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Subspace can’t help but notice that Ban Hammer is at his door. Why would he be at his door?
Just because he’s missed a few Phights? That doesn’t mean anything. He’s perfectly fine! He’s been working from home! He doesn’t need anyone checking up on him ever. He’s fine. He’s good, he’s golden, actually.
“What do you want??” He asks, a firm grip on the doorknob. Maybe he’ll open it. Maybe he won’t. He’s heavily learning towards won’t.
“Y’ haven’t been answerin’ yer phone,” Ban Hammer says carefully. “Y’ haven’t been t’ de Phights.”
So what? He’s been doing great. Great, aside from the extra weakness in his limbs that cause him to struggle to lift even a pen. But that isn’t important whatsoever.
And yeah, he misses the extra money from the Phights, and he’s sure Valk and Dom are pissed, but he has way more important things to do. Maybe they’re the reason Ban Hammer is here. Maybe they sent him. He doesn’t know if that makes him mad or not. Surely Ban Hammer would check in all by himself, and not because his cousins demanded him to.
Even still. He doesn’t want him to check in at all.
“Well, I’m fine.” Subspace says stiffly. And then, because his body is traitorous and wicked, he coughs. It’s a wet, chest-heaving, painful kind of cough, and it wracks his shoulders as he pants and heaves. He moves his hand from the doorknob to the door, claws digging into the material as he struggles to maintain his fast-fleeting composure.
“Subspace?” Ban Hammer says, sounding… almost worried, as he fiddles with the doorknob. Subspace watches it twist from his side to no avail, and he manages to yelp out a stuttered, “I’m good.”
By the time the coughing has let up, his entire den is filled with smog. Which isn’t something he wants, but okay. Sure. Pile it onto the mountain of things he doesn’t want but has. If he had a nickel for everything he has but doesn’t want, he’d be a millionaire or something.
Maybe if he was in a more rational mindset, he’d realize how inane and unhinged his current thought process is. Not like he’s ever been in a rational mindset to begin with; at least, not for a long time.
Right now, though? All he’s aware of is how much he seemingly does not want anyone else in his presence. Even if it is Ban Hammer.
“Subspace.” His voice is gruff, maybe demanding. “Lemme in.”
“No,” Subspace replies immediately. Because why would he let him in? He doesn’t want to let him in. Especially not when he’s like this.
Ban Hammer jiggles the doorknob again, and Subspace briefly wonders how long it would be until he grew impatient and busted his door down.
Hopefully he doesn’t. He’s pretty sure the higher-ups won’t be pleased when all of his smog escapes from the doorway and reaches their rooms.
“At least open de door.”
Subspace hesitates.
“Y’ don’t gotta let me in,” Ban Hammer says, and he sounds genuine. The door creaks slightly when he leans himself up against it. “I jus’ wannu talk to ya, see yer face.”
Subspace folds.
He unlocks the door with a muttered curse, a plume of smoke snorting from his nose as he swings the door open.
Ban Hammer’s blindfold is off. He blinks a few times as the smog reaches his eyes, tears forming before they’re swiftly blinked away. He shakes his head and sneezes as the fumes dissipate, and soon they’re back to a steady, slow-rising stream from Subspace’s open wounds.
“…Y’ look nice nice,” he offers, and Subspace’s scowl deepens.
“I know I do,” he lies through his remaining teeth as he pins Ban Hammer in place with a steady glare.
“…Uh-huh,” Ban Hammer says dumbly, looking around as if he’d miraculously find a way to continue the conversation off the little words Subspace had given him.
Subspace’s eye narrows further as he lifts his head a little higher, trying to look unbothered. But all it does his cause his legs to wobble from the sudden change in posture, and he takes a step back and nearly falls flat on his back with a yelp he’s unable to smother.
Ban Hammer moves immediately in an attempt to grab him. “I got ya—“ He begins — but he’s unable to get there as Subspace lashes out.
“Leave me alone!! ” Subspace snaps when he recovers, a manic (or, more manic than usual) look in his twitching eye as he goes to slam the door shut. But Ban Hammer, being the annoying, stupid oaf that he is, shoves his shoulder in between the door and the doorway before Subspace has a chance to.
“Y’ can’t just spend months of yer life tryin’ to win me over jus’ to throw me away when ya got me,” Ban Hammer objects. He sounds more upset for Subspace than he does for himself, and Subspace doesn’t know whether to be even angrier at that fact or let it simmer for a time.
“I’m not doing that!!” Subspace snarls, looking both outraged and alarmed. That feels like way too extreme of a statement for something like this. “You’re putting words I didn’t say into my mouth and that is not something I will tolerate!!”
