Chapter Text
Taejoon had been convinced that nothing could slow Octavio down.
Despite Taejoon’s efforts, despite life’s efforts to throw whatever it could at him, Octavio was an unstoppable force. Heartfelt proposals, earth-shattering revelations, and traumatic injuries bounced right off of him, and in some cases only made him run from his problems faster.
Getting Octavio to slow down for once was like pulling teeth; he seemed to have an almost obsessive need for sensation. But somehow a simple illness was the thing to force him to a halt, and it was Bloodhound who had caught it first.
Everything aligned just perfectly for the disease to spread—a bite from a prowler in the one spot unprotected by three layers of clothing and armor; the mistaken belief that only consuming infected prowler meat led to leviathan flu; symptoms not unlike the ones Bloodhound experienced already from their respiratory issues that were brushed off; and the Legends packed inside the dropship like sardines.
Fitzroy caught it from them, who then played the day’s match with Makoa and Octavio right before Bloodhound’s symptoms were noticed. The infirmary confirmed that it was leviathan flu (a misnomer, but it wasn’t like Taejoon cared to know why), and the panicked higher-ups scrambled to quarantine everyone who had been in contact with Bloodhound for the past three days—and just in time, too, because Fitzroy had also spread it to his teammates.
Symptoms varied: Bloodhound recovered quickest, back on their feet in two days and raring to hunt again. Makoa had been completely asymptomatic, returning alongside the hunter, while Fitzroy was stuck at home hacking up a lung. Thankfully he fully recovered within the week—and he was lucky, Ajay said, because he wasn’t up to date on his vaccinations.
(“I had to get twenty-six shots when comin’ here, Che, so forgive me if I missed a couple,” Fitzroy had said, mustache bristling under her gaze as she surveyed him and his chart. "Back on Salvo, the only two that really mattered were rabies and polio."
“Have ya even had your tetanus shot, Walter?” Ajay asked, the sarcasm in her voice biting.
“What’s tetanus?”
Fitzroy was made to receive another six vaccines after that.)
Octavio, however, was a different story.
It didn’t matter that he was fully vaccinated, or that he had a plethora of medicine stolen straight from his father’s company to help alleviate his symptoms. It didn't matter that he was comparatively more healthy when propped next to Bloodhound and Fitzroy, both with lung issues for different reasons. Octavio was down, had been bedridden for the past week and Ajay was pretty sure he would be out for another.
"...and even when he's recovered, he'll still need a break from the Games," Ajay finished telling him, stirring her bowl of cereal. "Ya can't just lay in bed for two weeks and then hop right back into all this runnin' and gunnin'. I won't let him do that, anyway."
Taejoon nodded, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the clock above the stove. It was two in the morning, and everyone else was asleep, so she was catching him up on Octavio's condition while no one else was around to question why he cared.
Which he appreciated, but he didn’t really speak to her much, and that was exemplified by the awkward silence that followed her words. As if sensing this, Ajay took the initiative to ask,
"I can tell something is botherin' ya. What's up?"
He didn't look at her, silently pondering how to phrase his question without sounding too concerned. Even if Ajay was one of the few who knew of he and Octavio's relationship, showing weakness was something he was still averse to.
He was worried though; he himself had been quarantined for three days (thankfully, no one aside from those four had caught it) and Octavio hadn't been responding to any of his text messages. Octavio had apparently been so sick in those initial days that Ajay deemed it necessary to stay at his place providing round-the-clock care, which didn't sound good, and a small, anxious part of him wanted to see the other man's condition for himself.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, he turned to her and asked,
"Has he ever gotten this sick before?"
She pursed her lips. "He doesn’t get sick that often, but when he does, he gets sick. Always been that way."
"How so?"
"Well, growing up you’d be jealous of him for not catchin’ a cold all winter...then all of a sudden in the spring he’d have the worst case of strep throat. Makes ya feel glad to have only caught the flu.”
"But he usually recovers fine?"
"Always. Don't mean we shouldn't be worried, but... Silva's fine. He'll be fine."
"He doesn't need to be hospitalized?"
"No, not yet. He's breathing alright."
