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When Stan stepped out into the Colorado outdoors at noon on a cloudless June day and felt chilly, he should have abandoned all hope of having any semblance of a good day. And under most circumstances, he would quickly seize the opportunity to call it a day, stay home and catch up on any list of to-dos passively growing as he accumulated life in the small quarters of his apartment.
However, today had extenuating circumstances. Very important ones, he might add, including 1) going to meet up with Kyle 2) hanging out with Kyle 3) maybe getting food with Kyle 4) going home (with Kyle?). All of which to say: there was no way he would miss out on any of that. Their schedules were growing hectic enough as-is, finding more than 5 hours of overlapping free time in their schedules was only possible using a calendar website and Kyle's own galliant efforts to note everything down.
So, Stan deeply inhaled the warm air-- decidedly ignoring the way it tickled in his throat-- and made his way towards the cafe they had intended to meet at. There were a few pedestrians taking advantage of the warmth following the long winter, couples walking their dogs, elderly people getting their steps in. The streets were buzzing with the excitement of the upcoming season. Typically Stan would find himself infected by this united sense of joy, smiling at the people as they passed, but a deep sense of discomfort idly twitching in his chest kept him tucked into his jacket and not keen towards connecting with society.
His sensitive eyes took issue with the sun as well, the high elevation meant it burnt harsher than in the valley and such a fact was no more obvious than in the present moment. He understood Kyle's propensity to accessorize with sunglasses, the only way he managed to avoid a headache was by squinting his eyes and keeping his gaze downward. Which wasn't the smartest way to traverse a busy day, but he considered looking like an asshole preferable to showing up to their date with a killer migraine (even if the latter may prove to be inevitable by the end of the day).
The one downside to having such a limited view of the world was that he didn't notice the thick tree root protruding from the sidewalk until his toe made contact with it in the middle of a stride. During the brief moment he was suspended in the space between upright and asphalt, Stan found himself wishing he was descended from feline DNA, or any other graceful sort of creature. Accepting the fact that he wouldn't land on his feet like a werecat might, he turned slightly to break the fall with his shoulder. At the very least, he had a jacket on to avoid getting scraped up. That didn't do much to protect him from the shame, though, and he was loath to admit he stayed on the ground for a spell longer than necessary.
Upon finding it within himself to get back up, he was remorse to acknowledge a radiating pain in his shoulder. He expected, perhaps naively, that it would go away after being shaken off. Predictably, it did not— rather the pain was only exasperated by such movement
Sucking in air through his teeth, Stan tenderly held his arm the remainder of the walk. He only dropped the careful treatment once he was in a viable range of Kyle’s senses, not wanting his cover to be blown so early on. He would be humiliated to admit that he hurt himself by tripping on a root and did not feel inclined to sit through a lecture in carefulness.
Taking a deep breath, Stan pushed into the cafe and plastered a neutral smile on his face. Predictably punctual, Kyle was already at a table idly reading a novel. It looked like a well-loved book, with sticky notes peeking through the pages to remind future Kyle of his past observations and analyses.
"Hey dude," Stan huffed as he sat down across from Kyle. Imperceptibly, Kyle's nose twitched, and Stan wondered if his own heightened senses were blind to any sort of BO he was producing.
"How was the walk?" Kyle asked while Stan attempted to inconspicuously smell his armpits.
"You knew I walked?" Stan grabbed for the menu waiting for him.
Kyle's expression flattened into what was enough of a response for Stan to cease any further pursuit of that subject.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said after clearing his throat, blinking at the sudden movement of phlegm in his throat. Nonchalantly, he coughed to the side. Then cleared his throat again. Then smacked his tongue. Then cleared his throat again. And coughed one more time for good measure.
As he went back to clearing his throat, Kyle felt inclined to speak.
"What are you doing?"
"Clearing my throat?" Stan sniffed and lowered his menu, "the air has... pollen."
Suspicion immediately overtook Kyle's face like dust being blown off the cover of an old book. Attention officially stolen, Kyle placed a mark on the open page of his book and shut it.
"What time did you wake up?"
This was an interrogation, that much Stan knew. Once Kyle got into this method of investigation, it was rare for Stan to escape unscathed. He figured it'd be best to cut his losses in this case, admit to something small enough for Kyle to chew on but not major enough for their entire date to be cancelled.
"Ahh, not long ago," Stan rubbed at the back of his head, a self-soothing technique that he finds himself doing subconsciously more than anything. He hoped the wince from his earlier fall went unnoticed by Kyle's analytical gaze-- but his hopes weren't terribly high on that one.
