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It had been quiet for the past couple of hours. Armin lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. This was new. Normally Jean, his neighbor, played soppy rock music for hours every night, apparently not smart enough to realize the walls were literally the thickness of a dime and that every time he played music it kept his neighbors up.
No one said anything though. Armin thought all the neighbors felt bad for him. He never talked to anyone, never smiled, just quietly plodded through the hallways with his head down.
They hadn’t had much time to get to know him either - he had moved in a few months ago. Armin scrunched his eyes together against the darkness, remembering. He had been different then, the first few times they spoke. It had been just casual greetings, nothing special but Jean had had the air of a confident, if a little vain, person who genuinely loved their life.
Whatever extraverted-ness Jean seemed to have vanished about a week after he moved in. If Armin hadn’t heard his whimpering in his sleep, saying that he was sorry over and over again, he would have sworn that someone had died. From the way he whimpered, however, it was probably just a really bad breakup.
That had happened almost every night. But it was quiet now. The darkness suffocated Armin - he couldn’t fool his body into sleeping, who was he kidding? He glanced at his clock and blinked in surprise.
2:00 AM
‘That bad, huh?’ he thought to himself. ‘I suppose I had better do something other than just laying here.’
The faint opening of a door down the hallway surprised him into sitting up halfway. The sheets slid down Armin’s chest, revealing that, yes, it really was as cold as it had been when he slid under the covers 2 hours previously. Damn the landlord for never putting the heat on early enough in the season - he seemed to think that he could coast the electricity bill and keep everyone warm with a few extra blankets and October sunshine. That didn’t matter much to Armin, though. He was more interested in the slow shuffling that drew down the hallway, closer and closer to his apartment. Finally it stopped at what seemed like the door across from Armin’s.
Keys clanked against the lock, scraping and unable to fit due to someone’s shaky hands. Armin’s feet hit the cold floor and he winced. Was that Jean? Coming home at 2 AM? He braved the ice at his feet and on his floorboards to peek through the peephole.
A hunched figure was desperately fiddling with Jean’s lock, swaying slightly. Armin stiffened. He knew he shouldn’t pry in other people’s business - but a drunkard was obviously trying to rob Jean’s place.
Armin padded into his tiny kitchen as quietly as possible and pulled out his rolling pin. Perfect for pastries and giving someone a good pounding. He tip-toed back to the peephole, where he could see the suspect now leaning against the door, hand on head and shoulders shaking in frustration.
After a very deep breath, Armin swung open the door and whisper yelled, “HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
The hunched and hooded figure lazily turned around. They muttered something incoherent that sounded like, “Armin?”
Armin squinted and tried to peek under the hood. “Jean?” He lowered his rolling pin. “What are you doing coming home at 2 AM?”
Jean stumbled into the doorframe and tugged down at his hood. “None of your business, Armin,” he slurred. He rubbed the top of his head. “Don’t mmm-mother me.”
Concerned, Armin took a step forward and reached a hand out. “Need some help? How drunk are you?” Talking this much was considerably unusual for Jean, at least from what Armin could tell from the scarce conversations they had. That had never discouraged Armin from trying to be a friendly neighbor. Though perhaps he overstepped the boundary between friendly and nosy far too often in order to maintain good relationships and interesting conversations with his fellow apartment renters.
At the sight of his reaching hand, Jean jerked away, causing his hood to fall backwards. It may have been the awful hallway lighting, but whatever was wrong with Jean’s face made Armin gasp.
“You look awful!” It definitely wasn’t the hallway lighting. Armin should have been used to blood and bruises from being a nurse - but still: seeing someone you know hurt never loses its impact, its horror.
While hurriedly trying to put his hood back on and open his apartment, Jean began to mutter, “‘S nothing..” He tripped over the doorsill and almost face-planted into his door. Armin quickly grabbed at his arm and steadied him just in time to see Jean wince and catch another glimpse of his bruised and battered face.
