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Minho doesn’t need Sonya’s nudge to leave his collection with her and almost sprint to their cabin.
He and Thomas had both known that it was going to be a hard few weeks. They hadn’t been separated since Thomas’s fall early last year, and even before that, they’d been pretty joined at the hip.
Two weeks away on a supply run…they can’t be together all the time, but unfortunate timing landed them with Minho as the last-resort leader of the team.
It was supposed to be more gradual than this.
Things aren’t as bad as he feared when he steps into their cabin.
The mess isn’t a week’s worth of clothes and dirt, probably just the past three days or so.
“Min? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Thom, I’m back. Supply run went well, no one got hurt, and we found what we were looking for.” Minho keeps talking as he moves around the cabin, only moving things that really need to be moved for now.
“How bad is it, Thomas?”
“It rained for three days straight. Before that, I was having nightmares, but otherwise I was fine. The rain just…”
“It’s okay.” When he finally steps inside their room, he sees that Thomas has piled all of their blankets on himself. “What’s your level today?”
“8. It’s down from yesterday.”
“Do you want me to join you after my bath, or would that be too much?”
“Too much.”
“Okay, I won’t then.” They have two mattresses--a larger, softer one, which is great for sharing and for when Thomas’s pain spikes, and a smaller one, more designed for sleeping outside.
Minho builds the small fire in their room back up--hopefully someone’s been helping Thomas with that, when it’s this bad--and pulls the tub over to heat up while he fills it with buckets from the kitchen.
It’s a good thing they figured out how to run waterlines. Aside from the basic setup, there had been nothing when they’d gotten here. They would have made it work, but all of them were used to running water and electricity. There had been some bad reactions when they’d been told that only the main buildings would have it.
“Minho?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, Thomas.” Thomas sounds half-asleep. It’s the middle of the day, but he always sleeps a lot after a few days of rain.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Thomas is leaning off the edge of the bed a little. “Up for breakfast? Frypan stopped by. He let himself in.”
“I can always eat.”
“Minho,” He’s shy, which means he’s going to ask for help with something he thinks he shouldn’t need help with, even on a bad day. “Do you think you could heat up some water? I haven’t been up for a bath for a few days and I think I can manage it today.”
“Of course, Thomas.” Before, Thomas was involved in everything--he organized cabin clusters, greenhouse plants, which common buildings were getting electricity and water immediately (the medical cabin and the kitchens), supply runs, and he’d even sat down and sketched out a plan for schooling for the younger kids with their parents.
Minho knows he misses it, but Thomas doesn’t have the physical strength to work that like anymore. He can’t do a thousand things all day, every day. His best days are spent in the kitchens with Frypan, baking, and doing prep work. Good days are spent in the greenhouse, either harvesting or planting or just planning, depending on how he’s feeling. On bad days, he can usually get around their cabin pretty well without much help, but anywhere else is out.
And the worst days, the post-rain days, those are always spent in bed, piled under blankets, and if he can handle it, curled up with Minho.
They eat in bed, Thomas managing to drink the applesauce and light soup Frypan brought for him.
“How hot do you want it? I can add a bucket of cold water if you want.”
“Unless it’s freezing, it’ll be fine, Minho.”
Thomas never likes to be helped out of bed unless he can’t move, so Minho finishes setting out soap and a soft cloth.
His right leg never quite healed up correctly, the ankle bone jutting a little too far inward. Farther up, his hip healed crooked.
Somehow, his spine wasn’t broken when he fell, but that’s mostly good luck.
Minho can see the swelling on Thomas’s wrists and fingers from where he’s sitting.
His wrists had been easy enough to set, but it’d been days before they’d found him.
He should have known something was wrong sooner. Then maybe it wouldn’t be this bad for Thomas.
Minho’s worried; he always is. Thomas understands why. Most of the time, he doesn’t tell Minho how much it really hurts, because he beats himself up enough about this.
There was nothing Minho could have done. Nothing anyone could have done, except not sending him on a solo supply run.
“Min,” He hadn’t had any nightmares last night, which always makes the pain easier to handle. “Will you help me, please?”
It doesn’t mean putting pressure on his ankle sounds fantastic right now.
“Yeah, anything.”
The last two weeks… they were mostly good days. Rain always does him in; his ankle swells and throbs, his hip tightens up, and his wrists ache and remain swollen for days afterward.
“I know the tub isn’t big enough for two, but--” Thomas yawns, without meaning to.
This is the farthest he’s moved since the rain started
“Whatever you need, Thomas. Always. I’m not leaving.” Minho kisses his head softly. “Anywhere I should I avoid?”
“Be gentle with my ankle? And my wrists are still bad.”
When Thomas tries to take a piece of soap, Minho sets it just out of reach.
“Nope. I’m taking care of you today. I hated being on the supply run; being away from you. Not knowing if you were okay, or if something had happened.”
“I was worried too.” Thomas murmurs. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it, every time I hear that you or one of our friends has gone a supply run. I don’t want--Minho, I don’t want this or worse to happen to anyone else.”
“It won’t, love, we won’t let it. No one goes alone, and usually they’re a lot shorter than two weeks.”
“With winter coming up, someone had to go.” He knows it’s true. Jorge and Gally were supposed to lead this one, but they’d both gotten sick. Gally came around as soon as he was well enough to apologize.
Like he could control when he got sick.
“I wish you could. Some of the areas they’ve been restoring are really pretty. You’d love them”
“Maybe when it’s easier.” Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to leave Paradise again. Even the mostly-flat paths from here to the communal areas are difficult at times, and he can’t go for a walk in the forest without a plan for staying in bed for a day afterward.
It’s nice to think about, but he’s not going to be well enough to do more than he already does without real doctors, medicine, and medical technology he doesn’t think they’ll ever see again.
Minho is gentle with him as he rinses him off, one hand trying to work out the tightness in his hip while the other runs the soapy cloth over his back.
The hot water makes it easier to relax, and though he’d slept through dinner the day before, Thomas finds himself drifting off.
He’s distantly aware of Minho drying him off, wrapping him in blankets rather than trying to get clothes on him, and settling him in bed. Thomas wraps a hand around his wrist and taps lightly, using their old code from joint supply runs.
“Of course I’ll stay, Thomas. Let me get the hot pack for you first, though.” Minho kisses his forehead, then his lips, softly.
Once the hot pack--a bag of rice, laid by the fire to get warm--is settled against his hips, Minho curls around his other side, just holding him.
For the first time since Minho had gone on the supply run, Thomas falls asleep easily.