Archive of Our Own

Avdol always thought of himself as a healthy person. He wasn't exactly a health nut, finding himself leagues away from the diet and exercise freaks that plastered themselves over every magazine he saw, but he had always been a physically capable person. Past the age of seven he couldn't recall a single time he was bedridden with an illness. Even during the darker chapters of his travels, with all kinds of sickness around him, he never came down with something. And while he rarely partook in exercise, he tried wherever possible to find easy ways to keep active, plus always attempted to achieve a balanced and varied diet.

So after all this time, why was he developing symptoms of something now? And why did it have to be today, of all days? This week?

The calendar, hung with twine on the living room wall, showed it was December - although anyone could've guessed that just by looking outside. Snow had recently stopped falling, the landscape outside more white than gray; the powdered sugar sprinkled onto the ground was entirely untouched. The only sign of life was a single crow, riding on the breeze to come sit on the outer windowsill of the room. If it had been a robin instead, the scene would've been straight out of a Christmas card.

It was Wednesday. December 13th. A full year since he had been stabbed in the back by J Geil and shot in the head by Hol Horse. He looked through the open door across the hall to the kitchen, to his boyfriend, standing by the pantry cabinets as he hummed to himself. Polnareff seemed to be in a good mood, and the anniversary wasn't important; no need to bring it up.

At the moment, Avdol was sat in one of the living room armchairs. The room had a high ceiling, wooden beams criss-crossing above. The walls were uneven stone brick on two sides, wood on the other (and the rest of the house sectioned off with the last). Apparently the building had been renovated into a home from a barn in the early 1920s furthermore Polnareff had been born and raised in it - the Frenchman had never moved out of it in all his years, so Avdol found it common courtesy to instead move in. It would be a waste, after all, to leave behind a building with such rich history to it. Even the armchair he was in had history: a quilt laid over its back, made from green and white and pink squares, supposedly made by Polnareff's mother during her pregnancy with Sherry. A blue and gold twin was similarly folded in a rocking chair in the master bedroom; Polnareff's.

Avdol was preoccupied with a book (an intriguing look into local wartime history) - or at least, he had been, until he noticed sinus congestion in his head and lost all semblance of concentration. His metal fingers tapped the edge of the hardback cover mindlessly, as his eyes drifted to the calendar to the window to his boyfriend and back again. From tomorrow to the following Tuesday was circled in red and decorated with the occasional exclamation point. Old friends were visiting; the other half of the Stardust Crusaders were to spend a pre-Christmas getaway in the French countryside. They'd all be reunited in person for the first time in forever... And Avdol was developing a cold.

He considered getting up to grab a tissue or two so he could clear his nose before the real congestion set in, but Iggy was curled up at his feet on the carpet, and Avdol couldn't find the heart to get up and risk waking him. After what they had been through Iggy had warmed up to Polnareff significantly, but still seemed to only let his guard down around the other man. It was an odd trust, but it was one Avdol didn't want to betray. Staying seated it was.

Still, the creeping, unnerving ticklishness that dripped from the back of his skull whenever he looked down at his book was annoying, to say the least. Not to mention entirely too distracting. He could call Polnareff over and ask him to bring a tissue box, however disturbing him wasn't something he was eager to do, especially if and when Polnareff found out the favour only needed done because a certain "mutt" was in the way. Plus it was cute, watching him move around in the kitchen, lost in his own world. He wouldn't want to drag him from it.

The third option, the one Avdol opted for, was to just live with it. The common cold affected millions, if not billions of people every year, and they got on with their lives without a hitch. All Avdol had to do was ignore it. Attempting to absorb himself in his book once more he occasionally cleared his throat softly, the sensation simultaneously relieving and unpleasant - his throat wasn't sore, but he feared it was soon going to be. With no tissues or handkerchiefs on hand, Avdol decided to withdraw any mucus in his nose with a sniff. A sniff that was meant to be discreet, yet somehow managed to produce an almost comically loud honk.

Avdol wasn't looking in his direction, but he could tell Polnareff had stopped moving. He couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, soft and repetitive on the kitchen tile. The footsteps he could hear, however, came after a pause: light and bounding steadily in his direction. He immediately turned his head back down towards his book (and immediately regretted it, the dripping sensation resuming with greater intensity) - as far as he was concerned, all that was going on here was the intake of knowledge about changes of agricultural techniques in the French countryside during the first world war.

The footsteps stopped, Polnareff poking his head in the doorway and leaning ever so slightly over the small drop in elevation from the hallway to the living room. The house was old and he was tall, the height of his upstyled hair nearly brushing the top of the doorframe. A hand with missing fingers was perched on the side of the frame, the man clinging there for balance as he peeked into the room. Though Avdol wasn't looking at him, he'd bet money he was grinning.

"I didn't know you let geese in here," Polnareff commented as innocuously as possible, eyes briefly flitting around the near empty room, "I thought you were more fond of chickens."

"Tastes change." Avdol lied simply, playing along with the charade. He flipped a page, pretending to be absolutely enamoured with the writing.

Polnareff chuckled after a beat, evidently amused: "I'm going to assume that wasn't Iggy."

Though Avdol didn't move his head he finally glanced up, finding Polnareff looking at him. His cheeks were high, his smile beaming, and Avdol cracked. It was impossible to be embarrassed about something so petty around someone so infectiously shameless.

He closed the pages over a bookmark he grabbed from the coffee table, the book replacing it in its spot. He leaned back in the chair, looking at his boyfriend absently: "You might be right."

"Can I hear it again?"

"What?" Avdol raised an eyebrow, "No."

"Boo. You're no fun."

Avdol sighed at him, moving swiftly on to the explanation, "I think I'm developing a cold."

"Ironic."

"Truly. Magician's Red is probably how I've avoided them all these years."

"Avoided them?" Polnareff crossed his arms. "You don't get colds?"

"Not usually," Avdol paused, "and I'm glad. They seem annoying to deal with."

"Definitely," Polnareff nodded, "but it'll be fine! A solid cold once in a while will do you good!"

"And you're basing this on...?"

"My own personal sense of schadenfreude." Polnareff commented, then clapped his hands, filling back up with enthusiasm. "Speaking of which, come on, get up! We've got work to do!"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's stopped snowing, and the weather girl said yesterday it isn't supposed to snow some more for the next few days. We've gotta clear the drive while it's still fresh or we'll regret it later," Polnareff spun on his heels, "and I'm not doing it alone."

The drive in Polnareff's voice to do such a mundane task made Avdol laugh to himself quietly, finally getting up (and disturbing the less than impressed Iggy). The hallway was warmer than the living room, being nestled closer to the heart of the house, and the floor was made of palely varnished wooden boards. By now Polnareff was already by the front door, rooting around for his snow boots, and Avdol considered in the back of his mind whether or not he had gotten there by sliding across the floorboards in his socks. It was a dumb idea, but one he could imagine him doing, especially if someone put him up to it.

He leaned behind him once he caught up, plucking his own boots from their spot. These were newly bought, the soles barely scuffed - having been rooted in Egypt for most of his life, he never particularly found the need to buy a pair. Polnareff's, on the other hand, were obviously used. The sides were battered in different places, the laces of each boot being different thicknesses so likely having come from separate packs. Avdol wasn't even entirely confident the shoes were from a matching pair in the first place: a bizarrely colored stain on the heel of the left one could've been a pattern long since faded. Who could tell?

As Avdol finished lacing up his boots, Polnareff closed his coat with a loud zip. It was black, almost with the appearance of a bomber jacket, but an inch or two longer and built for winter. Over it, he swung a scarf around his neck; champagne colored, with golden embroidery. It had been one of many presents in the bounty he received for his birthday a little over a week ago, and knowing Joseph, there were likely more headed his way.

Avdol remembered when the idea to buy him the scarf first popped into his head. It had been on the morning of the first frost of the upcoming winter, a biting day in mid November. They had been standing around the dining table in the kitchen as Polnareff complained about the slick leaf litter on the path outside. He did so as he made black coffee by the sink, Avdol already cradling a mug (with calico cats painted on) of chai tea in his hands.

"Your favorite color is gold?" He had asked, a little perplexed. It was an ice breaker Polnareff had brought up out of the blue, and it wasn't a topic Avdol had expected to be surprised by the answer to.

"What's the matter with gold?" Polnareff had responded, a mix of defensive and nonchalant, peeking over his shoulder.

"Nothing. I just... Didn't expect it."

"Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

Avdol pondered it a moment, moving a hand from his mug to his chin: "I always assumed it'd be silver - or perhaps blue or red, at a stretch. I'm not sure I'd ever guess gold."

"Why silver; because of my hair?"

"More because of your stand," Avdol smiled, "although you could argue your hair is just as important in your life."

"It is truly marvelous." Polnareff agreed with a smirk. "So, what's yours?"

"Favorite color?" Avdol took a swig of his drink as he frowned at his own predictability: "Orange."

In the present day he resumed flinching at the prevalence of a favorite: swiping at a coat rack he grabbed his jacket, a thin long woollen article, dyed an iron oxide shade of burnt sienna. He wasn't really one for heavy coats, preferring to instead put on greater and greater numbers of cardigans and sweaters, but this was primarily waterproof and acted as an effective windbreaker, and that was all he needed for the task.

"Is that all you're wearing?" Polnareff frowned at him as he opened the front door, as if there were another option somewhere. "You haven't even buttoned it up."

"I'm not cold." He responded plainly as he followed him out to the porch, referring to Magician's Red.

"Yeah, but you'll just make your sniffles worse."

"My sniffles."

"Yeah!" Polnareff smiled, walking a few strides to the edge of the porch to pick up the snow shovels, which he had deposited there from the shed last night. Surprisingly forward thinking of him. "You know, your congestion."

"Right." Avdol returned the expression, grasping the handle of the shovel he was offered, "I'm sure I'll be fine."

The drive they were to shovel was less of a conventional driveway and more of a forked path leading from the road, one snaking in the direction of the shed and garden near the back of the house and the other the thinner cobblestone path running up to the front porch. The area of snow they had to move wasn't that large, but it ran in tendrils, making the route they had to cover seem unreasonably long.

"Hmm." Polnareff said as he stopped on the final step of the porch, foot hovering over the blanket of white beneath his feet.

"Hmm?" Avdol followed up, eyebrow raised as he watched his boyfriend deep in sudden thought.

"I was planning on doing this the traditional way, but why don't you just get Magician's Red to melt it all?" He looked at him with a pair of scheming and pleading eyes. "It'll cut our time tenfold; the less time out here the better. It's basically arctic conditions!'

Avdol blinked at him in response: "It's certainly enticing, but the melted water would just make a sheet of black ice. It's dangerous, Jean."

"Damn. And here I had hoped to get out of shoveling this year."

"Sorry." He sympathised, giving an apologetic smile.

"It's no problem - if we work together it'll be done in no time!" Polnareff exclaimed with optimism as he plopped down into the snow with a deeply satisfying crunch. "What's a little hard labour, anyway?"

He marched off to start at the other side of the house, a liveliness in his step. The world seemed silent today save for the two of them, their movements in the snow sounding like tissue paper crinkling right against their ears. The wind was lacking, as if beginning to settle down for a late afternoon nap, making the cold tolerable: it didn't slice into their flesh like the usual conditions would allow, instead seeping into their bones like they were a sponge. At least, that's how it was for one of them: at the smallest sign of chill (especially in his arms), Avdol warmed himself further, either through upping his pace or with a gust of hot air from his stand. Into the seventh or eight metre of clearing, out of the corner of his eye, across the small knoll that rolled across the perimeter of the house, he could see Polnareff hard at work. Silver Chariot floated around a foot or so in front of him, breaking up tougher pacts of snow with a flurry of blows before its user scooped it away. At one point Chariot accidentally struck the shovel along the handle, the resonance from the blow visibly rattling the both of them, and the exaggerated reaction the Frenchman gave made Avdol burst into deep laughter.

