Work Text:
Deacon falls back against his pillows, head pounding even as he tries to awaken himself out of what seems to be a deep slumber.
Next to him, a faint glint of bronze falls off his shoulder—he's staring up at Deacon.
Deacon's face looks paler than usual, freckles spread across his face, scrunched up in pain across his forehead. A faint mumble falls from Deacon's lips, and Bronze looks over as Deacon's eyes shut once more.
It's true that he usually doesn't have much energy—he'd lie in bed, never up himself, stare at his textbooks with Bronze on his shoulder, nuzzling at his ear.
He'd talk though, a lot—especially if it meant stammering his way through gracing Bronze with a compliment or how that little something he'd seen at the crafts store while walking with Chase reminded him of Bronze's eyes…
Every little word of his when spoken with clumsiness, but he would still speak. It was like Deacon was dying to get the words out to his little company.
Deacon had been so awkward for the past week, especially after Bronze had kissed him and had let his motions through his hair continue. In return, he'd let Bronze press a kiss to his cheek, lean into his hair, all without panic or hesitance or trying to suppress his feelings for Bronze.
Bronze slips off the little space between his bare skin, the hollow of Deacon's neck he finds himself attached to more often than he'd like to admit—attraction to a human was new and embarrassing, at least to him.
He pulls himself closer, digging through the messy sheets until he's inches away from Deacon's cheek. Another breath is on Bronze's face, and maybe it's cold, maybe it's hot, Bronze doesn't know. But what he can sense, at least, are choking breaths, hoarse coughs, and a groan slipping from Deacon.
It's then he feels like something is wrong. He places a palm to Deacon's cheek, trying to wake him like he usually does. This time though, it's with none of the teasing that Bronze usually held, slapping him awake. "Deacon?" He whispers.
Bronze gets a hoarse whisper back in response. "C-can you call Chase on my phone?" Deacon's eyelids open, and beautiful grey peek through for a moment. Though usually the motion was an adoring one, enough to push Bronze to cuddle his neck or to kiss him on the cheek, featherlight and soft and careful just for Bronze, it was different today. "I think I'm sick."
"Oh...I-I can do that. Do you need anything?"
"...tell him not to tell Grandpa until he's back from...whatever. I wanna keep you here with me."
Bronze feels a circuit hum through him, a brief shock to his system. "R-right."
He maneuvers his way past the sheets, digging past Deacon's frame and the bed, climbing towards his bedside table.
Bronze easily types in the password, finds Chase's number, and calls him. A brief moment passes of ringing before Chase picks up on the other end. He seems to be downstairs—Bronze can hear the hiss of a pan as he cooks something, humming. "What's up?"
"It's Bronze. Deacon seems ill and he wants you to come over, and he's saying not to tell Ralph until he's back from work."
Chase pauses. "Wait, what? I'm coming over right now, gimme a sec. Is he okay?"
"Coughing. Other than that, he's fine." Bronze gets a faint mumble from Deacon as he listens to Chase over the phone. "Get upstairs soon." His chest twists with worry as he watches a shiver wrack through Deacon, listens to a harsh cough find its way past his lungs.
"I will. I'm getting some medicine and water." Bronze hears some background noise on the other end, of frantic shuffling and the opening of the cabinets right above the fridge. "I'll be there. Just look over him for a few, okay?"
"Mhm." Bronze cuts the call, finding his way back along to where Deacon is across the sheets. His voice lowers even more at the sight of Deacon shivering. "Deacon?"
"Bron'…when's he coming?"
"Soon." He climbs across the sheets and a pillow to Deacon, sliding down his neck and finding his face once more. "Do you need anything?"
"You." He lets out another cough. "Just stay with me."
Deacon's eyes open through the burn coursing through his body, his throat tight and dry. He watches against his neck as Bronze lets out a soft huff before he presses his body against his neck and collarbone, leaning into him.
Something fond dances in Bronze's gaze as he stares up at Deacon, green against grey. "Sickness is such a funny concept." Bronze mumbles. He sighs and presses himself closer to Deacon. "A state of relaxation is what it is. You need to relax more." He feels thumping heartbeats against where he's nestled, vibrations carrying their way onto Bronze. "I said relax. You will not get better if you panic."
"I- I— I am relaxing. I'm tired." Deacon whispers, face red. He clears his throat loudly. "It's the sickness."
Bronze hums, pressing a kiss to his neck. "It's more than that, is it not?"
"Just…quiet. Just stay with me so I can feel better." Bronze laughs against his neck, and it's beautiful. It's beautiful, the way they've been dancing around affection despite showing it to each other in these little ways, warm, soft.
"As you wish." Bronze climbs to the back of his ear, reaching to hug his soft skin and cuddle—
The door bursts open, and Bronze falls back down onto the sheets. Even then, he's inches away from Deacon's mouth, the warmth of that freckled cheek, inches away from his weak breathing.
A cough rips from his throat as he takes Bronze in his hand as if to hide their closeness. Chase walks over to Deacon's side, where his face is turned. Chase meets eyes with glimmering emerald and raises a quiet eyebrow before looking back to his cousin.
"Dorkin', you good?" His hand finds Deacon's forehead to feel for sickness. He rests his palm on his forehead for a moment, until Deacon turns his face away at the cold hand. "Oh, shit, you are sick."
"Mhm." Deacon manages, squinting through the heat stuck in his system. "Don' tell Grandpa until later…I'll be okay if I rest."