"Hard time sleeping?"
Bingo, Kyle's latching onto the sleep deprivation story. Maybe it would be easier to trick him than initially expected. Stan allowed himself to sit up a little straighter.
"Yeah, I think it's time to flip my mattress," he could practically kiss himself-- explaining any strange behavior and soreness all in one excuse. Maybe he should reconsider college.
There was a silence, Kyle's eyes darting over Stan's appearance. As his eyes landed on various areas, Stan became hyperaware of how he felt there. The grease from his hair on his forehead, the congestion swelling beneath his eyes, the steadily growing scratchiness in his throat, the still-present radiating pain in his shoulder; everything beneath the surface that Kyle had absolutely no chance of noticing.
Without warning, Kyle reached forward and brushed back Stan's fringe, replacing them with the back of his pale hand. It was ice against Stan's skin, doubly more than the usual temperature difference between them. Vampires typically ran colder and werewolves warmer, and they often found conflict sharing blankets at night due to this biological fact.
“You feel warm,” Kyle stated, his brows pinching with concern.
“Don’t I always?” Stan brushed off, “y’know, cause you’re basically stone.”
“I- well- yes, but you look cold,” tenderly, Kyle allowed his fingers to brush along Stan’s jawline before finding root on his chin to position his head at different angles for examination.
“Hot… flashes…?”
Kyle’s expression went blank, completely masking whatever crude thoughts were going through his mind at that poor excuse of an... excuse.
“Yeah, we’re going home,” he tucked his book into the satchel he brought and stood up, fluidly stepping towards Stan and pulling him up by the arm. He only had a brief moment to be grateful for it not being his injured shoulder before he was on his feet and the elevation change had his vision going black.
When it returned, he was looking at the gum-ridden bottom of the table he was just sitting at and a very fretting Kyle. An employee rushed over with a glass of water, and suddenly bashful of all the extra attention, Stan pushed past his own body's boundaries to pull himself back up to his feet.
"That's what I get for drinking soda so late," he attempted to laugh it off while Kyle thanked the person for the water.
"What was that?!" Kyle coaxed the water to Stan's mouth, side-eyeing the other patrons.
"It was- mm- nothing," Stan attempted to speak around the plastic cup before giving in and taking a few sips. Unsurprisingly, the liquid was a blessing in his body-- soothing the pain in his throat and revitalizing his gut. Despite himself, he felt a bit of the tension melting from his muscles and his body slightly listing towards Kyle.
“Just… tired,” and that was half true. He was tired. Exhaustion ran bone deep in his unsure body and he craved suddenly to curl up in bed and sleep away the ailments that were intent on ruining his day. He felt like the day after a full moon, all the exertion of transforming but without anything having happened. The moon was still waning right now, he should be fine for weeks more.
“Okay,” Kyle rubbed Stan’s back, who appreciated the comfort even if he knew it was just a tic while Kyle brainstormed a course of action for them, "I'm going to give you a ride to my place," Kyle said after a moment.
And though he already felt quite warm, an extra surge enveloped his cheeks and he was sure a blush was apparent, "you can just drop me at my place," though he cherished time with Kyle, "I can sleep it off."
Kyle raised an eyebrow and stepped back, causing Stan (who hadn't really realized that he was leaning against Kyle) to stumble forward. Not cruel enough to allow any suffering beyond proving a point, Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan's arm and pulled him back up. There was a sudden influx of pain, then a muffled pop, then a buzzing sensation replaced it. A distinct shift happened within Stan. Vertigo swelled within him, a cotton ball in his brain began absorbing all the moisture in his body.
"What was that?" Kyle recoiled.
"I don't-" his vision was wavering, and the feeling of tripping from earlier refilled him with a stronger vengeance, "oh no."
--
When his vision returned, it was in an entirely different environment with entirely new sensations. His head still felt heavy, gravity forcing it to sink into the cushion he was laying on. He had enough cognition to recognize it as a couch, rough but comfortable. Despite himself, a low noise began in his throat in response to the distaste towards being inexplicably thrown into such a new environment in a subpar physical state. The noise grew, rising in pitch before cutting off with a squeak. Deep, it started again.
"Sh sh sh!" Kyle rushed in with water and medicine in his hands, "the walls are thin, what do you need?"
Stan smacked his lips and began taking inventory of himself. His shoulder was tight, and running his fingers over the area revealed a brace beneath his shirt. Confused, he looked up to Kyle for an explanation.
"I'm not explaining this for you to forget again," Kyle sighed, extending the hand with water.
