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Rowan carried himself like a man who knew where his body was at all times.
Broad shoulders laid back, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed casually; posture that told the world he was raised to carry himself with his spine straightened and his feet planted firmly beneath him.
Hence, Juniper worried when Rowan walked into the room with his shoulders curled in on himself, an exhausted look painting his expression.
Once a week, each counselor was given a day off, separated from their assigned cabin. Both counselors were often scheduled on the same day, allowing them to take their afternoons and dedicate them to hauling crates of fish through the maze of subterranean tunnels underneath the camp.
When they were done, they were able to return to what could be referred to as a cabin—even if it was half the size of a regular one.
A quiet building affectionately nicknamed “The Time Out Cabin”, used only by floating counselors on their off days or afternoon breaks.
Juniper watched Rowan move like a zombie, unzipping the bag he’d thrown onto the bed across from his and digging for his pyjamas.
“Is all well, lad? You look knackered.” The blonde called out, already in his pyjamas and sitting with his back against the wall on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed.
Rowan seemed to be struggling to extend his shoulders, wincing every time he had to pull an article of clothing out.
“Yup,” He replied in a strained, but calm, voice.
“I think I overdid it a bit today, wearing my binder into the tunnels was not my best decision.” He groaned, crossing his hand over his chest and hovering it over where the seam dug into his skin under his armpit. He couldn’t wait to get it off.
Juniper made a sympathetic noise, frowning. “Does it hurt you?”
“After a while, yeah. I’ve had this one since I was a teenager, so it’s a little small on me now.” Most days he was assigned to fish duty, he opted to wear layered sports bras, but his choice to leave them in the dryer that morning had come back to bite him.
“That sounds like hell on your shoulders, mate. What if ya sit down and let me rub ‘em for a bit? I’m not half bad at it.” He offered, shooting him a boastful smile.
On the inside, he grew worried over the man’s tendency to push himself until discomfort. He couldn’t pretend to understand the sort of comfort that wearing the compression garment brought him, but he wished there was a way to remove the discomfort that seemingly came with it.
Rowan hesitated, turning the offer over in his head a few times. It was well into the night, and he didn’t want to keep the other man up longer than he needed to when they both had cabins to watch bright and early the next day, but the slightest relief for the burning pain spreading through his ribs and spine was appealing.
“Thanks, June.” He sighed as he sat down beside him, the old mattress creaking under his weight.
“Maybe off with the binder for a little bit, eh? It’ll work best with your shirt off, dear, but I’ll leave that one up to you.” Rowan would’ve teased him for approaching him like a dog with an object in its mouth, gently coaxing it to drop it, but his thoughts felt like they were moving at half speed.
“It’s fine, I’ll take it off.” He murmured, shutting his eyes partly out of exhaustion and partly to avoid looking down.
He grabbed the hem of his shirt and binder underneath, taking a deep breath. Mentally, he prepared himself for the imminent spread of physical and mental discomfort itching beneath his skin.
With one almost-smooth motion, he tugged both pieces of fabric over his back, letting the warm open summer air hit his tender, irritated skin.
He exhaled through his mouth, carefully controlling his deflating lungs, shoulders slumped to match his breathing.
Juniper trained his eyes on a spot of peeling paint on the wall, offering him the small act of privacy of looking away. He heard more fabric rustling as the sweaty ball of fabric was tossed across the room, landing on the opposite bed.
Rowan moved cautiously, flexing his shoulders as little as possible as he brought his legs up and folded them over each other. With his back turned to Juniper, he muttered a quick“all done”, letting the blonde know he could turn back and look.
When Juniper’s eyes hit his back, he let out an audible wince. Rowan grimaced, he could practically feel the path his eyes were tracing.
“That bad, huh?” He’d spent a fair amount of time bent oddly in front of the mirror in his room, getting fleeting eyefuls of the blotchy, bruised patches of skin that blossomed after he’d lost track of how many hours he’d worn his binder. It was barely a shocking sight to him, but he’d forgotten how it might be to anyone else.
