drear | great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

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great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

[ It's over, finally. Everything is being cleared out of the building except for the people who will keep it running during this next period of hopefully-peace. People are celebrating, but Heine's just tired. He wants to go... away. Not home, never home. He'll find somewhere new.

(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)

Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.

He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.

The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]

Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?

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Yeah, yeah.

[ Heine just gets started chopping vegetables, not drinking juice or anything. ]

If you really want to stay on the couch, you can. [ After finishing chopping the onion, Heine starts heating up broth, too. ] Have you been home all day?

[ OMFG HEINE PLEASE HE'S TRYING TO LOOK OUT FOR YOU??? The sounds of Heine bustling around the kitchen are comforting, though, and he shuffles off to curl up on the couch. With the breakfast bar, you could see right through to the living room. He doesn't bother with the TV at all, just leaning his head against the back and watching Heine.

It already smells amazing with the scent of onion in the air and the green of veggies on the counter wafting over.

Ah, it was clearing his sinuses!! ]

I went into work at the garage, but they sent me home. I had a fever earlier and they bullied me.

[ The way he says it is a little fond, even if it'd been frustrating at the time. His coworkers kept a good eye on him, really. He pulls the comforter around himself a little tighter, bundled up on the couch with his knees pulled up. He still doesn't quite fit, but he can at least cover most of himself this way. ]

[ Heine'll shove a piece of garlic up his nose, that'll definitely clear his sinuses. ]

If you had a fever, you shouldn't have gone in in the first place.

[ Distracted by cooking, Heine doesn't look over for a while. After he's done chopping (going quiet as he concentrates), he starts the soup and stewing the vegetables. He takes a break after, rinsing his hands and drying them on a towel. Randall may insist that he's fine, but Heine does worry, despite his lack of expression.

With a glass of ginger ale taken from the refrigerator, Heine comes over and passes the drink to him. He wants Randall to just sit tight until he's done cooking, and it looks like that'll happen... hopefully. Silently, he tugs the comforter up to cover a little more, and then goes back to the kitchen to set the soup on its last leg of cooking. ]

[ BOYFRIEND ABUSE???? ]

I didn't when I left! ...I think.

[ He had felt all right for the most part; a little sniffly, a little cold. Surely it had just been going from a warm house into the cold, having to wait a little longer for the bus to take him to work. He'd been sluggish and just missed the first, scarcely dressed for winter as he sat around for another hour and spoke idly with the old ladies sitting with him, bundled up tight in wool coats and earmuffs and mittens. They'd even huddled up closer to him the longer they waited, breath fogging as they laughed on either side of him.

Randall watches him work with heavy-lidded eyes, the sounds and mere presence of his boyfriend all too comforting, threatening to drag him back to sleep. He's generally self-sufficient and indulgent, but he feels a little greedy now, a little lonely. He supposes everyone does when they're sick. The sound of water brings his attention back and he looks up as Heine approaches, smiling, cheeks still flushed.

His fingers will drag over Heine's when he takes the glass, arms slithering out from the folds of the comforter as little as possible before he takes slow sips, savoring it. It's ice cold on a sore throat and soothing, calming his stomach. The other man's tugging at the comforter to tuck him in where he's curled up in the corner of the couch and he just smiles, thumping his head against Heine's arm before he has a chance to pull away. ]

Thank you. How was your day?

[ Trust him, he's a ~~his mom was a shitty~~ doctor.]

Mm-hm.

[ Heine's still not convinced. Even if he's not good at taking care of himself, he wants Randall to be able to do better.

He pauses when Randall's head bumps against his arm. After a moment, he reaches out and pats his head, stroking his fingers through his hair gingerly, wary of the sensitivity that comes with sickness. ]

Fine. It started snowing on my way back. [ Heine keeps petting Randall's hair while he talks. ] I have work tomorrow too. You're going to stay home, right?