Despite her reassurances, he wasn't quite convinced. He had seen Octavio recover quickly from things that would put normal people out of commission for months. Hell, just last month Octavio had been shot in the chest, yet he had returned to the Games quickly like nothing had happened.
The thought of a simple illness being the thing that dug its claws into his energetic boyfriend and forced him to a stop left him feeling that it had to be life-threatening. There was simply no other explanation.
Ajay kept talking as she placed her bowl in the kitchen sink, as though she could sense Taejoon's agitation. “He’s got an emergency number to call if his condition worsens, but he should start gettin’ better this week. Ya don't need to worry your pretty little head, Kim."
Taejoon watched her move around the kitchen, putting up the cereal box and milk. He wanted to trust her words—she was a medic, after all—but the gnawing paranoia of losing one of the few people he had allowed himself to care for since his life had been ruined simply wouldn't go away. He needed to see Octavio for himself. He knew that showing up at Octavio's place wouldn't make his boyfriend feel any better, nor would Taejoon be able to do anything about it, but this specific paranoia built up inside of him until he had demanded,
"Let me see him."
Ajay paused, halfway out the kitchen door, before turning to look at him.
"What?"
"Let me go with you later. I want to see him."
"He's contagious. I ain't about to—"
"No he's not," he cut her off. He'd overheard the higher-ups discussing this when it had come to Fitzroy returning to the Games. "The virus sheds quickly. Even if he still has symptoms, he shouldn't be contagious anymore."
Ajay rolled her eyes, before finally relenting.
“Alright. Ya better be outside his house by two tomorrow. I ain't waitin' around."
"Thank you," Taejoon said. Ajay waved her hand at him dismissively, and then he was alone in the kitchen. He sighed, letting his tired eyes slip closed as he remembered the last time he and Octavio had spoken.
They hadn't been talking about anything important. Or anything at all, really. They had been kissing in Octavio's room, his boyfriend high off the adrenaline from his win with Fitzroy and Makoa—and then someone had been pounding on his door, declaring that Octavio needed to quarantine immediately. Taejoon too, since they'd been caught together, though thankfully he'd been able to come up with an excuse that he suspected Octavio had stolen something of his and was confronting him.
As soon as the official had walked briskly away to inform Makoa of the same thing, Octavio had punched him lightly in his arm and said,
"If it's spread through droplets then I'll be fiiiine, cariño. I mean, it's not like I was making out with Fuse or anything. What are the chances I'll actually get sick? See ya in three days!"
Despite how wrong he’d turned out being, exasperated fondness had Taejoon scoffing lightly at the memory with amusement. Idiot.
The Silva family mansion stood atop an artificial hill, situated out of reach from most people and surrounded by a tall gate. It looked the same as it always had; grand, but desolate, every single one of its French windows dark and giving the impression of emptiness. Adding onto the feeling of isolation was the fact that Taejoon couldn't hear the sounds of the city's traffic from here, even though he had been sitting in it only a few short minutes ago.
He climbed up the marble staircase that was built into the hill, lined with hedges that were kept perfectly trimmed by the gardeners despite the house sometimes going months without being habited. The staircase was hundreds of steps long, and Taejoon wasn't out of shape in any way, but he found climbing up them to be rather annoying. What kind of person decided that climbing up this many stairs after a long day at work or school would be a good idea?
Perhaps someone who didn't actually need to work all that hard.
Ajay greeted him outside the front door, unlocking it with her copy of the mansion's key and pushing it open to allow sunlight to illuminate the grand entrance hallway.
It felt more like a museum than a house; oil paintings adorned the walls and marble statues with tarps thrown over them to prevent the collection of dust stood ominously in the corners. A half-pipe crammed into the living room and a vending machine stocked with Octavio’s favorite snacks were the only signs that his boyfriend lived here at all.
"I hate it here," Ajay said bluntly as she turned on the lights. He couldn't say he disagreed. “I got him set up in his dad’s room. He’s never here."
Taejoon supposed that made sense. Mystik used to hole up sick kids at the orphanage in her son’s old room to avoid the spreading of germs and so that she could deep clean everything inside afterwards. Having that room to himself whenever he got sick had been fun as a kid, but now the memory made Taejoon feel weird knowing that it had once been Nox’s room.
