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The mansion was quiet when Johnny got home later that day. He closed and locked the front door behind him, then removed his shoes and sunglasses, placing them both by the door. Despite it being only seven in the evening, the entire house was still and dark, the curtains drawn on all the windows, the TV off, no music playing. Kenshi was nowhere to be seen, and Johnny’s chest clenched with worry. He made his way upstairs to the bedroom, gently pushing the door open.
Kenshi was stretched out on their bed, on top of the covers. He wore nothing but sweatpants and a tank top, his feet bare, and even from the doorway, Johnny can see the tension in his body, his entire frame taut and tense as wire about to snap. He quietly padded over to the mattress and leaned down, placing one leg on it, hovering his boyfriend. Kenshi’s blindfold was gone, neatly folded atop his nightstand, but he had his face buried in one of their thick pillows, hands white-knuckling the sheets as he shifted, as if trying to burrow into the bedding.
Johnny hesitated for a moment before gently reaching out and laying one hand on Kenshi’s back. His tank top is damp, sticking to his skin with sweat, and the muscles jump at Johnny’s touch. Kenshi slowly pulls his face from the pillow and looks in Johnny’s direction. His brow is furrowed, the scars around his eye sockets looking deep and craggy in the shadows of the room. His black hair stuck to his forehead, and Johnny had to hold himself back from brushing it away.
“Johnny?” Kenshi asked, his voice rough and hoarse, thick with pain.
“Yeah, I’m here, Kendoll,” Johnny replied, keeping his own voice low. “Headache again?”
“Yeah.”
He sounded so tired. Johnny’s chest clenched. He ran his hand down Kenshi’s back, kneading his tight muscles. “Did you drink Liu Kang’s tea?”
Kenshi nodded, but then gestured with one hand. Johnny followed the motion to the trash can that had been set beside the bed. “Threw it up almost after I drank it,” Kenshi grunted. “Didn’t even get a chance to work.”
He dropped back down onto the pillow, Johnny continuing to rub his back. The headaches aren’t a new thing. Not entirely. They started a few months after Kenshi lost his sight. He tried hiding them at first, not just from Johnny, but everybody. Eventually though, Johnny found out about them, after finding Kenshi in the healers’ temple at Wu Shi Academy. He told Johnny about them then, how sometimes they flared up after using his powers too much for too long, but most of the time, they occurred out of nowhere, and lasted for hours. Kenshi had described the pain to Johnny once.
“It feels like those blades are still in my eyes, like I’m being stabbed all over again, but deeper into my head.”
Liu Kang–whom was the only one that Kenshi told about the pain–had prescribed a tea the Wu Shi healers made that usually helped, and Kenshi learned to make it himself, prompting Johnny to keep the ingredients stocked in his house, especially since normal painkillers barely made a dent in the pain.
“How long has it been?” Johnny asked now.
“I’m not sure,” Kenshi replied, muffled by the pillow.
The actor frowned. If Kenshi was too nauseous to even keep his medicine down, there wasn’t much to be done, but he wanted to do something. An idea brewed in his mind, but Johnny wasn’t sure Kenshi would be into it. When he got like this, he often didn’t like to be touched, due to being too sensitive to that sort of stimuli during flare-ups. But Johnny was certain it would help.
“Hey, Kendoll…” He started.
“What?” Kenshi mumbled.
“I’ve got an idea that could help, but only if you want to do it.”
“What is it?” Kenshi asked.
In answer, Johnny climbed onto the bed, laying flat on his back beside his boyfriend, Kenshi raising his head to follow his movements. Johnny reached toward the swordsman but didn’t touch him right away. “Can I touch you, Kendoll?”
Kenshi nodded, and Johnny closed the distance, pulling his lover close, arranging them so that Kenshi was laying on his body, their legs tangled together, Kenshi’s arms under Johnny’s back, Johnny’s arms around Kenshi’s body, one hand on his back, the other making its way to the blind man’s hair, stroking the raven-black locks gently, fingers digging into his scalp. Kenshi groaned, going limp, the tension melting from his body like candle wax.