[ Doctor, or lab technician that maybe sort of melts frozen samples between his thighs while chugging coffee and preparing gel slides??? The type that knows when cultivating a certain bacteria, it smells like baking chocolate chip cookies?

The gentle touch in his hair leaves him closing his eyes and immediately slumping further into the couch, frame creaking as his weight shifts. Heine was always nice with him, even moreso when he's sick. It directly contradicted everything he said and his general attitude, but he knows that he cares. In his own ways. That's all that really mattered. ]

Did you take your good coat? Don't forget it tomorrow, to keep you warm. The puffy down one.

I'll see how I'm feeling! Maybe your soup will cure me?

[ It's playful, even if he's sluggish and his voice is softer than usual. He should be fine with some rest, really. ]

[ ~~Well, he doesn't chug the coffee...~~ ]

It's still in the closet.

[ He hasn't taken it out yet because it's not that cold, honestly, and because he doesn't like wearing bulky clothes. They make him feel stiff.

After some more hair-petting, Heine draws his hand away and straightens up. Time to check on the soup. ]

You might as well call out now. Just food isn't going to fix a fever.

[ Heine, meanwhile, is pessimistic as always. ]

You're better with the cold than I am, as always.

[ The loss of the hand in his hair is something he can tolerate, not one to fuss and whine even if he wishes Heine would just curl up on the couch with him and let him lay his head in his lap for the rest of the night, stroking his hair. Brown eyes follow him back through the kitchen, raising his nose as if he could catch a whiff when the lid comes off the stockpot and he watches the steam curl upwards. He can imagine them either way. ]

Would body heat?

[ It's offered lightly, a teasing little proposition that leads to an even littler weak cough from raising his voice to be heard. ]

[ The soup is cooking well. Heine hums vaguely in acknowledgement; he's all right with the cold, but in the hot summer, he's utterly miserable, so he's not looking forward to that. He'll take winter.

The commonness of illness, though, is a pain in the ass. Heine leans back into the living room, giving Randall an unimpressed look. He doesn't even deign it with a verbal reply. ]

Come sit at the table.

[ Returning to the stove, he turns off the heat and leaves the pot there for a while longer before going to slice some bread and toast the slices. Heine's not sure if Randall will even be able to stomach bread, but he wants some, at least, even if his throat feels a little scratchy. ]

[ omfg rude... That was like one of Randall's first attempts at a proposition.

But the soup does smell heavenly, with enough onion and garlic to open his senses, stock roiling and cooking into the vegetables he'd added. He's excited to see just what all he'd pulled together. Both of them had gotten the hang of cooking the basics to feed each other and they only improved with practice, so Randall is getting to his feet and bringing his comforter with him, still wrapped up in its warmth as he makes his way to the table and takes a careful seat.

It clings into his shoulders for the most part and lays wrapped about his lap, but his arms are free and his stomach's quick to take to the chill of the apartment once bared, even layered in a sleep shirt and a sweatshirt. ]

It's been a while since we've had soup, hasn't it? And it'll keep well for leftovers.

[ Sorry??? Try again Randall. ]

Yeah. Here— [ He takes bread out of the toaster oven and puts it on another plate that he slides to the center of the table. ] Try and eat some of the bread too.

[ Heine's still wearing his street clothes, including his jacket, but the longer he looks at Randall, the more he wants to change into something soft and comfortable and get into bed.

Well, after eating. He sniffles again and spoons out soup into two bowls for them, then takes a seat across the table. Heine starts eating, dipping a piece of crusty bread into the hot soup and taking a large bite. ]

[ Bread, he thinks, he can probably handle, already reaching for a piece to nibble off a bite before soup's even in front of him. Ah... maybe not so much. The crunching makes his head ache, but once Heine is setting their bowls down and one of those big hands scoops it a little closer to him, he'll dip the toast in and savor it that way.

His bites are a good deal smaller, body aching from his cold, but it's delicious all the same. There's a soft rumble of delight under his breath and his eyes close with the flavor. ]

It's really good, thanks.

