Chapter Text
Nemecsek was sitting in his bed with his back against a large, avocado-patterned pillow, listening to Csónakos' account of his trip to Croatia with the Leszik-Weisz-Richter trio. He was having fun, bursting out in a titter several times, although he had to try to rein the chortle so that the uncontrolled, joyful cachinnation that was so typical of him didn’t turn into an unpleasant coughing fit. At such times, he was a little annoyed, but he did his best to let go of his frustration as quickly as possible. After all, he was used to it: some nasty illness usually knocked him off his feet at least twice a year, compulsing him to stay in bed for weeks. Weak lungs, weak immune system - he had to learn to live with it, and that was that. At least he was lucky that his friends came to visit him regularly at those times so that he wouldn't die of boredom.
Csónakos was just describing how Weisz had grimaced when he had accidentally swallowed some seawater, when Nemecsek felt that certain, unmistakable sensation of nausea rolling over him.
“Damn it!” he thought.
That was really the last thing he needed. After all, he was having so much fun listening to Csónakos. Would it really have been such a big favor to ask of fate to let him feel like a healthy person with completely normal body functions for at least an hour? The blond man clutched the snow-white bed sheet tightly, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. No, it surely wasn’t noticeable at all.
“I'm serious, he swallowed a milliliter of slightly salty water, and his face got so distorted that you could hardly recognize him. I reckon that it’s only a child that a guinea pig and a capybara have spawned together that might look like that. Not even back in the day, when his mouth was filled with that nasty fucking putty, did he look like that... You all right, mate?” Csónakos interrupted the story as he noticed Nemecsek’s suffering.
The blond opened his eyes anxiously.
“Yes... that is no... or not entirely, but it's not that bad, it’s just… ” he began, and then, seeing the extremely sensible expression that his friend, who had gotten somewhat confused, presented him with, he tried again, using complete sentences to explain the situation:
“So, the thing is that these medications that I take for my lungs are not entirely compatible with my digestive system, and basically…”
“My God, I couldn't have put it in a more stupid way,” Nemecsek smacked his forehead in thought, but luckily, Csónakos saved him of more embarrassment:
“Are you saying that you need to shoot the cat?” he proposed, although Nemecsek’s complexion that was growing paler by the minute already proved that he had hit the nail on the head.
“Yes, that’s one way to put it. And since you may not want to witness the episode that is going to play out shortly, we might as well say goodbye for now.”
“Say goodbye my ass!” Csónakos said indignantly, “I'd rather stay here so that I can help if need be.”
Nemecsek merely shrugged and tried to get out of the bed as quickly as possible, although he knew that a “thank you” or something similar would have been in order. It was not as if he didn't appreciate the fact that Csónakos didn't leave him to his own devices. On the contrary, he was partly happy about it, since he knew very well that when he was on his own in such situations, a certain dread often seized him, making him wonder if the moment when he didn’t manage alone, became too weak, collapsed, was unable to breathe or whatnot finally had come. At the same time, he felt that he didn't want such a fuss to be made about him and his friends to have to constantly look out for him. In short, he was embarrassed, which manifested itself through the fact that even though Csónakos signaled to him with an outstretched arm that if Nemecsek’s legs did not obey him, he was there for support, the blond hardly looked at him. He merely did his best to pace out of the room.
Then, he realized that maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all. The hallway opening from the bedroom swayed dangerously around him, and not only was he dizzy with nausea, but thanks to the fact that he had been in bed for well over a week, his knees were shaking, making him unable to move efficiently. Csónakos watched Nemecsek's desperate thrashing about with amusement for a short time after his help was initially rejected. Then, when the blond leaned against the wall of the corridor after barely walking a few meters, panting heavily, he stepped beside him, wrapping his arm around said young man’s waist.
“Look, mate, it's really remarkable how you're tooling along towards the bathroom, but if you want to get to the crapper in time, it would be advantageous if you’d accept my help, don't you think?”
Nemecsek was now clinging to Csónakos' shoulder gratefully. “Yes, you're absolutely right,” he wanted to say, but he only managed to nod with his teeth clenched, as the nausea was taking a hold of him more rapidly than he had expected, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, not just words would come out of it.
