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When Ivan awoke that morning, it was to the sound of retching.
Ivan groaned a bit, pulling himself up to sitting, noticing the cold in the bed beside him. Perhaps that was why Master had allowed Ivan to sleep in the bed with Him to begin with.
He fumbled for his wrist brace, sparing a glance to the clock- 4:27am- then headed for the bathroom, knocking gently on the closed door.
“Master?” he asked quietly, voice still rough with sleep. “Are You alright?”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a broken groan. “Leave me, Ivan,” Master said, His voice breaking and weak. Ivan’s heart ached at the mere sound.
“...No,” Ivan said quietly, opening the door.
Master was curled in on Himself, face pressed against the wall beside the toilet. His skin was slick with sweat, eyes red and watering- oh, what a poor sight this was. Master frowned, then flushed the toilet and shot Ivan an upset glance. “Ivan,” He said, and if His throat wasn’t in such a sorry state, it might’ve been a warning. “I said leave me.”
This wasn’t the first time Ivan had bore witness to his Master in such a state; Master was, unfortunately, rather neglectful of His own health. It was the entire reason Ivan had moved in with Master, after all. (If His loyal dog didn’t care for Him, nobody would- including Himself.)
“No,” Ivan repeated, kneeling beside Master. He tentatively brushed a lock of sweat-slicked hair behind His ear. Master was a bit grey in the face, breathing shaky, fingers twitching.
Master swallowed, clearly struggling to do so. “...What am I to do with you?” He asked quietly, though Ivan could only sigh. Master was so thoughtful- always thinking of him, even when He had bigger things to worry about. (He always had bigger things, and yet He still thought of Ivan.)
“What am I to do with You?” Ivan asked in return, pressing a hand to his dear Master’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” Master frowned, cringing away a bit, head bumping the tile on the wall.
“I am not,” Master denied, shivering. “And your fingers are freezing.”
Ivan frowned. He knew how stubborn Master could be with these matters- he would have to approach this very carefully. If Ivan was half as smart as Master was, he might be able to trick Him into self care- but, as Master often reminded him, Ivan’s brain was rather empty.
“Now, now,” Ivan said, pulling Master up to lean against the counter. “It’s too early for You to be awake, Master. How about You brush Your teeth and head back to bed, hm?”
Master sighed and fumbled for His toothbrush, flicking the tap on. “You worry too much, my dear Ivan,” Master mused.
“I worry I don’t,” Ivan replied simply, running a loving hand through Master’s hair.
Master rolled his eyes. He never had been fond of Ivan’s theatrical displays of affection- but He had also never punished Ivan for it. (He knew Master well enough, knew He would tell him if He truly didn’t care for it.)
“You’re staring,” Master said after spitting out His toothpaste. If Ivan wasn’t mistaken, there was a twist of affection to His words.
“Apologies,” Ivan responded before heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get You a glass of water, Master.”
It was still dark out, but Ivan didn’t see himself going back to sleep anytime soon. A creature of servitude such as him was meant to be on call at all times, and he was already far from perfect- best to maximize the time he could be of use.
As Ivan dug through the glasses in the overhead cabinet, Master eventually emerged, moving to drape Himself across the couch.
“You should go back to bed,” Ivan tried, placing the glass onto the coffee table before Him. Master groaned into a throw pillow instead.
“I can’t,” He responded, muffled, and Ivan sat on the couch near his feet. “I’ve died a thousand times, and yet this is somehow the worst I’ve ever felt.”
Ivan smiled. Master would live; He was healthy enough to complain.
“Put me out of my misery, my dear Ivan,” Master demanded, extending a hand towards him, and Ivan took His hand.
“I won’t do that, Master,” he said flatly. “You’ll be alright. I’ll make You something to eat, hm?”
Master shook His head, groaning at the thought. “Not hungry.”
“At least drink something, then,” Ivan insisted, giving Master’s hand a gentle squeeze. Master groaned again, then forced himself to sit up and take a sip of the water on the coffee table- room temperature, of course. “...Thank you.”
Master pulled His hand away and waved Ivan off, and Ivan was immediately on his feet, skittering off as instructed.
He sighed, ducking into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe, curled on the floor. This was the best spot to gaze upon his Master when He was in the living room. Master hardly spared him a glance when he was seated here- hardly looked in the direction of the kitchen at all.
After a long moment, Master pulled the throw blanket over Himself, flicking on the television.
The sun was already beginning to come up. Ivan wasn’t sure how long he sat there on the tile, head resting on the doorframe, but it was apparently long enough for Master to pull Himself back to a standing position and begin to head for the bedroom.