"Huh?" Stan sat up to accept the cup, holding his head at the rush from the movement. Disorientation rolled in his solar plexus, he frowned and squeezed his eyes shut against the feeling. Kyle massaged the other shoulder.
"Are you really with me now?" The cup was forced into his hands.
"Yeah? What does that even mean?"
A deep sigh came from Kyle as he sat down beside Stan on the couch, "you've been in and out of it since the cafe, when were you planning on telling me that you dislocated your shoulder?"
"Partially," Stan corrected, vaguely remembering being at the hospital and what the doctor had said.
"Partial or not, there's no way you weren't feeling that."
He shrugged slightly, then winced a bit. Kyle gave a vindicated motion towards the source of pain, the pills in his hand singing like maracas.
"I just wanted to see you," Stan leaned back into the couch, water next to him, another pitched whine began in his throat and he was able to recognize this lack of control over his instincts as a low-grade fever burning through his senses.
"Well here!" Kyle quickly attempted to hush, "I'm here, shsh," he looked to be a second away from smothering Stan with a pillow for the sake of his neighbors. He settled for pushing the cup of water against Stan's lips and occupying him that way, "it's time for your next dose."
"How long have I been here?" Stan sat up and looked to Kyle for an answer, he could feel the fear in his expression, how his eyebrows drew towards each other and his lips turned downward.
Kyle checked the watch on his wrist, then looked up; calculating.
"Spent two hours at the hospital, we've been here for," he waved his hand around in an estimate, "four-ish hours."
Stan looked towards the window, how the sun was low and intense in the sky, then fell back against the couch.
"'m fine, I don't need more medicine," he turned his head away and started inching back down.
"'I'm fine' my ass," Kyle stuck his hand out to keep Stan from going down, "this isn't an argument, just take two pills and then you can do whatever you want."
"I don't like the pills," he was being petulant, but he figured with the amount of discomfort he was in, it was well deserved.
"You took them fine earlier," Kyle tapped two out into his hand, disregarding Stan's complaints.
"I don't even remember that," Stan groaned, covering his face with his hands.
"Well, I do, say 'ahh.'"
"No-"
Kyle dropped the pills in Stan's mouth and put the cup against his lips again. He waited until seeing a swallow before pulling away.
Choking slightly on the water, Stan gave Kyle a look of immense betrayal, he could feel the burn of tears in their ducts as they moistened his eyes.
"Oh c'mon," Kyle rolled his eyes.
Stan sniffed.
"It wasn't that bad."
A short, cut-off whine.
"Stan, seriously?" Kyle resumed eye contact, only to be met with the largest eyes he had ever seen, "stop it."
Impossibly, Stan made his eyes larger, Kyle resisted the urge to look away, "don't look at me like that."
Kyle broke before Stan did, averting his gaze to an unsuspecting wall. Which, evidently, was a part of Stan's scheme. As soon as his attentions were elsewhere, Stan reached for Kyle, holding him against his chest as he laid back down on the couch. He stuck his nose in Kyle's hair, holding him like his own comfort plush.
A loud sound of indignation came from Kyle as he went down, unable to flounder due to Stan's arms holding him down. His own strength rivaled Stan's easily, but he was nullified by the fear of exacerbating the injury in his shoulder. Stan's own hold was weakened by his ailment, and Kyle was sure he could fight his way out, but that would be counterproductive in the long haul. An emotionally hurt Stan was the worst thing to add to his already full plate, Stan knew this and was taking advantage of his own reputation.
"I have soup on the stove," Kyle warned.
"I don't care," Stan nuzzled against Kyle, bringing a leg up to further trap Kyle. His intentions were to be as close to Kyle as possible, and he was doing a damn good job at it.
"Five minutes, max."
"Mhmm," Stan loosened his hold slightly, enough for Kyle to wiggle an arm free and reach up to run his nails along Stan's scalp. A happy noise trilled in response to the loving touch, and Stan kissed the side of Kyle's head.
It only took a minute of Kyle's calculated scratching before Stan's body went lax with sleep, at which point Kyle tactfully slithered free. Brushing himself off, Kyle stepped lightly towards the kitchen. Stan wasn't the lightest sleeper, but it was always good to exercise caution-- he was sure to already be on thin ice with his neighbors.
