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“Tav? Hey, can you hear me?”
Octavio groaned, scrunching his eyes shut against the bright lights that were threatening to assault his vision. He moved his head from side to side, hissing at the stiffness in his neck. His mind felt foggy, almost like he was drunk and he wasn’t sure if he was about to throw-up or not.
He felt a weight shift beside him and something warm take hold of his achy fingers.
“Tav? Hey, it’s me sweetheart.”
Octavio forced his eyes open against his body's resistance, his hazy eyes landing on the one thing that made him feel like everything was going to be okay no matter how awful he felt; Elliott's face.
"Ell…"
He moved to sit up, his voice dry and raspy but was met with a hand to the chest, gently pushing him back against his pillow.
“Relax,” Elliott said, lightly brushing his fingers against the runner’s cheekbone. “I’ll call one of the nurses to look you over.”
“No,” Octavio replied definitely, weakly wrapping his fingers around his partner’s wrist holding him there. “I just want you.”
“Okay, but...only for a couple of minutes. I want them to make sure you’re alright.”
“What happened?” Octavio asked croakily.
Elliott reached over to the tray nearby and poured some water into a cup, adding a straw before offering it up to the runner’s dry lips.
“Well, we got into that fight outside Runoff. You remember that?”
Octavio nodded, prompting the trickster to continue.
“And you were shot up pretty bad by the other team that snuck up on us. We thought we’d be able to fix you up and get back in the game but...you were just bleeding so m-much and then you passed out. We had to call an evac and everything. I was scared, Tav.”
“I wanna get out of here,” Octavio pouted, seeming mostly unphased by the story he’d just been told. “I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps.”
“You literally just woke up,” Elliott chuckled. “You’re not going anywhere for a while.”
“Oh, yeah? Says who?”
“Me,” Elliott replied, lovingly. “I could have lost you, Tav. And it was...it was my fault. Because I wasn’t watching your back.”
“Nah. It’s not your fault,” Octavio told him, a playful smile creeping onto his face. “But if you're really feeling guilty about it you can always get me out of here and take care of me at home.”
He batted his eyelashes, causing the trickster to laugh.
“Nope. Not falling for it.”
“Aw. You will eventually, amor. Always do.”
“I’ll tie you to this bed if I have to,” Elliott joked, giving his hand a light squeeze. “You’re not leaving until I know you’re fully recovered.”
Octavio stuck his tongue out in mock protest, flashing his.
“Spoil sport.”
Elliott leaned forward, allowing his forehead to rest lightly against Octavio’s chest.
“Never do that again,” he murmured.
“What? Get shot at?” Octavio quipped in response. “That’s gonna be kind of hard. Or did you suddenly forget we do that a lot? Maybe you should be the one in here, eh? You bumped your head or something.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Elliott said, not looking at him. “I meant...don’t almost die on me. Ever again. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Octavio searched his brain for a joke to make or a remark that would lighten the mood, though the weight of his lover on his chest seemed to grow heavier. He brought his hand up, tracing the fade shaved into the back of the trickster’s head with his fingers.
“Okay,” he agreed, quietly with a small nod. “I’ll try my best. But I’m gonna hold you to it too. If I gotta, you gotta.”
That seemed to get a small laugh from the trickster.
“Alright. Deal.”