Chapter Text
Nadir would never have admitted it, but a part of him had always been the slightest bit vain. Even before his flight from Persia, when his work was far from clean and anything but delicate, his presentation mattered to him more than many thought it should have. It mattered twice as much now. Now, he could hardly call it vanity anymore. Leaving the house every day as polished as a person could possibly be was simply a means of survival. He knew, of course, that he couldn’t convince anyone that he was ‘one of the acceptable foreigners.’ Americans did not truly believe such a thing existed. (Nadir dropped the idea, anyway, when he realized that the notion of an unacceptable foreigner didn’t sit right with him.) What he could do, however, was look just put-together enough that— if nothing else— strangers would leave him alone. Besides, old habits died hard. He loved the saying because it was true. If he’d spent upwards of twenty minutes on his hair and face every day for the past thirty-five or so years, why should he have had to stop now?
It stood to reason, then, that his illness had sapped his ego as well as his spirit.
Come the next morning, Nadir finally understood— or thought he understood— Erik’s revulsion toward mirrors. He’d gathered the strength to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom, but he could scarcely recognize the man staring back at him. Sleep and restlessness alike had disheveled his hair. When he ran a hand through it experimentally, his index finger caught on a snag. This confirmed Nadir’s worst fear. Once groomed to meticulous perfection, his hair had become hopelessly tangled from only twenty-four hours of neglect. He would need an eternity to fix it now.
And it got worse. Nadir met his own eyes and found that they’d sunken considerably. Dark imprints had set up what seemed like a permanent residence just beneath them. The mere sight made him fatigued. He stepped closer to the sink, ran the faucet for a bit, and splashed cold water on his face in the vain hope that it would make them go away.
It woke him up, if nothing else.
“You’re up early,” Nadir said, upon entering the dining room again. His throat was still clogged and contaminated, and every breath was still a faint wheeze, but he could at least talk now without wanting his trachea removed. The sight of Erik pouring tea had surprised him.
Erik looked up and gave him a weary smile. His own eyes were darkened, too. “You’re up late. I was just about to wake you. I take it you slept well?”
“I certainly…” Nadir was about to answer when an enormous yawn interrupted him. “Oh, dear. Excuse me. I did. And you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Erik said, and waved a hand dismissively. Nadir wasn’t sure if he could follow such an order. “Have a seat. I made you black tea with honey, just the way you like it.”
Nadir hesitated.
“Come, now. I’m not that miserable of a cook.” Erik chuckled, a soft, good-natured sort of sound. He pulled out the chair next to him without standing up. “Sit.”
Without another word, Nadir slid into the chair. His hand snaked around the teacup in front of him. It was just the right temperature. Nadir took a tentative sip. Erik was right: it could have been far worse. The tea itself was a bit too watery for Nadir’s liking, but the honey more than made up for it in both taste and texture. Erik must have poured in at least a tablespoon. More than usual. Probably to soothe Nadir’s throat, he thought. Lured in by the sweetness, Nadir lifted his cup with both hands and drained it in a few gulps.
He could tell Erik’s eyes were on him. “Good?”
“Quite.” A feeling of deep calm, bordering on sleepiness, had settled into Nadir’s body now. He waited until Erik had looked away to lick his lips. “I really must thank you. You would make an excellent nurse.”
Erik exhaled through his nose and repeated the same ritual he’d performed yesterday: his hand on Nadir’s forehead, then his neck, then his back. “Don’t flatter me. Your fever’s gone down somewhat. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
Erik nodded solemnly. When he reached out to hold Nadir’s face in one hand, Nadir’s fever spiked all over again.
“You look tired.” Erik tilted Nadir’s head to one side, his grip gentle yet firm on Nadir’s jaw. “I hate seeing you like this.”
Nadir succumbed to the urge to smile. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“Are you hungry, by any chance?”
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure.
Nadir hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. The illness had stolen his appetite— and, in hindsight, he likely wouldn’t have had the strength to hold down food, even if he’d tried. He knew, logically, that he should have been hungry. Yet eating just seemed like such an ordeal. More trouble than it was worth. He would have to fight against the dull pain in his throat, to act as though food interested him when he knew it would probably taste like nothing.
“You have to eat something,” Erik suggested delicately. “I know I’m… admittedly not very talented in the culinary arts. We both know this. But I can at least butter some bread for you. Maybe pour you a glass of milk. Would you like that?”
He was right. That didn’t sound terrible.
Nadir relented. “Perhaps I would.”
Drowsiness was creeping up on him again. Nadir munched contentedly on a crust of sourdough and thought of nothing in particular, nothing aside from the fact that his belly was full and warm and he had Erik to thank for it.
“I really did mean it,” Nadir began, “when I said you’d make an excellent nurse.”
Erik made a sound of acknowledgement and sipped at his second cup of tea.
Nadir continued. He was a bit too sleepy to think about what he was saying. “You’ve been so… attentive. Even when I was nasty to you, you did your best to keep me comfortable. More comfortable than I deserved.”
“Nonsense. You deserve all the comfort in the world, Nadir.” Erik’s eyes were earnest. Nadir thought he saw something sad in their depths.
“Not when I’m acting like that.”
“It doesn’t matter how you’re acting.”
Nadir pondered this in silence. Morning was on the cusp of afternoon. A sunbeam peered in through the window and left a radiant yellow square on the table, just in front of Nadir.
“I’m tempted to ask whether you’ve ever cared for someone like that before,” he said, after a while.
Erik nodded. A little stiffly, Nadir thought. “I have. My mother. Her constitution took a beating after she had me. When I was a boy, she’d come down with a cold at least once each year.”
“Oh.” Nadir’s breakfast wasn’t sitting so well with him anymore. He stared at the table. He couldn’t look Erik in the eye. “So I suppose you’re accustomed to looking after someone who’s quick-tempered with you.”
“No. Not quite. Illness was something of a holiday in my youth. Whenever she or I was sick, she was actually rather gentle.”
Erik took another sip of tea, as though he hadn’t just revealed something that struck Nadir as deeply disturbing.
“I know I’ll probably catch whatever you’ve got,” he went on. “I don’t mind. So long as you feel better, I’m more than content.”
Nadir looked at Erik and was at once taken aback by the way his chest ached. Probably just lingering phlegm, he thought. And yet… the subtle sweetness in his voice… the little crows’ feet around his eyes that deepened when he smiled, satisfied with a job well done, safe in the knowledge that he could trust Nadir… the way he’d touched Nadir so carefully, handled him like a gentleman… he couldn’t ignore any of it. It was…
It made him…
Erik was so…
“When you fall ill, it’ll be my turn to wait on you,” Nadir said. “Otherwise, I’m not sure I can do much else to repay you.”
Erik scoffed. Not bitterly, not disdainfully. “No need for remuneration. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Yes. Friends.
Nadir hummed in agreement.