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Before the searing pain there was nothing, like Chapulín's day began in that very moment waking up on the floor.
A heavy fog of ache settled in his skull, throbbing like it would crack open at any moment. Chapulín considered that he'd knocked his head on something and was bleeding out somewhere, but it was distant. It was a Herculean task just existing at the moment.
He curled up on himself and sluggishly brought his hands up to his head. He was laying on the floor. A tall, dark haired figure leaned over him as he writhed and said something unintelligible. Even if his ears weren't fuzzy and ringing, he'd probably ignore them anyways on account of the embarrassment of the situation. Not that he was in any mind to feel embarrassed, rather, Chapulín wanted instead to be held until the pain was gone.
He could roll over and hope that turning away from the light would make it all subside, but his body had become a great big burden on his muscles. Shaking as he was, he was unable to move. Thankfully, he was lifted up by his back and shoulders by a strong presence that sparked his alarm. Despite the cover of headaches clouding his thoughts, he had a gut reaction of fear.
And so Chapulín attempted in vain to pry himself from the grasp that crouched beside him, holding him in its arms.
Cuajinais knew he'd fucked up. Chapulín was a wounded animal in his arms, terrified but desperate for relief.
"Hey, hey- stop, let me see your head!"
waves of nausea overtook the smaller man. He didn't even have the energy to keep himself from further embarrassment, breaking from the grasp and heaving onto the ground beside him before being grabbed again by the figure.
Cuajinais pulled the man's legs into his lap for a better angle, supporting his back with one hand and using the other to pull Chapulín's head down and examine the back of his head. There were spots of blood, but he had difficulty finding the source. He'd only passed out for about 12 seconds, but the appearance was dire. He kept whining for Cuajinais to get his hands off.
"It hurts, please it really-"
"I'm trying to help you, alright? Shut up."
All Chapulín knew was that he wanted to be held and he was now, shaking and scared and suffering. Forgoing his usual reservations, he buried his face in the solace of the other man, wrapped his arms around him and cried.
Cuajinais wasn't sure if what he felt was disgust or aggravation or what, but a knot balled up in his throat watching a confused Chapulín languidly sobbing into his chest. He wanted to believe so desperately that he could leave this creature behind and feel no remorse, victory at last. Instead he rocked him and cradled him in his lap while frightened little tears quiver his body.
Against his own moral standard, he'd have to bring Chapulín to the hospital.
Cuajinais kept shaking him awake during the ride. Chapulín just remembered throwing up again in the car, the effort to do so bringing horrible pain to his head. He heard a frustrated groan beside him and just began to cry again. It was so stupid, so pathetic and gross he just wanted the pain to stop or to die. Whichever came first. The large hand that usually shook him awake rubbed circles into his back until his eyes dried.
He didn't care much to pay attention to much else when the two men finally arrived in the emergency room. All the tests and questions he answered with barely any grasp on them. He had half a mind to kick their asses for these bright florescent lights all around the facility.
His brain fog cleared a bit to hear the man in the room, who he now recognized as Cuajinais, that dirty scoundrel, explaining the situation to the doctor. He couldn't focus enough to get the whole story, but from what he heard he wasn't happy with it.
Chapulín had answered a call for help and got into a usual fight with Cuajinais. It had all been just jokes and jabs at one another up until this point, when being the tactical genius that he is, Chapulín jumped up on a chair for the high ground. This feat of strategic brilliance was thwarted when Cuajinais pulled the chair from under him, sending him plummeting to the ground where he banged the back of his head on the floor and passed out.
Cuajinais had given him a concussion.
He would be so pissed off he could fly to Antarctica and kick a penguin, but at least he brought him to the hospital. Cuajinais really did seem to regret it and wanted to see Chapulín safe, even if Cuajinais himself wouldn't come to terms with that. Chapulín figured that this could give the two time to finally work through that whole mess. Besides, it wasn't like Chapulín could do anything about it anyways. He would have to bide his time, stew in the resentment...
And as it turns out, he was allowed to sleep! Encouraged even! Not that Chapulín had to be told twice, he tried to go back to sleep the minute Cuajinais and the doctor turned to talk. Something about Chapulín pressing charges and calling the police and "one of the biggest criminals in Mexico City," to which Cuajinais added that he was also the biggest in Tulum during his yearly vacation.