Ajay led him through the sprawling mansion, eventually reaching a hallway he’d never seen before, where the walls were covered in paintings of Eduardo Silva that had since been vandalized by Octavio. His mouth twitched at the corners as he looked at the crude graffiti. Seeing his boyfriend's messy touch disrupting the extravagant environment made it at least feel like someone lived here, someone who wasn't as self-important as the rest of the people on Olympus.
His small smile vanished when Ajay pushed the bedroom door open, and he saw the state that his normally energetic boyfriend was in.
Octavio looked miserable, curled into a ball while laying on a huge, king-sized bed. His arm was hanging over its edge, twitching fingers inches away from a trashcan piled high with used tissues. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were shut, but he didn’t look like he was sleeping—no, his face was screwed up, cheek pressed to a pillow soaked with sweat.
He looked strangely childlike in this state. His condition reminded Taejoon of kids at the orphanage who would fake severe symptoms and misery in order to get out of going to school. Unlike their theatrics, though, Octavio's misery seemed very real and suffocating. It was hot in the room, despite the ceiling fan above spinning at full speed.
Though he hated to see him in this state, he was glad he had convinced her to let him come. Seeing him like this soothed part of his worries...but made even more gnaw at him from the inside.
“Silva,” Ajay said quietly, taking charge and approaching his slight form on the bed. She touched his bare shoulder, every inch of tanned skin that Taejoon could see flushed dark with a fever. Taejoon felt uncomfortably warm just from looking at him. “Silva, wake up. Your boy-toy is here."
He rolled his eyes at the nickname, but said nothing about it. He'd been called worse.
As she continued to try and shake Octavio awake, Taejoon looked around the room, noting how different its furniture was from Octavio's room, which he had been in before. Everything here was ornate and practically gleaming with wealth, but at least it looked comfortable, which he supposed was all that mattered at the moment.
Several bottles of pills were lined up on top of a carved mahogany dresser, as well as two empty tissue boxes. Taejoon picked one of the pill bottles up, reading the label. It was sinus medication, though it didn't seem to be working judging by how strained and congested Octavio's breathing sounded.
Taejoon set the pill bottle down, and was just about to suggest coming back later when Octavio suddenly stirred. His eyes were still squeezed shut as he turned his face further into his pillow, burying his nose into it and letting out a miserable-sounding “mmnn-nnm-mnnnn” that Taejoon was able to interpret as a “go awaaaaaay”.
“Hyeon is here," Ajay said, but Octavio didn’t react at all to those words. “I need ya to sit up so you can take ya meds, brother."
“We should let him sleep,” Taejoon said when his boyfriend continued to lay motionless, but Ajay shook her head.
“He needs a bath, and if he don't take his meds he'll be miserable for the rest of the day."
More miserable than he already is?
Ajay picked up one of the pill bottles he had just been examining. “You can give him a bath. Just be careful. I’m gonna make him lunch."
Surprised, he repeated, “I have to give him a bath?”
“‘Course. You’re his boyfriend, nothing you ain’t seen before. And I trust you enough to make sure he doesn't drown.” With that said, she turned on her heel and left the room before he could even think of arguing.
Taejoon sighed, before approaching Octavio's still form. He shook his boyfriend gently, then harshly, but he didn't even open his eyes. He then slid the covers off of him, hoping that perhaps the loss of their weight would get him stirring, but still nothing happened. This would be a bit more difficult than he anticipated.
The master bathroom was behind a paper sliding door with cherry blossoms painted on it. A rather odd aesthetic choice, though Taejoon and his musings about it came to an abrupt halt when he opened it to reveal a bathroom that was almost the size of his entire apartment.
The tub and shower were separate, the latter looking like it could comfortably fit ten people and still have a little wiggle room. After a confusing couple of minutes trying to figure out what each of the six different knobs on the tub did, he eventually got warm water running.
This place was annoying.
When he returned Octavio still hadn't budged, and he scooped him up easily thanks to the absence of his legs, cradling him close to his chest. After carrying him into the bathroom, he pulled Octavio's thin tank-top over his head and slid his boxers off. His skin felt oily with sweat beneath his touch, and Taejoon flinched a little as he touched him. He was used to handling sickness, but that didn’t mean he liked it.
