Chapter Text
“I’m not sick!”
Techno’s words would have been a lot more convincing if it weren’t for the nasally way they sounded.
Phil simply raised an eyebrow, his arms finding a natural home in the way they crossed over his chest. “Sure,” he said in response. Sarcasm was dripping from the word.
The two of them were currently standing in the kitchen. It was late morning, maybe even afternoon, and typically by now, they would be outside. Gardening, or else doing something equally mundane.
For all Techno claimed their hobbies were boring, he never failed to participate. He was usually up an hour or so after Phil, snatching tea from the kettle to help wake himself up. The two would chat over breakfast, simply offering banter back and forth in the easy way that old friends do. Then they would head outside, letting the sun warm them as they tended to their fields.
But today was different. For one thing, when Phil woke up at his usual time, Techno was nowhere to be found.
Normally this wouldn’t bother him, as Techno always rose later than he did. But over two hours later, he still wasn’t awake.
Phil decided to let him rest, thinking that maybe he’d had a late night, or something. Techno was always off doing things with his friends. It made sense if he wanted to sleep in, and Phil wouldn’t ruin that.
But then another hour passed, and the avian was starting to actually get worried. Techno–he should have been up by now. Why wasn’t he–was he–
The concern was so pressing that Phil was just about to march to get him when Techno had come stumbling down the stairs, looking woozy and swaying on his feet. His eyes were puffy and red from rubbing them, his skin pale and sweaty.
When Techno walked into the kitchen, Phil had taken one look at him and said, “You’re sick.”
Thus, where they were now.
“I’m not sick,” Techno repeated, upon seeing the doubtful expression on Phil’s face. “I just stayed up late.”
“Hmm, sure,” Phil replied, crossing his arms. His wings shifted behind him, betraying the doubt he truly felt. He leveled his friend with a glare. “And I’m a leprechaun."
Techno’s face twisted. He turned his back to rifle through the fridge. “If you say so,” he called over his shoulder.
Phil could feel exasperation climbing up his shoulders. He sighed, loudly, shifted his weight. Why was Techno so stubborn?
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” he told the man, rolling his eyes. “I can see that you aren’t feeling well.”
“Then you can see I don’t want to talk about this,” Techno snapped back. He pulled the juice from the fridge, and when he turned, there was a little furrow to his eyebrows. He gripped the counter a bit too hard, like he might fall over.
Phil bristled. “See?” He gestured to Techno, who scowled back. “You are sick.”
Techno shifted, a bit. He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, which was how Phil knew he really was sick. That was a habit of his, something he did when he heard the truth and didn’t like it.
“So what?” he finally scoffed, reaching for a glass from the cabinet. Phil watched him, half expecting the man to fall over with the motion, but he didn’t. Even though he looked uneasy, he managed to keep himself upright. He set the glass on the counter and started pouring.
Phil shook his head. “So you should be resting,” he shot back, finally leaving his post beside the wall. He came over, none-too-gently prying the juice jug from Techno’s hands.
Techno fought back, yanking on the container. “I'm fine,” he insisted, pulling.
Techno was stronger than Phil, and when he yanked again, the juice went with him. The tug sent him stumbling back, a bit, and his elbow bumped his glass.
For a moment, the two of them watched the cup, balanced precariously as it was, time seeming to slow.
And then it fell.
Techno scrunched his nose as the glass shattered against the floor. Phil dodged a particularly large piece as it catapulted to him.
Silence. The two of them stared at the mess, something strange suddenly prickling in the air. Then: “Go sit down.”
Phil threw as much venom into the words as possible. He wasn’t actually mad, just mildly annoyed, but he didn’t need Techno to know that. What he needed was for the other man to stop insisting he was fine when he wasn’t. If Techno hadn’t been doing that, then this wouldn’t have happened.
For a moment, Techno just stood there, like he wasn’t sure what to do. His gaze fell back to the glass, and then up to Phil again.
Then, without a word, he set the juice on the counter and turned around. Marched to the living area and sat.
Phil raised a tired hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the mess that had been made, some tired part of him wanting to leave it until later to clean up. To just ignore it.