Then the doctor left the room, and Cuajinais watched her like a hawk as she walked out the door. Springing up suddenly from his chair, Cuajinais looked around with the panic of a bad idea, and rushed over to Chapulín, gripping his arm and hurriedly leading him out of the building. Only, he was so light-headed he felt like a sack of potatoes, trying his best to keep up with the criminal as they bolted out the building. the doctor called the police running after them, telling her colleagues not to let the two men out.
Cuajinais shoved Chapulín in the passenger seat of his car and fumbled with the buckle, abandoning the effort, and then changing his mind and buckling him up anyways. Then he floored it out of the parking lot, kicking up dust with the tires and escaping with seconds to spare. Wind whipped the open window and Chapulín curled up holding his ears.
"Where we going?!" He shouted, slurring slightly.
"My house!" Cuajinais responded.
"What?! Why?!" Chapulín hated the way yelling made his brain burn.
"Cuz' I don't know where you live, dumbass!" Cuajinais got louder, and Chapulín flinched.
They drove around for a time that Chapulín couldn't understand. It was like his sense of time passing was completely gone, the sunset being his only indicator that time passed at all.
It might've been a lovely drive, very scenic even if it weren't for the fact that they were running from the law. And that Cuajinais basically kidnapped Chapulín. Wouldn't even be the first time that had happened.
The sun bloomed across the horizon, the deep blue and black curtain closing on the orange and yellow stage. The wind even cooled his face down a bit, which felt amazing.
The inside of Cuajinais' apartment was rather dull. It was clean, kind of like a hotel suite. It certainly didn't feel lived in. It felt like a façade of high class. But the couch was comfortable enough, even though he had no idea how he'd gotten on it.
But he knew he was alone, in pain, and ready for sleep. A throw pillow supported his head, a blanket haphazardly thrown at him. Chapulín barely registered that the voice in his direction was talking to him.
"You hear me? Go to bed. You're gonna take a cab home tomorrow, and if you tell anyone where you stayed tonight I will find you and break your neck."
Chapulín gulped. "No problems here, my lips are sealed."
Chapulín didn't even know the route to their 'place of hiding' so to speak, but he wouldn't take any chances. He tried his best to gesture that he was zipping his mouth shut, but his hand moved listlessly across his face.
"Right."
Chapulín shut his eyes for a second, but there came a wooden clatter and shuffling in front of him and they opened once more.
"What're you doin'?" He mumbled.
"Keeping watch. If I find out you're snooping around my house I'll-"
"Break my neck?"
Cuajinais pointed at him and nodded. You got it.
Chapulín wondered offhandedly why he didn't just check him into a hotel and leave.
The events of the day bore heavy on his mind while he tried to sleep, but through his fits and the pounding in his skull he managed to slumber.
He woke up what seemed like as soon as he had closed his eyes, but if the clock was any indicator, he'd slept for... Some amount of time.
The fact that he couldn't read the clock was now the least of his worries. He was confused again. It was pitch black, and it smelled different. He certainly wasn't in his own apartment and his head hurt. What if he was dead? What if someone had finally shot him in the head and this was the in-between? It definitely felt like he'd been shot. It danced around his brain like those little fairies prancing around to the sugar plum fairy.
But not quite as cute and fun. Mostly painful.
Okay, concussion, that was it. He remembers that much but the fog in his head prevented higher thought. God, he was nauseous. Chapulín tried his best to sit up, hugging himself desperately in a futile attempt at comfort.
Though he couldn't form coherent thoughts very well, he still had feelings. He felt anxious, nauseated, embarrassed. How could he let this happen? He couldn't go back to sleep now, and so rather than try, Chapulín curled up and began to shuffle back and forth to soothe himself.
He was going to be sick again, and if he messed up the couch Cuajinais was going to do much worse than a concussion. He would be livid that Chapulín woke him up but it was the better option, he reasoned. Yet he still had to work himself up to get it done. Alone in the dark, dizzy, part of him hoping that it'd all sort itself out before he has to ask for help. The very word 'help' made his nausea worse, and his breaths deepened.
