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Ferst could've almost sworn that day the air smelled faintly of molasses and fresh milk on the tips of his nostrils. It was not something he smelt very often, sugars been low for quite some time, and he figured that perhaps his senses were playing some cruel trick on him out of desperation.
Ernest was sitting beside him but it was one of those rare days that neither had anything to say, for once. At that point, they were simply in each other's company because that's the way it had always been. The two would wake up, see each other, complain about whatever absurd news they were provided with for some time before returning back to a careless state, at least, as careless as they could be in this seemingly never-ending hell. Ferst knew very well that Ernest would never tolerate silence, even if he seemed to be the less talkative of the two. Ferst spoke.
"Not much to do today, huh? All the shops are closed for the day, powers even out again..."
It wasn't a surprise to either of them, it was almost divine intervention when the electricity was working, Ferst just couldn't think of anything else to mention. Ernest opened his mouth.
"I wouldn't even try to put a foot outside, today...cold as a witch's tit."
Ferst practically winced as he was reminded of the cold, the merciless, parasitic, cold. He loathed the manner in which his bones would quake when the wind would hit his skin. He thought so deeply that he did not realize that Ernest had not ceased to speak, and in an annoyed manner, the other man snapped his fingers in front of Fersts face.
"You didn't listen to a single thing I just said."
Ernest said this as bluntly as a ballpeen hammer, it was clear he did not take kindly to being ignored so blatantly.
"'suppose I've been out of sorts..."
"Oh? And why's that?"
Ferst did not speak for a few moments, deciding he would not say what he truly felt despite his yearning to do so. Oh, how he yearned to be held, to be comfortable. There was once upon a time when he felt such a way around Ernest, but that time had come and gone. It had had its place, but now he seldom spoke his most genuine hopes and utmost desires.
"...maybe I'm just hungry."
"Whatever the case, all I can beg is that you have not fallen ill."
"I don't...believe I'm ill, do you really think so?"
Ernest merely shrugged, not seeming to pay any mind to Fersts shift in tone, which had now become erratic and worried, he was terrible at concealing it.
"You do not appear ill, to my eye, at least, but then again, I'm not one to judge."
Ferst thought of what to do next, his mind scrambling like eggs on a stove for what he could possibly do, what he could possibly say. He was desperate, that's for certain, the feeling of safety again, even when he knew the whole world was awaiting him on the outside, infecting his very own domain. Oh, he knew very well, very well he knew that he could never, ever escape what was prowling, practically gnawing at his skin, no, he could never escape. But he could forget, even if only for a moment. That's what he would settle for. If he could not manage to escape, he would try to forget.
"... My ears have been hurting."
They most certainly did not, and he knew this all too well. Ferst would always play this game.
"Do you know why?"
Ferst shrugged, similarly to how Ernest had previously. "W-well, its just that its not like I can see for myself."
"I'll take a look."
The frigid tile floor. It certainly was not Fersts preferred place for this, but he had no room to complain, he told himself. He hadn't been this close to Ernest or really anybody since he was dragged to the emergency room 5 months ago on account of his wounds.
Fersts head was now laying on its side upon Ernests knee, of which he would feel the bone pressing against his cheek as he moved, adjusting his position.
"Which one? Or is it both?"
"I said 'ears' plural."
Ernest gave him an expression which chided the other man's response, but quickly ignored it, placing his thumb and index finger on the other man's left earlobe. Ernest simply examined his ear for a few minutes, not speaking while folding the pink cartilage back and forth, motion which caused Ferst slight discomfort, but he did not show it on his face. The older man tsked and finally spoke after what had like hours to Ferst.
"Your ear is a right mess."
Ferst said nothing, he already knew his hygiene hadn't been up to par ever since his little accident, and that made him feel all the worse for it.
"I can deal with all this for you this once, 'sides, I owe you.."
Ernest almost sounded as though he was about to say more before stopping himself as he very often did.
"Just don't hurt me."
Ernest scoffed at that. "I won't so long as you quit your squirming."
To Ferst, the actual process really wasn't nearly as awful as he first assumed it would be. Though the pick was not unlike the tile, cold and rough on his skin, he never once flinched or fussed at the uncomfortable feeling. Ernest never was once gentle with him, the sensation was some odd mixture of relieving and the equivalent of sandpaper grazing his skin. No, Ernest was certainly not being gentle with Ferst in any shape of the word. And this caused, just once, for Ferst to let out a slight wince of pain as he felt something akin to knives being jammed in his ear. Ernest very quickly noticed Fersts distress and paused abruptly, still sounding as monotone as ever, but one could nearly imagine that he almost felt concerned for his companion.
He put on a soft voice. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Ferst couldn't speak, in a way he almost didn't mind getting hurt. It was the same as lying about his ears, it was the sense of concern he missed, the urgency. Ernest would have never in a trillion years put on such a loving tone unless he was truly hurt. Nobody would ever treat him as such unless he was inches from death it seemed, the incident from 5 months ago almost had opened his eyes to when people truly seemed to care. Ferst was quick in his response, feigning his discomfort to be much worse than it truly was.
"No, no...it just, hit a strange spot, I guess."
Truly, he did yearn for more, even if it was painful, even if it caused him more harm than good, even if it deafened him, it was all worth it for these moments. The saddened look on the face of Ernest, the attention to detail he would take moving forward when cleaning his ear out of guilt for hurting his friend, even just being so close, almost being able to imagine that the boney, malnourished lap of this other man was actually just his mothers again when he was a mere child. Yes, he would sacrifice all and more just to get a mere taste of that feeling again which once felt so foreign which were now all flooding back to him like a faulty kitchen sink. Ferst knew these emotions, those pure, raw, human experiences would never be as they were all that time ago, but good lord would he try. Ferst enjoyed the gentleness that Ernest was now taking in his hands, this only further allowed him to picture his own mother in the man that was absolutely nothing like she could ever be, ever have been, that is.
He was awoken from his trance when Ernest patted his shoulder, an act that caused him to flush ever so slightly. Ferst turned the other way, now facing the other man.
The other ear seemed to go much quicker than the former. The moment came and left, just how Ferst had dreaded, but knew was unavoidable, he would have to stand back up on his own again. After Ernest had finished his handiwork, he cracked his knuckles as he often would after a hard task, and gave a sigh.
"Alright, I'm done with you, now. Get off me, you big lug."
"Fine, fine. I won't make it any more painful for ya'"