“Ivan, my dear, could you begin work on breakfast?” He asked as He passed, and Ivan scrambled to stand.
“Yes, yes, of course, Master,” Ivan responded. He watched as Master ducked into their shared bedroom, kicking the door shut behind Him, before he moved to prepare breakfast.
Something easy on the stomach would do Master good, Ivan decided; a soft-poached egg, miso soup, mixed berries. (Meds hidden in the soup.) He hummed to himself as he cooked- just enough for Master, of course. Ivan would get himself a granola bar when Master sent him out for weekly groceries later.
By the time Ivan was finished cooking, Master had yet to return to the living space. Which wasn’t so unusual- Master often left Ivan in the kitchen alone. However…
He approached the bedroom, brow furrowed with concern, and knocked gently. No answer.
“Master?” he asked, peeking his head in to see Master slumped at His desk, head down. Master groaned, pulling His head up and looking over. “Did You fall asleep, Sir?”
Master’s hair was messy, and transfer from what he was writing had pressed onto His cheek, smudged pen ink stark against His pale skin. “No,” Master lied, rubbing the sleep from His eyes. If one had asked Ivan three months ago, he would have said that his lovely Master was being honest, but he knew better now. “I’m up, my darling Vanya.”
“Mm, well, breakfast is ready,” Ivan hummed, gently running fingers through Master’s hair. Master looked like He was on death’s door; dark bags below His red eyes, red nose, fingers weak and shaky as He held His pen. He was paler than usual, warm to the touch (which He never was).
Master’s eyes fluttered shut. “Bring it in, then,” Master said, waving dismissively, and Ivan flitted away as instructed.
When he returned, he placed the dishes on the small table beside the desk, then took his usual spot, kneeling beside Master on the floor, resting his head against the arm of His chair.
“You work too hard,” Ivan said quietly as Master hardly paused His writing to pick at the food he had cooked for Him.
“Nonsense,” Master dismissed, affectionately ruffling Ivan’s hair before taking a long sip from the cup of miso.
“You’re sick,” Ivan said. Master paused, grip on His pen tightening, and He shot Ivan a look. Ivan tensed up a bit, shifting in his seat.
Master exhaled pointedly before looking away and returning to His work. “I am not. I do not get sick.”
“Ah. Right- right, yes…” Ivan said simply, voice small. Master hummed, seemingly relaxing.
Of course, Master did get sick- He had been sick before, and in Ivan’s care, as He was sick now. Ivan knew the signs by now. He could easily talk Master into a bath, and could talk Him into meds with some persuasion. (It had been an accident the first time Ivan had discovered the power tears held with Master, but it worked every time, and if it helped Master care for Himself…)
After a long moment, Master glanced back to where he sat on the floor. “You truly do worry far too much, dearest Vanya.”
Ivan only hummed, resting his head on Master’s knee.
Master continued to work, despite Ivan’s earlier comments, very slowly growing sluggish. Ivan sat there in silence, eyes trained on Him- for how long, he didn't know- until Master sighed, pinching the bridge of His nose.
“Go draw a bath for me,” Master instructed, voice gentle.
Ivan stood quickly, steps silent as he could manage as he did as instructed. Of course, when Master told Ivan to draw a bath, that wasn’t all He really wanted; He wanted clothes pulled from His wardrobe, a candle lit, essential oils. Ivan knew well enough by now, and as the tub filled, he ticked off his mental checklist.
Eucalyptus and rosemary in the bath, a lavender scented candle lit. He pulled something comfortable out for Master to wear after His bath- a button-up pajama shirt and matching pajama shorts, compression socks, His wrist brace.
Master’s timing was impeccable- mere moments after Ivan was done, He was already leaning against the doorframe. “You’re finished preparing, I assume?” Master asked, even though He knew well enough. Ivan nodded with a smile, moving to tie his hair back. Master hated when Ivan’s hair got wet during His baths.
“Yes, Master,” Ivan responded finally, but Master frowned.
“Leave your hair down, Vanya,” He insisted, and Ivan’s eyes widened for a moment before he complied. Master drew closer, twisting a lock of hair around His fingers. “Your hair looks so nice today.”
“I haven’t done anything with it,” Ivan said, assisting Master with undoing His shirt, “but thank You.”
Master only hummed in reply, allowing Ivan to strip Him down and guide Him into the bath. His eyes trained on Ivan’s hands as he rolled his sleeves up.