The soup still had a few more minutes on it, and Kyle allowed himself to lean against the kitchen counter to relax. His only saving grace was that whatever Stan had wouldn't be contagious to him; there were very few viruses that could afflict vampires, and none of them had any overlap with what survives in a werewolf's body. Idly, Kyle added the noodles to the broth. It was a vegetable soup, and the warm smell filled his small apartment like a comforting fog. It was quaint living, but he didn't need anything too extravagant, even though his family's accumulated wealth could afford it. He preferred it like this, and living away from his parents allowed him the freedom of bringing home his sick werewolf partner and taking care of him without his entire family on his case about it.
All things considered, Stan wasn't being too difficult this time. Which likely meant he was feeling really bad and his pain was mellowing him out, and such knowledge allowed Kyle to feel more sympathy towards him. Twitching his nose, Kyle stepped over to his pantry, reaching for the minifridge tucked in the corner to pull out a little pouch of blood. Now was as good a time as any, since Stan always got squeamish seeing him drink blood. Which Kyle found sort of funny, considering the fact that historically werewolves had far messier feeds (though Stan declared himself the first vegetarian werewolf, Kyle had seen the gruesome sight of him eating watermelon before). Which reminded Kyle to put supplements in the soup. He sometimes wondered if Stan's immune system was a result of going against his species' typical diet-- Kyle tried one time to cut blood out of his diet upon Stan's insistence, which resulted in a very awkward ER visit and a week-long apology from Stan.
But, alas, everyone was different.
With the hand not holding his snack, Kyle spooned out a noodle and tapped it out onto the counter. He poked it with a finger to test the consistency before discarding it in the trash. Good enough.
Still snacking, he grabbed out a bowl for Stan and spooned some into it-- being sure to get a good few pieces of celery as he knew that to be Stan's favorite.
A pitchy noise from the other room alerted Kyle to his need to make haste. Quickly, he finished the rest of the bag and tossed it in the trash before grabbing a spoon and slipping it into the bowl. By the time he left the kitchen, Stan's whine reached its peak volume.
"C'mon dude, every time?"
"You said five minutes," again with the large, sad eyes.
"That was five minutes," it was not, but what did Stan know? "Here, soup."
Redirection was always the answer.
"I'm not hungry," Stan turned over so that he was facing the back of the couch.
"You haven't eaten yet today, the medicine needs food to work," Kyle set the bowl on the coffee table and began running his nails along Stan's back. Kyle suddenly realized his mistake in getting Stan to take the pills before eating.
Gently, Kyle turned Stan over.
His face immediately went ashen.
"What?" Kyle felt a surge of adrenaline, not knowing the source of this sudden shift.
"You-" Stan pointed, "bleeding?"
Kyle cursed under his breath and turned away to wipe down his mouth. He wasn't a messy eater, he just happened to be in a rush that one time.
"Just... ketchup," he had to be very careful to not diminish Stan's dwindling appetite, "here, soup."
Kyle began helping Stan sit up. He gave slight resistance, but again Kyle was at full strength and he was not, so there wasn't much of a fight to begin with.
"Just a bite, you like my cooking," Kyle grabbed the bowl and sat beside Stan. He wasn't above spoon-feeding his boyfriend, especially when said boyfriend was refusing to take care of himself without force.
Stan turned his face away and Kyle resisted the urge to hold his head still and force the spoon into his mouth. Such excessive means would not work, and he had to remind himself sometimes that the relationship his family had with each other was abnormal and not something that would slide with Stan.
"Try it," Kyle coaxed.
An indignant sound came from Stan's throat.
"Just a bite."
Stan turned towards the spoon, eyeing it. Then, eyeing Kyle, his eyes passed between the two of them. It reminded Kyle of the pet dog their family had a long time ago. It was endearing, if not a tad annoying.
Finally, Stan opened his mouth and accepted the food.
"Good, right?" Kyle rubbed Stan's back again, encouraging him to swallow.
"Vegetable?" He asked, leaning closer to Kyle.
"Yes," Kyle grabbed another spoonful, "with noodles." He opened his mouth to blow on it gently before realizing Stan might smell the blood on his breath. Unless he was congested enough to miss it. But that wasn't a worthwhile risk.
Stan ate the next bite with significantly less resistance.
There was a visible relaxation on his face, the food already working its healing magic on him. Stan reached for the bowl and began eating on his own accord.
"How are you feeling?" Kyle brushed his knuckles along Stan's cheek and forehead, it still felt like he was running a temperature, and sweat was dampening his temples.
"Not good."
And that was eloquent enough.
"Finish your soup then go back to sleep," Kyle directed, carding his fingers through Stan's hair. It was greasy, but he didn't care much about that.
"You'll stay?"
Kyle smiled, a comforting gesture as much as he truly felt happy, "of course."