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Adam’s not entirely sure what to expect when he knocks on the door. He feels…out of place, to be sure. Uncomfortable in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. It’s late - just after eleven when he left the warehouse - and the anemic light in the hallway tosses the shadows out the window in sharp relief before they drop into the deep dark of the alley behind the apartment building.
It doesn’t feel…real. All washed out beige, cheap fluorescent lighting humming annoyingly above him, the faint echoes of lives going about him behind closed doors. And here he was. At night. With a bag of take out. Knocking on the detective’s door without a clue what he was really doing here.
Tina should be here. Maybe Mason? A friend. A better friend anyway. He hadn’t even known Santi was ill until Mason had stomped up to him with the take out bag currently clutched in his hands and told him in no uncertain terms where he was going.
Sure, things had been quiet the past couple of days - Santi waving them out of the station when they made it down there, and then begging off swinging by the warehouse…and Tina telling them he’d left early for the day yesterday definitely should’ve tipped them off.
He’s about half-way through the build up of an internalized berating when he finally hears something beyond the door - a thump and the shuffle of socks across carpet. The movement’s slow, and as it gets closer, Adam can hear the rough breathing that comes with it.
“...Santi?” He sounds worried, he knows. Can’t really help it - he can hear the rough catch in a shredded throat - winces slightly when there’s a deep breath before the door swings open.
He looks…a mess. Normally loose black curls are mashed down this way and that, bright brown eyes clouded and ringed with dark - his skin’s a shade or two in a direction it shouldn’t be, and he’s carrying himself like the trek from the door to the bed drained what little he had.
“...That bad, huh?”
Adam blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it, and blinks again. The man’s smiling at him - it’s weak, certainly - a shadow of his normal, but it’s there, and all Adam can do is shrug, half in disbelief, half in…well, what else is he going to do.
“I can’t smell a thing right now, but if that’s what I think it is, you’re my favorite.” And with that, he shuffles back inside, leaving the door open. Adam doesn’t really know what to do with that except follow - so he does, gently closing the door behind him. “What time is it?” Santi asks around a yawn, dragging a hand through his hair, only to scrunch up his nose in something not dissimilar to disgust.
Adam raises an eyebrow - “When did you go to sleep?”
“What day is it?”
“...”
Another weak grin is all he gets to that. And he’s trying, Adam can see, but he’s also flagging - a shake to his limbs and a hunch to his shoulders he’s trying to hide by leaning against the wall by the kitchen. Adam can’t help himself - he sets the bag on the counter and crowds into Santi’s space before the man can figure out which direction he’s going. The fact that he does it at a perfectly human speed tells him almost everything he needs to know. When he brings a hand up to Santi’s temple, the facade seems to crumble a little bit as he leans into the touch heavily. “Right, yeah, I’m a bit…”
“You’re burning up.”
“Yeah, that.” Santi sighs - a deep rattle in his chest clicking on the exhale that has Adam frowning. “And before you ask, yes, I went to a doctor - not the agency one, no - and it’s just a cold. A bad one, but still.”
And Adam knows that’s all he’s going to get. The man may be light hearted - rivaling Felix occasionally - but he was more stubborn than the lot of them put together when he wanted to be. But…
“Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll heat this up?” He offers. It’s awkward - can feel the shape of the question fall off his tongue, heavy and obvious - but, he hopes, sincere.
Santi blinks at him, gaining back a little bit of life to those warm brown eyes that Adam’s realizing he’s missed in the brief time he’s seen how dull they can be, “You don’t have to stay - I’m going to be useless for the next little while at least and-”
“You have a fever. Of course I’m staying.” He cuts in, far more firm than he feels. He’d leave, if Santi wanted him to. Knows he’d walk right out that door and worry himself sick, waiting for news. But when Santi sighs softly, leaning back into the hand he’d forgotten to move from where it’s now gently carding through stiff curls, he figures he made a good choice. “Go on.” He murmurs, letting his hand drop after a moment longer - can’t bear the heavy gentleness in Santi’s look as he pushes himself upright again, “Before you can’t make it to the shower.”
Santi blinks at him. Once. Twice. And then he’s laughing, and coughing, and Adam feels a little bit like a jerk, but not enough to not let slip a small smile of his own.
“I’m remembering that, just so you know.” Santi tosses over his shoulder as he shuffles to the bathroom. Adam vaguely wonders how that’ll come back to haunt him, but can’t find it in himself to be too worried.
He waits until he can hear the shower turning on, and the safe steps into it, before setting about his end of the deal - digging through the kitchen to find some dishes to heat the soup in.
It’s a quiet, peaceful few minutes. The steam’s doing wonders for Santi’s breathing, Adam can hear, and he can feel his own shoulders relaxing in response. It may just be a cold but…this was new. And it wasn’t a ‘new’ he was looking forward to becoming old.
“So. Who told anyway?” The question’s muffled by the door, and the shower’s still running, thin wisps of steam leaking out from under the door. And Adam would be offended - he should be offended - but…
“Tina told Mason. Mason dropped a take out bag of soup in my lap and I figured it out from there.”
There’s a wet laugh - thick and rough and Adam winces slightly to hear it, even if it’s sounding better than earlier, “You know, I didn’t think he even knew where to get that.” Neither did Adam honestly. And, looking at the logo on the bag on the counter, it occurred to him he also had no idea where Mason had gotten it. The way Santi’s face had lit up when he’d seen it though - it had to be a favorite of his. Maybe Tina clued Mason in?
“Favorite of yours then?”
“Best two am dive in town,” Santi calls back.
“...Maybe you can show me where?” And there’s that awkward, unsubtle shape again - falling flat and heavy in the quiet.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” Is all he gets back, and yeah, he would like that too.