Of course, he couldn’t do that. Letting out another little sigh, he crouched. He used his hands to pick up the biggest pieces, going to toss them in the bin. A particularly jagged one sliced across his palm as it went in.
Pain blossomed across his skin. Great. Now he was annoyed and bleeding. Muttering to himself, Phil grabbed a paper towel, pressing it into the wound. It stung, but not a lot. He wrapped it around himself and fisted his hand so that it would stay, vowing to properly bandage it in a moment.
He continued to clean single-handledly. It was difficult, but not impossible. He mopped up the juice and then swept up the remaining shards, this time being extra careful.
When he was finally finished, the napkin he’d been using was ruined with blood. Wincing, Phil peeled it off to examine his palm.
Thankfully, he didn’t think it was that bad. Mostly, he thought, it was bleeding a lot because of where it was, not because of the severity. At least, that was what he was telling himself.
Though, despite those affirmations, seeing the gash wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. Phil covered it again with his bloody cloth.
There. All better.
He took one more glance at the kitchen, making sure everything was properly cleaned. The juice was still out, and Phil sighed. He was about to put it away when a thought occurred to him.
Swallowing, he reached for another glass from the cabinet, pouring juice into it. This time, it didn’t spill, which was a minor mercy that Phil was going to pretend was something grand. He put the jug back in the fridge and left the drink in favour of heading off to the bathroom.
Once there, he crouched by the sink, opening the storage doors. Inside was haphazard shelving and random beauty products that had probably long since gone bad. He ignored all that and instead, grabbed his first aid kit. He’d thrown it under the sink with the thought, I’ll probably never need this.
What wishful thinking. Sighing, he opened it up and grabbed the roll of bandages, standing up again. He flipped on the water and stuck his injured hand under it.
He winced as he cleaned the cut. It hurt, but Phil wasn’t an idiot; he knew that infection was the real danger here, so he made sure to be thorough. Looking at it now, under the lights…it was definitely deeper than he’d thought…
But, no matter. It would heal just like everything always did. He watched as his blood turned the water a salmon pink, sort of mesmerised by it as it washed it down the drain. Shutting the water off with his elbow, he picked up the gauze with his other hand. It was difficult to maneuver the cloth, but he got there, using his teeth to help secure it.
He held it out to examine it. It was admittedly a shoddy job, but it would do for now.
He turned his attention back to the cabinet. Besides the products and the first aid kit, he also kept his collection of medicine here, and Phil kneeled down to examine it. Despite Techno’s protesting, he was sick, which meant he would need medication. Phil grabbed a little bit of everything, not quite sure what the issue was but wanting to be prepared for the worst.
His arms full, he stood up and headed out to the living area.
Techno was seated on the couch, like he’d been told to do. He almost looked like he was sleeping; his head was tilted back in an exhausted sort of way, like he’d been dumped there, and his eyes were closed.
However, upon the sound of Phil’s footsteps, they snapped open. He blinked, then his face scrunched up in something like irritation. He eyed the avian cautiously, like Phil might pounce on him.
Phil pretended not to notice that. Pretended that it didn't bother him.
“Hey,” he greeted, because he didn’t know what else to say. He deposited his medicine on the coffee table. One of them tipped over.
Techno’s lips twitched as he watched that particular bottle. Maybe he wanted to smile, but he didn’t. “Hey.” His voice was more gruff than usual.
Phil decided not to point that out. Instead, he collapsed into an armchair. “I brought medicine,” he said, as if that hadn’t been obvious.
Techno blinked, long and slow. “I don’t need medicine.”
Something akin to anger sparked up in Phil. Seriously, they were still doing this? “Yes,” he shot back, pointedly, “you do.”
His words were fire in a way they usually were not. Techno noticed this, of course, and he lifted his head a bit. He leveled his gaze with Phil, as if to argue more, but then his eyes widened. “You’re hurt,” he said, bluntly.
Phil blinked, not expecting those words. He looked down at his poorly bandaged hand; he had been holding it up on the armrest in hopes the elevation would help stop the bleeding. “Not really,” he told Techno. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Is it from the glass?”