[ His words are lacking their usual oomph, but it's just as sincere regardless. Ah, but those sniffles are worrying him... Hasn't his body adjusted to the warmth of the apartment yet? Randall looks up and tilts his head in silent question, pausing between bites. ]

Edited 2015-06-03 17:27 (UTC)

You're welcome.

[ Heine has long since learned to accept Randall's sincerity for what it is, and to be thankful for it. He spoons up some soup to sip, eyes lowered. So it's a moment before he sees the inquiry in his boyfriend's motions. ]

I'm not sick. [ Or so he'll protest until he's vomiting later... ] Don't worry about it.

Edited (aa... wrong icon) 2015-06-04 04:11 (UTC)

[ It's tempting to shovel it down, but he makes an effort (for table manners and for his body, which would likely protest) to slow down and take his time. Even so, half the bowl's gone in no time flat, glancing up at Heine and not looking terribly convinced when he tells him not to worry. ]

At least wait until I'm feeling better; we can't both be sick at the same time. Nothing'll get done.

[ It's a sullen tone, half teasing and half genuine. Randall's all about positive thinking battling most ailments, but he's convinced Heine's caught his cold and he feels terrible about it. ]

[ Heine rolls his eyes slightly, still chewing on a mouthful of bread. He finishes his bread and the vegetables first before speaking again. ]

I can't really control that if I'm already sick, you know. [ And he really doesn't think he's sick anyway. As he's eating, Heine keeps an eye on how much Randall is consuming, trying to make sure that he's getting enough for his sickness and for his larger frame. ]

[ DID YOU JUST ROLL YOUR EYES AT HIM... OMFG.

Randall looks scandalized. ]

It's supposed to take a week to incubate a cold, you know, so if you end up sick because of me... At least I'll be able to take care of you.

[ It's a bit sullen, the way he says it, but he keeps eating his soup and eventually lifts the bowl to drain the stock he couldn't get in his spoon. Predictably, he goes for seconds, lumbering up out of his chair and leaving the comforter in the seat, stopping beside Heine to see how he's doing on his soup. He can refill him while he's up, if he wants! ]

Edited 2015-06-05 03:45 (UTC)

[ Heine acknowledges this with an "mm-hm" before he eats a bit more. As Randall stops by, he shakes his head lightly—no, he doesn't want any more soup. He finishes up one slice of toast and takes another. ]

Don't eat too much, either.

[ Crunching on a piece of carrot. ] You'll make yourself feel worse later.

[ Ah... that made sense, actually. He was getting carried away because he enjoyed it, but Heine made a good point, so he hums a thoughtful little sound and just goes to put his bowl in the sink instead, running some water in it. ]

True. There'll always be some for later. We just can't forget to put it in the fridge once it's cooled down some, too...

[ Without much grace, he goes back to his seat and wraps up in the comforter to wait for Heine to finish, giving him a small smile. ]

It really was very good, thank you.

[ Heine acknowledges the reminder with just a soft sound, but it tickles his throat and he ends up coughing a little. ]

I'll clean it up. [ He finishes up his bread in a few more large bites, then picks up his bowl to down the soup before getting to his feet. ] Now get back into bed.

[ He snags a water bottle from the package on the countertop and shoves it at Randall, trying to nudge him toward the bedroom already. ]

Edited (wrong icon) 2015-06-05 17:27 (UTC)

[ The cough worries him, and despite whatever Heine could say, he fears the worst; perhaps he hadn't gotten Heine sick, but someone had, and now they're both going to be miserable.

It doesn't help much that they share their bed and he's subjected to all of Randall's germs. Ah, what a mess. He does, at least, know better than to argue with his boyfriend, and takes the water a little timidly. ]

All right, all right. See you soon?

[ He'll take the closeness for a chance to nuzzle his nose in fluffy white hair and press a little kiss to the crown of his head before turning to do just as he's commanded. Consider it a thank you for dinner. Without much other rebellion, he'll take himself and his comforter down the hall to their room and climb into bed with the telltale creak of the frame.