"Octavio," he said quietly. "Are you awake?"
No response. He pressed the back of his knuckles to his flushed cheeks, feeling how hot he was. He would have to convince Ajay to take his temperature—Octavio's fever felt severe enough that he worried he would need to be hospitalized. Why he wasn't in the hospital already in this condition was a mystery to him.
He lowered Octavio into the tub, the water only filled to a certain point so that Octavio’s head would remain above the water level. He grabbed a washcloth and when he turned back around, saw that his boyfriend's eyes were halfway open. There were dark heavy bags beneath them, and when Taejoon placed his hand tenderly on his shoulder he didn’t look his way or even acknowledge him at all.
“Aish,” Taejoon sighed, reaching now for a bottle of—frankly, absurdly expensive—bodywash. “You’re out of it, Tavi-yah.”
A simple nickname, but one he didn’t use often. It felt...intimate. Unique to him. He'd hoped it would get a response, but it didn't.
Octavio started to nod off again as Taejoon bathed him, head lolling to the side. He had to cradle his head as he ran the washcloth over the mastectomy scars on the younger man's chest, at least glad that his boyfriend wasn’t wearing his piercings because he didn’t really know how to clean around those.
He was just about to shampoo Octavio's hair when he suddenly let out a thick, guttural whine that sounded a lot like Taejoon's name. He paused, before running his hands through his short hair, fingertips sliding over his scalp.
"What is it?" he asked gently. Octavio didn't turn his head, but his hazel eyes were fixed on him, a clouded side-gaze that was looking but not quite seeing.
"Taejooooon," Octavio whined. Normally he would startle at his name being said out loud like this, especially with Ajay around, but Octavio was barely legible through his stuffy nose and sore throat. That, and Taejoon kind of liked it when he said his full name, and not just 'Joon' or 'TJ'.
"What?" he repeated, and Octavio's next words were petulant and pitiable.
"I don't wanna be here..." He coughed. "I hate it..."
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" Taejoon asked, voice slightly sharper. He received a sluggish shake of Octavio's head in response. "Where do you want to go?"
Octavio let his head fall back, hitting the edge of the tub with a thunk that made Taejoon wince. He had closed his eyes again, like the bathroom light was too harsh for them.
"Hogar," he mumbled, lips barely moving. Taejoon wanted to ask him what that word meant, but Octavio didn't speak or even open his eyes again after that.
After draining the tub, Taejoon used a fluffy white towel to dry him off. He massaged his scalp through the towel with gentle fingers, sweeping his wet hair out of his eyes, before wrapping his whole body up in the towel and carrying him out of the bathroom.
Eduardo's bedroom had a luxurious chaise that Taejoon set Octavio down before stripping the bed of its sweat-soaked sheets. He carried them out to the laundry room located a floor above, and ducked into Octavio’s room on the way back to grab him a comfortable shirt and pair of boxers.
He knew the layout of Octavio's house decently well by this point, but he nearly got lost on the way back to Eduardo’s room thanks to the twisting halls and the fact that he’d never been to this area of it before. He only managed to find his way back after spotting a portrait of Eduardo spraypainted with a dick, and following several more graffiti'd paintings like it was a trail of breadcrumbs.
When he returned, Octavio hadn’t roused from his spot on the chaise. Taejoon tried to get him to sit up, but he was being unresponsive again. Sighing, he began to dress his boyfriend, which turned out to be pretty obnoxious. Taejoon hadn’t realized how hard it would be to put boxers on a sleeping person who didn’t have legs.
Finally Ajay made her return, holding a bowl of plain-looking chicken noodle soup. She whistled appreciatively when she saw Taejoon fitting the bed with an extra set of clean sheets he’d found in the laundry room.
“Looks like I don’t have to force ya to help out,” she said, setting the bowl down on the dresser and beginning to help him. “Or even tell ya to stop. Some of those Legends hurt more than they help.”
"Hm," he hummed, beginning to slide the feather pillow into a new case now that she was taking care of the sheets. "Speaking of, we should take his temperature."
"I was goin' to anyway."
"I also think he should be taken to a hospital."
"He doesn't need one," Ajay replied easily.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Pretty sure I know more than you do."
