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Ever since Bonde was given the okay to take his arm out of his sling for short periods throughout the day, he has taken to keeping his left forearm shoved halfway in his hoodie pocket. It's a). one of the only comfortable positions, b). keeps him from using his arm without meaning to, and c). an inconspicuous disguise to anyone who doesn't know what's going on under his thick sleeve.
And ever since Bonde’s text and announcement of his little medical emergency, Dan has taken to asking him if he is alright a minimum of forty seven times a day. Bonde always says he's fine with a bright smile, slapping Dan on the back with his good arm, and then proceeds to crack a classic, highly inappropriate joke. After two weeks though, the constant pestering has started to grate his nerves into a lumpy pulp. The older man had tried to drive his point home by staring straight into Dan's eyes, one hand on the giant’s shoulder, and proclaiming shit happens, what's done is done, and he's dealing with it just fine.
That was day nine.
It isn't until day thirteen, after an especially aggressive 'Yes.' to the sixth ‘Are you okay?’ before noon, that Dan let off for a while.
But now Bonde has gotten confirmation that he has to have surgery and suddenly, he really isn’t okay anymore.
He doesn't let himself over analyze the way he itches to tell Dan the news first, fidgeting and twitching in the passenger seat of his mom's SUV as they head back to the gym.
He doesn't once think about telling his dad (he knows his mom will take care of that), or his siblings (he knows his dad will take care of that), or any of his other friends (they'll find out eventually).
No. He specifically wants - scratch that, needs - Dan’s overbearing brand of comfort and caring before he implodes, leaving a Bonde shaped void in his mom's front seat.
Pulling up to the gym, Bonde says bye to his mom and steps into the building, immediately beginning his hunt for his younger friend, glad that his path stays clear of any frustratingly kind individuals trying to ask how his appointment went during his search. As predicted, Daniel is quickly found in the office, hunched over his computer, editing that morning’s video. Bonde shuts the door and starts the conversation expecting Dan to get mushy - clutching at imaginary pearls as he asks again and again how he's feeling - what he doesn't expect is the rage that comes tumbling out of his own mouth via a raised voice and childish insults over the exact overbearingment he had just sought out.
Internally baffled at himself, Bonde angrily turns and storms from the office, leaving just as swiftly as he had come in. Alarm bells blare through his head as invisible neon signs flash along the hallway walls telling him to stop and go back but he's too stunned at the whole fucky turn of events to stop his war path to nowhere.
Back in the office, Dan continues to sit in his rolly chair, blinking slowly at the space his best friend had just vacated; bewildered, concerned, and still trying to figure out what he said wrong.
Eons have surely passed by the time he finally turns back to his computer, looking at the now dark screens unseeingly. He doesn't even think about touching the mouse again until another decade has gone by.
On the other side of the building, Bonde’s legs have hastily carried him to the storage room where he stands alone, huffing and puffing at surplus crash pads and foam rollers. He’s very aware that if anyone comes into the room they will find him red faced, jittery, and quite possibly a little wild eyed. He’s extremely aware he needs to go back and apologize to the innocent bystander he just left in his dust trail but he's starting to feel like he is drowning in embarrassment over the whole ordeal and he can't persuade his feet to turn him around and take him back to Dan.
Taking a few calming breaths and opening the door, Bonde asks the first person he encounters for a ride home, his trip back to the gym lasting less than ten minutes.
Several hours later, after he's spent most of his evening brooding and sulking on the couch, Bonde is startled by an abrupt knock on his front door. Rolling off the couch awkwardly from his half upside down position, the blond’s temper spikes again as he stomps through the living room, readying himself to emotionally devastate whoever is knocking so loudly at ten pm.
And to his utmost surprise, it's Dan.
Dan and a bundle of fuzzy somethings in his arms.
It's Bonde’s turn to stare and blink slowly as the guilt over his mortifying outburst from earlier comes creeping back, standing thick and uncomfortable between the two. Dan shifts from foot to foot, silently refusing to invite himself in while Bonde, at a loss for words for once, just as silently considers slamming the door in his face to avoid the talk he knows they have to have. The pair would have most definitely stayed planted where they were, gawking at each other like idiots, for possibly forever if not for the arctic blast of November air that sweeps through the porch.
The decision being made for him, Bonde immediately steps aside to let Dan in as a shiver rips through them both. He wordlessly directs his friend to the couch as he peers down the hall at the closed bedroom door, expecting to see light filtering through the cracks. Luckily, it seems his roommate has slept through the noise.
When he comes back to his corner couch cushion, Bonde notices that Dan's mystery items have been dumped on the coffee table and Dan has made himself comfortable on the spot to Bonde’s right. He ignores the three vague lumps as he pulls his knees to his chest, gently places a pillow under his left arm, and inhales deeply.
