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A hoarse groan escapes Aventurine’s chapped lips as he buries his face into the mountain of pillows supporting his throbbing head. The same ones that still carry the lingering scent of vomit and mucus. Even thinking about it now has his clogged nose involuntarily twitching when the satin fabric brushes against his searing cheeks. His trembling fingers reach upwards towards his damp hair, but never make it beyond his chest, coming to rest on the back of the cat cake perched on his stomach.
The creature feels impossibly heavy and far too hot against his skin. He can barely breathe with its meager weight threatening to crush him. But, at this point, he might consider that a blessing.
The two other cat cakes who share the apartment with him are pressed against his legs somewhere beneath the blanket that’s tangled around his sore body.
Their body heat, coupled with his own boiling temperature, has him empathizing with the bubbling broth he left on his stovetop this morning after a failed attempt to make a bowl of soup.
Trying to fight down the cough stuck in the back of his throat, Aventurine gropes around the mattress for his phone, finding it wedged beneath the butt of the cat cake currently using his stomach as its personal heating pad.
Rubbing at his puffy eyes, he forces himself to look at the screen. The light emanating from it is obnoxiously bright. It makes everything around him feel as if it were quaking.
He clumsily unlocks his phone.
The first thing he sees is Ratio’s name. He drops his phone on his already thoroughly abused nose.
Picking it up feels like running a marathon…underwater. But he eventually gathers it into his hand once more.
Pursing his dry lips, he ignores the previous messages and begins to type.
Ah, Doctor, we’ll have to continue this discussion another day. I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather at the moment.
He tastes bile on his tongue as he quickly erases the message.
So sorry, Doctor, I can’t return your message at the moment. I'm currently being crushed beneath a cat and I dare not disturb her. Also, I might have come down with something.
He erases the message yet again.
He hardly expects a response from Ratio, even if he yearns for one.
There’s something absolutely dreadful about being sick and alone. He’s more desperate for company than he’d like to admit, but he’s eager to chalk that up to the fever talking. He’d rather grin and bear it than risk inconveniencing the person he cares for most.
He feels, far more than he hears, his phone buzz against his palm. It’s another text from Ratio. Eager to close his eyes again, he simply responds with:
Sorry, Doctor—another time.
Then he promptly turns his phone face down and shoves it under a pillow–heedless of the fact that he hadn’t fully deleted the previous attempts, and had actually texted Ratio:
Sorry, Doctor–under weather. Can’t return. Crushed beneath something–time.
Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to go back to his fitful sleep.
Vaguely, he can feel something aggressively vibrating against his skull, but the entire world is shaking at this point so what’s a little earthquake when he’s already so nauseous that his stomach is grumbling far louder than his phone ever could?
Just as he’s finally starting to drift off, he hears a thud in the distance and the sound of rummaging. For a brief moment, he considers actually getting up to ensure no one is trying to break into his apartment, but quickly decides he doesn’t care enough to do so.
At least not until the three cat cakes huddled up around him begin to meow. Only then does he finally turn his face away from his pillow and crack his eyes open.
“Gambler…Are…why…”
Ah–his temperature must be higher than he thought if he’s hallucinating Ratio standing beside his bed. It’s vivid enough that he can hear the Doctor’s muffled voice, but can’t make out what he’s saying. Though he imagines his fever-induced Ratio isn’t all that different from the real thing.
He feels something warm brush over his chest, and with it the bone-shattering weight that had been pushing down on him is removed.
“Aventurine.”
Oh, now it’s bad enough that he’s actually imagining Ratio calling out his name. In his head, the Doctor sounds exasperated and mildly irritated, but not unkind. There’s a tinge of concern in that dreamy voice that makes Aventurine’s heart twist into a knot.
Something cold brushes his sweat-soaked bangs away from his hazy eyes and then presses against his forehead. Blinking against the harsh overhead lights, Aventurine gradually begins to come out of his sleep deprived haze.
Ratio manifests–all too realistically–into his line of sight. The other’s hand feels cool where it’s resting against his skin. Or it might just be that he’s so hot everything else feels frigid in contrast.