Juniper could clearly see the indents of the seams across his back; marked by puffy, inflamed skin. A red-tinged hue settled underneath his dark brown skin, like the lines that appeared on his arm after he’d fallen asleep on it.
It looked more than just sore, but painful. “These are no joke, lad.” He replied sympathetically.
Rowan simply shrugged to the best of his ability without invoking a painful shock from his nerves. He realized there was a stray pillow laying near him, which he snatched and settled supportively to cover his chest.
Behind him, Juniper cracked his knuckles and reached for his shoulders. He was surprised by how warm the man's hands were when they settled above his collarbone, thumbs pressing soothingly into his spine.
“I used to do this for my mum, when I was just a little thing. Don’t know how much good it actually did her, but I think she knew I liked to feel useful when she’d come in from the farm in the evening.” Juniper chattered to fill the space between them with noise, letting his fingers fall into a nearly but not yet forgotten pattern.
“Aw, I bet you were a cute kid.” Without access to functional smartphones, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to see any photos of a younger Juniper, but he could easily imagine a version of him the same age as one of his campers.
“Cute was one word for it, never really grew into my bones ‘till I hit twenty-something. My family thought it was downright hilarious that every day seemed like my first one with legs.” Rowan laughed quietly, the image in his mind morphing from a childish, blonde little boy to a post-pubescent, lanky teenager.
Juniper could feel the tension beneath his hands, gathering in his shoulders and dispersing down his back. Rowan’s shoulders seemed broader up close, and for the first time he noticed that he had a birthmark on his shoulder blade.
He rubbed patterns into his back, trying carefully to avoid the tender areas near his sides as he pressed where the muscle felt the tightest. He wished he had something that smelled nice that he could rub into his skin, and replace the grimy feeling that the tunnels left on both of them.
He moved from his shoulders to the center of his back, where the pain when he straightened his posture seemed to emanate from. He shied away involuntarily from the touch at first, a sparking feeling zapping underneath his skin again.
Juniper changed his approach, using the heel of his hand to press into the line drawn by the slope of his shoulder blade. Yielding success, Rowan relaxed, groaning softly as relief spread from his palms.
“That helping?” Juniper smiled, catching Rowan’s glance from over his shoulder. Even when his grin was genuine, Rowan had never seen it without a hint of cheekiness.
“You just want to hear me make that noise again.” He managed to slip a hint of teasing into his wearied voice, leaning back to press further into his gentle hands.
The blonde man let out a series of heavily-accented faux offended huffs, but didn’t deny his claim. He continued on, humming a tune to himself as he made his way to Rowan’s lower back.
His hands were at an awkward angle, given that Rowan had been progressively sliding his weight backwards into Juniper’s lap, leaning in to his comfort. He was nearly asleep by the time he worked out the last bunched group of muscles, chest rising slowly and steadily.
Juniper tapped him to let him know he was done, receiving a delayed nod. Rowan tried to push himself back up to his original sitting position, pausing when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist.
“Stay with me?” Juniper gave him his best pleading eyes, resting his head on his shoulder for added effect.
“Juniper. This is a twin-sized bed. I will roll over in my sleep and smother you.” Rowan remarked matter-of-factly. As deadpan as he appeared, he was not impervious to the blonde's stupidly endearing eyes, and his counterpoint was crumbling every second that he sank against Juniper’s chest.
Before he could conjure a response, Rowan quickly sighed and caved, indicating his easy defeat. He liked to believe he was a man with fortitude, but it was not his strongest trait in the arms of a very comfortable man on a somewhat comfortable bed.
“Ugh, fine.” Juniper’s smile widened, and he let his grasp loosen so that the man could get up.
He reached for the pyjama shirt he’d abandoned, fumbling to get it over his head. Juniper helped pull it over his shoulders, falling down to his waist.
He threw the pillow he’d held vaguely in Juniper's direction, rolling over and meeting the wall with his back. Juniper laid a few inches short of the edge of the bed, long legs and arms sprawled awkwardly to accommodate Rowan’s broad frame.
It was utterly ridiculous, and the safest he’d felt in weeks.