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“He’s good to go, but the sedatives will take a while to wear off,” the receptionist says, flashing a lipstick-flecked smile at Josh as she slides a form toward him. “He’ll be a little dazed and euphoric, but it should subside in around 30 minutes. Sign here, please.”
Josh signs the form and turns to look at Tyler. He’s pressed into Josh’s side. One corner of his mouth is pulled downwards, frozen from the anaesthetic. Blood-soaked rolls of gauze are shoved into either corner of his mouth, and his eyelids flutter as if he’s fighting to stay awake. In Josh’s opinion, his fiancé looks as if he’s both high off his ass and suffering from a stroke.
Tyler mutters something incomprehensible.
“What was that, Ty?”
“You have lipstick in your teeth,” he slurs, pointing at the receptionist. “You’re funny.”
The receptionist completely ignores this remark and swivels around to talk to the dentist, who was emerging from the operating room. As they’re talking, Tyler tugs on Josh’s sleeve incessantly.
“Jish. Jooooosh. Jishwaaaa. I want-“ he furrows his brow as if in deep thought. “I want, ummm. Tacos.”
“Ty, you can’t have tacos. You can only have soft foods for now, alright?” Josh looks down at his fiancé. He hates himself for thinking it (because Tyler’s probably in a considerable amount of pain) but he looks so fucking cute.
“You have taco lips,” Tyler announces loudly, and promptly falls over.
The dentist smiles ruefully at the two of them as Josh helps Tyler back into a standing position. “There’s a list of safe foods on that sheet there,” she says, gesturing to the paper in Josh’s hand. “Leave the gauze in for 30 minutes. You’re free to go once you’ve paid for the surgery.”
Josh transfers the appropriate amount of money to his card and swipes, grimacing at the high number. Tyler sways against him, muttering to himself.
“Have a good day,” the receptionist grins as they start to leave the building. “If you have any concerns, feel free to contact the clinic.”
“Thank you.”
Once they’re outside, Tyler groans and pokes at Josh’s cheek. “Jish, carry me,” he whines. “I feel all… jellyfish-y.” As he’s talking, blood seeps out of the gauze in his mouth and streaks down his chin in a spittly, bloody waterfall.
A grin creeps up Josh’s face. He’s so damn hilarious. He places one hand on Tyler’s lower back and one under his thighs, preparing to lift him up. Tyler screeches happily as he’s lifted up, bridal-style, into Josh’s arms.
“Eeuughhh,” he shudders, running shaking hands over his cheeks. “I can’t feel my face. Is it still there? Jish, can you check for me?” His words are drawn-out and slurred, and Josh can hear a lisp starting to emerge.
“Your face is still there, Ty,” Josh laughs, starting to walk him to the car.
Tyler makes a noise that sounds like something between a wheeze and a deep exhale. “What if I bit your cheek off?” He asks, trying to train unfocused eyes on Josh’s features. “Or your lips. What if I stole your lips?”
Josh just shakes his head and grins, reaching out to unlock the car. He silently thanks all his morning workouts for making him strong enough to hold a grown man up with one hand, while unlocking a car door with the other. He’s just about to open the door when a truck roars past them and a half-empty can of Pepsi hits Tyler square in the head.
“HEY!!” Tyler screeches drunkenly. “YOU DILDO-HEAD! YOU LITTERER!! GO SHOVE A BREAST IMPLANT UP YOUR ASS!!”
Josh silently apologises to all the poor civilians who had to witness that.
“What?” Tyler grins lopsidedly, one side of his mouth lifting up. “I blessed their ear holes.” He leans back and collapses into the passenger seat.
The car starts with a low rumble. Tyler mimics the noise with a childish giggle.
***
“Jishwa,” he says randomly after they’d been driving for two or three minutes.
“Yeah?”
“I feel like shit,” he groans, and then burps.
“Uh oh,” Josh mutters. “Do you need to throw up?”
The car is silent for a minute, until Tyler leans over and puts his head in between his knees. “Any second,” he mumbles.
Josh swears and pulls the car over. He waits for Tyler to get out, but after about a minute of waiting with no response, he taps him on the shoulder.
“Ty?” He’s completely silent as Josh lifts his head up gently. Tyler has his eyes shut, his features slack and still. He’s snoring a little.
“Jesus Christ.” Muttering profanities, Josh situates Tyler so he’s sleeping safely, sitting upright with his head to the side in case he throws up while asleep.
Tyler stays sleeping for the remainder of the ride, occasionally opening his eyes to stare at Josh and mutter something deluded. Once they arrive home, he stumbles into the house and slumps into the large fluffy carpet in their living room.
“Is that Jim?” he slurs. “I can feel him. Heeeyyyyyyy, Jiiiiim.” He runs his hands up and down the carpet as if petting a dog.
Jim, who was actually in the kitchen, emerges from behind the counter and looks between Tyler and Josh with an expression that says “Why the fuck did you choose to marry this moron?”
Tyler giggles and falls backwards onto the carpet.
“HAH! BALLS,” he proclaims loudly.
Josh sighs.
***
“M’ teef hurt,” Tyler mumbles, pressing a finger up against his swollen gum. They’re in bed now, although Tyler is still high off his ass and Josh is too exhausted to do anything but stare at the wall, eyes unfocused, as Tyler whispers incessantly to himself.
“Jish,” he says randomly after a while. Josh turns to see Tyler staring at him with wide eyes.
“Yeah, Ty?”
Tyler rolls over so that he’s pressed into Josh’s side, giggles, and says thickly, “You’re so prettyyyyyyy…”
“Why, thank you,” Josh grins and kisses Tyler’s cheek. “Go to sleep now, okay? When you wake up tomorrow you’ll feel all better.”
Tyler blinks slowly and flings an arm around Josh’s torso. Josh can hear him mumbling what seems to be German.
“...Diese kleine unheimliche… heh, that sounds funny. I’m gonna turn that into… a song.”
Josh, already drifting off, laughs quietly and presses his nose into Tyler’s neck.
“Sure, Tyler. Maybe add some French in there too...”
“I will.”
***
Josh wakes up the next morning to Tyler scribbling furiously in his notepad.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep.
Tyler smiles crookedly at him. “Writing a new song,” he says. “The intro’s in German.”