"Why?"
Deacon opens his mouth but he hesitates at his own words, going warm. "I— I wanted Bronze to keep me company for a while."
Chase's eyebrows shoot up. "Ohhh." His mouth twists at the corners. "How'd Bronze end up upstairs?"
Deacon opens his mouth. "Um, i-it was just today a-and—"
"Yeah, it was just today." Bronze cuts in, half-annoyed with how weak Deacon's excuses were, how bad of a liar he was. It's not like they had much to hide anyways, their affection too blatant, but he could at least try to convince Chase they were normal about each other. "He wanted advice on his book late at night— he was typing and I was helping him out, but we must've fallen asleep—"
"Okay, so…where's his laptop then?" Chase questions, teasing in his voice.
"I- I was talking to him about a plot point I was stuck on, I mean." Deacon's ears flare red. "I don't ask you why you and Nox—"
"—aaaaand that's the end of that sentence. Sit up. I bought cough medicine for now." He adjusts the blanket around Deacon, pushing him to sit up. He puts the glass of water he'd bought right on Deacon's bedside table.
Chase sits at his side as he pours enough cough medicine for Deacon into the little cap the medicine comes with. This medicine was exclusively for Deacon—periodically, he'd come down with coughs, usually when he was stressed out.
Especially because he was stressed out was when his cough got worse. Chase raises the cup of medicine to Deacon's lips, and he opens his mouth around the disgusting syrup.
Deacon blanches the second he's done drinking the syrup, pushing away Chase to grab the glass of water he'd bought earlier. "Gross."
"It's to make you better." Chase sighs. "Just…get some rest, if you don't want Grandpa over for a while. Bronze?"
"I'll stay behind. He needs company." He nods at Chase, averting his gaze.
"Aww. Okay, lovebirds."
"We're not—" Deacon starts. Chase is already gone, shutting the trapdoor behind him.
The room is filled with silence once more—it's comfortable silence, Bronze's hums filling the room as he finds Deacon once more and nestles into his skin. "No use in hiding it," Bronze laughs.
"Ugh." Deacon sighs, reaching to drink the glass of water on his bedside table again. "I just wanna be with you," he mumbles, more tired through the medicine. "I don't like bein' sick."
"Your old biology notes said it could be because of a stress hormone called cortisol, which is released during stress. It can lead to the immune system to respond, manifesting as sickness." Bronze hums. "I thought we agreed that you would take it easy?" He falls back against Deacon's neck.
"Did you read my- you don't need to worry, sweetie." The cold against Deacon's neck feels more comforting than it should—it cools him down, grounds him against his sickness. "I'm okay."
"Right." Bronze sighs, clipped. "At least you don't have to go to university if you're sick…" His voice sounds quiet, comes out a little bitter at that.
Deacon pauses at the implication of distance between them after- after his winter break. "Bronze…" He trails off. "I— I'm sorry. I want you here with me all the time too."
"I know. I love my family too much to separate from them once more." Bronze hums into his neck. "But I will miss you once you leave."
They'd only kissed a week ago—it had been a beautiful week where they'd been closer than usual after the kiss, a few days since Chase caught Deacon kissing Bronze on the cheek…
But it had felt like a week stretched on infinitely since the kiss and the lack of distance between them. Now that Deacon was sick, it felt like this moment was going to be one that kept them together just for a little longer. It was like this sickness was a gift, just in that sole way. Bronze didn't like seeing Deacon in pain though—it made his stomach twist to see Deacon cough and sigh, reach for him to comfort himself.
And Bronze didn't mind—he needed to comfort Deacon after all the comfort and care he'd given him. It bought so much affection to his head, muddled and fond, to think about. Deacon coughs a little, but he's a little more comforted with Bronze nuzzling against him. Selfishly, Deacon would rather stay ill and alone with Bronze than getting better right away and being fawned over.
He could wait until his Grandpa was home to worry about him. Chase would leave him alone if he'd asked, maybe he'd come to check up on him in a few, but Grandpa Ralph wouldn't leave his side, even if it meant being alone with Bronze.
How much longer do they have?
Deacon can't help but indulge in the warm kiss to his neck, the glint of bronze metal pressed to him and anchoring him against the sickness, this moment its own ailment.
He didn't need to think about after the week, but he's already shifting in and out of consciousness—he doesn't need a second thought. Deacon nuzzles Bronze closer to him. "I'm always in your mind. And I can always swing by…I mean, I'm switching majors, so I have more time to drive by, right?"
"Hm."
"I'll get you all the peanut butter I could possibly get—"
Bronze presses a kiss to Deacon's neck again, fondness overcoming him. "Shut up. Let me have you." He feels as stupid as Deacon does when he's sick, hazy, talking in his sleep. He's stupider than him, actually. God.
"You will have me." Deacon coughs again, and whispers, "sorry."
He watches Deacon's grey eyes that were once watching him shiver to a close. Bronze can feel his pulse thumping near his throat, the messy brown hair over one eye as he cradles Bronze. "Stop apologizing." Bronze doesn't get a response back.
Bronze isn't quite as sleepy, nor is he as weak, but he yearns to comfort and be comforted with that touch that's been becoming familiar for far too long.
Regardless, he feels his emerald eyes drift to a close, the human breathing mingling in his own, and he lets himself fall against Deacon, comforted.