It was a frustrating response. He now understood why Witt got annoyed with similar sentiments from him.
Ajay seemed to notice his annoyance, and tried to lighten the mood by joking, "You'd make a great nurse, as concerned as ya are. Any experience?"
He shrugged. “I helped my mother whenever she got sick.”
Half-true. He was Mystik’s nurse whenever she tended to sick kids, washing laundry and preparing cold compresses for her when she asked. He knew a thing or two about bedside manners.
“That so? Then you can come 'nd visit him whenever I’m too busy to,” Ajay said with a smile, tucking the sheets under the corners of the bed so they couldn’t be kicked off. She then turned to Octavio, who was still curled up on the chaise.
Taejoon studied his still form, a question he’d wondered earlier resurfacing at the forefront of his mind.
Octavio was prone to exaggerate. He had a certain dramatic flair even if he complained about Obi’s own theatrical tendencies, and Taejoon had never, ever seen the younger man in such a state—and he’d seen Octavio during plenty of his downs; ghost pains, dysphoria, nightmares. Even at his most vulnerable, Octavio had always had...well, a bit of Octavio in him. So seeing him like this made Taejoon wonder if he was playing it up, even if contemplating such a thing made him feel somewhat guilty.
"Is he actually this sick?" he mumbled. "Or is he..."
Ajay shot him a look, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. She looked down at Octavio with a contemplative expression, before taking a deep, silent inhale, then suddenly clapping her hands harshly together and yelling,
“HAH!”
Octavio didn’t even wince. He was motionless, eyes still screwed shut and lips turned down at the corners in the most miserable expression Taejoon had ever seen.
“Silva, I bought ya a pet flyer,” Ajay said. He was unresponsive. “Okaaaay, what about...your dad’s givin’ you the company, and you're CEO startin' tomorrow!"
Nothing.
“Silva, quick! You’re losin' subscribers ‘cuz you’re inactive!”
Still no response. Taejoon's frown deepened.
“He really ain’t fakin',” she said, moving to help Octavio sit up. “He's always been like this. Think it’s a genetic thing on his dad's side.”
He had never heard this about him before. Knowing that now, it made Octavio brushing off the possibility of getting sick even more idiotic. Taejoon was going to strangle him once he got better.
“Is his father the same way?"
“I think his grandfather died from a terminal illness, 'nd he remembers his dad bein’ pretty sick when we were young, too." Ajay pursed her lips. "But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Duardo sick. Never seemed to catch whatever O had when we were kids..."
Such an odd, ironic flaw for the family who got rich running a pharmaceutical company. Maybe this specific weakness to disease was what inspired it to begin with?
Ajay turned away from him to get something from her bag, theorizing beneath her breath as though reading his mind. “Maybe a weak immune system as a side effect of runnin’ a company that can cure every ailment under the sun. Or maybe Silva’s just messin’ his body up with all that stim and filtration and detoxin’...”
With her back now turned, he gently traced his finger across the high arch of Octavio's cheek, wishing foolishly that the younger man would react to his touch and speak to him like he had earlier. Like a scene out of one of Taejoon’s horrible romance novels, the ones he kept under his bed out of embarrassment: the warm touch of a lover inspiring life.
That of course didn't happen, and he let his hand drop to his side when Ajay faced them again.
“Go home, Kim," she told him, a small box in hand. "I can handle it from here.”
"You are going to take his temperature, correct?" Taejoon asked, panicking a little as their brief time together was cut short. He didn't want to leave Octavio so soon, the very real fear he had of his condition worsening while he was gone coming back to dig its nasty claws into him.
"Yup."
"Should I get him a cold compress?"
"Got an icepack."
"Are you sure he won't choke when you—"
"Are you the medic or am I, boy?" she sounded annoyed now, placing her hands on her hips. He felt like he was being scolded by Mystik. "I know paranoia is ya rhythm, but I can keep my best friend from chokin' on his own food. Got it?"
"...Mianhe," he apologized sullenly, and she kicked him out of the room unceremoniously. Feeling miffed, he took one long, last look at the dark and unwelcoming hallways of the Silva family mansion, before leaving his sick boyfriend behind, unable to shake off his concerns despite Ajay's clear experience and skill.