The two met again at where the path to the back met the road, with Avdol finishing the front of the house before Polnareff could clear his, albeit larger, area. Polnareff's skin was somehow paler than usual, save for the dustings of deep rose pink over his cheeks and fingers. Gripping the shovel like a vice, he walked up to Avdol: "Finally done, for chrissake, let's get inside!"

"You're cold?"

"God, yes! I bet the neighbors two miles over that way can hear my teeth chattering!"

Avdol's eyebrows bowed as if to frown, but his eyes and mouth held a peculiar smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder: "You could've stopped and had Magician's Red heat you up whenever you wanted, Jean. All you had to do was ask."

"Yeah, yeah, you say that now..."

"Come now, why would I deny you -" Avdol began, but midway through the sentence an intake of air went wrong. The congestion, still persistent through his airway and head, caught the breath like tiny little hooks. Hooks, that, when they tore into the breath and ripped it to shreds, created a noise. A honk, similar to when he was reading, but with tenfold the vigour. After the initial surprise, once they both realised what had happened they had two very separate and distinct reactions: Polnareff stood up straighter, eyes wide and cheeks immediately pulling back into a toothy grin; and Avdol slapped a hand over his face, as if he let a secret slip. Either the tickling sensation of the caught air or the sudden embarrassment made Avdol descend into a minor coughing fit, all while Polnareff strolled beside him - nearly doubling over with satisfied giggles.

The late afternoon rolling into early evening, it had come time to clean the interior of the house. Cleaning was a simple job that could be fun if you invested in it, and the two were almost proud of the good condition the home was in. On lazier days Avdol would show initiative with the task, beginning to dust down a shelf in a spare room just because he had the time to spare. Polnareff would notice and join in no time, providing him with the backstory behind whatever knick-knacks had been pulled down while their home was being wiped. The explanations were long and convoluted more often than not, occasionally straying away from the item at hand entirely. But hearing stories from his lover's youth was genuinely captivating, especially when he spoke of them with such fond excitement on his voice as he dived into nostalgia, eager to share the experience. There were times Avdol found himself wiping down the same spot over and over again in place, just to give Polnareff more time to speak.

Today, however, wasn't one of those slower paced days, when they would meticulously run through the contents of a single room. Instead, it was a quick and easy clean of the entire house, to make sure everything looked acceptable for their friends' arrival tomorrow. They were in no way formal guests, that much was obvious, but to at least put some care into making the old house welcoming would go a long way towards helping them settle in. There were seven rooms: the living room, which took up nearly a quarter of the building's total volume; the kitchen and dining room, a moderate sized area right by the front door; the office (repurposed from Polnareff's childhood bedroom); a more compact reading room, complete with a small library (Sherry's old bedroom); the bathroom, perhaps the best maintained part of the house; the master bedroom, tucked near the back of the house; and the attic, a space that was rarely touched and full of the physical existence of old memories. And spiders. And occasionally Iggy. While the last space could survive without a freshening up, the other six were to have the cobwebs shaken from their walls, the dust swiped up and disposed of, and any stains either cleaned up or hid. Made presentable, to say the least.

Done cleaning the kitchen tiles of any previously uncaught spills and replacing the bag of the nearly full trash can, Avdol moved on to the master bedroom. Though calling it that title was a little misleading, he thought, given there were no longer any other bedrooms in the house. It was just the one. A larger room, it had pale walls tinted with a wash of peach. The bedcovers and sheets were less than a year old; a pale blue, lined with small purple dots - apparently bought as soon as Polnareff returned home from their travels in Egypt. Supposedly they replaced a horrible gray set (that Polnareff claimed had been white when he bought it), and Avdol was pleased he never got the chance to meet the damned thing in person.

Stopping in the bedroom's open doorway, he hesitated, choosing to take a few steps back. How easily could one guess what each room was just from experiencing the house's layout, he wondered? All those months ago after his first sweep of it he couldn't say the house particularly held many surprises, but on the other hand, the doors to each room were identical. If they were kept shut, there'd be no hope in telling what went where unless you had a solid grasp on the house's dimensions. Even then, it'd just be educated guesswork. He clenched his jaw a little: despite how he may phrase it, really what he was asking himself was how easy it was to tell there was only one bedroom. One bedroom, with one bed, for two grown men.

Avdol wasn't embarrassed about being gay, moreover had no qualms telling people the truth if they asked: he was a proud person, and there was no sense tucking a part of him in a corner if ignoring it made him unhappy. But growing up where he did, in the environment he did, it was an aspect of himself he was never keen to jump in and share. He simply didn't find women attractive, and couldn't understand how others could make a snap decision and flirt with a woman they didn't even know the name of, acting as if they were soulmates despite not sharing a single point of common interest. It was almost ironic that Avdol could hold such strong feelings on the topic and then turn around and fall for a bumbling disaster of a man, who had an even chance of thinking with his brain or his pants. Though not a factor he considered at the time, Avdol couldn't deny a small motivator for dating Polnareff was so that he would never have to see him so shamelessly attempt to woo a lady again: if he were to seduce, it'd be in his direction, and that was a consequence he was willing to deal with.

Polnareff had made a comment one night during their travels, at a stay at a hotel in Luxor, that had segued into him admitting that he was bisexual. Avdol had been shocked, not only because he had pegged him as cripplingly straight, but because he said it with the same cadence one would as if answering questions about food preferences. He said it so casually. So effortlessly. And though it came with a small amount of flack (particularly from Joseph; the hypocrite), the conversation had rolled on as if nothing meaningful had happened. It was a strange moment to remember so long after the fact, but it stayed ingrained in his mind even now.

In sharp contrast, while Polnareff made his preferences known loud and clear, he and Joseph were the only two of Avdol's friends who knew of his sexuality - even beyond that, you could count the members of his family who knew on one hand. Another dozen at least were aware he had no intentions of getting a wife, after a cousin had asked and he panicked and said he couldn't marry a woman for "work reasons" (if you counted the crusade as working for Joestar, it had led to meeting Polnareff, so perhaps that wasn't actually a lie). Polnareff himself had learned after directly asking him during a phone call around Avdol's birthday in early April. He had found the information surprising; not because he had convinced himself that Avdol must have an undying love of girls or anything, but instead because he hadn't bothered to tell him on his own accord. Meanwhile, Joseph had fished the information out of him during a New Year celebration in New York during the second year they had known each other. It had been late, the festivities high, and the mood was just light enough for Avdol to work up the courage to answer Joseph's questions about himself honestly: and to his delight, Joseph didn't seem to give a crap. He was an eccentric man but an honest one, who never faltered from his strongest morals throughout all the decades of his life thus far.

Still, although Joseph was easy to talk to, Avdol had neglected to tell him about his current relationship status. He had called him as soon as he had moved in with Polnareff to update him on his address, but he was so swept up in the process that he forgot to tell him the reasoning as anything more specific than "Polnareff asked him to". During the next call with Joseph, Avdol couldn't find a good moment to slip the information in. Nor during the next call. By the fourth call, it was too late to do it without summoning forth a barrage of questions about why he hadn't been told earlier. Now it was six months later, with Avdol standing at his bedroom door daydreaming about how the news might finally be broken.

Moving to kneel by the end of the bed, Avdol opened a wicker chest and began folding the clothes and blankets that were haphazardly bundled up inside. He pondered some more: while Joseph would conjure up a storm, Avdol was confident he ultimately wouldn't have any issues. Joseph was his friend and wore his heart on his sleeve, and after the initial nerves nothing would change between them. With Jotaro and Kakyoin though... He trusted them with his life, he always would, but there was no denying he knew less about their personalities. They were quieter than the others, and barely adults; their moral code only just now solidifying. Though it was an unlikely and almost dangerous thought, Avdol couldn't help but wonder how events might play out if it turned out either of them didn't agree with their lifestyle. Whether a layer of ice could coat their relationship, or if learning of the truth about their friends would expand their tolerance and world view. Perhaps it wouldn't matter in the slightest.

"Iggy says you're sulking!" Polnareff called from the office, holding the vowel of the last word as he yanked Avdol from his daydreams.

"I'm not sulking." Avdol responded in a calmer voice. "At most, I'm thinking."

"Yeah, well, whatever you're thinking, you're thinking it too hard." Polnareff countered, and Avdol could hear the weight shifting along the floorboards as he came to meet him in the bedroom.

Avdol smiled at him without facing him, hands still busy folding shirts and tucking them back into the basket. "And how would you measure that?"

"Oh, who needs measurements; I just know these things." Polnareff crept up behind him, dropping to his knees himself and slinging his arms (wrapped up in the sleeves of a dark blue sweatshirt) loosely over his shoulders. It set off the tense feeling Avdol's sinuses were causing in his neck, but the touch was welcome nonetheless. "How far through are you?"

"Once I'm done here, I'll do some laundry, and maybe wipe down the windowsills. Then I'll be finished, unless you have anything in particular in mind."

"To be honest, I'm starving." Polnareff whined, his chin resting on the top of Avdol's head. "Whaddya say we cut the chores short once you're done folding and get started on dinner?"

"If that's what you want, it's fine by me." Avdol complied, his fatigue persuading him to tap out. "Should we schedule to finish cleaning later - or is it that you're willing to leave this room a little messy?"

"If by 'a little messy' you mean 'naturally spotless because you're entirely too meticulous', then yes, I think I could live with that." Polnareff mused with a smile on his voice. "God, I picked up some great cuts of steak yesterday to have tonight - should I roast 'em or fry 'em?"

"Why don't you go pull them out; I'll finish what I'm doing here and meet you in the kitchen to help you decide." He reasoned, and Polnareff nodded.

He pecked a small kiss to the back of Avdol's head, the latter humming in response. Polnareff released the wide grip he held around his neck, got up with a quiet groan, and rocked to his feet with a smile: "Sounds like a plan, mon nounours."

He left the room and Iggy pattered in, taking his place on the floor and seeping up the warmth. Upon seeing him, Avdol looked him in the eyes and tsked: "I didn't expect you to be the type to tattle."

The dog simply looked back up at him, those big blue eyes half lidded as they met his gaze, and curled up in a ball on the ground.

*

Despite there always being more to do to prepare, the two went to bed at a reasonable time. Even earlier than usual; only about three hours after the sun had set, and they fell to sleep together almost immediately (unlike most times, where Polnareff would keep them both up for another half hour as they laid in bed, him rambling about anything at all). Though the walls were thick, the house had little to no insulation and the cold seeped in from every microscopic crevice that might lead outside - often leading to Polnareff complaining about it (at least once a day) during winter as he cranked up the dial on the space heater. If it weren't for the warmth Magician's Red's sheer presence radiated, he might have been forced to complain a little more. But at least, through Polnareff's careful maintenance and determination, the temperature in the bedroom seemed a constant lukewarm no matter the season. Furthermore by stripping a blanket or adding a layer ideal sleeping conditions could be reached with ease. Almost like a little bubble of tranquility, where sleep came easy.

But despite the pleasantness, Avdol had nightmares. Admittedly - and thankfully - they had gotten better after moving in with Polnareff, the presence of someone being there to catch him as he rattled himself awake a luxury he couldn't be more grateful for. But they still came. Most of the time, they came as an uncalled for retelling of his time in the void of Vanilla Ice's Cream. There was no imagery, instead sheer stress and panic and the beginnings of unimaginable pain shooting through his body. Avdol's time in the void was, well, empty: being submerged in pure nothingness would've been terrifying in the moment if not for the fact there were no emotions to feel; the atmosphere was suffocating yet liberating; his time there seemed to drag on for eternities while going past in the blink of an eye. It was just an endless fog - but one that through Polnareff and Iggy's victory he somehow left. The moment Vanilla Ice died, Cream seemed to empty itself, everything it had eaten in its life being forcefully ejected from its being with Cairo as its dumping ground. This is where the other kind of nightmare began: Avdol had been spat out onto a back alley he could swear he recognised, and might've been able to name if not for his exhausted mind being more preoccupied with his lack of arms. Though injured badly he managed to gather the strength to collect himself for just enough time to use his mottled stand to cauterise his wounds.