“Is it good?” Johnny asked.
“S’good,” Kenshi answered, his voice almost slurred. “Please, don’t stop.”
Johnny laughed softly, the sound reverberating through his chest where Kenshi’s head was pressed, right over his heart. Johnny continued to stroke his boyfriend’s hair, massage his scalp, rub his temples, knead the still-taut muscles of his neck. Eventually, Kenshi’s breathing tapered off into a deeper, steadier rhythm, soft breaths escaping through his nose as he slipped into sleep, using Johnny as a body pillow. The actor smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Kenshi’s hair, inhaling his scent.
“Sleep well, Kendoll.”
A couple hours later, Johnny woke up to the feel of Kenshi moving, the warm, solid weight of him leaving him like a blanket being pulled off his body, making Johnny grumble groggily. “Kenshi?”
“Have a nice nap, Hollywood?” His boyfriend’s voice was teasing, warm, no longer edged with pain.
“I was, until my blanket left me.” Johnny sat up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kenshi was sitting on his knees next to him. “What time is it?”
Johnny reached for his phone on the nightstand. “9:30.” He looked from his phone to Kenshi. “How are you feeling, Kendoll?”
“Better, actually,” Kenshi answered. “Doesn’t feel like my head’s going to crack open like an egg anymore.”
“Glad to hear it.” Johnny set his phone aside and sat up, pulling Kenshi close by his arms, going in for a kiss, but his boyfriend turned his face away. “Let me brush my teeth first.”
“Fine,” Johnny chuckled. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you some tea, just in case the pain comes back?”
“Sure.”
Johnny went downstairs to the kitchen while Kenshi headed to the master bathroom. Johnny filled the kettle he’d bought specifically for Kenshi with water, then set it to boil. He grabbed a textured mug down from the cupboard and pulled the small, carved wooden box full of tea bags closer. He didn’t really know what was in the stuff, but if it helped Kenshi’s pain, he wasn’t going to question it. When the water was ready, he poured some into the mug and stirred it, watching as the tea turned it a darker color. The scent of something sweet and dark wafted up from the mug. He was adding a splash of milk to the tea when soft footfalls reached his ears and strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, lips pressing to the nape of his neck.
“There you are,” Johnny said. “Still feeling better?”
“Yeah.” Kenshi kissed his boyfriend’s neck again, the tickle of his stubble making Johnny shiver.
The actor turned in the swordsman’s arms. Kenshi had his blindfold back on and his color had come back. He cupped Johnny’s chin and pressed their lips together; he tasted like cinnamon from his toothpaste, his mouth warm against Johnny’s. When they pulled away, Kenshi kept their foreheads pressed together, thumbs stroking over Johnny’s cheekbones.
“Thank you, Johnny,” the swordsman whispered.
“For what?” Johnny asked.
“Just…for everything. Holding me. Making tea. Putting up with me.”
Johnny grinned and ran a hand through Kenshi’s hair, gently tugging at the tails of his blindfold. “I love you, Kendoll. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. No matter what, I’ll always be here.”
“Making it sound like we’re married already, Cage,” Kenshi teased.
“Does that mean you want to marry me?” Johnny jabbed back.
Kenshi smiled, reaching past him for the mug on the counter. “Maybe.”
They went to the living room and settled on the couch, Johnny sitting up with Kenshi stretched out across the cushions, his head in the actor’s lap, hands folded over his stomach while Johnny stroked his hair and his face, the blind man preening at the gentle touches.
“I love you, Kendoll.”
“I love you too, Hollywood.”
After Kenshi finished his tea, he dozed off again in Johnny’s lap, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Johnny traced his boyfriend’s face reverently, the angle of his jawline, the shape of his lips, the arch of his eyebrows, the cut of his cheekbones.
“I can’t wait to marry you, Kenshi Takahashi,” Johnny whispered.
Kenshi’s lips twitched into a smile in his sleep.