Cuajinais was just sitting in the chair beside him, oblivious. It was enviable. He couldn't breathe and that seemed to send him over the edge. If he didn't do something, and now, it would be his neck on the line.
He shot his hand out to the side and wrapped the other over his mouth, shaking Cuajinais desperately. When he didn't wake up, Chapulín tried again harder, trembling so deeply that he felt the cushion of the couch shake as well. This time a little plea accompanied his attempt and Cuajinais blinked awake.
He hadn't even had the time to stretch, processing the state before him.
"Shit-"
Cuajinais scrambled elsewhere for a few seconds and came back with a bucket, which he rushed to put in the other man's arms. Chapulín had just barely made it, shyly wiping his face while the criminal took away the bucket to empty, cringing away In disgust.
When he came back Chapulín turned away, shrinking into himself and covering his face. Was this divine punishment? Would he ever be the same again? And why did it feel like his skull could crack open at any moment? He felt burning tears streak across his face again.
"Calm down man, it's alright."
Chapulín tried his hardest to save face, but every breath thumped his head and he was just about hyperventilating. Through the struggle he could still make out feelings of shame and worry, that Cuajinais might hate him, not even sure why he cared so much for that.
And as if a sensor had gone off in his brain, Cuajinais felt some sort of pity that involuntarily brought his arms around the bug in an embrace.
Chapulín leaned into the grasp like they were the arms of blessed mother Mary herself, throwing his own around Cuajinais, frame wracked with hiccuping sobs.
There would never be any explanation for Cuajinais that would explain why he was holding his sworn enemy - the man who put him in behind bars more times than he could count, the idiot that ruined his day just by appearing- as if it mattered to Cuajinais that he was okay.
And It really didn't! Why should it? They'd only known each other for what- 6 years? And there was no way it could be guilt, why should he feel bad when it was clearly Chapulín's fault for pulling stupid stunts as if he were a real hero?
Cuajinais' growing aggravation was nearly taken out on Chapulín again, but for some godforsaken reason, Cuajinais found himself stroking the hero's hair instead, waiting for the trembling to end.
Chapulín could breathe deeper now, and that was a start. He wasn't scared of his surroundings and had settled into sniffles and whines.
Cuajinais felt a particularly nasty bump on the back of his head and grimaced. Blood matted in Chapulín's hair.
"Get up, you're gonna get cleaned up."
Chapulín did his best to disobey when Cuajinais pushed him off to help him stand up, which is to say he didn't do much to protest. Even if he really wanted to, and he really didn't. He could use a nice bath, even at the late hour of...
"What time is it?"
Cuajinais checked his watch. "4 in the morning."
"What time did I fall asleep?"
"Around 4 pm."
"WHAT!? why did you let me sleep so long!?"
Cuajinais shrugged. "You were tired."
Chapulín groaned and pried himself from the support of his mortal enemy, stumbling through the dark with one unsteady, light-headed foot at a time. That is, before he realized something crucial.
"Where is your bathroom?"
Cuajinais rolled his eyes and tried to offer his arm as a crutch once more, only this time Chapulín backed away cautiously.
"Woah there, chiquita! Looking is uh. f-free but touching's gonna cost you something..."
Cuajinais knew that the brain injury was definitely still taking effect by the way he slurred his speech and completely forgot that it was Chapulín who was the shorter of the two, not Cuajinais.
"Down the hall on your way to the kitchen, first door to the right."
For another beat he watched the bug straining to understand the most basic of instructions, then finally take a step that was reminiscent of a toddler learning to walk. Cuajinais groaned again, sure that babysitting this grown man would give him brain damage by proxy.
He gave Chapulín one last chance before unceremoniously scooping him up bridal-style and carrying him off to the bathroom himself, Kicking the door open and flicking on the light.
And then silence.
Chapulín nuzzled his face close to the crook of Cuajinais' bare neck, and the taller man began suddenly to regret unbuttoning his dress shirt last night as heat crept up his face. Why was he being so damn clingy? It was totally grossing Cuajinais out. (At least, that's how he chose to interpret that flutter in his stomach when he could hear Chapulín groan in his ear with pain.)
Chapulín heard Cuajinais' heart race within his neck, and let the sound alleviate some of his pain.