He survived that day, he knew he did, but every once in a while his unconscious mind torments him and traps him in those moments. A reality where he never he left the void; succumbing to nothingness, forgotten and alone, with no idea of whether or not he had been of any help. In other dreams he's trapped in the heat of Magician's Red's own fire as it's burning his skin, submitting himself to overwhelming agony for something he swears will help him. And it keeps going on and on, with every promise of ending but no sign of keeping it.

He stirred to consciousness with a slight jump, a slow moving sensation tearing him from his dream. He felt so warm: they were already fading, but had the events of his night terrors been of the latter? No, that couldn't be it. Magician's Red held a familiar dry heat, one he tolerated (and even enjoyed) without thinking anything of. But this was different. This was clingy and clammy, like he had been thrown in a sauna and coated with slime. He wasn't used to the sensation, sweat prickling along his skin with cruel goosebumps. He certainly didn't like it.

The movement nearby drew Avdol back to reality. It was entirely harmless, just Polnareff resting his head on Avdol's chest as he lay in the deep confines of sleep. It was dark in the room, certainly before dawn, with Avdol only just being able to make out the silhouette of his boyfriend's profile and the undone hair that scattered itself loosely around his head. He raised his arm and reached to touch his head, but was met with pain - at first, he considered it his phantom pain flaring up again. However, this sensation was throughout his whole body, a heavy ache having settled deep in his bones, trying to block off his movements and pull his limbs back down to the mattress like a magnet.

He fought the feeling, fingers nearing in on and tickling Polnareff's scalp. Said fingers laced themselves through that silver hair, a cathartic wave washing over Avdol as he combed through it again, and again, and again. Knowing he was there was one thing, but having tangible proof was another league entirely. To have him lying beneath his palm, sleeping soundly with his lips curled into a smile as they pressed against Avdol's shirt and skin, gave him the grounding he needed. He let out a breath, drawn from the bottom of the lungs, but as it caught on his throat more raggedly than it did the day prior it sang a high, sad whistle: shame his congestion couldn't at least have had the decency to leave him be. In response to being touched, in his unconscious state Polnareff nuzzled himself deeper into his makeshift pillow - Avdol beamed at the instinctive, innocuous gesture, almost about to laugh if not for the bubbles of sickness in his chest stopping him. It seemed like every time he found solace, he tripped over another hurdle.

"Good morning." Polnareff murmured softly, voice sweet and muffled in his half-asleep state.

"It's not quite morning yet." He responded, but having the gall to speak came with consequences. The words clawed their way out of his throat painfully, the sound almost peaking on certain beats, and left him suppressing a cough that would shred his throat further raw. It was a result Avdol hadn't entirely expected, although one Polnareff definitely noticed.

He raised his head, repositioning himself on his arms so that he could prop himself up while his hands curled gently around his partner's waist: "Hey, are you okay?"

Avdol screwed up his face slightly. "Yes, I just... Think my cold has gotten worse."

"Sure sounds like it." He agreed. There was a ring of humour in his voice, but his eyebrows were deep-seated in a frown. He almost looked like a dejected puppy.

Avdol tried to sit up a little himself, but the soreness that coursed through him made the task more trouble than it was worth. Eyelids shut momentarily, he asked: "What time is it?"

"Huh? Oh, uh," Polnareff squinted in the darkness at the clock on the nearby nightstand, "four-eleven."

Avdol did his best to release the tension in his muscles. "And the others arrive at noon?" He had eight hours to pull himself together.

"Yeah - but don't feel the need to push yourself; you'll end up making yourself even more sick."

"I'm sure I'll be fine after some more sleep." At that, Polnareff pouted a little, and a hand was outstretched. Avdol felt the back of a cool hand press to his forehead, only to withdraw just as quickly.

"Jeez, Muhammad, you're burning up!" Polnareff exclaimed, dragging out the first word with his surprise. He twisted himself into a sitting position: "Gimme a moment; I'll go get you some ice water."

With impressive speed and dexterity for a man that had just woken up, Polnareff pattered out of the room and into the dark hallway; Avdol couldn't muster anything to comment in response because he didn't even have the time to get a word in. Somewhere, he could hear a door opening and a light being flicked on, followed by more faffing around in (what he assumed was) the kitchen. He tried once more to move and finally succeeded, propping himself against the headboard of the bed. Yet in the movement, another issue became clear: miscellaneous fluid sloshed around in his head to reveal a small, blossoming migraine behind one eye. Now that it was in his peripheral, even the ambient light from the bedside clock was spiking in his senses. Lovely. Moreover even along with that, the knots he kept his hair in felt loose, almost uncomfortable. He supposed it had been a few days since he had taken his hair down; the bobblehead feeling that came along with the varying tightness didn't help his head.

"Don't turn on the lights." Avdol prompted as soon as Polnareff returned. It was a bit of a cruel command, but he was sure there was enough light to see with once his eyes adjusted.

"Huh? Why?"

"Migraine."

"Fucking hell, you're not having fun."

"Say, what are the symptoms of meningitis, again?" Avdol asked, sounding dejected. Polnareff froze.

"Uhh... Do you have joint pain?"

"Yes."

"Shit. Well..." Polnareff furrowed his non existent eyebrows, mug of water in one hand. The ice cubes clinked softly as he closed the door behind him. "My ma used to be super paranoid about it when I was a kid, although I don't remember why. The headache and fever and pain line up, but I don't think congestion comes with it. And you don't have a rash, do you?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"Yeah, I haven't seen anything either." Polnareff's shoulders dropped a little and he walked around the bed, bringing a knee up on the side Avdol slept on. He said plainly: "I don't think you have meningitis, mon nounours; just a really shitty head cold."

Avdol hummed, accepting both the diagnosis and the water cup. It seemed so heavy in his hands, though he knew in actuality it didn't even weigh close to a pound. Between sips, he sighed: "I wish I knew why it's come on, though. I'm not used to being the one bedridden."

"Hey, don't make a mountain out of a molehill. You're spending your first winter in a new and foreign country, and you're living in a dinky, cold, little cottage. No wonder you're sick; anyone would be." Polnareff spoke softly but firmly as he waved a hand, his words light-hearted but tinted with a persistent solemness. Yet even so, a grin crept onto his face: "Still, I didn't expect to get to see you like this."

"What do you mean, this?"

"I mean, I've seen you at your best and I've seen you at your worst, Muhammad - and trust me, they're both powerful sights. But I just didn't think I'd, how to put it," Polnareff's smile was crooked in that uniquely charming way of his, "see you be taken out by something so mundane. I didn't think a little seasonal cold would knock the air out of you with quite so much force. It's almost aweing."

"I'm just tired." He shook his head as little as he could, getting the signal across without conjuring more pain. "Come morning, I'll -"

"You'll do nothing." Polnareff interrupted, with a finalising stubbornness laced through his words. "You're sick! You should get plenty of rest; sleep the damn thing off."

"You want me to just lie here? When our friends are arriving?" He complained. He desperately tried to hide sounding as if he were whining, and was unsure of how successful he had been.

"Yes! Come on, you don't see nurses sitting on their asses while patients do all the work when you go to the hospital, do you?"

Avdol cocked an eyebrow: "You think I'm currently worthy of hospital treatment?"

"Well, no, of course not," Polnareff leaned forward, placed his hand over Avdol's nearest, and winked, "because you've already got the best doctor you could ever dream of right here on call at any time, day or night, just for you."

Avdol rolled his eyes: "I didn't know you could bring a Speedwagon Foundation medic around so quickly."

"Hey, shut up!" He pouted.

It certainly wasn't how Avdol wanted things to go, but it would be a blatant lie to say the sentiment didn't warm his heart. He should've guessed Polnareff would've made the situation cheesy and end up having won him over - however said feelings that accompanied being won over certainly had their pleasantries. A small positive that came with the fever and the light sensitivity of the migraine? Between how flushed his cheeks already felt and the darkness of the room, Polnareff couldn't tell he was blushing as much as Avdol feared he was at his saccharine gag. While he may have been a dork at the best of times he had the capacity to be smooth when he needed to be, and both were traits Avdol found, despite how they drove him up the wall when they first met, cripplingly endearing.

The mug, half drunken, was placed on the nightstand as Polnareff crawled back into bed. Avdol frowned: "Hey - I'm sorry if I woke you up."

He waved his hand again, brushing the comment off. "You've got nothing to apologise for. The best thing you can do now is try to get some more rest. I'll check in with you in the morning, okay?"

Avdol nodded. Sinking back down into a horizontal position, he forced his eyes shut. As he had predicted, his throat was sore. His head was spinning and his airway was blocked up and he was so unbearably warm - the best thing to do now was just try to ignore it. Set his head down further into his pillow and try to drift off to sleep, just for a little while longer. Avoid tossing and turning, too, so he wouldn't disturb his companion any further. If only one of them were going to welcome their friends, then they might as well be as full of energy as possible.

When Avdol next opened his eyes, the room was still dark, but the chorus of birds chirping outside meant that couldn't be right. Glancing towards the window, it seemed the curtains had been opened but the blackout blinds drawn (it only made sense to have been done by Polnareff). The smallest slivers of morning light peeked in through the sides of the blinds, bathing the room in the faintest ethereal glow. If not for the throbbing at the forefront of his mind, he might have just sat back, taking in the sight and appreciating the morning. Even from childhood he had always been a morning person - watching the world wake up held its own beauty to it. What time had he woken up, anyway? Gradually shifting to a sitting position yet again, to his horror he saw that it was almost ten o' clock. How had he slept so late; why didn't anyone wake him? He barely had two hours to prepare himself and -

No. The tension flowed out of his body, the release giving his head more room to pound. He was to stay in bed until the worst of the sickness passed, otherwise Polnareff would be mad. Also the whole getting better instead of getting worse part, but there was no doubt the driving force of this supposed self care was not himself. He couldn't deny what Polnareff was saying was smart - Avdol had dealt with countless different sicknesses in others before, and the least he could do was practice what he preached. Polnareff had accepted that faster than he had: skimming his eyes around the room, he noticed that on the bedside table next to him not only had his water been topped up, he had also been left a box of tissues and an opened tube of cough drops. Truly, this was the finest display of medical prowess on offer, and he couldn't help feeling a little bit lighter.

Nevertheless, he wasn't in the prettiest state. The knots his hair was up in were becoming more disheveled by the hour, and it went without saying he had no energy to fix them. He might as well be better off taking them out before they came fully undone by themselves. At a snail's pace a hand crept up to his scalp, fingers prying off the first of the hairties, and a long lock of dark hair fell down over his eyes in tight, thick coils. It was almost relaxing, seeing it bob and sway in front of him, the weight shifting from the top of his head to down below his neck.

The door clicked open as he set to work on the third knot, placing the gray hairties next to him on the bedside table. As expected, at the source of the noise stood Polnareff, with one foot through the doorway. He wore a black tank top that was surely too tight for him along with flannel pajama pants, decorated with bee motifs. His hair was still unstyled - instead, tied back in a short (rather cute) ponytail. He was surprised to find Avdol sitting upright but soon took to donning that goofy smile, paper bag in hand and broken heart earrings both swinging as he marched to the bed.

"Hey there; how're you feeling?" He asked as he plopped onto the mattress. There was a genuinely curious enthusiasm in his voice but the volume was hushed, as if he were trying to not wake a child.

"Not much better than last night, if I'm being honest," he admitted, dark amber eyes flitting over to his company, "but I'm getting more used to it."

"Eh, let's hope you don't have to get too used to it." Polnareff slouched, watching him. "Say, do you want me to do that?"

"Hmm?"

"Your hair." He nodded. "You're exhausted, right? It must not be nice keeping your hands above your head for so long."

Avdol's instinctive reaction was to flat out decline, as to not waste the little time he had left until the others arrived, but he stopped himself. Rather: "Are you sure you don't have more important things to do?"

"Are you kidding me?" He scoffed. "I mean, of course I have other things to do, but more important? Never."