Still weighed down by regret over his actions, Bonde rapidly rattles through an apology, explaining his explosion had been detonated by his final nerve being struck head on by the prospect of being cut into, of having a permanent scar on the body he has worked so hard to build and maintain, and how regrettably Dan was just the unlucky soul who caught the full brunt of the impact.
Dan wants to tell him that there is nothing to apologize for, that he knows life must be unimaginably tough for the gym rat right now and that he doesn't hold anything against him but he's unable and unwilling to stop Bonde now that he's finally opening up and telling the truth; he instead leans back into the soft pillows and lets his buddy unleash everything he's been holding in.
The older man needs no prompting to spill everything now that he's gaining speed. Dan grimaces as he recounts the bone-deep sense of dread the injury had sent through him as it happened, the feeling of just wrong and bad and oh my god, please, someone help me and how that was by far the closest to a panic attack he had ever been. Both men relax a fraction as Bonde careens straight into reassuring him that once he calmed down and the pain ebbed, he was genuinely okay for the first few days, stating his hours of Internet dumpster diving had resulted in post after post of completely healed and healthy individuals that had gone through the same terrible scare. The testimonials truly comforted him, gave him peace of mind that this was just another obstacle he would soon get over and leave in the past.
And then Bonde rapidly loses steam and the room seems to physically darken as he burrows deeper into the cushions and drifts into how as the days rolled on, he was feeling less okay, less confident in his recovery. He practically spits that the pain has been mild but constant and that being one armed is so much more challenging than he would have ever expected. Dan wants to share that he understands pain that never seems to go away and how maddening it can be but he traps the words behind his teeth as the man beside him continues on.
The light in the living room continues to seep away as Bonde sounds devastatingly broken in recounting being told he has to have surgery, the one thing he had been hoping beyond hope to avoid. A knife twists in Daniel’s gut as the man next to him nearly chokes when saying he’s glad he had his mom stay in the car during his appointment because after getting the confirmation, he had made his way to the closest bathroom and barely held back the tears that had been building for days, only being kept from a total breakdown by an older gentleman knocking on the door and asking if he was going to be much longer. He had to fake a smile and an air of ‘it is what it is’ when he got back in the car.
And if his mom had seen through the facade, she hadn't commented on it.
Finally sputtering to the end of his rant, the eternal sunbeam next to Dan is crying. It's a sight Dan has never seen - never wanted to see. Bonde’s blotchy face and red rimmed eyes mercilessly claw at Dan’s heart and for the briefest of moments the younger man wishes the flyer had just crashed to the mat and spared Bonde all of this heartache but he knows that outcome would have hurt Bonde more. Still, Dan can't find it in himself to be mad at his thoughts for taking such harsh paths.
Neither had realized that they had drifted closer and closer during Bonde’s tirade but now Dan is the first to make use of their proximity, reaching out and grabbing Bonde’s right hand, threading their fingers together. It's clear that Bonde is not comfortable showing this kind of emotion as he looks frustrated at himself for the tears slipping from the corner of his eyes, angrily trying to wipe them off with his shoulder, and Dan's not going to push things with a hug. Bonde squeezes Dan’s hand as he takes a few calming breaths and Dan scolds himself in his head as Bonde’s thumb wipes across the back of his hand, sending shockwaves down to his toes, ‘Put a pin in it. Tonight is not about you.’
The two stay on the plush cushions for hours, collapsing more and more into each other's space until they are slouched nearly sideways, Bonde’s head on Dan’s shoulder, Dan’s cheek pressed into his forehead.
It's closing in on 1 am when Dan hears Bonde lightly snoring. They had been chatting less than five minutes before and Dan cracks a smile and allows himself one quick peek at his slumbering friend, internally gushing over gorgeous golden eyelashes resting against fair freckly cheekbones, before squeezing Bonde’s hand. Incredibly, throughout the duration of their chats that had led to nowhere and circled back on themselves over and over again, they had never let go. He speaks softly as Bonde’s breathing changes back to that of semi-consciousness, “Let's get you upstairs.” The blond nods, his short hair tickling the brunette’s nose, and slowly, stiffly the two stand up.
Releasing their hands, Dan’s palm immediately feels unnaturally cold without Bonde’s pressed against it, ‘Not about you.’
As Bonde discards his pillow and gets up, stretching his right arm high above his head and looking much more relaxed and serene than he has for days, he sees the abandoned gifts Dan had brought with him resting on the table.
“What's all this by the way?”
