden get up fast enough to make it to the bathroom. The sound of him puking woke up his wife emily who had been sleeping peacfully besides him. She rushed to take care of him. Dimon felt like a burden. Simon leand on the badframe withe a bucket clutched in his hand as emily cleans up the mess. Guilt seemd to rise up in simon as well as an other wave of nausea. He was thankfull for the bucket then. As soon as simon started retching again, emily rushed to his side to comfort him. The day was filled with comfort and sickness. After dinner it went wrong again. Simon got of the couch en swiftly walked to the sink were he started puking al ofer again. Emily rushed to his side once more to offer some form of comford

Simon Yates woke up in the middle of the night, battling a wave of nausea that churned in his gut like a stormy sea. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, illuminating the shadows of their cozy bedroom, but all he could focus on was the overwhelming sensation clawing at his insides. It soon became clear that he was going to puke, and his heart raced as he recognized the impending disaster. “Not like this,” he thought, panic tightening around his chest. He didn’t want to make a mess—not in their peaceful sanctuary, not when Emily was sleeping soundly beside him. With every ounce of willpower, Simon swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but his body protested, heavy and sluggish, as if dragging him back into the warm cocoon of sheets. The bathroom felt miles away, but the sense of urgency grew with each relentless gag. “Come on, come on,” he murmured to himself, struggling against his own weakness, desperately wanting to spare Emily the sight of him in such a vulnerable state. The familiar cramps twisted in his belly again, and the inevitable wave of nausea crashed over him. He barely made it off the bedside before he felt the bile rising, hot and bitter. For a fleeting moment, he thought of just letting it happen right there, but his consciousness fought against the idea. Instead, he made for the bucket they kept by the desk, just in case. Grasping it tightly, he doubled over, the first retch escaping before he even realized what was happening. The noise jolted Emily awake, the peaceful expression on her face replaced by alarm. “Simon?” she called out groggily, her voice tinged with concern as she sat up abruptly, her eyes widening when she saw him hunched over. “I’m… I’m okay!” he managed to choke out, but it was a lie that rang hollow even to his own ears. The warmth of her worry wrapped around him like a blanket, smothering his attempts to push her away. “No, you’re not,” she replied, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Within moments, she was at his side, her brow furrowed with concern. Simon leaned heavily against the bed frame, the bucket clutched against his stomach like a lifeline as he succumbed to another wave of nausea. His guilt swelled as he watched Emily scramble to handle the situation, the woman he adored reduced to cleaning up his mess in the middle of the night. He hated feeling like a burden, like a liability that disrupted their lives. As she busied herself with paper towels, Simon felt like he was sinking deeper into a pit, each wave of nausea and guilt both a reminder of his vulnerability and a pinprick of despair. “Just breathe, Simon,” Emily said softly, her hand rubbing circles on his back. “You’ll be okay. Just let it out.” Her kindness burned against his senses and made the retching more intense. The second round came violently, forcing the contents from his stomach in a way that felt more like an eruption than a release. When the last dry heave subsided, he leaned back against the wall, the coolness soothing against his clammy skin. Emily, still steadfast by his side, gently guided him to sit. He could see the worry etched across her features, and it twisted his heart. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around himself as though to physically contain the shame threatening to overflow. “Simon, you have nothing to be sorry for,” she said firmly, her fingers grazing his cheek. “You’re sick. It’s okay to need help.” Her voice was steady, embodying the reassurance he so desperately needed but struggled to accept. Hours melted away as the night progressed, and while he felt gratitude in Emily’s presence, the nausea lingered like an uninvited guest. He eventually found sleep again, only to be jolted awake by the disorder that returned with the dawn. The morning felt heavy with an unsettling sensation, and the day unfolded haphazardly. Simon attempted to push through, but each time he gathered the strength to move, his stomach betrayed him. After a lackluster breakfast, they settled onto the couch, hoping a movie could distract him from the encroaching gloom. But Simon's body had other plans. Just as the first scene began to play, he felt the telltale churn return. Waving a hand to stop Emily from leaning over, he shot up abruptly and rushed to the sink in the kitchen, panic fueling his steps. Once again, the familiar retching sounds filled the air, the cool kitchen tile hardly a welcoming space in comparison to their cozy living room. Emily followed close behind, urgency in her movements, as she rushed to hold his hair back, her presence a stabilizing force amid the chaos of his discomfort. “I’m right here, Simon,” she whispered softly, her voice weaving through the cacophony of his struggles. The cycle continued, a dance of comfort and sickness that intertwined their lives in a way that felt both intimate and appalling. He couldn’t shake the guilt that clung to him, that shadow that whispered his worthlessness in moments like these. After the bout finally subsided, he rested against the cool tile, drawing ragged breaths. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, feeling the weight of his fragility settle into the pit of his stomach. “Please,” Emily replied, her voice steady yet soft. “Just take care of yourself. That's all I want.” Simon nodded slowly, finally realizing that to truly get through this with Emily by his side meant surrendering to the vulnerability for once. He wouldn't have to be the strong one, not right now. As his body slowly began to recover, they emerged from those early days of sickness and guilt, learning once again that love doesn’t mind getting messy. It thrives in the chaos, finding strength in the weakness, and as each wave threatened to pull him under, he clutched onto that undeniable bond.