Cuajinais sat him down on the toilet, ran some warm water, and went to close the door before the realization set in that he was going to leave a man with a brain injury alone with a tub of water and he returned.
Chapulín was shy at first to remove any article of clothing in front of him. Hell, if he didn't just receive a concussion he wouldn't even have let him take his hood off last afternoon!
His antennas twitched with anxiety, which he noticed made his head burn like the devil's horn. His pain made them twitch and spasm more and the sensation heightened. He dropped his head down and rubbed his temples.
"You hear me?"
Chapulín raised his head, squinting at the blinding lightbulb behind Cuajinais. He indeed had not heard what he said, and tried his best to focus enough to make out something.
"I said you can get undressed now."
Chapulín stared like a lizard before it finally clicked that Cuajinais was telling him to take his clothes off. He really tried his best to do it, got his shorts off, but his face reddened as his hands fumbled with the rest.
"Hurry up! we're both guys, it's not like it's anything I haven't seen before."
Chapulín eyed him suspiciously.
"Just what exactly occurred when I passed out that I don't know about?"
He managed to make Cuajinais laugh through the tension, which was a small win but the task at hand still had to be conquered.
Chapulín's costume consisted of a leotard and red leggings underneath, with his shorts, belt, and hood over top. Now was the difficult part.
Cuajinais was getting bored, staring at the wall.
"Hurry up."
"I'm getting there."
Cuajinais turned again and saw that Chapulín had forgone the niceties of being shy and was genuinely getting irritated with his own inability to do basic tasks. Cuajinais had to suppress a little grin, because as pitiful as the display was it was also a bit cute, the way he pouted and scrunched his nose in focus.
"Let go, just let me do it."
Chapulín raised his hands in defeat and turned around for Cuajinais to pull the shoulders of the leotard down. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for his head to stop pounding.
Cuajinais admired the way Chapulín's back muscles were highlighted in the bathroom light. As any man would do, after all, muscular bodies should be admired! In a bro way! Like body building magazines!
He was a little more difficult to rationalize staring at Chapulín's bare legs when he removed his leggings. Cuajinais noted the girlish curves in his legs and hips before, In all the time he'd known Chapulín it would be weird if he didn't! That didn't make it any less awkward and tantalizing.
Chapulín insisted on his ability to remove his own boxers, so Cuajinais allowed him his last shred of dignity and turned around. A little splashing and a small "woah-" and Chapulín plopped himself into the bathtub.
Okay, the steps. The list of tasks to fill out during the bath ritual. If he can remember that, them he could get back to his own life faster!
He looked around the tub to figure stuff out, searching for context clues. He finds some soap and remembers to grab the washrag. Step two: scrubbing.
Kinda difficult to complete this step with another man watching you intently.
Chapulín lowered his gaze. He knew that Cuajinais was just making sure he was safe, but even that was awkward considering that they were supposed to be diametrically opposed, but Cuajinais couldn't for the life of him keep it that way. It wasn't like Chapulín was entirely oblivious to the fact that Cuajinais was sweet on him, the only problem was that Cuajinais didn't know that. Or rather, he knew but he rejected the very notion. And so the hero drank in every second of fleeting affection between the two for the last 6 years.
God knows with the way Cuajinais was, neither of them would get what they wanted in the end, Chapulín had to take what he could get.
He reluctantly put the soap and washcloth together, figuring out step two with relative ease.
Only, the act of scrubbing his whole arms and chest had become a superhuman task that sapped up all his energy. And without any energy his headache started wearing down on his mood again.
"You gonna finish?"
"That's all I got in me right now."
Cuajinais rolls his eyes, rolling up his sleeves and coaxing the washcloth from the other's hand and helping him to scrub his back. Chapulín saw his frustration, but could only wince in pain in response with every wave of throb in his skull. He started to whine again, unconsciously. He hadn't noticed his own complaints until Cuajinais spoke up behind him.
"You're gonna be okay, man. I know it hurts, I know."
And he suddenly felt very vulnerable and pathetic for exhausting himself so easily again.
"I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm sorry-"
"No, no..." Cuajinais lowered his tone and laid a hand on Chapulín's shoulder as he began to cry again, lazily this time.
"It's not your fault, you're just hurt."