Slowly, he becomes keenly aware of the fact that the mattress dips where he feels Ratio’s knee pressing against his hip.
The Doctor looks almost comical with that stern expression on his face as he holds the cat that had been on Aventurine’s stomach in one arm. With the creature miserably pawing at the air as she whacks Ratio in the face with her tail in pure displeasure, Aventurine almost pities both of them. Almost.
He’s far too busy trying to cope with the sudden realization that’s beginning to settle in to feel much of anything else.
Oh–Oh.
Ratio is actually physically in front of him–leaning over him–touching him.
“Doctor?” His voice sounds so utterly dreadful that he nearly chokes on it.
He had given Ratio a key to his apartment when they had met up in Penacony. Just in case something happened to him. If only so someone could retrieve the three cat cakes and find them somewhere safe to live in the event that he never returned.
He had always assumed Ratio had discarded it–immediately. He hadn’t expected Ratio to keep it, and he certainly hadn’t been prepared for him to actually use it.
“Why are you here?” Aventurine’s sluggish voice sounds wistful and hesitant. Vulnerable and far more raw than what’s typical for him.
When he realizes how awful he sounds, he clears his throat awkwardly, and swiftly tries to cover up his blunder. “Of course, I’m thrilled to see you, Doctor, but this visit is rather sudden and unexpected.”
Setting the feline in his arm down on the bed, Ratio pulls his hand away from Aventurine’s forehead. “Do thank your nearly indecipherable text for my arrival.” His gaze flickers to the cat cake inching its way back towards Aventurine’s stomach. He nonchalantly places a hand on the top of its head to prevent it from reclaiming its heaving throne. “Luck, it seems, still favors you–from what little context I could glean from your message, I theorized you might be unwell.”
If Aventurine’s head didn’t feel like it was five feet under water, he would have questioned what about his message was so difficult to understand. He also might have focused a bit more on Ratio’s words, had he not still been trying to accept the fact that the man before him is real.
“You kept the key I gave you?”
“Naturally,” Ratio answers as if he’s just been asked the single most witless question in this–and every other–universe.
Releasing the cat cake wiggling beneath his palm, Ratio finds what little empty space is left on the desk beside the bed to put his bag. A frown slips onto his lips as he notes the empty glass, dirty plates, and collection of used tissues and washcloths strewn all over the place.
“Why?”
Pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, Ratio scoops up the unsightly mess and throws it into the trash without hesitation. “Is it necessary for me to dignify such an asinine question with an answer? You’re already well aware of what my response would be.” Without pausing, he picks up the old glass and briefly vanishes from Aventurine’s line of sight. He returns with a warm mug of tea to set in its former place.
Aventurine finds himself, in his dazed and exhausted mind, having a difficult time keeping up with Ratio. One minute he’s organizing the bedside table, and the next he’s disappearing into the kitchen to sort through his dishes and clean up the mess he’s made.
Watching the chaotic, yet somehow organized whirlwind the Doctor is creating is almost enough to make Aventurine nauseous all over again.
“Could you?” He thinks the fever is starting to take control as he stares at Ratio’s fingers while they open a bottle of ibuprofen that Aventurine is fairly certain he didn’t have anywhere in his apartment before this very moment.
Ratio is briefly forced to pause in order to shoo away the cat cakes that are now trying to climb back up onto the bed, discarding the gloves in the process.
“Your lack of concern for your own wellbeing is remarkably appalling.”
Aventurine doesn’t know if the Doctor is giving him an answer or merely commenting on the current state of his….everything. But he complies when Ratio hands him the mug and urges him to take some medicine. Despite his better judgment–the tickle in the back of his throat hasn’t quite left him yet–he complies. Mainly because he’s too distracted by twisting and winding the other’s statements over and over again in his head to process all that’s happening.
When Aventurine leans back down, Ratio’s fingers gingerly ghost over his flushed cheeks to carefully push his bangs out of the way. That meager sensation is enough to make him lean into Ratio’s palm as a chilled washcloth is placed over his forehead. Even well after that hand has been withdrawn, he still finds himself helplessly pursuing its warmth. The absence of which makes a shiver race down his spine.