“Oh,” Dan dips his head, suddenly going red, “uh, just some comfort items, I guess.” The brunette reaches out and unfurls a bundle of cloth, revealing a plaid blanket Bonde has seen multiple times around Dan’s apartment, a green XXL hoodie Bonde has seen multiple times on Dan’s torso, and a yellow book that Bonde has never seen before in his life. His eyes linger on the book. It looks well read, the spine cracked and the corners blunted from years of handling. Bonde raises an eyebrow at it. Dan gets even redder, “It was my favorite. I've read it like three times.”
Bonde holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers, and Dan hesitantly passes it over. Timeline by Michael Crichton. Bonde’s eyebrow raises more.
Dan jumps to his own defense a little too quickly, “It's really cool. There's time travel and gore and fighting. It's not like, for kids or anything. I just thought you would have a lot of downtime right after the surgery and might want some entertainment.” As Bonde just continues to stare at the cover, Dan steps forward, “I can-” he reaches out to take the book back but Bonde whips it out of reach.
“Oh, no. I'm readin’ it, buddy. No take backs.” The older man plans to absolutely devour the tiny glance into Dan’s past the moment he’s conscious again after his procedure and he's going to do it swaddled like a giant baby in Dan’s blanket and hoodie. Until then, the book is going to stay safe and sound on his nightstand.
Dan drops his eyes to their feet at the reaction and tries his best to keep his growing goofy grin at bay. Straightaway his eyes snap back up at the sound of Bonde loudly yawning and like a highly contagious disease, Dan is infected with the yawn, mirroring the action.
“Sorry for keeping you up so late, I'll let you get to sleep.” Dan swings his arm back for a customary dap but then thinks better of it, not wanting the noise to wake Bonde’s roommate, and instead gives into his need to hug. Dragging Bonde in by the front of his sweater, Dan engulfs his friend in long arms and love and immediately feels one arm snake around his waist and a face smush into his neck. The pair gladly stand together in the quiet house for longer than probably necessary but each can tell the other is soaking in the affection endorphins.
Another yawn attack, this time initiated by Dan, separates the two a minute later.
“Alright, man. Well... have a good night.” When Bonde doesn't respond other than nodding, looking far off in thought, Daniel figures sleep deprivation has started to kick in. Every fiber of Dan’s being would rather stay indefinitely than leave but he knows they both need rest and he forces himself to back away, patting his pockets to check for his phone and keys.
But before Dan can get far, Bonde finds his voice, blurting out, “You know, you can stay over, if you want.. since it's late.” Dan gives an eyebrow raise of his own as the blond barrels on, “But you can't stay on the couch because you know,” he tilts his head back to indicate his housemate’s closed bedroom door, “she spooks easily and she'll freak out if she finds someone out here in the morning.”
Dan feels like the meme of the woman with mathematical equations floating around her head as he tries to figure out where he's supposed to sleep then, knowing there are no other spare beds in the house, “Oh..kay?”
“Sleep with me.” It feels like a bucket of ice water is dumped onto Bonde’s head the second the implication he just so nonchalantly offered flies out of his mouth and he sputters to correct himself, “I mean! In my room! Sleep in my room. In.. in my bed.. with me. Jesus.” As he finishes his train wreck of a sentence, Bonde really wishes a flying saucer would crash through his front window and obliterate him, leaving him a smoking pile of ash on the floor. Of course, he's never been that lucky and instead he hides his face behind his hand. His cheeks are on fire.
He waits and listens for Dan's croaking laugh but it never comes.
After a silence that lasts entirely too long, Bonde finally peeks through his fingers to make sure the aliens hadn't gotten them mixed up and vaporized Dan instead (he could just imagine the kind of mess a dusted Dan would leave) only to find him as red faced as Bonde feels. Once their eyes meet, the younger man meekly nods his head. Bonde’s shoulders drop as he nods back, feeling like he can breathe again. He starts snatching up his phone and Dan’s gifts, averting his gaze out of uncharacteristic embarrassment. Daniel thankfully makes himself useful by turning off the lights.
Not trusting what might fall out of his mouth next, Bonde jerks his head towards the stairs and starts climbing, knowing Dan will follow.
Both men can feel that tonight is the beginning of something new as they both slip under the thick quilt covering Bonde’s bed and together they fall asleep facing each other, grins stuck to their faces even in sleep.
...
It's nearing noon the next day and Bonde's roommate still hasn't heard a sound from upstairs. Worried, she starts up the stairs, calling his name, “Bonde? Hey, you up there? Bon-,”
Caylee stops right inside the open bedroom doorway. Expressionlessly, she takes her phone from her sports bra and snaps a photo of the scene in front of her - a bare chested Dan protectively curled around Bonde’s naked back, their heads sharing a pillow and both men completely dead to the world asleep - before walking back downstairs, “Close your fucking door next time."