Chapulín grit his teeth, unable to understand why all the dials for his emotions were turned up to 100 percent, and it aggravated him. He wasn't even sure what he was saying at that point.
"I just- I don't wanna feel like this."
"I know, I'm gonna help you get better, ease up buddy."
Chapulín rested his head on Cuajinais' arm, relaxing into the criminal's deft fingers. A squeeze of cold shampoo helped soothe his nerves and calm his aching head. A calm, grounding aura that made him feel at home for the first time In a while...
Cuajinais couldn't take his eyes off the sleeping form attached to his arm. Even after washing his hair when he was supposed to wake him up.
He was just so cute. And Cuajinais had a hard time excusing why he felt this way, felt tender towards the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever experienced in his life. He just wanted Chapulín to wrap himself around him again...
"Wake up, let's dry off. C'mon."
Chapulín was slow to raise his eyelids, groggily rubbing them, curious about why he was wet all over, and remembered that he was in the bath.
"What about my legs n' stuff?"
"You can wash them next time, just get dressed for now, alright? I don't even know how you're tired again after sleeping for so long."
Chapulín stretched his limbs, yawned, and allowed himself to be helped out of the bath for risk of another fall.
He sat on the toilet, and as Cuajinais turned around, he noted the soaked boxers clinging to the hero's skin.
"You never took those off?"
Chapulín shrugged. "I guess so."
"What do you mean 'I guess so?' do you have you boxers on right now or don't you?"
Chapulín blinked, one eye opening and closing at a time, then slowly lowered his gaze to his lap, where to his concussed shock he indeed wore his boxers in the bath. He raised a single eyebrow.
"It would appear so."
A plush whiteness enveloped him, a towel that was scrubbed into his hair until it was absolutely certain that no pillows would be wet today. Then the towel wrapped around his hips for the sake of modesty.
Chapulín wasn't carried to the bedroom this time, though he'd like to be. The lamp in there also flickered on, and Chapulín remembered that he slept on the couch, not in the bedroom.
He considered bringing it up, but decided to play the forgetful and pitiful concussed angel so that perhaps God would grace him and Cuajinais would forget to cast him away to the couch.
Cuajinais justified that it was easier to keep an eye on him in his own bed.
He rummaged around his wardrobe for a minute, pushing into Chapulín's hands a velvety purple article of clothing and dry boxers.
The criminal refrained from peeking while Chapulín, sitting on the bed, shimmied himself into the pajamas.
"Alright, I'm ready."
Cuajinais turned around to face the hero and couldn't help the snicker that followed. The clothing hung loosely on his body, exposing a bit of his collarbone and the sleeve rolled past his wrists. Chapulín pretended like he couldn't hear the little 'aw' that Cuajinais mumbled before lifting the blankets for Chapulín to climb under.
Chapulín easily buried himself beneath the plush covers. If this was his last night alive he would be satisfied with this big warm grave, the soft pillow cradling his head could even serve as his headstone! And he'd heard of lifelong friends being buried right next to each other, who's to say it wouldn't work between two lifelong frenemies with homoerotic tendencies, that happen to try and kill each other sometimes?
His train of thought was getting a little morbid, but it was successful in lulling Chapulín to deep slumbers.
Cuajinais couldn't sleep. He watched every slow breath of Chapulín rise and fall like placid waves on the surface of a lake. The great jaguar emerges from the curtains of night, carrying with him the morning rays shining on the dew. Still, Chapulín held Cuajinais attention in his sleep.
What was wrong with him? Was this some sort of messed up guilt response, a very late development of empathy that came to disrupt his norm and force him to face that horrible sin?
Still, he'd keep his arms open if Chapulín would run into them any day. He would feel like sin incarnate, avoid Chapulín as much as he wanted after, but this moment would burn into his skin and remain there. And if it was so uncomfortable, removing a brick from the wall around his heart for even a second, then why couldn't he help himself around Chapulín?
He was going to hurt him someday, shun him for his lifestyle, or leave him suddenly, but now, in the mist of a concussion, he could embrace him. Cuajinais could wrap his arms around his Venus and guiltlessly imagine a world where they could have some domestic affinity between the two.
Chapulín could feel himself being rustled, then something soft and inviting enclosed around him.
It was enough to inspire forgiveness for the whole head injury thing.