Avdol smiled, raising his eyebrows at him. "If you're certain. Feel free, if you wouldn't mind."

Polnareff grinned, hoisting his legs onto the bed. He scooched around on the mattress and parked himself in the small space between where Avdol sat and the headboard of the bed (when asked if he wanted Avdol to move he furiously declined), legs straddling him either side. He was sat on his pillows, elevated by a crucial few centimetres over him. Placing his own hands in his lap, Avdol closed his eyes and focused on the movement behind him.

"So," he started, indicating the brown bag next to him, "what have you been up to this morning?"

"A lot! Got up around seven and ran out to town to get a few things." His fingers tugged at the hairtie of a knot.

"In your pajamas?"

"Hah, I wish - I went out in jeans, but some asshole drove right through a puddle as I was walking past him and soaked them through!" Avdol could almost hear his teeth grinding. "Can you believe that?"

"It must've been freezing. Are you warm enough now?"

"Yeah, I've been home a few hours." The next knot fell clumsily out of its shape. "If I'm being honest, I set to work right as I got back and kinda forgot to check on you. Sorry about that."

"It's alright - I only just woke up." He eased. "Thank you for drawing the blinds; for the water and others, as well."

"Aw, there was nothing to it, no need to thank me." He shook his head. "It didn't even take me five minutes."

"Doesn't mean I didn't appreciate the gesture." He countered, voice soft. "So, what did you buy?"

"You can look in the bag yourself, if you want." Polnareff prompted, and Avdol complied. On top was a smaller white paper bag, the opening curled up. "First thing I did was swing by the pharmacy and see what they could give me for nasty cold symptoms. I basically emptied a shelf's worth of crap I can't even name."

"Sounds promising." Avdol took out the items inside: mainly different varieties of painkillers, both tablet and liquid form, some of which doubling as sleeping aids. There were nasal sprays and menthol rubs, too, and a small, squishy block of plastic at the bottom of the bag. "What's this?"

"Cold compress - I have to go stick it in the fridge, but it'll help your fever way more than a damp dishrag around your neck."

He placed it to one side. Hand scraping the bottom of the bag, a tube of peach flavored cough drops was pulled out. "Another one?"

"Yeah; the ones on the table expired like five years ago." He grimaced. "I wouldn't eat them."

Avdol paused, wanting to be amused but instead forming a frown: "All of this wasn't expensive, was it?"

"Ack, who cares? You shouldn't be worried about a thing! If even a single drop of any of this makes you feel better, I consider this a success."

Avdol wanted to counter some more, to insist he give him the receipt so he could reimburse him, but he stopped himself. At best, Polnareff would brush him off once again. He would never even know the total, and with that ignorance Avdol would be left with lingering guilt that he had to go through so much trouble for him. The preferable thing to do now would be to accept his care graciously, and to not forget it.

"Where did you go after the pharmacy?" He moved on, prompting him to continue his story.

"Hit a few convenience stores around town centre." He pouted. "I ran all over looking for honey, but all I could find was overpriced maple syrup. Why is maple syrup easier to find than honey?"

"Why did you need honey?"

"I guess I needed it for a meal coming up, but more for your throat, obviously."

"Then what are the cough drops for?"

"I... " He froze, growing a tad defensive. "C'mon, when you had a sore throat as a kid did your mother not get a spoonful of honey for you to eat?"

"Why would anyone -" He cocked an eyebrow. "If you were to take medicine, why would that matter? It just sounds like an excuse to eat straight honey."

"Well, yeah, it fundamentally is," he moved a hand from Avdol's head to scratch the back of his own, "but I mean, it's the act itself more than its effect, you know? Who doesn't feel at least a little better after having a spoonful of honey? It's way nicer than any crappy medicinal taste."

"I suppose. I guess you can't exactly stir cough medicine into tea, anyway."

"See? Exactly. Why would you not get honey for a sick person?" He stroked the locks of hair that had been undone, pushing them out of the way. "Anyway, after that, I bought two twelve packs of beer." 

"Because...?"

"You know, for the guys! They'll probably be worn out after traveling from Japan; let them kick back with a few beers."

"Wouldn't they rather want to relax in their hotel?"

"Boo, that's boring! And who wouldn't want to spend as much time as possible in my company?"

Avdol smiled with a sigh, accepting he was losing logical point after logical point. "How did you manage to buy alcohol before noon, anyway?"

"Ack, the guy at the counter knows me. I'm no alcoholic." 

Avdol hummed: "Did you go anywhere after that?"

"Nope - ran home, got soaked by that dirt bag, got changed, and started on lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Well, yeah. You should probably eat some time today." He paused. "You're not nauseous, right? Wanna make sure you keep it down."

"Not yet." His eyebrows bowed. "Haven't you made anything for yourself?"

"Nah, but I'll grab a meal with the others later." He tacked a demand onto the end of the sentence: "But don't you dare apologise or say I don't have to make you something; it's already completely prepared, it just needs to cook. You're not squirming out of my impeccable home cooking because of some lousy sense of self-righteousness."

Avdol opened his mouth to speak, but paused. "I wouldn't dream of it, Jean. But hold me to this. Make sure I repay you."

"No way in hell."

"What? But, Jean, I -"

"Muhammad, listen." Polnareff stopped moving his hands. "You don't owe me anything. I haven't been running around out of some sense of obligation."

He leaned over his head, hands on his shoulders as he continued: "I'm doing it because I love you."

Avdol closed his eyes again, pausing before he made his response, just allowing for Polnareff's words to linger with him a little longer. "I love you too."

He fought adding a 'thank you' onto the end; he was certain it would just make Polnareff mad. He was incredibly grateful for all he was doing, and not making that clear was painful. Polnareff was treating him with utmost importance, even going as far as to cast aside the tasks he already had planned, but he had to accept that constantly thanking him wasn't the way to go. He did it because he loved him, and that was all that had to be said. He did it because he loved him.

Polnareff resumed working on his hair near silently (completely quiet save for the broken tune he hummed to himself) and Avdol relaxed into the touch. One of the greatest things in the world was gently running a brush through tired hair; this was near identical, but so much more intimate. With each lock that fell his fingers combed between the strands again, skirting gently over his scalp. All his senses were toned down and unoccupied, only the sensation of the touch grabbing his attention. That euphoric feeling came so close to banishing his headache to nothing but a distant memory, furthermore feeding his tired mind. It was a miracle he didn't fall into anything more than a half-asleep daze right there.

"Hey, Muhammad," Polnareff whispered once he was done, "could you summon Magician's Red real quick?"

"Hmm? Alright." He answered nonchalantly, head clouded and light, with his eyes still half shut.

Since the battle in Egypt, Magician's Red had changed its appearance. Like its user, it had lost its arms, but also like its user, it had replacements: columns of fire shaped like the limbs it used to have erupted from the ends of its upper arms. It couldn't do some of what it used to, like grab books for Avdol down off a high shelf (without scorching them), but the rest of its physical prowess was largely unhindered. It had materialised in front of Avdol, facing him with its legs curled underneath itself, its green eyes shooting its piercing gaze at the both of them. In comparison, Polnareff brought forth Silver Chariot, the svelte knight curling around them to move towards the other stand.

"What are you -" Avdol questioned, humouring him, but immediately froze. With its free arm, Silver Chariot brought its hand to Magician's Red's face. That hand snuck under the curve of its beak with no hesitation, reaching for the small scarlet down feathers in the crook of its neck with a 'come hither' motion. It was a delicate movement, and much to Avdol's horror, one he could feel just as clearly as its direct recipient. Goosebumps ran over his body once more, concentrated just below the jawline, however they were nothing like the unsettling chills he felt from his fever last night. These were satisfying and pleasant, not unlike that feeling of his hair being played with, and as the scritches continued he couldn't stop Magician's Red letting out a similarly pleased squawk.

Instinctively, he leaned forward and hid his face in his hands. He could feel his cheeks heating up, his body twitching, but despite any traces of embarrassment the feeling was too gratifying to be mad about. Letting out a coarse sigh, "What. Are you doing."

Polnareff, on the other hand, was grinning like an idiot and on the verge of giggles. "I - I'm sorry, I just -" He spoke nearly incoherently, stifling laughs: "I've always wanted to see what would happen! And you - you looked so content -"

Magician's Red let out another... Noise, and Polnareff broke out into a full-blown fit of laughter. He rolled out from behind Avdol's back, not wanting to make noise right in his ears and instead burying his face in a pillow. Avdol was glad there was no one over yet, plus no neighbors nearby; if anyone else had seen this display he might have died on the spot, or perhaps throttled Polnareff instead. This idea of juvenile vulnerability certainly wasn't the image he wanted for others to see in him.

"Come on, don't be mad!" Polnareff apologised preemptively, trying to calm his giggles as he called back his stand. "You just - it looked so damn cute-!"

Polnareff nearly pounded on the mattress, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life, and Avdol lifted his head to face the ceiling as if searching for a higher power. With a voice as level as he could muster, he spoke to him. "When you're done having your fun, maybe you could get started on whatever you have left to do. I'm sure you don't want the others to see you with your hair down."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that." He nodded between snickers as he swayed to his feet, moving towards the door. "And you get plenty of rest, alright?"

"Alri- "

"Mon poussin."

Avdol froze again, eyes narrowing at his boyfriend, and Polnareff left the room with a flurry of more giggles bubbling out of him.

The next time he saw Polnareff, it was when he had woken him from a deeper sleep. Although their conversation had ended on an energetic note it hadn't fully dispelled the relaxing atmosphere it had started with, and in his sickness Avdol was still tired after nearly twelve hours of sleep. When Polnareff shook him awake his hair was predictably upstyled, as he had promised, and his pajama bottoms had been swapped for cream colored slacks, lined with maroon hearts at the seams (he must've changed his clothes while he was sleeping). When Avdol opened his eyes to meet his, he saw that they were crackling with a childlike excitement.

"Hey, are you awake?" He asked, hands curling over one of his arms.

"I am now." He rolled to face him, dreading the dull pain in the back of his mind. It just couldn't stay away, huh? "Is everything alright?"

"You wanna eat?" He smiled, and Avdol nodded back. Polnareff rushed out of the room as Avdol sat up, and to his surprise he saw it was already past noon. 

"What are you doing?" Avdol asked, confused, when Polnareff returned to the room carrying a bowl on a tray table. "They'll be arriving any minute."

"Hush, they haven't arrived yet, have they? As far as I'm concerned, we've got all the time in the world!" He closed the door behind him with his knee, hurrying over to the bed and setting the tray down on it. He certainly didn't walk as if he had time to waste. "Here, try this."

The bowl was fairly small, made of white ceramic (with the cold compress, now actually cold, sitting next to it on the tray), and held what could only be soup. It was apricot colored, flecked with the dark residue of seasoning, and smelled savoury: only then did Avdol realise quite how hungry he was. It seemed rustic, no doubt made from scratch, and he couldn't help but feel a little impressed. He almost moved to grab the spoon but Polnareff got there before him, slowly stirring the contents of the bowl, letting more steam rise from it.

"Surprise! It's something my ma used to whip up whenever we got sick; when I saw you last night, I knew I had to make it." He smiled fondly, glancing at the bowl to Avdol and back again. "Good thing we marked what box her recipes were in up in the attic, huh?"

"I may sound like a broken record, but you didn't have to go through the trouble."

"Yes," he drew out the word, "I did. It's tradition! If I hadn't, the ghosts of my family three generations back would've haunted me, and I'd never get a wink of sleep ever again."

"And we wouldn't want that." He shook his head, face almost sore with his smile: as always, Polnareff's good mood was infectious. "May I try some?"

"Absolutely." Polnareff beamed, scooping the thick liquid onto the spoon. He held it up, and Avdol took a moment to realise he wasn't offering it to him to hold.

"You're not feeding me." He commanded as he pouted, looking at the spoon. 

"Oh? And how exactly do you plan to stop me?" He teased, browline wiggling, and Avdol had to tense every muscle in his body to not break out laughing at how ridiculous he looked.

