You relaxed on your desk chair next to your bed. Hanzo was stiffly curled on it, nauseous and stomach bursting with Christmas cake from the eating contest Genji had challenged him to. Hanzo won, but he was paying for it now.
“He said they installed an ‘iron stomach’ in him and you didn’t believe it?”
Hanzo made a dismissive, grumpy noise, and eyed you angrily; the other eye was smushed into the pillow.
“Maybe you should have believed your brother after the second, whole cake.”
Hanzo stuck out his lip barely perceptively.
“You would not understand. It was a matter of pride at that point.”
As much as you would have liked to contemplate what having an iron stomach meant, since you were vaguely familiar with iron lungs, and as much as Hanzo was hilariously dramatic when he was annoyed, you had to finish this email to your mother. You spun back around in your computer chair to face your laptop, dismissing your princess of a boyfriend. If he was going to vaguely insult you, he didn’t deserve your attention, anyway.
Hanzo rustled the sheets on your shared bed behind you. Then he made short, pouty noises.
“I put the little trash can next to the bed with a bag in it. In case you need to throw up.”
“You have no sympathy,” he accused.
“What!” you exclaimed, spinning back around, “I have more sympathy than you.”
“You are ignoring me,” he said quietly.
You sighed and crossed your arms.
“You know I have to email my mother back in a timely manner or she gets annoyed.”
He didn’t reply right away, so you spun back around again to tap away on the keyboard, packing as many optimistic platitudes and fake politeness into the email as you possibly could. You knew what your mother wanted to hear.
Hanzo made another pouty noise, but you just smiled to yourself. The only reason he was even behaving this way, was because he trusted you not to tell anyone about it.
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