Ivan’s hands were gentle yet thorough, as usual. When he began to work shampoo into Master’s scalp, He sighed audibly, relaxing into him. His eyes fluttered open, and He reached up to twirl His fingers through Ivan’s hair again.
(Ivan’s hair would be damp after this. He didn’t mind, not really.)
“You slipped Me something,” Master hummed. He didn’t sound upset, not really.
“Flu meds,” Ivan said, rinsing the suds from Master’s hair. “Because You’re sick.” Master frowned.
“I am not,” He insisted for the hundredth time. “I don’t get sick.”
Ivan sighed. “Yes, you are, Master,” he said affectionately, and Master seemed to soften at his tone alone, the way He busied Himself playing with Ivan’s hair once again.
It was peaceful, times like this. When Ivan didn’t have to force Master away from His work and into the bath like a reluctant dog (ironic, given that Ivan was Master’s pet), when Master relaxed into the water and allowed Ivan to work the stress from His muscles and knots from His hair, Ivan could almost pretend they were equals. Or, the worse part of his brain liked to imagine that Ivan was the one in charge, simply caring for his poor, useless Pet. (He pushed those thoughts away. Silly fantasizing was for good dogs, and Ivan was rarely good enough to earn it.)
He must have gotten lost in thought at some point, because the thing that pulled him back to reality after an unknown amount of time was Master’s hand once more in his hair, twirling the strands around His fingers until they were damp.
Now was as good a time as any to finish Master’s bath, he supposed, so he helped Master out of the tub and began to drain the bath.
“I’m too cruel to you, I fear,” Master said, sounding almost sorrowful, as Ivan helped to dry Him.
“Oh, nonsense,” Ivan assured Him. “You only give what a thing like me deserves.”
Master sighed, shaking His head minutely. “No, darling Vanya, I don’t.” Ivan hesitated.
“I… don’t follow,” he responded, tilting his head as he began assisting Master in dressing. “Are- are You alright…?”
He sighed again, then pulled His shirt up His shoulder before it could slip fully off. “I just… worry. About you. About us.”
Us. The sound rung in Ivan’s ears for a moment. There wasn’t an ‘us’ with the two of them.
“Do you even realize how much I value you?” Master asked, running His thumb affectionately over Ivan’s jawbone before His fingers made a home over his throat. “How much I-”
Master cut himself off with an approximant on his tongue, cheeks pinkening.
“However much that may be, Master, I’m sure it’s too much,” Ivan said all the same, even as his heart ached at the thought. He returned to buttoning Master’s shirt, fingers taking extra care with the last and gently brushing over His exposed collarbone. (A home for teeth, he thought absently, but dismissed the thought as soon as it came.)
“Not enough,” Master corrected, and His voice sounded… apprehensive, almost, as His hands returned to Ivan’s hair. “I care for you very deeply, Vanya. I fear I don’t act like it.”
Master’s other hand snaked up to the back of Ivan’s neck, urging him closer. Ivan was vaguely aware of their height difference- Ivan stood a handful of inches above Master, more when He slouched (which He often was), but now, especially so. He had to look down a bit to properly see Master’s face.
Of course, he only had that train of thought for a moment before Master was pressing their lips together, and Ivan short-circuited, eyes widening with surprise.
“Master,” Ivan tried against His mouth. “You’re-”
“Fyodor,” Master corrected as He pulled away. Ivan flushed.
“You’re sick,” Ivan said, disregarding what Master had said entirely. “I don’t think You’re...”
Master rolled His eyes. “So worrisome. You have all your shots, Vanya, you’ll be fine.”
Ivan took a steadying breath, brows furrowing a bit. “...Right,” he said. He tentatively pressed the back of his hand to Master’s forehead. “You’re just- You’re still feverish, and Your meds don’t seem to be helping…”
“I’m fine, Ivan, dear,” Master assured him, lovingly running a hand over his chest. “You worry too much.”
“I truly don’t, Master.”
“Fyodor,” He corrected again, and Ivan sighed.
He’d be back to normal in the morning. “Let’s get you to bed, M- Fyodor,” he said, the name unnatural on his tongue. Fyodor frowned, leaning a bit more heavily on him.
“And you’ll sleep next to me?” Master asked, sounding hopeful. “In the bed?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll sleep right beside You,” Ivan assured as he guided Master back to the bedroom with a gentle hand on His lower back.
Master smiled. “I love you very much, Vanya, my darling.”
Yes, Ivan decided, smiling even as his heart ached. Master would be Himself in the morning.
(Though, he would still enjoy the affection Master was offering him while he could.)