"I have arms; I can feed myself."

"Come on," Polnareff continued, "say 'ahh'!"

"No."

"...Please say 'ahh'?"

"Jean, I... " 

"Pretty please? Just for me?"

Avdol pursed his lips together. He looked at Polnareff. He looked at the spoon. He looked at Polnareff again. And with a heavy sigh: "...Ahh."

If he didn't have to worry about keeping the spoon balanced, Polnareff might've jumped up with joy. Entirely too pleased with himself, he gave him the soup as if feeding a baby, and admittedly it was delicious. It was warm and rich, almost too rich at first, soothing his whole body as he swallowed it. Despite the aroma it was actually sweeter than it was savoury, with notes of caramelisation. Without thinking much of it, he allowed himself to be fed more.

"Is this winter squash?" He asked, rolling it around in his mouth.

"Butternut squash and pumpkin." He confirmed, seeming pleased the flavours were recognisable.

"But," he frowned, "weren't you going to use that for a stew next week?"

"Eh, who cares." He shrugged, scooping more onto the spoon. "They're not exactly hard to come by, and I can always push the stew to another day. This was more important, and -"

Midway through his sentence a low ringing melody echoed through the house, cutting Polnareff off and making them both jump. Time was up. Quickly, Polnareff fed him what was on the spoon already, then slammed it down on the tray table.

"When you're done, just put it on the floor or bedside table or something - I'll come get it later." Polnareff nodded, the sentence partially a reminder to himself, and gave Avdol a brief peck on the lips.

"You shouldn't kiss a sick person," he reprimanded as Polnareff stood up, "you'll just contract whatever disease they have yourself."

"Ah, true, fuck." He cocked his head as if wincing, and leaned back over so that he was close to Avdol's face. "Guess that must means I'll have to give it back, huh?"

Avdol cocked an eyebrow and recieved yet another kiss. This kiss had more passion behind it: Polnareff's hand moving to rest on the side of his neck, his lips providing a pressure Avdol was eager to return. This kiss lingered longer, as if he really did have all the time in the world, and right before it parted Polnareff swept his tongue along his lover's top lip, making him laugh.

"God, that soup's tasty." He whispered to himself as he bounced on his heels. "Get plenty more sleep, okay? I mean it; the moment you're done eating, straight to bed! We want you to arrive fashionably late with a grand flourish, not with just some lukewarm hello!"

Avdol rolled his eyes and waved goodbye as Polnareff flew out of the bedroom to meet his guests, closing its door behind him with a sound that make his headache thump. Cautiously, he picked up the tray, placing it on his lap and cupping the bowl in his hand. Although he didn't think he was eating particularly fast the contents of the bowl were gone in no time, the sides almost completely scraped clean - while Polnareff talked big about most things, this wasn't something he could blame him for being smug about. Once the tray had been placed to one side as neatly as possible, he settled back down into his pillow, cold compress swiped from nearby the bowl. It was soothing to the touch, finally something that dared to fight his fever with real firepower. 

Head down, he heard a deep and boisterous laugh from the other side of the house. It couldn't have come from anyone except Joseph Joestar; Avdol wasn't sure that man's loud nature could ever be silenced. His mind suddenly was swimming with questions for him - how was the travel time? How was the plane? Did they meet anyone interesting? Did the snow cause them trouble? Did hotel check-in go smoothly? Was Kakyoin well accommodated for? Kakyoin. Suddenly, Avdol's heart panged with guilt. He knew Kakyoin would be traveling in a wheelchair, and with Polnareff and him both in the bedroom when the doorbell rang, it meant they weren't there to help him up the porch. Sure, he had the assistance of Mr Joestar and Jotaro, but it didn't show any less they weren't as accomodating hosts as they could be. He'd go out there right now and apologise if he didn't fear the possibility he'd cough all over them. 

It was childish, but he missed them. He hated how he was cooped up in his room so much, as if he were in a(n incredibly relaxed) quarantine, while the others socialised together for the first time in what felt like years. Maybe it was just his illness playing games in his head, but he hadn't felt so unbearably lonely in months. He heard Polnareff's voice, loud and brimming with happiness, from the other side of the door, and Avdol's heart was simultaneously filled and emptied. He was glad he was already having such a good time, truly, but that didn't ease his desire to be right there next to him. Extending his hand he grabbed at the pillow at the other side of the bed, dragging it back towards him vertically along the bed's alignment. Shuffling slightly, his head was planted in it and his arms wrapped around it, and he took deep and heavy breaths. French vanilla and sea salt, with traces of the hair products Polnareff always used. A familiar scent.

Avdol was tired - so, so, tired - but he wasn't sleepy. He had slept for far too long. And one couldn't sleep with a heavy heart, anyway. When had his mood taken such a nosedive?

Fingers tracing the seam along the top of the pillow, he settled for daydreaming and his mind began to wander. The last time he had been bedridden like this wasn't for a pleasant reason. Nearly a year ago the final battle against DIO took place, and though they all survived they were also all hospitalised. Avdol lost days between emerging from the void and waking up in that hospital bed, and his rouse to consciousness wasn't an immediate one. Hours went by at an irregular pace, with the occasional person checking his vitals but no one coming over to tell him what had happened. About who was alright. If he himself were even alive.

Except Polnareff, that is. One day, a familiar silhouette appeared at his door, hazy in the light of the sunset. Until he waved, a goofy grin plastered on his face, Avdol almost didn't notice him. His head had been peeking into the room, with the rest of his body around the corner; it almost made him look more cartoonish than usual. Looking all around him in the most suspicious way possible, Polnareff crept into the room and sat in that warped plastic chair next to the bed.

"Hey there, Avdol. You awake?"

It was only at that moment that Avdol accepted that he was alive. That Polnareff was alive, looking right at him with those hopeful sapphire eyes. That his final gambit against Vanilla Ice had been a success, that Polnareff had gone on and won the battle, and survived the final fight against DIO.

"Yes, I think I am."

Polnareff had explained that he had just been discharged, but with a little string-pulling from the Speedwagon Foundation he was able to loiter around the hospital outside of visiting hours. Apparently Jotaro and Joseph flew back home to Japan almost immediately to check on Holly's condition, but the rest of them were in no position to travel. The 'rest of them' equalling the rest of the Stardust Crusaders. Against the odds, they all survived: none of Polnareff's wounds were fatal; the explanation Kakyoin gave about how he used Hierophant Green to hold on just a little longer supposedly fried Polnareff's brain; and Iggy held on through something adjacent to sheer force of will. While they all suffered substantial injuries, some of which they'd never fully heal from (it was unlikely Kakyoin would ever walk again), they were all still breathing. They had won. And Avdol was elated.

"Don't you want to go home to France?"

"And leave you here all alone? You can't get rid of me that easily!"

During the time in hospital, Kakyoin was the main focus of attention - the sheer number of nurses floating in and out of his room made that clear enough. But in moments of downtime Polnareff often visited Avdol, chatting with him for as long as possible about anything and everything. At times he'd bring him books from his shop to preoccupy himself with (or occasionally gag books he spotted in a store window), and even sometimes - much to the nurses' dismay - he brought him food. In the rare moment here and there he was left alone, Avdol researched restaurants in Cairo, looking for the perfect place to enact their promise; at least, the one that he hadn't so blatantly broken.

"Can I ask a question?" Polnareff had mentioned between gulps of the street food he had bought himself for dinner.

"Of course."

"I get you're a lying liar who lies, so I'm probably not gonna get a straight answer," he waved his plastic fork, "but why did you save Iggy and I from Vanilla Ice?"

Avdol looked at him with a blank stare. The unjust stab at his honesty aside, frankly, it was a question he had been trying to find the answer to himself. The best word to describe his actions after reading what had been engraved on the wall was 'instinctual': his body moved with more clarity than his mind could've fathomed at that moment. In that second or two, it didn't matter if he could've survived Vanilla Ice's assault, and hell, it didn't matter if he could've beaten him. There was an unknown threat closing in and he only cared about keeping his friends safe, keeping Polnareff safe, even if it broke a promise he made just a few moments ago. It proved that in the end - despite what he tried to tell himself and others - Avdol realised he cared more about saving Polnareff than killing DIO. And he wasn't sure how to deal with that.

"I'm not sure." Avdol eventually answered. "It felt like what I had to do."

Once Avdol was discharged from hospital, the first thing he insisted on doing was dragging the three of them out to one of the highest class restaurants Cairo had on offer, a place (that somehow allowed dogs and) that Avdol had chosen after meticulous research. They toasted their survival; to an everlasting friendship. But his stay in hospital and the void had brought on tidal wave after tidal wave of self reflection: Avdol had begun to come to shaky terms with that he had feelings for Polnareff, thus toasting privately to something a bit more. Yet all good things must come to an end, and the Crusaders finally went their separate ways. Polnareff went back to his homeland and to his cozy little cottage, Kakyoin and Jotaro went back to school in Japan, Joseph went back to New York as soon as he could, and Avdol stayed in Cairo with Iggy to help the local Speedwagon branch wrap up any dangerous loose ends DIO left behind and begin the search for the remaining arrows.

Though Avdol was happy in his life he wasn't satisfied, and he felt an odd loneliness creeping up on him, even when swamped in neighbours dying to know what he got up to abroad, or with Iggy curled up by his side. Living alone with new prosthetics and a recovering stand, he also considered how much easier life would be if someone were around with him. He somewhat regretted not acting on his feelings when he had the chance... But for some damn reason didn't have the guts to ask someone (Polnareff, he meant Polnareff, no matter how he tried to hide it) to come visit him - nevermind drop in on someone himself.

Spurred on by his frequent calls to Joseph, he ended up insisting on everyone making routine calls to one another, lest anyone fell into a bout of depression or - god forbid - somehow DIO still wasn't dead. His calls with Kakyoin were often inspiring and Joseph was the same as always, furthermore he savoured the few snippets he got from Jotaro. But it was Polnareff he enjoyed calling the most. They often talked long after the agreed upon time, gossiping about the nuances of their daily lives as if they didn't just go on a life-threatening adventure together (occasionally, Iggy barked at him through the phone). Though Polnareff sounded happy on the line, Avdol couldn't help but wonder if he were also a little lonely too, living by himself in his childhood home.

One night, after a particularly nasty nightmare, Avdol sat down in his main living area and pulled out a deck of tarot cards. It was one he had possessed for a long time, and the very same he brought along on the crusade. After being rattled by his dream like that he could do with some guidance. Shuffling his cards as he worked on thinking up a question, he looked out of his window across Cairo, the city deep in the murky depths of night. The faintest whoops and cries traveled from the street into his home, but they didn't bother him, nor bug Iggy, who was asleep on an ottoman in the corner. Sitting on the ground in front of the living room table, he cut the cards. A simple three card reading would do, in the format of an opportunity, challenge, and outcome; put his mind at ease before he went back to sleep.

He was unhappy with the question that kept reappearing in his mind, but if it insisted on pestering him then it probably was the right one to ask. He had used the cards to give people relationship advice countless times, but had never needed to read them for himself. Clearing his mind, he focused on one thing alone: how would his relationship with Polnareff progress?

The first card Avdol drew, the opportunity: Two of Cups, upright. Symbolising harmony, duality, and close partnership, it was clear the cards understood the intent of the question right off the bat. His relationships would end up changing for the better, and he should focus on the connections he had now and strengthen them while he still could, in order to build even more meaningful ones.

The second card, the challenge: Judgement, reversed. Judgement often meant to be critical of yourself and your actions, but when reversed warned against poor logic and self doubt. That you could become blinded by indecision and hesitate too long, completely missing any call to action. His problem would be his own second guessing of himself?

The final card, the outcome: The Fool, upright. Avdol smiled briefly at the dog that lay in the corner, snoring. The card was a dangerous one, representing new experiences, the unknown, and most importantly of all keeping faith. Being upright, he would probably fare well from plummeting into something new head first.