The question sounded…strange. A bit hilted, like Techno didn’t really want to know the answer. Phil regarded his friend with narrowed eyes, trying to read him. He came up empty.
“Yes,” he finally answered after a moment. He watched as the word traveled through the space, met Techno, and sank in. It was quiet for several moments.
Techno said, “You should bandage that.”
“I did bandage it,” Phil told him, emphasising the words. Seriously, he was starting to get concerned for his friend’s comprehension levels. He raised his hand to show it off.
Techno scoffed, though the sound lacked its usual bite. “That’s hardly a bandage. You need to actually cover it.”
Phil bristled. “Well sorry, it’s in a bit of a difficult spot.”
They glared at each other for several moments. Phil didn’t understand. Why was this so difficult? Why didn’t Techno just accept the help without trying to start an argument first?
After what felt like a long time, Techno made a noise and looked away. He said something, but Phil didn’t hear it.
“What was that?”
Techno hunched further, as if caving into himself. His face was still twisted into something sharp and angry, confident but not at the same time. He muttered, “I can fix it for you. If you want.”
The words were–surprisingly soft. Phil shifted, uncomfortable, unsure how to respond. He looked down at his hand, considering. An idea flickered into his head.
“Okay,” he agreed after a moment. “But,” he added when Techno looked far too pleased, “if I rebandage it, then you have to take medicine.”
The man’s mouth opened and closed several times. “That’s not fair!”
Phil shrugged. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
Techno scrunched his face up, looking desperately like he was about to launch into a tirade. But then he stopped. His gaze dropped to Phil’s hand, and maybe Phil was imagining it, but there was a look of guilt that crossed his features.
“Fine,” he spat out, looking miserable about it.
Phil could feel relief settle on his shoulders. He hadn’t even known how tense he was until Techno had agreed. He sighed softly, turning to look at the collection of medicine he’d brought. “What doesn’t feel good?” he asked.
Techno took a long time to answer. When he did, it sounded like the response was being ripped from his mouth. “Just…my head.”
Phil raised a brow. “Just your head?”
Techno fumed, looked away, his face flushing. He hated being called out. “Yes,” he snapped.
Phil sighed, tired at this pointless back and forth. “Techno,” he said, the name both a prompt and a warning. “If you don’t tell me the truth, then this isn’t going to go anywhere.”
Quiet, for a long few moments. Phil thought that Techno wasn't going to say anything at all, and they were just going to sit here in silence. The deal was officially off.
But the man surprised Phil by muttering out, “Well, I’m a little tired, too. And my stomach hurts a bit.”
The answer sat in the air, heavy. The concern that had just faded came back full force. Phil stood, crossing over to his friend. “Do you have a fever?” he asked, reaching out to check.
Techno went stiff and shied from the touch, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was weak from sickness and there wasn't anywhere to go, so instead, he held completely still as Phil felt his forehead.
Sure enough, it was hot to the touch.
Phil took his hand away, sighing to cover up the worry he could feel gnawing at his insides. “You do have a fever,” he told his friend, shaking his head as he returned to examine the medicine. “You probably have the flu, or something.”
“I do not have the flu,” Techno shot back, bristling. “I don’t get the flu.”
“Tell that to your fever.”
Techno didn’t seem to have a response to that, so he flared his nostrils and went quiet. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking, so Phil didn’t bother. He used the opportunity to head back to the coffee table, peering through the bottles until he found the right medication. He untwisted the cap; dumped two blue pills into his hand. “Let me grab some water.”
He headed to the kitchen, about to fill a glass when he remembered the juice from earlier, still waiting for him. He snatched it instead and carried it back.
When he arrived, he found Techno once again with his head tilted back.
“Oi,” Phil called, hating to wake him up. “Medicine.”
Techno’s eyes wearily opened. He squinted at Phil like he didn’t know who he was. “Hmmkay,” he hummed, reaching his hand out.