His stomach is still rather full, but it's a comfortable warmth that he enjoys. So long as he moves slowly. ]

Yeah, I'll come to bed soon.

[ Heine doesn't resist Randall's affections, actually leaning a little into his chest before he leaves. He busies himself with cleaning up the kitchen, washing out the bowls and soup pot before putting them on the rack. As dispassionate as he can be, he doesn't like leaving a mess for the next morning... even if he is feeling tired.

Once things are put away, he finally takes his jacket off and hangs it on the coat rack. He washes up quickly in the bathroom, takes a shower and cleans his teeth, but it's still more than an hour before he goes into the bedroom.

Assuming Randall is asleep, Heine moves quietly around the room and toward the bed, ready to find a space to tuck himself into. If Randall's curled up as usual, he wants to be right up next to his stomach where it's always warm and comfortable. ]

[ It was the sound of the shower that ultimately had him dozing off, the familiarity of running water over someone else's body and the sounds of it sloshing about, flow interrupted by someone else's movement— he couldn't imagine ever having to live without this again. Even the sound of him brushing his teeth is relaxing because it meant life. Life other than his own, in this space he occupies in time. Something shared and wonderful and warm, but he dozes lightly and drifts back to wakefulness when Heine pads around the room, arm lifting to raise the blankets and offer Heine is favorite spot.

It's Randall's favorite, too. Having Heine curled up against him to share his warmth was a lovely and delicate little thing he savored, even sleepy and sick and woozy from the day's excitement and medicine. He doesn't even really manage words; there's a sleepy mumble of something resembling "good night" mixed with something like "sleep well" and then he's nuzzling right into the nape of Heine's neck and he's out like a light.

There's the smell of shampoo and damp white fluff and then nothing. No nightmares, no bizarre warped dreams, no memories of a life that felt all too much like his real past. ]

[ He'd dried his hair some, but it's still damp. He tries to keep it from going into Randall's face as he lies down, his back to Randall's front, but his boyfriend doesn't seem to mind. So Heine settles that way, mumbling a good night to him as well.

It's a vague, sleepy desire, but he wants a kiss. They've been avoiding it ever since Randall's cold started showing symptoms, and Heine misses it, though he wouldn't want to say it out loud now. That'd be embarrassing.

He sleeps soundly, snuggling back into his boyfriend's chest over the course of the night. It's in the morning that things take a turn for the worse. When he wakes up and tries to swallow, a sharp pain goes through his throat. Heine tries to speak, and that hurts too.

Shit, he really did get sick. Wanting to grumble but unable to, Heine extracts himself from the blankets to search for water. ]

[ Heine stirs and so does Randall, the slightest movements and the stutter of the muscles in his back with that swallow bringing him back to the surface to wake.

The first thing he notices is he doesn't feel as crummy as before. His limbs are still a bit achey and he has that ticklish urge in his throat to cough, but the excess heat and congestion are largely... gone. He's still sick, but the worst part is over, it seems. And he's hungry. It's what has him rousing, pushing himself up on one arm as Heine pushes the blankets off. ]

Heine...? Are you all right?

[ Randall's water bottle is still on the nightstand with one other half-emptied, yet to be opened. He lays one of those large hands on Heine's shoulder, voice still a little gravelly and dry but sounding a bit better than last night. ]

[ He can feel Randall stirring behind him, but he's really wants water right now. He just shakes his head a little and grabs the unopened water bottle. Cracking it open and taking a long drink, he slouches and leans against the wall. ]

'm fine. Just thirsty.

[ Shit, he didn't expect his voice to sound that bad. Heine winces and takes another drink of water.

Ugh, and he has work today. He doesn't feel really good, but surely he'll be able to get through the day without feeling worse. This feeling of being ill will go away, hopefully. Heine starts going out to the bathroom to wash up, pausing to pat the back of Randall's hand. ]

You'd still better stay home.

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