He looked at the spread in front of him, stringing the messages together. He had the opportunity for his relationships to grow, and it was an opportunity he should take. In the process, he'd have to overcome his own self doubt and not be paralysed by choices. He'd just have to step away from comfort and into the unknown, trusting his decisions. Take a new chance, even if it seemed almost foolish at first, for his relationship with Polnareff to flourish?

Avdol laid his head down on the table with a small whack, Iggy stirring from his rest with the noise. The cards had been, honestly, quite optimistic. They hadn't shot him down, and that was what scared him. They seemed to be pushing him to just... Go for it.

"Iggy," Avdol groaned after a moment, pondering how sheets of painted card were managing to egg him on, "I worry my taste in men is worse than I thought."

As the months rolled by into late Spring, Avdol was invited to a barbecue at the Kujo household to celebrate the end of Kakyoin's physiotherapy with the Speedwagon Foundation. He couldn't respond to the call more quickly if he tried, and by that warm, mid-May afternoon he was back visiting Japan. To his delight, Ms Holly seemed to have made as full a recovery as Joseph promised him, the woman wearing just as cheery a demeanor as when they first met (if not cheerier). Furthermore the moment those allies of his were together again they hit it off immediately, most of them - even Jotaro, to his surprise - goofing around without a care in the world. Polnareff had been the last to arrive, his flight cruelly delayed by over twelve hours, but that moment as he walked into the kitchen and caught Avdol's gaze (the latter having been deep in conversation with Holly) was one where time seemed to stop. Polnareff's tired, irritated expression shifted to one of dumbfounded shock, before exploding into sheer joy. Much to the delight of both of them, the two shared a deep hug almost immediately, and though a guilty thought Avdol cherished the memory of how sweet it was to finally get a sample taste of the satisfaction he craved.

That whole vacation, the two stuck together as if glued. Though they had minor disagreements, they just clicked. On an early night in mid-June, Polnareff brought up the promise they made to get dinner, and that he'd like to return the favour and take him out himself. He gushed over how he had a perfect restaurant in Bordeaux in mind - very expensive and refined, yet somehow, once more, allowed dogs. Avdol was more grateful (and surprised) for the sentiment than he could put into words; furthermore wanting to spend as much time with him as he could, as a best friend or prospective lover, the arrangement was made. They took that jump, and when the reunion was over Avdol took a second break: in France, with Polnareff.

That vacation was the first time Avdol had seen where he would go on to live. Polnareff, eager to show Avdol around his hometown, insisted that the best guide on offer was himself, leading them around with his signature goofy and flirtatious charm (a local even mentioned they looked like a couple, a comment which flustered them both). And in regards to the home itself, Avdol had to admit he was taken in by that little cottage Polnareff grew up in: the place rustic, renovated from a barn, and sat nestled in a small hill. Bluebells and rosemary grew around the house, and a small apricot farm was situated close by. To the task at hand, Polnareff also held the dinner to a very high standard, higher than Avdol had the first time around and even going as far as to get a suit tailored for the occasion. The two (well, three) enjoyed their dinner together immensely, but the act of completing it posed a looming problem neither of them wanted to address: now Avdol had no reason to stay.

"Say, Avdol..." Polnareff poked his head into the kitchen, where the man was clearing his dish from the dinner they had. That evening, Avdol was to go back to his hotel, and catch a flight to Cairo early that morning.

"Yes, Polnareff?" He responded, looking over his shoulder at him as he finished up.

"I was just wondering," Polnareff's hand came up to the back of his neck, rubbing at it with uncertainty, "how... Attached are you to Cairo?"

Avdol raised an eyebrow, setting the crockery down on the counter. "It's my hometown; it's a little more lively than out here, but the community is just as tightly laced. I love it dearly."

"Well, yeah, but I mean," he shifted his position, as if changing his perspective would help him find the right words, "how confident are you that it's where you wanna live, I guess is what I'm asking."

"Where I want... I'm certainly happy there," he turned his body towards Polnareff, "but I also don't think a change of scenery is a bad thing. If I were to move elsewhere, it wouldn't be the end of the world - although I'm not sure I'd do it if it meant I still couldn't keep my current house. But... Experiencing foreign culture is a wonderful thing, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's neat and all... Just, out of interest, how would you feel about moving out to a place like this?"

Avdol stopped, searching in Polnareff's eyes - an action be must've noticed, because the Frenchman averted them to the floorboards. "Polnareff, forgive me if I've misunderstood, but are you... Asking me to move in with you?"

"I... might be." His fair skin was tinted with a wash of pearlish pink, the man trying to look as nonchalant as possible despite it. "It just gets lonely around here, y'know? No one visits me except the old women who live near the town centre, and while they're lovely and all, even I can only stomach so much crappy tea during our 15 straight hours of chatter."

Avdol hummed. Humourous as it was, it was a sentiment he could relate to. "I have to admit, I'm tempted; even with Iggy around, I've felt lonely at times back home."

"Really?"

"Really." Something clicked in his brain "Although, Polnareff..."

"Yeah?"

He smiled, edging towards a snicker: "You do realise this house has only one bed, right? Where would I sleep?"

Polnareff looked at him; a face of embarrassment, but curiously not shock. "Well, uh, I'd be fine selling the bed and getting two new ones, and just putting them on opposite sides of the room. If it'd make you happy, that is!"

"But the prospect of sharing a single bedroom doesn't irk you at all?"

"Hey, we shared a hotel room a few times, that's -"

"Polnareff." Avdol sighed, crossing his arms. Polnareff was hiding something and he wanted to know what, because he wasn't sure when he'd next get the chance. "How about this: I'll make you a deal. I'll... I'll move in with you on one condition. You make any and all ulterior motives for wanting me to move in known here and now."

Polnareff looked at him for a long time. Gradually, his cheeks shaded themselves the color of a pink sunrise, the man switching his gaze around the room as he worked up the nerve to speak. "I, to be perfectly clear with you, uh," he cleared his throat, "jeez, sorry, it's hot in here - can I get some water?"

"Polnareff."

He stiffened, locking eyes with him as his hand gripped harder at his neck. "I, how to say this... I like you! A lot. I feel safe when you're around, and everything you've done for me, from saving me from burning to Hol Horse and Vanilla Ice to just calling me to see if I'm okay... It started meaning a lot to me real fast."

"Go on."

"What? Oh, god, well," Polnareff looked like he wanted to shrivel up on the spot, but the look in his eyes showed there was more he needed to get off his chest, "I'm not sure what I would have done if you hadn't survived. I don't like thinking about that. I have nightmares about that. I just know that you never know what you have until you lose it, and I... I've lost you twice already. I don't want to lose someone I... I love, not if I can prevent it. Never again."

"... If it's any consideration," Avdol nodded, stepping closer to him, "I have no intention of leaving your side any time soon either."

"Huh?"

"I... " Avdol's heart was hammering in his chest, but he was determined to keep his voice steady. Just speak the truth: "You're a brilliant and loyal person through and through, and for that I can't admire you enough. You're humorous and shameless and live life true to yourself, and it's refreshing to see someone not give a damn. But, more than that... "

"Yeah?"

"... You're someone who, in the darkest of times, can find the good in anything. After our run in with Cameo, you showed the others I was alive with such genuine happiness in your voice, even though you were bleeding so badly. It's dumb, but I can't recall a time I have felt so loved in as long as I can remember. And, when I woke up from after Vanilla Ice... You greeted me with the biggest smile you could, and I had never felt such a weight lift off my shoulders. Why I can't stand to see you in danger; to sit by and watch you die... Everything clicked into place there."

Just a little bit more. With another step, he took his hands in his. "You make me very happy, Jean Pierre Polnareff. Now that I've met you, I can't imagine living without you."

"Y- you really do have a way with words, huh?" Polnareff's face was as red and pink as a bouquet of Valentine's Day roses, eyes wide and the corners of his mouth twitching nervously. "Wait... You felt all this back in January? Six months ago? And you did nothing?"

"I..." Avdol was taken aback by the question. "I'm not always the most adept at reading my emotions. Quite honestly though, looking back, I'm surprised I still didn't end up acting on them."

Polnareff pouted. "Man, I've only known about my feelings for about a month. I just walked into Jotaro's kitchen and went 'ah, there he is, the place where I want to be', and I realised a lot about myself all at once."

"That's alright." Avdol smiled, and he knew it was unbearably fond.

"So, uh," Polnareff's eyes were half-lidded, the blush in his cheeks somehow deepening as a larger, more nervous smile matched his partner's, "shall we swear our love with a kiss?"

Avdol knew he must've looked shocked, and definitely unimpressed: that was one of the most disgustingly cheesey lines he might've ever heard, and this was coming from a man who just spouted a whole waterfall's worth of sap. But after a beat, he let his expression soften, and in the end he decided to take him up on his offer.

*

Squinting his eyes, Avdol woke up from a sleep he didn't even realise he had fallen into. He was still clutching Polnareff's pillow, but his cold compress had been lost to the sheets and his hair twisted around him like vines. Night must've fallen outside, because the only light around were the orange beams that slipped through the space between the wall and ajar door in front of him - a door that was beginning to open further and further, the hallway's light flooding the room. At first he groaned, annoyed that the first thing that would happen upon waking up being the worsening of his headache, but as the light lingered in his vision and nothing happened he realised his migraine had passed. Other than the clinging embrace of sleep and his blocked sinuses, his head actually felt clear. 

Rubbing at his eyes, he searched for the cause of the door opening. It took some more time than he anticipated, but after shuffling closer to the right end of the mattress he saw Iggy, sitting on the ground around a foot away from the bed, looking up at him. Had he used the Fool to turn the door handle, or had Polnareff forgotten to close it properly?

"Hello there." He greeted sleepily as he held out his hand, and to his delight his throat was no longer sore. "Do you need something from me?"

Iggy accepted the touch for a moment, letting Avdol scratch behind his ear. Yet just as quickly he did a U-turn and parked himself in the doorway, looking back at him with steady eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to take him somewhere, so with a stretch that popped more than a few joints, Avdol rose to his feet for the first time that day to comply. The action dizzied himself and he had to take a moment to get a more precise bearing on his surroundings, but when they came they came with refreshing clarity. Before he left, he tried to make himself presentable: he wasn't keen to change out of his sleepwear, but he threw on a baggy pair of black pajama pants under his nightshirt and threw a long grey cardigan over it, following that by slipping on his trusty red robe. There was no way in hell he was putting his hair up - though he felt better than before, he was still exhausted, and the act took plenty of time - so instead he just rooted around in his drawers for a headscarf, wrapping a deep vermilion article around his forehead to keep his hair out of his eyes.

Right as he left the room, he took a moment to press a palm to his head: his fever had subsided. Though he still felt aches and pains and had what Polnareff had described as "the sniffles", his fever was gone, his sore throat was gone, and his migraine was gone. He hadn't even gotten around to taking any medicine. That soup worked wonders.

Stepping out into the hallway, Iggy began trotting along, and Avdol swore he could hear a noise. A tune, and a familiar one at that: they were probably playing the radio that was in the kitchen. Getting closer, he heard the voices of his friends breaking out into an eruption of laughter from behind the living room door, and smiled at the knowledge they were having a good time.

"I've fallen in love!"

Avdol froze.

"I've fallen in love for the first time, and this time I know it's for real." A voice that couldn't be anyone's other than Polnareff's warbled from the kitchen, belting the lyrics to Queen's I Want To Break Free at the top of his lungs. Avdol couldn't help but break into a grin, walking towards its source. "I've fallen in love."

"God knows! God knows I've fallen in love."

Appearing in the doorway, he peered at Polnareff, who was turned with his side facing him. The first thing that struck Avdol was that he was drunk - no, no less than three sheets to the wind. His hair was a mess; still primarily done up, but the outer strands were peeling from the column like the branches coming down from a weeping willow. If his sober self could see himself right now, he'd probably shriek loud enough to break glass. A content grin was painted on his face as his hips rocked to the music, blaring from that little box radio on the counter: "It's strange but it's true, hey, I can't get over the way you love me like you do!"

