Peter's Sick Day

It couldn’t be. There was no way! Peter couldn't be sick - he had a deadline for Velveteen's latest runway walk. He had to get just the right shade of blue for their eyes to sparkle, plus the other succubuns modeling for his Cottontail Couture show. He had to make sure that everyone looked their best to keep on top of his budding brand. There was a lot of demand from everyone, and with that Peter knew he had to be the best he could be. He had no time for colds or coughs.

As the fever wracked his body, he wasn’t exactly doing what he should have been doing. Instead of really being able to concentrate, his mind kept fogging over, making it difficult. Peter had his sketchbook out and was drawing different outfits for succubuns - both doll form and bun form. Yes, it was a gauche to dress in some clothing as a bun, but he wanted to change that. Peter had a big notion that he could do the next it thing to bring fashion to Burrowgatory. The work was rough and not near its typical level of perfection that he’d been known for.

Unwanted, a rough cough wracked his throat and the doll grasped it, dropping his pencil. As the cough continued, Peter wrapped his arms around his body, drawing his legs up to his torso in pain. His blue eyes watered and he shook with the intensity of it. Why did he have to get sick when he had such an important show coming up?

Feeling miserable, Peter’s lungs finally started to calm after several minutes. With shaking legs, he got up from his desk in his office and stumbled his way to his kitchen. He dug around in the cupboard for a few minutes before he selected a nice elderberry tea and some honey. Looking above his sink, he got down his heavy brass teapot and went through the motions of filling it with water and putting it on to boil.

Weakly, Peter plopped himself down at the small kitchen table, ruffling his fingers through his messy hair. He needed to take a break, his work at the moment was subpar. Maybe he should postpone the show and work on getting better. Yes, he wanted to be on the edge of innovation, but if he continued to push himself like this he’d only end up more sick.

With a heavy, wheezy sigh he put away his notebooks with designs and got out a ball of yarn and some knitting needles. Maybe he could make himself something warm and cozy while he started his process of getting better. Peter tended to make his yarn from his own fur, spinning it when he got the chance. Some people would find it weird, sure, but he shed anyways. May as well make something with it over throwing perfectly good fur away.

He’d dyed the fur a soft pink color and so far, he’d made a cake of it but nothing else. That’d been the last time he had a moment to himself. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had downtime. It would take a little while before he really was doing anything worth doing, but his needles worked fast. As he blocked out exactly what he wanted to do, Peter began to knit and purl a simple seed stitch mindlessly.

His bamboo needles made little noise as he worked, so he was startled by the whistling of his teapot. Laughing gravely at himself, the doll got up and walked to take it off the eye of the stove and got his favorite tea cup out of the upper cabinet to the right. He added a generous dollop of honey from the jar and stirred it from a spoon. As Peter took a tentative sip of the hot liquid, its warmth flooded down his throat, easing his abused windpipe.

The doll hummed in appreciation and he got back to his knitting. Maybe it wasn’t what he wanted to be doing, but he definitely was enjoying the small break he was allowing himself. Peter didn’t know the last time he’d allowed himself downtime that wasn’t immersed in his own work.

As the clock ticked on, Peter had a fairly large blanket in but a few hours. As he cuddled up on his plush sofa under his work, Peter smiled and continued his knitting. As the hours continued to tick on, eventually Peter was done with his craft. He smiled at the idea that he’d had time to really do something for himself, something as relaxing as knitting. Looking at the time, Peter got up and stretched, taking his blanket to his bed. Peter’s eyes began to drift closed, and the bun had a feeling that he’d feel better in the morning.