Phil swallowed, something thick clogging his throat, and passed the juice and pills to Techno. The man took them without much complaint, which was good considering Phil didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve.
He was bringing the cup to his lips before awareness crossed over his face. “This isn’t water.”
Phil shook his head, fighting the urge to make some snappy remark. “No,” he agreed. “I figured you might like this instead.”
Techno blinked up at him. His expression was impossible to read. Surprised? Grateful? Annoyed? Phil couldn’t be sure. He rolled his eyes and added, “Stop gaping and just drink it.”
Techno huffed, breaking out of whatever trance he was in. For once, he did as he was told and took the medicine, swallowing them back with a large swig of juice.
Finally. Thank the stars that that particular battle was out of the way.
Phil reached out to take the glass back, but when he did, Techno suddenly shot out with surprising strength.
Phil yelped when his injured hand was suddenly caught in Techno’s. The sick man was holding the juice in one hand, his fingers locked around Phil’s wrist with his other.
“I took my medicine,” Techno said, his voice dangerously low. “Now it’s your turn.”
Phil’s eyes widened. He looked at his hand, the one Techno was clutching tightly. Somewhere in all the drama it had begun to bleed again.
“I’m fine,” Phil said after a moment, wrenching his hand away. Techno let him go, but whether it was his choice or he was too weak from sickness to fight, Phil couldn’t be sure.
Techno’s face was pale, but his eyes were hardened and narrowed in a way that suggested he wasn’t arguing about this. To him, it wasn’t a suggestion. “You said I could help you.”
Phil opened his mouth to shoot something back but–
But he had said that, hadn’t he?
“Fine,” he huffed after a moment. “Let me go grab the bandages.”
Techno hummed and let him go. Phil went down the hallway to the bathroom again and returned a few moments later.
He sat by Techno on the couch. The sick man shifted a bit to make space, turning to face Phil. There was something difficult to name in his eyes, a sort of unreadable emotion. Phil bit his lip.
“Let me see,” Techno urged, holding his hands out.
Phil hesitated for just a moment. Why was this–why was this suddenly so hard? He swallowed and did as he was told, gingerly passing his injured hand to Techno.
Techno took it between his own, and his touch was surprisingly gentle despite the roughness he had just shown. He unwrapped Phil’s hand, and when he saw the wound, his face took a dangerous turn.
“You should have cleaned this,” he said, voice accusing.
Phil fumed, going to yank his hand away, but Techno’s grip was stronger than he thought, and he couldn’t. “I did clean it. It’s just still bleeding.”
This caused a small, contemplative frown to appear on Techno’s face. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking, what with the way he was flushed with fever, but his eyes narrowed. “Maybe you need stitches,” he said after a moment.
Phil huffed. “No way,” he shot back, leaning forward to look at his hand.
It was pretty deep, now that he was actually examining it, but…
“It’s fine,” Phil assured Techno.
Now, it was Techno’s turn to roll his eyes. He looked about to say something, but then an almost gleeful expression filled his face. “Hey, how about a deal?” he asked, grinning impishly. “You let me stitch your wound and I rest.”
Phil blinked, shocked that his own plan had been turned against him. “You’re gonna rest no matter what!” he snapped.
Techno simply shook his head. “No, I won’t,” he said. Phil could tell he meant it.
It was–it was infuriating. If Techno would have just let himself be taken care of, then none of this would have happened!
Though…wasn’t Phil doing basically the same thing? Making things worse by not allowing himself to be cared for?
He looked down at his hand. It did probably need stitches…and Techno did know how to do that…
Fine. Fine.
“Fine,” he said, aloud.
Techno smirked, though the expression was dimmed by sickness. “Go on, then. Get the supplies.”
Phil huffed at being bossed around, but stood up anyway. He headed down the hallway, returned with a needle and thread and his first aid kit. He sat back down, careful not to get blood on the cushions.
Techno sat up straighter. His face was pale and sweaty. Concern lapped at Phil. “Maybe you shouldn't be doing this,” he murmured.
Techno glared at Phil. “I need to,” he said.