"But I have to be sure, when I walk out that door..." Three bottles of beer were on the counter, and as he engaged himself in his performance Polnareff was attempting to get the caps off of them (though it was clear the action took the backseat to his singing). "Oh, how I want to be free, baby!"

"Oh, how I want to be free," he brought a bottle up to his mouth like it were a microphone, seemingly have given up on opening them, and Avdol put a hand to his face as he was unable to contain his smile at his horribly endearing boyfriend, "Oh, how I want to break free!"

"Having fun?" Avdol asked, amused, as the instrumental set in, and Polnareff snapped away from his private concert.

"Avdol!" He cheered, filled to the brim with sheer hype. "How are you feeling, mon nounours?"

"Much better. You're an excellent nurse." He confirmed, honey in his voice.

He did a fist pump, elated: "Didn't I tell you you had the best doctor you could ever dream of right here?" 

"I never should have doubted you." He nodded at the bottles on the counter, still very much unopened. "Need help?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," he smiled sheepishly, "if you wouldn't mind."

"I'm assuming you're not drinking all of these yourself." He teased, walking up to the counter and taking the bottle opener from his hands.

"No, they're for Joseph and Jotaro and myself." He waved a hand, resting an elbow on the table. "But it will be my third drink! Or maybe... Seventh? No, wait... "

"Kakyoin doesn't want anything?" Avdol questioned as he popped the first bottle cap, cutting him off. He made a mental note to not let Polnareff drink any more after this.  

"Nah, said he doesn't like the taste, and he's on some new medication that doesn't mix well with alcohol or something..." Polnareff rambled on, but Avdol had stopped listening. While he could've stood there and watched him waffle on for hours, he was becoming aware the instrumental would end in a matter of seconds. Saying Polnareff was emotionally volatile right now was more than obvious, and missing the cue could put a damper on his jovial mood - the last thing Avdol wanted to happen. There was one thing he could do, he supposed.

"But life still goes on." He sang, voice deep, as he opened the last bottle. Polnareff immediately shut up as he continued, Avdol looking him in the eye: "I can't get used to living without, living without, living without you... By my side."

Polnareff's face was of pure shock and awe, and as he pulled an impossibly huge smile (even for him) he clasped Avdol's hands in his own, as if attempting and failing to assume a waltz position. He chimed in with a laugh, sprinkled with love: "I don't want to live alone!"

Avdol laughed himself as Polnareff continued, an expression on his face that showed he was over the moon: "Hey! God knows! Got to make it on my own!"

With a deep breath, they belted the next line in unison, fending off inevitable rolls of laughter: "So baby can't you see! I've got to -"

"Shut up and bring the beers already!" Jotaro called from the living room, and even though muffled by the shut door Joseph could easily be heard too, howling with laughter.

"Spoilsports." Polnareff pressed his cheek against Avdol's with a pout, the latter leaning into the touch. "They wouldn't know talent if it slapped them across the face."

Avdol hummed in response, and as the song faded out he picked two of the bottles off the table himself, lest Polnareff attempted to carry all three by himself in his drunken state. As he expected, he grabbed the last bottle and the radio, although the way he did so took him by surprise. The bottle was held in his left hand, and with the radio still running it was tucked into the crook of his arm; his other arm wrapped tightly around Avdol's waist. He gave a confident wink: "C'mon, everyone's waiting for you!"

Walking out of the kitchen, his heart suddenly jumped into his throat. He didn't know what sorts of things Polnareff had said, but as far he knew none of them were aware of the true nature of their relationship. He wasn't exactly scared to tell them, but in this position it wasn't news that was going to be broken subtly. Acutely aware that Polnareff's hand was further down his side than he might have liked in this moment, he spotted Iggy at the end of the corridor looking at him. It felt sort of like seeing your family for the last time before you went off to war.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Polnareff called as he cracked the door and swung it open with a kick. "Look who I found!"

A chorus of greetings and whoops came from around the room. Jotaro and Joseph had claimed the armchairs, feet up on the table; the remaining three of them were to fit on the couch, where Kakyoin had already taken refuge under a lap blanket. Shaking himself from Polnareff's grip Avdol handed Jotaro his drink and received a nod, moving over to Joseph.

"Glad to see you're up and around." The man greeted, leaning forward and accepting the bottle. "How're you feeling?"

"Better than this morning." He answered lightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there to greet you when you first arrived."

"Don't sweat it. We're all here to have a good time; no sense pushing you through misery." He shook his head, and Avdol eased into his seat.

He was sat on the left side of the couch, away from the door, with Polnareff jamming himself between him and Kakyoin. The radio was plopped down onto the coffee table but the beer was kept in hand, sips already being taken from it. His free arm wrapped back around his boyfriend eagerly, and Avdol wondered which would be more suspicious: seizing at the touch or acting like it were the most platonic thing in the world.

"God, do the stations here only play Queen?" Joseph complained at the radio, which had let the host's chatter die down, then broken into Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.

"Oh, no," Polnareff elaborated with a snicker, "After nine they take requests and I called in, like, sixteen times."

Joseph rolled his eyes and Avdol raised an eyebrow, debating in the back of his mind whether it was more likely he had done so sober or drunk, as Polnareff tittered some more. Realising the timescale within the comment he looked to the clock on the wall: well past 11 at night. He really must have needed the sleep. Meanwhile, Kakyoin seemed perplexed, leaning forward in his seat with his eyes on the radio as he tried to decipher the lyrics.

"They have catchy melodies, and I can't deny they sing well," Kakyoin offered his opinion, "but, what does half of what they're saying even mean?"

"What's hard to understand?" Polnareff asked, taking a swig of his drink. Craning his neck around him, Avdol saw Kakyoin's own cup was empty.

"Well, I know my English isn't as perfect as it could be, but like," he honed in on a lyric, "what was he trying to convey when writing a line like 'come on and sit on my hot-seat of love'?"

Joseph opened his mouth to say something, likely some piece of actual background knowledge on the song, but Polnareff butted in chipperly: "I'm sure Avdol can answer you!"

"I can?" He probed, not expecting for the spotlight to be on him.

"Sure you can!" Polnareff swayed towards him, cooing, "After all, you know all about sitting on my hot-seat of love."

A record scratch played in Avdol's head as he stared down Polnareff's flirtatious expression. What did he just say? He must have misheard him. He may have been completely pissed, but he could not have said that. Not something so tactless. The prior minutes, hours, days, weeks all ran through his mind, his mind spinning with all the different ways he could've avoided this scenario - because out of all the methods of admitting to his close friends that he was in a relationship with another one of their close friends, this is not the one he would've selected. To do it with a really, really crappy and suggestive joke.

"I -"

"It's alright." Jotaro interrupted, voice stone cold as usual. "It's not a surprise. Neither of you are exactly masters at hiding it."

Avdol wanted to release the tension in his body, somewhat grateful that throwaway line wasn't the first they heard about it, but he froze up just as quickly. Glancing at the Jotaro and his grandfather sitting next to him, the former wore a sly smile under his hat, while the latter clasped a hand over his mouth as he shook in place. Avdol pulled a quizzical expression, beckoning an explanation.

"For starters, you bicker with each other like an old married couple, and then you move to a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere together? Uprooting yourself from your life? It's not hard to tell there had to be something going on there." He almost ranted, taking a long sip of his drink when he was done.

"Oh." He stared dumbfounded, expecting more. "I -"

"Also, like an hour ago Polnareff went on a tangent for like twenty minutes about how hot he finds you. That was the real kicker." Jotaro broke, bluntly. "Heads up, he seems to really like you when you're naked."

Joseph finally snapped, releasing loud and wheezing laughter from the depths of his belly, and in his intoxication even Jotaro joined in. Avdol could've died right there on the spot. This... Sort of thing certainly wasn't the image of himself he wanted to be remembered by. The only thing he was thankful for was that blushing wasn't a trait that manifested itself visibly on him too easily (the last time he could recall it doing so was during the fight against Mariah): between the sudden embarrassment and showers of anger that coursed through him, he could feel his cheeks burning like hot coals. His head slowly ticked towards his companion, who sat with a hand behind his head, looking at him as innocently as he could.

"Polnareff! What did you do?" Avdol asked plainly, eyes wide. Though he tried to hide it, he was clearly fuming. 

"Oh, mon nounours, please don't be mad!" He pleaded as if about to receive the death penalty.

He raised his voice: "Why wouldn't I be - what did you say?"

"Come on, you know when you're passionate about something, you can't just bottle it up! You'd burst!" Avdol flinched not just at Polnareff's excuse but at the hand that had found its way to his cheek. "How was I supposed to just sit here and not preach about you when it's all that's on my mind?"

Whether the smooth talking he insisted on was the truth or an escape route from trouble didn't matter: as he clenched his jaw, Avdol held back as he begrudgingly accepted there was no point yelling at a drunk person. Behind him, over the Joestars' roars of laughter, Kakyoin waved for his attention. He was the only one who still seemed to be containing himself.

"I'm really sorry to bother you," he asked when Avdol leaned closer to him, "but could you come with me to get me another drink?"

That was a request he was willing to comply with. Avdol got off the couch in a heartbeat, figuring he'd decide what to do with Polnareff later. Kakyoin shifted from the couch to his wheelchair with surprising dexterity, and together the two left the scene and fled to the kitchen as quickly as they could. In the newfound silence, Avdol forced a lungful of air out of his body as he tried to calm his nerves, but Kakyoin broke out in supressed giggles.

"I'm really sorry, it's not right of me to laugh." He apologised immediately, placing his cup on the counter as he tried to rip off the grin that plastered itself to his face.

"What would you like?" He asked, voice hoarse as he tried to not take the younger man's demeanor to heart.

"Tea, if that's alright."

"Any variety in mind?"

"Whatever you recommend."

Grabbing another mug down from a shelf, Avdol put water in the kettle and a loose peppermint blend in the teapot: it was seasonally appropriate, and would hopefully help clear his sinuses. Once the prep was done and it was down to waiting, Avdol turned and leaned his back against the counter. Kakyoin sat in front of him, expression now more meek than amused.

"What did Polnareff say?" Avdol asked after a beat. He was hesitant to inquire about it, but Kakyoin was likely the only one who would give him a straight answer. Plus, if he didn't ask, the air would continue to be just as stagnant and oppressive for the rest of the night.

"Nothing bad, don't worry." Kakyoin assured him. "He didn't go into too much detail - actually, that's a bit of a lie -"

"Oh no." His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, no, no! I mean more, it wasn't graphic?"

"Of course."

"I mean, he didn't say anything too specific? But..." Kakyoin sighed, fighting to make a coherent sentence. "I feel guilty, but it was kinda fun to listen to, because Polnareff was really in his element talking about how much he likes you. Though it was... A little invasive, say the least, and it's probably for the best they were all so shitfaced by the time he started talking."

Kakyoin fiddled with his hands as he continued: "I realise teenaged boys aren't the greatest point of reference, but so many of my peers talk about people they find attractive as if they're something worthy of conquest. It makes me sick. But Polnareff talked about you like you were some kind of luxury he was the luckiest guy in the world to have, y'know?"

"Is that so?"

"Really. He wouldn't fucking shut up about how great you were; so don't be too mad at him in the morning." Kakyoin shook his head, smiling: "Still, when Jotaro told you... I wasn't confident you weren't going to punch him."

He shook his head as well, but let out a strong laugh: "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to either."

Avdol eased up a little: knowing they would all wake up with pounding headaches in the morning seemed like an appropriate amount of karma. He wasn't at all pleased with Polnareff talking about something so personal behind his back, however if he really did it from a point of the sort of adoration Kakyoin described... He might be able to find it in himself to forgive him. Not after reprimanding him enough to make sure he never did it again, that is.

"I apologise if this comes off as insensitive, but," Avdol asked once the water had boiled, "you don't have any... Problems with our relationship, do you?"

"Because you're gay?" Kakyoin raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't care less."

