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Follo’s head hurts. Now, he isn’t one to complain often. Within the Cleaners, it’s known that things went really bad if Follo’s the one complaining. He always manages some sort of joke, some lighthearted comment, even after the hardest mission, or the worst day gone wrong.
But right now, his head hurts. During the last mission he’d been on, a trash beast had sent him through some crumbling wall. The debris fell on his head, rattling his skull and sending an ache through his whole body. By the time he’d stumbled out of his little pile of broken concrete, he’d hardly been able to see straight.
It’s not hard to tell that he’s concussed. He’d slept the whole way back to Headquarters, and now he’s curled up in his bed, curtains drawn, a cold towel on his head. All he wants is Zanka. He misses his boyfriend- yes, boyfriend! He’d managed to ask Zanka out following Riyo’s prom thing and now he’s happier than he’s ever been- but that’s not the point. He’s lonely, his head hurts, and he’s sick to his stomach.
“Follo?” The door cracks open, Gris’ gentle voice floating in. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Follo groans, pulling his pillow over his head. A gentle chuckle comes from the door, and Gris closes it behind him. The older man walks over to the low bed, sitting on the edge and placing a large hand on Follo’s shoulder. “How’s that head feeling? Eishia said sorry for not being able to fix you up all the way.”
“‘M fine,” Follo grumbles, squinting his eyes shut under his pillow. Logically, he knows that Gris is speaking softly. To him, it sounds like someone’s using a megaphone next to his sensitive ears. “Quiet, please. ‘S too loud…”
Gris’ croon is gentle. The pillow is moved off his head, and large, calloused fingers run through his hair. It feels unfairly nice, even if he wishes those were Zanka’s fingers. Zanka would scold him for being reckless, then play with his hair like Gris does. His boyfriend probably wouldn’t even leave the room, staking out in the corner and polishing Lovely Assistaff, or meditate quietly.
“That’s the concussion, kid,” Gris murmurs, dragging Follo back to the present. He winces when Gris’ fingers brush over the site of the worst injury. A solid welt beneath his hair, right on the upper ridge of the temporal bone on the right side of his head. Apparently, he’s lucky to still be alive. That’s everyday in the Cleaners, though. “I’ll bring some pain medication soon. Eishia’s mixing it up now, as well as some broth.”
“Not hungry,” Follo complains, his eyes fluttering open. “Don’t wanna eat.”
Gris’ eyes soften. The older man, even in the dark, cuts an imposing, yet comforting figure. Is this how Rudo feels, when Gris takes care of him in the middle of the night, when the boy’s hands hurt him? Gris’ hand pulls away from his head.
“Nausous? Or not hungry?” Great, now he’s being asked to think. Follo’s grumpy scowl draws a soft smile from Gris. “Alright, alright. Still, you need to eat something. I’ll be back later with the broth.”
Gris gets up to leave. Follo reaches a hand out, snagging it on Gris’ sleeve. It feels childish, but he feels miserable. Gris looks back at him, the dark obscuring his features. But Follo knows Gris. His desperate grasp most definitely has the older man melting.
“Sleep, Follo.” The command has his eyes feeling heavy. A blanket is drawn up to his shoulders. “That’s it. I’ll be back soon.”
The next time Follo’s eyes open (when did he even fall asleep?), his door is wide open. The light hurts his sensitive head, and he hisses in pain. The scuffle of shoes on the floor draws his attention.
“Shh! Go back to sleep, stupid!” Rudo’s voice is sharp and frustrated. It’s nowhere near quiet enough for Follo in his current state. He flinches back, pulling his hands over his ears. “Did- shit, did that hurt?”
“‘Course it did, genius,” Follo grumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. The vibration of his voice in his own throat hurts his head. “‘M concussed. Sound hurts. Light hurts.”
Rudo scuttles over the door, quickly shutting it. The door slams slightly, but it’s not intentional. The darkness has Follo relaxing slightly. He squints his eyes, trying to make out Rudo’s slight frame in the dark. “Why’re you here, Ru?”
The younger boy shifts on his feet. Follo closes his eyes for a little more relief from the endless throbbing in his head. When he does that, the bed shifts. Rudo crawls over to him, sitting by his feet.
“It’s my fault you got hurt,” the younger boy mumbles. The exact memories of how Follo ended up in a pile of crumbling concrete are fuzzy, so this is news to him. “You distracted the Trash Beast, and I wasn’t fast enough to take the opening. It got you before I could get it.”
Rudo’s still talking a touch too loud, but Follo doesn’t care as much now. He reaches up a hand, snagging Rudo’s sleeve. He tugs until the boy comes closer, and he pulls Rudo into an awkward hug.
“Occupational hazard,” he grunts, patting the mess of Rudo’s hair. “‘S like when Gris got hurt. Jus’... happens.”
“Still,” Rudo mumbles, finally getting the hint to keep his voice down. He can be quiet when he needs to be, something that Follo greatly appreciates. “Don’t like seeing you hurt, stupid. And, I… I thought you’d feel better if I brought you something.”
Follo squints his eyes open again. He can’t see Rudo holding anything, but he releases his grasp on the younger boy. Rudo sits up and gestures to the bedside table, where a solitary cupcake stands.
The scent is nauseating. Far too sugary on a good day for Follo’s stomach, absolutely atrocious when he’s concussed and suffering. But Rudo’s brought him one of his coveted sweets, and Follo’s heart warms.
“Thanks, Rudo,” he says, forcing his face into a smile. Even when it’s hard to smile, it’s much more approachable than one of Rudo’s attempts to smile. “I’ll eat it later. My stomach’s off.”
Rudo nods approvingly, shifting to sit on the end of the bed again. He’s like some sort of gargoyle, watching over Follo while he exists in a fugue state of suffering. To be entirely honest, Follo’s starting to doze off again. His eyes grow heavy as his head pounds. Sleep is the best escape from the pain.
As sleep takes him for the thousandth time since he got concussed, Rudo nudges Follo’s leg with his foot. “Get better, asshole. You’re supposed to be training with me and Zanka.”
Follo’s lips quirk in a smile. He nudges Rudo’s foot in response, too far gone to respond. As grumpy as Rudo can be, the boy has a certain care for everyone. Ever since he awoke Alan, Rudo’s followed him around like he does Zanka. It always manages to make Follo feel all warm and fuzzy.
When Gris returns with the broth and pain medication, Follo’s actually awoken on his own. He flinches and covers his eyes with his hands when the door opens, but it allows him a glance at the end of the bed.
Rudo’s curled up, his head next to Follo’s knees. One of his gloved hands rests on Follo’s calf. Follo hates to disturb him as he sits up, but the boy does little but readjust when Follo is helped upright.
Gris has to hold the thermos of broth as Follo chokes it down. He stops halfway through the thermos, reaching for the cupcake. Somehow, it’s more palatable than herbs, water, and whatever else is used to make the infirmary-special broth. He nibbles at it and takes his medicine, before choking down the rest of the broth.
Upon lying back down, Gris picks up Rudo. He lays the boy down next to Follo, and he curls around the boy. Rudo isn’t even hurt, but he’s the baby of Team Akuta. Rudo’s guilt is what brought the boy to his side, so Follo’s going to do his damndest to make sure Rudo knows he’s okay. Despite the concussion (of which the pain subsides significantly with the medication), he pulls Rudo close, listening to the boy’s sleepy snuffles. Gris watches over them with a fond smile as both young men sleep.
And if Zanka returns to find Rudo and Gris watching over a sleeping, content Follo, without any room to get in on the comforting? Well, that’s his boyfriend’s fault for being late.