“What happened?”
Jean pulled his arm away from Armin’s grip. “I told you I’m finnnne. Go back to sleep.” He clutched his keys tighter in his hand and readied them at the lock, still unable to find the right position due to his shakiness.
“Let me help you,” Armin said softly and gently took the keys from Jean.
“I don’t want your pity, Turdlet.”
Armin unlocked the door. “And you’re not going to get it if you act like an arrogant asshole. All I’m saying is that you don’t look like you should be alone right now.” He offered a small smile to Jean, knowing he wouldn’t return the favour.
The sharp glare from Jean’s eyes distracted Armin enough to allow the keys to slip from Armin’s hand to Jean’s. “I’m always alone anyways; it doesn’t matter.”
Armin stared at him expectantly and tilted his head towards his own apartment. “You don’t have to be. Let me help.”
Jean stared inside his dark apartment for a moment.
“Please.”
With a sigh, Jean took a step back into the hallway and closed the door. He glared at Armin again, who locked the door, and without the wall began to sway slightly on his feet. Armin sighed (almost as heavily as Jean) and led him across the hall, depositing the keys into Jean’s hand.
“You’ll be happier in the morning when you realize that you’ve only bled out onto my pillows, not yours.”
“Shut up, Armin.”
“Laundry is nothing to scoff at. Besides, with the amount of hits it looks like you took to the face, I’m going to have to do enough talking for both of us tonight, so I can’t shut up. If you open your big mouth anymore than I assume you did, I won’t be fixing you up in my apartment; it’ll be in prison.”
Jean’s hand felt like it had merged with the icecube it was holding. At least the cold has sobered him up. He sat at Armin’s kitchen table, holding the cluster of ice to his face, freezing both his ass and his hand off while Armin bustled around the apartment digging through various drawers. The pile of medical supplies next to Jean was growing at an alarming rate. As Armin returned and plonked another roll of gauze on the table Jean had to ask, “Why do you have the contents of an entire hospital in your apartment?”
His question was answered with Armin’s incredulous stare. “I'm a nurse. I thought you knew.” Jean tried to make an incredulous face back but it just made him hurt even more. Meanwhile Armin tried to stifle a giggle when his “Why would I?” turned into a high pitched moan of pain. “Try and sit still while I clean all the blood off your face, okay?”
The only response was a vague nod as Armin moved the ice pack away from his face and watched him pat around for a clean washcloth. As soon as the wet cloth touched his skin Jean had to stop himself from hissing. “That stings.”
Armin rolled his eyes and kept dabbing. “I’m pretty sure you’re bleeding from 20 different places, and you’re complaining about how a little bit of water stings?”
“Yes,” Jean mumbled. His eyes were close to closing, he was so tired, but Armin’s hovering face kept reminding him to stay awake. He realized that they were sitting face to face, their knees touching, their breath fanning each other’s faces. Jean jerked a little.
Armin leaned back, eyebrows drawing in. “Sorry.”
“No, no,” Jean shook his head. “I’m fine.” He tightened his grip on the ice pack in his hand. Everything was becoming hot all at once and his bloody face wasn’t taking it very well. Suddenly glad for the thin layer of blood and grime, Jean hoped Armin wouldn’t notice the faint tinge of pink on his cheeks. When they had first stepped into Armin’s apartment, and Armin was practically carrying Jean, it would have been impossible to notice with the lights off. But now… Well, Armin had very bright lights.
A yawn began to build in the back of Jean’s mouth. “You can go to sleep soon, just let me finish this,” Armin reassured him. Jean didn’t really feel like sleeping much in that sense; he was just tired. He didn’t say that, of course, or even anything at all. He simply nodded sleepily.
Another sting of the water jolted Jean. “Jeez Armin, what’s in that stuff?”
Armin’s low chuckle sent another jolt through Jean. “It’s water and a little bit of vodka.”