"Really?" Avdol blinked at him, surprised by the concise response.

"Why would it be an issue? If it were my own relationship that would be another thing, but it's not. It's none of my damn business." He cocked his head: "Well, until Polnareff made it all of our businesses, but that's besides the point. Listen, if you both are happy then I'm happy, and I'm sure Jotaro and Mr Joestar feel the same way."

Avdol couldn't help but smile, tapping the counter as he waited for the tea to brew: "Thank you, Kakyoin. You're a good man."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing still manages to go a long way." He affirmed, looking out the window. "I'm not trying to rush you out, but don't you need to get back to the hotel?"

"We tried to go back a few hours ago: apparently a car spun off the main road, and it's closed off until morning." Kakyoin shook his head. "Between the accident and the snow, it wasn't worth the effort to leave."

Once the tea had brewed and both of their drinks were poured, Avdol opened the door for them and was immediately met with a barrage of noise. Joseph and Polnareff were deep into a heated debate, and Jotaro seemed to be watching on, vaguely amused.

"Hey, Muhammad!" Polnareff snapped his fingers as he yelled over to him. "Opinions on pineapple on pizza!"

"On pizza?" He repeated. "It's not my favorite topping, but I don't hate it. There's nothing wrong with it."

Polnareff let out an exasperated outcry, and Joseph took a victorious chug of his drink: "Finally, someone with common sense! I knew I befriended you for a reason!"

"What?" Polnareff shot forward to the edge of his seat. "Pineapple on pizza is a sin of the highest order! Mon nounours, I trusted you!"

Avdol beckoned for Polnareff to slide down, Avdol now in the middle of the couch. He faced him with a mediating response: "If it helps, we never have to order it."

"That doesn't mean that it doesn't still exist, somewhere out there." Polnareff sulked. 

"How about pineapple in soft cheese?" Kakyoin proposed as he cradled his mug, and was met with a unanimous sound of disgust.

"Where the hell did you hear of that?" Joseph guffawed, faking a gag.

"I saw it in the airport; some kind of roule, with almonds in it?" He insisted. "It was incredibly overpriced."

"Kakyoin, take me to the shop you saw it in immediately - and Avdol, you come too." He leaned over and placed a hand on Kakyoin's knee. "We need to burn it down."

Avdol tugged on the arm over his lap and detached the hand from his friend. "Let's not start off this vacation with arson."

"Can we end it with it, then?"

*

Before he knew it, Avdol had woken up the next morning in his bed. He was still wearing the outfit he wore last night, including his robes, and given he had no memory of making his way to bed himself he assumed he was probably planted there after falling asleep. Kakyoin wasn't an option and the only thing Iggy would've done - Fool or otherwise - was get in their way. Imagining the concept of any combination of those three men attempting to carry (or drag) him to bed in their varying states of drunkenness was nothing but a comedy waiting to be written. Avdol opening his eyes, he saw one of them lying next to him, mouth wide open as he snored: Polnareff laid on his back, his hair attempting so, so desperately to stay in something resembling an intentional shape as he slept atop the blankets. Avdol ran the back of his hand across his face, admiring the smatterings of freckles across his cheeks, and wore a tender smile when he didn't react in the slightest.

Though it was only around 5 in the morning, Avdol got up fairly promptly - he was restless after sleeping away entire day before, and had plenty to catch up on. First things first was to take a long, hot shower, and finally scrub the clinging feeling that sickness brought to him off of his skin. The steam cleared his sinuses too, and for the first time in what felt like years he could breathe freely. Between washing himself down and putting his hair back up in knots he easily spent an hour in the bathroom, not a single other soul yet awake in the house.

As he dressed himself - a red shirt, tawny pants and robe, and blue scarf, along with his typically accessories - he couldn't help but watch Polnareff sleeping soundly. He seemed peaceful and totally content even in spite of the inevitable headache that would floor him when he awoke, leading Avdol to wonder if he seemed anything like that when Polnareff checked in with him yesterday. Although he was still reeling from Polnareff's slips of the tongue last night (no, better called verbal fiascos), looking at him now he couldn't bring himself to be mad at him. He was annoyed at his methods, Polnareff having the tendency to run his mouth without thinking of the consequences for as long as he had known him, but it got the job done and they were all still there the following morning.

He peeked into the living room to find his friends, all expectedly sound asleep. They laid where they sat last night, Kakyoin curled across the couch with Iggy sleeping in the crook of his knees. Leaving them to sleep longer (it was remarkable they could; Joseph was snoring tenfold times louder than Polnareff) he moved to the kitchen, brewing a large batch of coffee. He had no intention of drinking it himself, but it went without saying the others would need it.

Joseph was the first to rouse. He waddled out of the living room at around 7:40, still half asleep, and the first thing he did upon seeing Avdol was point down the hall as he confirmed the location of the bathroom. He wore the same ugly knit sweater and jeans he did the night before, the collar of his shirt underneath poking out crookedly.

"I get the impression I spoke to you last night, but..." Joseph greeted when he returned to the kitchen, his grogginess still present in his voice. "To say it formally: it's good to see you again."

"Good morning." Avdol greeted as he began to pour Joseph a mug. "The feeling is mutual."

"Is that coffee?" He perked up: "I could go for a glass."

"This one's for you." He slid the mug across the counter: "I don't touch the stuff."

"Oh, you'll convert one day." Joseph said in a convincing tone, taking a long and satisfied sip.

Joseph hummed, taking in the aroma of the drink and the atmosphere of the room as he tapped his foot on the ground. After a moment of rest, he said: "You know, when you said you were going to be living with Polnareff, I was surprised you chose to move to France instead of dragging him to Egypt. At the time, I figured you probably did it just because you didn't want to stay in a place associated with bad memories. That makes more sense now, knowing you're planning to make a hell of a lot more good ones."

"You make a good point. But, quite honestly," Avdol smiled at him, "the main reason Polnareff could never move to Cairo is because by noon each day he'd be so badly sunburned he'd look like a boiled lobster."

The two laughed heartily, but Joseph chimed in quickly. "Still, how long has this whole shebang been going on? Just this past month or so, or...?"

"Since I moved in with him in June, I'm afraid." He admitted.

"What?" Joseph exclaimed, clearly hurt - but his reaction as comical as always. "Six months already, and you never bothered to tell me?"

"By the time I realised I had forgotten to break the news to you, there was no way I could bring it up casually." Avdol shook his head. "I apologise; putting off telling you was a coward's way out."

"Eh, don't lose sleep over it." He waved a hand. "Affairs of the heart aren't exactly the easiest thing in the world to just come out and tell someone about."

Avdol nodded. "On that subject, now that you mention it: if you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you find out about our relationship?"

Joseph shrugged. "To be honest, I had made jokes about it when I saw how close you two were back at Holly's place, so when I saw how small the house was I wasn't sure if my growing suspicions were just because the idea was already in my head or because I've always had a mean sense of foreshadowing."

He laughed, letting him continue.

"I don't remember exactly when Polnareff told me? I just remember waking up this morning and being certain you two were an item in the end after all." He scratched the back of his head with his mechanical hand. "I think I was already pretty tipsy by the time we had the conversation; if only I could remember what we were talking about, because I remember him going on and on for a long time..."

Avdol tensed. "Do me a favour, and don't try to recall last night too hard."

Joseph blinked at him, and broke out into more laughter. "Alright, alright - must've been a touchy topic!"

"What are you all so happy about?" Polnareff called as his greeting, pacing towards the kitchen. He sounded irritated, but his voice was light as always and obviously had no real problems with the men in the room.

"Ah, speak of the devil." Joseph nodded, holding out a hand to indicate to him. Polnareff swung through the doorway dressed in an outfit similar to yesterday's, his hair finally fixed.

"Do you want coffee, Jean?" Avdol asked in as warm a tone as possible.

"God, yes." He nodded, taking a mug from him. "You're a lifesaver."

Polnareff walked around with an expression as if he knew he was forgetting something, but didn't seem to press himself to remember it - and consequently, Avdol figured that if he had no genuine idea of anything notable from the previous night, he should just move on and write it all off as a comedy of errors. Within the next half hour the remaining two woke up, making beelines for the coffee with their own brief good mornings. When Jotaro saw Avdol standing close next to Polnareff, his eyes went wide and his brow furrowed, as if his brain were buffering. After a moment you could tell something visibly clicked in his brain, the young man moving along as if nothing had happened: Avdol feared he remembered last night significantly better than his grandfather, and the best thing he could do now, too, is try to forget.

"What's the plan for today?" Joseph had thrown the question around at about 10 o' clock.

"We were supposed to go into the city, but that's looking unlikely." Avdol answered, somewhat dejectedly. "The news say the snow has everything backed up."

"Ah, that's not a problem!" Polnareff slapped him on the back. "Why don't we just go into the town? There are plenty of small shops and cafés to hit up; we can blow the whole afternoon away like nobody's business!"

"Sounds like a plan to me." Joseph nodded, and the decision was made. They were bundled up and ready to go not too long afterwards, Polnareff aspiring to walk them down there with the leadership of a military commander. In actuality, he looked more like a kid eager to show his mom something cool he found in the store.

Opening the front door, Polnareff beckoned Avdol forward: "I think we have a tiny problem."

"What?" He asked, soon answering his own question. Sure enough, the snowfall throughout yesterday undid all of their hard work; it was at least ankle deep.

Polnareff grinned at him in excitement: "Now can we use Magician's Red to melt the snow?"

"...Fine."

Magician's Red was a creature of prowess and had been used for many things in its time, furthermore clearing roads wasn't a new concept. Clearing them of snow however, rather than something like debris, was a little bit demeaning, but it got the job done. Most of the runoff was evaporated in the intense heat immediately, leading to less of that ice slick Avdol had feared and even warming their legs with the steam. Polnareff walked along the side of the road, leading their group with Avdol right beside him. Joseph walked in the middle, with Jotaro using Star Platinum to help Kakyoin navigate over more difficult terrain in his wheelchair. As expected, the roads were deserted, save for the occasional farmer.

"Psst." Polnareff nudged him. "Can I see your hand?"

Raising an eyebrow, Avdol moved the hand nearer to Polnareff from his pocket, holding it out to him with the palm up. Immediately, Polnareff took it in his own, lacing their fingers together as they walked.

"God, Jean, your hands are freezing!" Avdol commented, squeezing his hand.

"Completely forgot my gloves -"

"By which you mean you intentionally left them at home."

"- but I knew you'd come through for me, mon nounours." Polnareff winked.

"I really don't mean to eavesdrop but I keep meaning to ask," Kakyoin piped up, "what does 'mon nounours' mean?"

"Shit, don't say anything!" Joseph held up his hand immediately. "I went to Paris with Suzi once in the sixties; she called me it all the time! God, what was it, don't tell me -!"

"It means 'my teddy bear'." Avdol explained, Joseph letting out a disappointed groan. He turned to Polnareff: "Because... You see me as something cuddly?"

"Of course." He agreed, pride ringing through his voice. "If I didn't get to hold you every night as I went to bed, I'm not sure what I'd do."

Glancing over his shoulder, Avdol spotted Joseph turning to the men behind him and sticking a finger in his mouth, exaggeratedly miming himself retching. While on most days the action would probably remind him to dial back any romantic intention while they were outside closed doors, today it made Avdol feel good. It reaffirmed him. He was outside on a crisp winter's day, surrounded by his friends while he unapologetically held hands with his lover. It was a picture he could never have imagined for himself as a young boy. It was one he was grateful for.

"I still have to decide what to call you, though." Avdol pouted. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to come up with a simple term of endearment."

"Ah, your sweet nothings are enough. I'm more than happy to help you brainstorm, though." Polnareff raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, what am I to you?"

"Hmm. I suppose," Avdol mused as he pressed a kiss to rose colored cheeks, "you are my nurse, and my knight in shining armour."

Polnareff cooed in delight, following up: "And how does that translate in Arabic?"

"I'll... Figure that out later."