“Stop wit’ de filler-talk,” Ban Hammer says flatly. “Y’ only do dat when yer stressed stressed.”
Ugh. How can someone know Subspace so well and yet be so annoying?
“Whatever.” He snorts, tossing his head to look the other way. He refuses to dignify that statement with a valid response. Only a stupid guy would do something like that. Stupid like Ban Hammer.
“It’s gon’ be okay,” Ban Hammer soothes as if he was talking down a horse that was spooked by a cottonmouth. “Jus’ lemme in, cher.”
Subspace glowers at him for a few heartbeats longer before he growls half-heartedly. He steps back and away from the door with a huff, allowing Ban Hammer to walk inside.
And he does just that, closing the door before he hoists Subspace up into his arms as easily as anything.
“Now tell me what’s de matter wit’ ya,” he says firmly, padding over to the couch in the corner of the dimly lit room.
Subspace snarls wordlessly, tail lashing as he’s lifted into the demigod’s arms. He can’t flail around like he normally would, though. For no reason in particular. Certainly not because his body aches and every movement hurts and strains. Certainly not. So all he does is hiss and growl protests under his breath as Ban Hammer gently drops him onto the couch.
A couple moments go by without an answer, and Ban Hammer nudges him to speak. He doesn’t want to speak.
But he does so anyway, only to get the demigod off his back.
“Nothing,” Subspace grumbles, crossing his arms as Ban Hammer drapes a blanket across his shoulders without even bothering to check with him first. Who does that?
“We both know dere ain’t none y’ can keep from me,” Ban Hammer chuckles as he throws yet another blanket over his shoulders. But he doesn’t stop there; he walks over to the linen closet, and only the deities know just how many blankets he’s going to pull out. And for what? Subspace doesn’t need them.
But as he watches him, his shivering slowly comes to a stop. Since when was he shivering? He couldn’t have been that cold. The heat was supposed to be on max. He grips the topmost blanket with his good hand, claws digging into the plush fabric as he covertly pulls it closer. Like hell he’d show himself being thankful or using it. He’s already weak enough as is. He doesn’t need to add more fuel to the fire.
He observes through eye half-lidded as Ban Hammer walks back over to him, folded blankets stacked so high the demigod had to peer around it to see.
“What are you doing??” Subspace demands as Ban Hammer drops the stack on the couch next to him and begins to unfold and heap one after another onto him.
“Yer cold,” is Ban Hammer’s response. Subspace scowls, shifting to lay on his side as the demigod throws a quilt into the mix.
“These are too many, ” he hisses. “I don’t need this many!!”
Ban Hammer shakes his head.
“Nuh-uh,” he says stubbornly. “Yer sick. I'd make y’ soup if y’ could eat still, but dis all we got.”
“You’re stupid,” Subspace accuses. “Dumbest guy alive. You should be ashamed of how little you know. I’m not sick!!”
“Y’ve missed twelve Phights. Yer shiverin’ ‘spite how hot de room is, and y’ legs are as wob’ly as a newborn fawn’s.” Ban Hammer deadpans as he gently shuffles the blankets around until they’re covering all of him.
Subspace opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but for once he can’t think of anything else to say.
“I have blueprints due for investors tomorrow,” he says at last.
“Too damn bad.” Ban Hammer sits down next to him, reaching his arms out to pull him over, closer to him. “If yer feelin’ better t’morrow we’ll see ‘bout finishin’.”
Subspace wiggles in protest, trying to slide the blankets off him and fall off the couch despite the way his muscles shriek in protest.
“Don’t boder tryna go nowhere,” Ban Hammer chuffs, running a claw along one of the horns that frame his face while his other hand reaches down to grip onto his hip, keeping him in place.
“Jus’ rest. I gotcha, cher. Y’ ain’t gotta be alone fo’ dis.”
Subspace growls, resting his head on Ban Hammer’s lap with a defeated huff. Having someone watching him while he’s sick feels so infantilizing. He isn’t an imp. He’s thirty.
“There’s a Phight today. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Ban Hammer scoffs. “I’d rather stay wit’ y’ den be ‘round dose losers. Dey’re embarrassin’ to watch.”
Subspace stares up at him incredulously. He’s not getting out of this, is he?
“Yer not,” Ban Hammer says, and oh, did he say that out loud? Whatever.
“You’re stupid,” Subspace says again. For good measure. Just in case he hadn’t picked up on it before.
“I know,” Ban Hammer grins. There’s a fond sort of look in his eyes that’s a rarity to be seen, so Subspace doesn’t bother to quip back.
He’ll let him have the last word.
Just this once.