Jean wrinkled his face and tried not to look Armin in the eye. “Vodka?”
After rinsing the blood off in another bowl, Armin dipped the cloth in the water/alcohol mix again and returned to dabbing at Jean’s face. “I didn’t have any saline solution handy.” He smiled a little, an easy sort of grin that sent another bout of redness to flood Jean’s cheeks. With Armin’s eyes and that smile…. It was no wonder Jean saw him with at least two people chasing after him at all times. One glance from Armin was enough aphrodisiac for any non-asexual person to drop their pants on command. Suddenly the ice in Jean’s hand wasn’t cold enough. Jean would let Armin make him -
No, Jean couldn’t think about that right now, as much as he wanted to. He returned his thoughts from whatever gutter they had crawled into and focused back on the present. Presently, Armin was not touching Jean’s face. He had gotten up to rifle through his drawers some more. Jean avoided staring at his ass and instead found himself looking at the bowl of red-tinged water and the bloody washcloth heaped beside it. He paled slightly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was glad that Armin wouldn’t be able to see him blush any longer.
“Jean,” Armin said softly and touched his shoulder. “Don’t look at the blood if it makes you nauseous.” He picked up the vodka mix and bloody bowl. “Sit still, and focus on something else.” Armin returned to shuffling things around in his cupboards. “I just need to find that salve..” he muttered quietly.
Jean decided to focus on Armin instead, specifically the very safe zone of his muscled arms. What could he say? If your doctor tells you to do something... Before he knew it Armin had sat down in front of him again and was unscrewing the lid on some tin. There wasn’t any label and the substance looked strangely homemade.
“It’s my grandpa’s recipe. It’s honey and witch hazel.” Armin slid his fingers around the tin and then reached for Jean’s face. “This will only take a moment.” Jean tried very hard not to make any strangled noises as he let Armin gently apply the ointment. He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing - not when Armin’s hands were so soft and strong and the sugary smell of honey perfumed the otherwise stale apartment air.
And then, like a warm breath on a frozen day, the sweet warmth of Armin was gone, removed from Jean’s skin. Pouting didn’t seem like a good idea at this point, although Jean was seriously considering it. He opened his eyes again, and let himself yawn, hoping it didn’t come across as forceful.
“Tired?” Armin asked, his gentle hands closing the tin. Jean nodded sleepily again and watched him continue to clean up. He knew he should help, thank Armin, but God he had had a lot to drink and being beaten up had really, (excuse me), beaten him up. Instead of helping, however, Jean pretended not to notice as Armin stopped in front of him, clearly hesitating in whatever decision he was trying to make about Jean’s sleeping arrangements. After a moment, Jean looked up at Armin with his tired, bruised face. Puppy eyes wasn’t supposed to work with adults on adults but Jean was desperate at this point. Anything to convince Armin to let him stay without letting Armin think he was trying to convince him.
Jean confused himself at that point into saying, “Thanks for cleaning me up Armin.” The slight slur in his sentence was partially faked, but the wobble in his knees definitely wasn’t when he tried to stand up. Armin caught him by the shoulder before he could fall - and a lance of hot pain coursed through his arm. “Ahhh!” he winced.
Armin shot his arm away like a bullet. “Shit! Idiot! Why didn’t you say anything before?” He tugged Jean back down into his creaky kitchen chair. “I was almost going to let you go back to your apartment!” Jean watched, with a slight fascination, as it was now Armin who was flushed. He couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger - but he liked it. Armin didn’t notice the stare and continued to babble, rushing around the apartment for more medical supplies. “I mean, after seeing you try to stand I probably wouldn’t have let you go - but, but, I might’ve! DAMN, Jean, you could have broken ribs or something!” Armin rushed back and plonked a lot more supplies on the table beside Jean. “Take off your jacket - now, please!” Jean opened his mouth as he complied but Armin cut him off before he could say anything. “Now is not the time for stupid comments.”