And wasn’t that strange? I need to. Not want. What did that mean? Bemused, Phil held his hand out, if only because he was moving on autopilot.
Techno didn’t waste any time. He used a cloth from the kit to wipe away the excess blood. In his semi-shaky hands, it took him a few times to thread the needle. Neither of them mentioned that.
Finally, after several minutes, Techno was cupping Phil’s hand again. “This might hurt. Ready?”
Phil nodded, bracing himself. Even so, he let out a wince when the needle pierced his skin. “Ah,” he hissed.
Techno looked apologetic, but didn’t say anything. He worked in mostly silence, the only sound being the occasional grunt of pain from Phil.
About halfway through, Phil said, through gritted teeth, “What did you mean?”
Techno stilled, his hands going motionless against Phil’s. “What are you talking about?”
Phil looked away. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure why he’d said anything at all. “I meant…when you said you needed to. Help, that is.”
If possible, Techno went even more still. It was quiet for several minutes. Then, “I’m sorry.”
Phil blinked. Shock sliced through him, and then concern. “Sorry for what?”
Techno’s face was flushed, and it didn’t look like it was from his sickness. “I broke the glass,” he muttered. “And you got hurt.”
The words seemed to hang suspended in the air. Phil didn’t know what to say. “Techno,” he tried, but nothing came after it.
The man’s face screwed back up. “Don’t worry about it,” he suddenly snapped. “It’s whatever. It’s not important.”
Phil shook his head. “That’s not true,” he murmured.
Something in Techno’s face fell. He pursed his lips together. “No,” he agreed.
Phil couldn’t seem to form a response. Techno sighed and kept working, the silence now a heavy thing between them. Thick and difficult to name.
When Techno was finally done, he tied the final knot with shaking hands. He set the needle and extra thread to the side, slumping back on the couch.
Phil checked the time. It was still pretty early, but…
“You should get some rest,” he told Techno.
“You, first,” came their snappy response, but it sounded tired.
Phil rolled his eyes. He took his hand away from Techno, cradling it to his chest. That seemed to wake the other man up.
“Not yet!” he said, reaching for the hand again. “I have to bandage it!”
Phil wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he could handle it, but he didn’t think Techno would believe him. Besides, there was no way that after all this, the sick man would go to sleep without finishing the job first.
So Phil resigned himself to being bandaged. It went quickly, and when it was done, he pulled his hand away. This time, Techno let him go.
Phil examined the job. It was, stupidly, much better than his own had been. He could actually move it around without fear that it would fall off. Plus, he wasn’t bleeding anymore, which is always a plus.
He looked back at Techno to thank him, but stopped. It was obvious the sick man was losing his battle to stay awake. His eyes were rolling, his muscles relaxing, his shoulders dropping.
A fond smile grazed Phil’s lips. He stood and stretched, fetching a blanket and draping it over Techno.
The man melted into the cover. He must’ve been too tired to realise what he was doing.
Phil watched him for a moment. He reached out, feeling his forehead, relieved when he noted that the fever had gone down. The medication must’ve kicked in.
He glanced down at his hand. Despite Techno’s own sickness and shaky hands, the bandages were neat and wrapped well.
Phil felt something strange wash over him. A softness. He knew he should go out and work, but–
But he didn’t want to. Instead, he sat back on the couch, grabbing another blanket to wrap around himself. He looked at Techno, already asleep.
Or, so he thought. But a moment later the sick man muttered, “I am sorry, you know. For breaking that glass. And hurting you.”
Phil hummed. He was growing tired, too. “You didn’t hurt me,” he told Techno. “It was an accident.”
Silence, for a while. For so long that Phil thought Techno might’ve fallen asleep. “Thank you, Phil.”
The words were sincere, strong and something that wouldn’t break. Phil let them hang in the air before he opened his mouth.
“Thank you, Techn.”
Maybe Techno wanted to respond to that. As it was, they were both drifting off to sleep. Phil wasn’t certain he would have heard Techno if the man did say something.
But, before he fully drifted off, he thought to himself, Caring for someone else might be the easiest thing in the world.
Especially when it came to Techno.