The couple reached the bathroom just in time. Nemecsek collapsed in front of the toilet and started retching, while his friend held his shoulders gently. Finally, after a few minutes of suffering, Nemecsek straightened up again. Csónakos was just about to follow him to be of help if necessary, but he understood from the blond's tired, pleading look that Nemecsek was trying to scrape together the remainder of his dignity, which he preferred to do alone.
Ernő went to the sink and ran cold water on his hands, then washed them and his mouth thoroughly, his whole body trembling. It was all familiar to him, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold himself upright for much longer, but he tried not to take this trifle into account. Nevertheless, after stepping away from the sink, he completely lost his strength and balance, and dropped to the floor in the middle of the bathroom. Being experienced in such situations, he managed to cushion the fall. However, although this state of affairs wasn't new to him, his heart was still pounding with fear.
The next moment Csónakos was already crouching in front of him. Nemecsek knew that he had never seen him in such a state before, unlike Boka, and yet, while concern was always written on the face of the president of the Paul Street boys at such times, Csónakos radiated pure calmness and encouragement, the sole thing revealing that he too was somewhat startled being his voice that sounded unusually serious.
“Hey, should I be concerned?” he asked gently, scanning Ernő's face.
“No, this happens sometimes. I knew I was going to collapse. I just didn’t pay attention to it... because I'm stupid,” Nemecsek smiled, “I need a few minutes to gather myself, but everything will be fine.”
Csónakos furrowed his brows as he tried to decide if his friend was telling the truth.
“Are you sure or are you just pretending so that I don’t freak out?” he finally asked, as he was quite clueless.
“I swear on the grund and the honor of my name that this is completely normal for me,” the blond tried to joke.
“Now, now, no need to get carried away. I believe you,” Csónakos patted his shoulder, “Can I do anything for you?”
“No, but thank you anyway,” Nemecsek replied.
Then, he curled up, drawing his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees, eyes closed.
Csónakos shifted from one foot to the other, clueless as to what he was supposed to do. Boka must have a custom-made, ten-step protocol containing plans A and B for situations like these, while he was just standing there like an anxious little schoolboy.
“What kind of friend does this make me?” the question slipped through Csónakos' mind, and that inner voice that only spoke very rarely but managed to knock his self-confidence into the ground highly effectively every time, answered him immediately:
“A friend who doesn't take anything seriously, makes a joke of everything and is completely incapable of, you know, acting like a reliable adult who helps his friends if necessary”
“Well, suck my dick! I am more than that!” Csónakos huffed for himself, then started for the piece of bathroom furniture standing in the corner to lift a clean towel off it.
The Molger, that is, since the wooden construction in the corner was not just a simple piece of bathroom furniture, but, as previously stated, a Molger. He knew this thanks to the fact that Csele, who had some morbid obsession with wandering around in an IKEA-store for hours on end, also had a penchant for annoying his friends by trying to teach them the stupid names of all sorts of Scandinavian furnishing.
Csónakos acknowledged the fact that he could clearly recall the name of the wheeled shelf feeling partly impressed and partly horrified, while he walked to the sink to wet the fluffy, bright yellow hand towel decorated with an embroidered banana in one corner. When he was done, he knelt down next to Nemecsek and gently put his arm around his friend's shoulder.
The blond man opened his eyes for a moment, and since he didn't object, Csónakos tucked away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to his forehead and wiped his friend's face with careful movements. A pleasant sigh broke from Nemecsek's chest and he snuggled closer to Csónakos. As a result, the blond assumed quite an uncomfortable position, wherefore his friend pulled him into his lap carefully. After that, Csónakos embraced Nemecsek with both arms and stroked his back soothingly with his palm, resulting in the blond sighing again and smiling.
“There we go, handling Ernő doesn't require an operation manual after all,” Csónakos grinned to himself.
However, it didn’t take a genius to realize that whatever was making Nemecsek suffer, physical contact would always help, since the blond lived by the same motto as that annoying snowman from the Disney movie. What did he say again? “I like hugs”? No, Csónakos was sure that the little animated pipsqueak had said something more, but it didn't matter, the main thing was that Ernő loved to cuddle, so much so that Kolnay had asked him “Nem'csek, you were a teddy bear in your previous life, that's why you ‘lways want to hug me, right?” once when he had been the worse for drink.