Jean winced as his left arm got caught in the sleeve. He had hardly grimaced before Armin was there, helping him pull it out. Within the second, he could hear Armin’s sucking in a breath through his teeth. Jean didn’t have to look - he knew his sleeves were torn in more than a few places and that there were more than a few cuts decorating them and bruises besides those. Armin hadn’t even seen his punching hand yet - his fingers had numbed from the ice, but before he had barely been able to wrap them around his keys they were so swollen. He wished that Armin’s eyes would flick over his body for a different reason than possible medical emergency - but was very glad he had worn a v-neck when Armin caught sight of the bruising on his chest.
“You have to take your shirt off too - I can see more bruising…” Armin’s voice trailed off a little as he helped Jean lift his shirt off. Jean smirked inwards - all of his pain and cuts and bruises was definitely worth Armin taking off his shirt. “Ow.” Armin glanced at Jean quickly before returning his gaze to Jean’s mottled ribcage. “I’m going to check if anything’s broken, okay?”
“Sure,” Jean said. His voice almost caught in his throat. Then, Armin began to run his fingers down Jean’s sides and around his ribs, frowning and chewing on his lip. Jean’s breath caught in his throat. The slight sound made Armin look up at him.
“Does it hurt when you breathe?”
Jean’s face contorted. “Like, just then, or since I got in the fight?”
“Since the fight.”
He sucked in a deep breath - a really deep breath - and winced. “Yep,” Jean gasped out in some form of strangled reply. Armin ran his hands over Jean’s ribs again.
“I think you bruised your ribs.”
“Well, no shit -”
Armin’s look cut him off. “No, I mean, bruising the rib - y’know, the -” he sighed. “Nevermind. You’re coming with me to see a doctor tomorrow. I mean, I don’t think you broke your ribs, but just to be sure… You’ll need an x-ray.”
A moment of silence passed between them. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Not as bad as it could’ve been -” Armin paused. “What were you doing anyways?”
Jean looked at the floor, away from Armin’s direction. “I got in a fight,” he said quietly and tried not to think about what Armin looked as he kneeled on the ground in front of him.
Decisively and sharply, Armin nodded. As if that were completely normal. As if people got into violent fights all the time. As if he wasn’t probably wondering why Jean had gotten into a fight. “Ok. Well, I recommend not doing that anymore.”
“No?” Jean’s voice had a glimmer of humour in it.
“Not unless you want to be stuck being my patient for your late-night fix-ups.”
A small smile appeared on Jean’s face, and the room was comfortably silent until Armin hopped up and began to clean the blood off of Jean’s other wounds. Half an hour later, Jean was bandaged in ten different places and was smelling of the last of Armin’s honey and witch hazel salve.
Armin placed the small tin on the kitchen counter before turning back to help Jean up. “How tired are you on a scale of 1-10?”
Yawning, Jean replied, “Exhausted.” He promptly tried to sit down again.
“Oh, no you don’t. I’m too tired myself to help you up more than once,” Armin said, his voice authoritative but soft and sweet against Jean’s ears. An arm was gently slipped around Jean’s waist. “And, I’m too tired to help you over to your apartment, so you’ll have to sleep here. Besides, I’d rather be able to keep an eye on you here, and -”
Armin paused for a moment as he laid Jean down on his bed.
Jean’s sleepy grin nearly lit up the entire block. “Artlet, if you wanted me in your bed you should have just asked.”
A flush settled on Armin’s cheeks. “I-I’ll be on the couch.”
Though he was the colour of an eggplant in most places and the slightest movement hurt, Jean made a show about glancing over past Armin’s shoulder and into the small joint living-room/kitchen outside the door. “What if I can’t shout loud enough?” Armin’s mouth twitched and Jean’s eyes fluttered closed. “Whatever, Armin - just so you know -” he yawned “- your bed is big enough for two people.”