Work Text:
You should have seen this coming.
You know Fyodor has no regard for his body, only seeing it as a vessel.
But that never stops you from trying to help him.
He was so engrossed in his plan for Meursault that he barely left his desk or room. You would knock and leave food outside to avoid distracting him, but when you'd returned an hour later, he hadn’t touched it. Annoyed, but still reheat the meal, go in and insist that he eat at least half of it.
You're currently lying down in his workroom on my makeshift bed, wrapping a blanket around the cold of your body. As your eyes began to close and drift off to the sound of keys clicking, your startled back awake by Fyodor’s occasional sniffle. With a grumble and slowly getting up, carrying the blanket. You draped it over his slouched shoulders. He jumped in his seat and quickly covered something on his desk.
Turning to look up. You instantly noticed his nose was red and sore from wiping it. Perhaps it was the faint purple lights, but he appeared even paler than usual.
"You're cold."
"No, I'm fine-"
You walked off and laid back down, ignoring whatever protest he had against it, curling up into my own body to stay warm in this ridiculously cold room.
This had been going on for days, and he was only getting worse, working himself to the bone. It wasn't different from his usual lack of self-care, but this was more concerning than usual. His words were sluggish and slow, and even his typically fast-paced typing seemed to require more thought.
During lunch, you brought him some Earl Grey tea with lemon, hoping it would help if his throat was sore. Walking in with a simple sandwich and the tea, placing it on his desk while cleaning up the mess of tissues, plates, and coffee.
As you were tidying up, you saw that among the scribbles on the papers, your name was written there, partially hidden under his arm.
"Thank you, my dear. What's in this?"
His voice was raspy and broken, he had to clear his throat after not speaking for hours.
"Tea, it should help. no medication in it I swear, I don't plan to do that, ever. again."
He seemed so tired his eyebags were the same colour as the coffee that was long cold, he rubbed his eyes. as he only hummed remembering the last time he was sick, not like he was ill now, no, of course not. You went through usual rounds of self-care suggestions.
"Why don't you have a nap?"
"I don't have time."
"As always."
He looked positively exhausted. Suddenly, he was coughing and holding a hand over his mouth. gentlygetting frail back and noticed a slight shive and not running through him. With a frown, you left him alone again, planning to return later. He probably wouldn't accept help, perhaps out of stubbornness.
In the kitchen, making a simple cup of soup that you just add hot water to. Once the water boiled, you poured it into a mug and stirred in the packet of powder, hoping it would be enough for now.
Returning to the office, opening the door, and stepping into the room. Your eyes immediately fell on the sight of the sick man. He was no longer hunched over the desk. Instead, he lay curled up on the bed. Visible shivers ran through his body as he clutched the blanket, rubbing his face into a pillow to relieve another headache, a low groan escaping his throat.
"Fyodor, you look awful"
No comment, just let out an annoyed huff and shot a glare from beneath the fabric. You rolled your eyes and placed the cup of soup on the floor, the spoon making a slight clink against the porcelain. With an annoyed scoff, you turned to leave, raising hands in mock surrender.
"Fine, fine, I'll leave, whatever."
"N-no. Don't go, my angel..."
You freeze, stopping all teasing and movement. He only called you that when he truly felt vulnerable. His voice was raspy, as if he were dehydrated. Without hesitation, you moved to sit next to him, pulling back the soft fabric to reveal his pink-dusted face. His purple eyes were unfocused and half-lidded. biting your lip, holding back a curse and a blush. As my hand reached for his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him without even touching his skin. He was clearly overheating.
"Fu- you have a fever, damn it. Fyodor, you stupid-. now, will you let me care for you?"
"Mh.. okay, angel..."
Pushing the red blush down and sighing, walking out. A small whine reached your ears. quickly headed to get a bottle of water, but was stopped when the Russian got out of bed to follow. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him. He was slumped against the wall, his shaking hands barely supporting his little amount of weight. His eyes searched for yours just as the blanket slipped from his ghostly form.
"Alright. come on your getting in that bath"
You shifted closer to him, feeling the urgency of the moment, and leaned down. Left hand wrapped firmly around his thin waist, while your right hand gently supported his thigh. With a soft grunt and bend your knees and lift his delicate body off the ground. As you did, Fyodor’s malnourished hip pressed uncomfortably into your shoulder, a stark reminder of his weakened form. A small groan escaped his lips, dazed and muffled, before he began to mumble incoherently against your lower shoulder blade, his voice filled with confusion and weariness.
"You're too kind to me, I don't deserve you, my angel..."
"Okay, you're getting delusional now"
You tried to ignore the heat on your face as you carried the man with little effort. walking over to the door, nudging it open with a foot, stepping inside, and placing Fyodor down on the countertop next to the sink.
When you turned around, his hands moved from your back to your neck, which then slipped from their grip on you. A soft whine escaped his chapped lips at the loss of contact. You turned on the tap, waiting for the water to get hot, before putting the plug in the tub and adding some muscle relaxant soap that is only used occasionally. Small bubbles formed, and you felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that you could get the stubborn man into the water, where he wouldn't move for a while.
You brace yourself for the most daunting task, peeling him out of his slightly damp clothes. You grasp the fabric of his shirt and pull it over his head, getting very little resistance. A success but unusual. As the shirt slips away to the floor, you lock your gaze with clouded purple, searching for a response. Instead of words, he offers a soft hum, and his head lolls against my shoulder, the weight of him causing you to stumble slightly.
The warmth of his skin increased worry as it rested there. Taking a pause before reaching down, glancing away at the bit, might have married the man, but now is not the time. And as a devoted Christian, you must not lust in your heart. But just one peek?..... Jesus Christ! Nope, no, no. He is clearly not well, don’t even think about it.
You used a foot to feel around the floor and push down to remove the fabric from his ankles. You didn’t want to look at his grabbable waist and his pale, easily marked skin. Your face flushed deep red, but you could blame it on the steam from the bath.
After some blind stumbling, finally you helped the stubborn, anaemic into the hot water. He grumbled about me being an angel once again, but you quickly brushed that comment aside.
"I'm getting you some water"
"Okay, angel"
Fyodor leaned back in the bath, his head resting against the tile wall. You covered my face with a hand, trying to block out a dirty image from your mind. Swiftly walked away to grab a bottle of water. On your way back, you just about remembered that he was hiding something.
You snuck into the office, scanning the cluttered desk for the paper you had spotted earlier with your name on it. When you finally located it, you were taken aback by the sight of a large, crumpled piece of paper, its edges tattered from countless folds. As you carefully unfolded it, it became increasingly clear that he was trying to find the best way to keep you hidden from his enemies while also ensuring the plan went smoothly.
A soft smile spread across your face. He doesn't often show much affection outwardly, so this was heart-melting how much he wanted to keep you safe. Refolding the paper before returning to the bathroom to sort out the love of your life, pretending to not melt over the reason he's so run down