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When Percy came around, the first thing he noticed was the familiar feeling of having fingers running through his hair.
Monty felt Percy shift. After his episode, Monty turned him on his side, the way Felicity taught him, and rested Percy’s head on his rolled-up jacket. Then, he waited, running his fingers through Percy’s hair, hoping he would find it comforting when he came to.
Percy groaned softly. Monty leaned in.
“You’re alright,” he said softly, “It’s me, Monty. We’re in our house. You had another episode. You’re fine. Take your time. Just relax.”
Monty learned quickly that Percy’s episodes often left him disoriented and confused, so he spoke to him soothingly, being sure to tell him where he was, who was there, and that he was safe.
Percy’s eyes fluttered open and his eyes focused on Monty’s worried ones. “Sorry,” he groaned, more out of instinct than anything else.
Monty, who had paused running his fingers through his hair, continued again, adding a stroke with his thumb against Percy’s temple at each stroke. He chose to ignore the apology, deeming it too ridiculous to even consider taking seriously.
“Feels nice,” Percy mumbled. Monty smiled and kept stroking his hair.
“How do you feel?” Monty asked gently.
Percy sighed. “Tired.”
“You should rest.” Monty’s smile turned to one of half-amusement. “But let’s get you to our bed instead of the kitchen floor. That sounds much more comfortable, doesn’t it?”
It took a few minutes to get Percy up, Monty supporting most of his weight as he guided him one room over. Monty lowered him on their bed and covered him with a blanket. Percy curled into it with a sigh, letting the exhaustion start to take over.
“Do you want anything else?” Monty asked, “Water? Another blanket?”
Percy shook his head and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Monty.”
Monty looked down at Percy helplessly. He knew his epileptic episodes took a toll on him and Monty couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being able to help him more, even though Percy had assured him that he was doing great helping his recover after his episodes. Monty still wished he could do more.
Monty shut the bedroom door quietly behind him as he walked back into the kitchen. They had just gotten back from the market with all the supplies they needed for dinner when Percy suddenly dropped his basket of vegetables and collapsed. Monty sprang into action.
Now, while Percy slept, Monty put dinner on hold and started cleaning up the mess in the kitchen instead. When all the food was off the floor and put away, Monty decided to wait in their living room for Percy to wake back up. He went to the writing desk and worked on a letter to send to his mother. He never expected letters back, but he wanted to occasionally send word back to England so his mother knew he was at least alive and happy.
Several hours later, Percy stirred awake, groggy and with a slight headache. He pushed himself up and looked around his and Monty’s bedroom. The red-orange hue of sunset was bleeding in through the bedroom window, carrying the sound of the sea with it. The blanket covering Percy fell to his lap as he sat up.
The blanket Monty tucked him in with.
Percy smiled fondly. It amazed him how far Monty had come when it came to adjusting to Percy’s illness. There were still moments of awkwardness, but Monty always made it clear to him that he wanted to do whatever Percy needed.
Percy crept out of their room slowly, peering around their small apartment. He found Monty in the kitchen, chopping garlic and onions.
“How are you feeling?” Monty asked, setting down the knife and walking over. Percy immediately pulled him into a hug.
“Much better,” Percy said into Monty’s shoulder. “Thank you, Monty.”
They stayed that way for a while. When they pulled apart, Percy looked down at what Monty had been preparing.
“I figured you would probably be waking up soon,” Monty explained. “And I thought it might be best to get most of the cooking done while there was still natural light. I’m sorry. I know we were going to make dinner together. I just-”
Percy stopped him with a peck on the lips. “It’s fine Monty. Really. I’m not upset. You’re doing wonderful.”
Percy stepped away and looked at how far Monty got. They finished cooking the rest of the meal together as the sun disappeared over the horizon and ate by candlelight, speaking of the lovely evening temperature and making jokes about the crazy woman at the market buying apples.
After clearing the dishes, they went back to bed, laying close. Percy nuzzled his face against Monty’s neck and stayed there, humming contentedly.
“I hate how tired I get after an episode,” he murmured against his skin.
Monty wrapped his arms around Percy, pulling him close.
“And to think I had planned to sleep with you tonight,” he added.
Monty couldn’t see Percy’s face, but he could feel the smile against his neck. He laughed.
“That confident you’d get lucky, were you?” Monty retorted.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Percy joked, “I’ve heard the Henry Montague is quite the flirt.”
Monty rolled his eyes. “That hardly makes me easy. You speak as if I’m some kind of whore.”
Percy lifted his head and stared at Monty with a raised eyebrow. Monty gaped at him, trying to be offended, but when he could think of no comeback that would actually help him, he gave up, snapping his jaw shut and looking away stubbornly.
His façade only lasted as long as it took for Percy to chuckle. And as soon as he felt Percy’s lips press against his cheek, all his will to hold up his sour feelings vanished completely. They settled back against each other, each holding the other close.
“I love you Henry Montague,” Percy whispered in the dark.
“I love you Percy Newton,” Monty whispered back, and turned his head to plant a kiss wherever his lips happened to land. It was Percy’s forehead.
They fell asleep completely at ease.