Either way, Csónakos pulling him close and stroking his back clearly had put Nemecsek at ease, so nothing else happened for quite a while, until the blond spoke thick-toungedly.
“I would prefer to stay like this, but I’ll have to get up at some point. I just don't have the strength to do it right now,” he muttered into Csónakos’ chest.
“Don’t worry, mate, there’s no need to get up. I'll carry you back,” Csónakos reassured his friend, upon which Nemecsek let out an inarticulate hum.
“But Nemecsek, please enlighten me, what was your reasoning behind thinking that you would manage on your own if I left?”
At this point, the blond opened his cornflower blue eyes again and pulled a cautious smile.
“Ehm, so maybeee... I didn't manage to assess the situation quite correctly,” he said, closing his eyes again, as if that would make his reasoning seem less absurd.
“You're a funny one,” Csónakos acknowledged, shaking his head, then carefully picking Nemecsek up from the ground and starting towards the bedroom.
“Csónakos?” the blond called hesitantly when they had gotten half-way.
“Hm?”
“Sorry”
“Huh?” Csónakos asked in an utterly civilized manner, regarding his friend with a frown.
“You came here so that we could talk and have a good time, and this is what you got,” said Ernő, indicating their personas, “I'm sorry.”
“C’mon, mate, it was great hanging out with you!”
“Yeah, I can imagine what an uplifting experience it must have been to watch me throw up and to have to haul me here,” Nemecsek hissed through gritted teeth, while Csónakos laid him down on the bed.
“Would you stop talking such stupid crap?” Csónakos responded, while throwing the blanket over the blond man just a little more forcefully than necessary.
After that, he sat down on the edge of the bed and continued a little more calmly.
“Look, mate, I really like you. You're funny, genuine, honest, and disgustingly optimistic despite all the shit you've been through. It's always nice to talk to you, regardless of the situation, and if we don't just fool around and laugh together, but something else comes up too, well then, shit, what could we possibly do about it? Nothing, that’s what. And it’s okay. It's honestly no big deal and it doesn't change the fact that it’s fucking nice to hang out with you, all right?”
Nemecsek nodded, crinkling the border of the avocado patterned blanket.
“You know, Csónakos, it would be impossible to try to find a better motivational speaker than you. You're a really good friend and I'm so glad we know each other”
“Right, no need to get all mushy!” Csónakos tried to dismiss Nemecsek’s statement, laughing awkwardly.
To put it mildly, he wasn't that sentimental type, and taking his former monologue into account, he had already talked as much about his feelings as he saw fit for one day.
“Instead, you could tell me if you’ve got any food here, because sooner or later you’ll have to eat. Meaning something that you can keep down. You know, digestive biscuits, rusk, chicken soup, whatnot… ”
“Nutella croissants”
“I beg your pardon?”
“At these times, that’s the sole thing I can keep down. Plus coke,” Ernő stated warily.
“All right, in that case you can remind me to give you a lecture on the importance of a varied diet and the role of different nutrients once you are better.”
“By all means,” Nemecsek nodded drowsily.
“Right. Feel free to go to sleep. I still have some time, but then I have to go to work. Call me if you need anything, okay? In fact, even if you don’t, just call me and tell me that you are still alive and that you have devoured a number of nutella croissants that would suffice to feed at least two more people”
Ernő nodded, partially burying his face in the pillow.
“I want to hear from your lips that the message has gotten through to that lovely, blond head of yours. The message being that it’s not inappropriate, you’re not bothering me, I won't be cross, in fact, what will make me angry is if something happens and you don't call me, and then I’ll be furious, you can count on that. Understand, mate?”
“Yes, I'll call you when I've eaten... or something?” Nemecsek muttered into the pillow.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Csónakos acknowledged the fact that the message had gotten through as far as possible.
Afterwards, Csónakos stayed there, sitting on the edge of the bed for a while. Then, when Nemecsek's steady snuffling filled the room, he moved into the kitchen. There, he looked into some cupboards, then hurriedly left the apartment, but within twenty minutes, he was back, carrying a one liter can of Coke, a jar of Nutella and five croissants. After unpacking the groceries, he looked into the bedroom once more. As he saw Nemecsek splayed out on his stomach in star pose, drooling slightly, he smiled. Then, he set off for the city.