“Doctor.” Aventurine’s lips are so dry they stick together when he speaks. He can feel his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth as the word struggles to make its way past his throat alongside a hoarse cough. “Are you worried about me?”
With all three cat cakes held in his arms as he tries to replace the filthy blanket, Ratio sighs, audibly.
“Given your previous track record, it’s only logical that I would harbor non-insignificant perturbation for your safety.”
Without batting an eye, Ratio tucks the new, thicker blanket around Aventurine and then plops the trio of cat cakes back onto the bed.
That blanket, too, Aventurine is fairly certain isn’t one he owns.
Aventurine might have found Ratio’s bedside manner endearing if not for the fact that the other was moving around so much he was making him queasy. He’s beginning to taste iron in the back of his throat once more.
Inhaling the rather potent scent of disinfectant now seeping into the air all around him, Aventurine pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m honored, but…could you please stop moving around for a moment?” He won’t deny that Ratio’s words practically cure him right then and there, but everything about him is too stuffy and sore to properly cherish the Doctor’s admission.
Oh, but the second his head clears up, he’s going to cling to it and never let go again. And never let Ratio forget, either.
Observing how Aventurine’s expression twists into one of discomfort as the other man squeezes his eyes shut all over again, Ratio finally puts his meddling on hold, choosing to lean against the desk in lieu of sitting on the bed–largely due to the three sets of pathetic eyes staring up at him as if he had committed the worst atrocity known to mankind by removing them from the bed just long enough for him to make Aventurine comfortable.
A low hum vibrates in Aventurine’s throat. It’s wet and raspy. It sounds far closer to a funeral bell than a wedding song. Unaware of how every single set of ears on his three pets flatten against their heads, he pats the bed beside him. It’s light enough that his palm barely makes a sound when it strikes the mattress, but his bed is just old enough to convince him that even the subtlest of motions will make it sway.
“Closer.”
“Do you or do you not want me to refrain from movement?”
Aventurine reluctantly opens his eyes to meet Ratio’s as he massages his temples. He’s always been rather fond of the color of the Doctor’s eyes, but, right now, he would prefer if they were shut. Looking at them makes him dizzy–if only because they’re so dazzlingly they take his breath away.
“Veritas, you know what I mean,” Aventurine heaves, exasperated, enjoying what little he can taste of the Doctor’s name on his tinglingly lips.
Seemingly against Ratio’s better judgment, he reluctantly sits down on the bed beside Aventurine. And, against the order of the very universe itself, the Doctor pats the head of the nearest cat cake.
Ah, Ratio really needs to stop doing the unexpected today. For the sake of Aventurine’s poor heart, and his sweltering head, or else he may start to think he’s dreaming all over again.
“Is this close enough to appease you?”
Aventurine can hear the subtle purr emitting from the cat cake beneath Ratio’s hand. A very small part of him is a tad jealous.
“Hmm, if I were a betting man–which I am–I would wager my life on the possibility that you’d be willing to come even closer.”
Aventurine can see the Doctor’s handsome face twitch in exasperation. And, yet, Ratio, admittedly unenthusiastically, presses his hand down beside Aventurine’s head.
“As always, my dear gambler, you win.”
Aventurine wraps his arms loosely around Ratio’s neck, and the Doctor leans down to kiss him.
Ratio’s smooth lips feel almost unnatural against Aventurine’s chapped ones. While his taste vividly of salt and vinegar, the Doctor’s taste like apricots and honey.
He can’t say the contrasting flavors mix well.
Everything about the kiss is unpleasant, messy, and awkward, and yet, to Aventurine’s surprise, Ratio doesn’t pull away. No, instead the Doctor continues to meet his lips again and again.
Ratio kisses him with a tenderness the gambler has never known. Like he’s revering a delicately crafted sculpture or paying homage to a magnificent essay. As if gentleness alone could somehow cure what ails Aventurine.
Perhaps it could, or perhaps Aventurine makes Ratio just as irrational as his dear gambler so often is.