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“I’m getting really scared of Charles, Oscar.”
Lando’s hand is moving repetitively though his hair, his legs hanging off the side of the bed.
Oscar roughly stuffs his face into the pillow, “Leave me alone, Lando.”
Lando huffs irritably, “Easy for you to say. He threatened me via text. I don’t even know how he got my number! That’s scary.”
Lando’s frown deepens as Oscar ignores him, shuffling deeper under his blanket.
“Osc. I’m really worried about you. I always am when you get like this.”
Oscar turns over slightly to look at Lando, “It’s fine, Lando. I just need to wait it out. It always goes away eventually.”
Lando bites his lower lip anxiously, “This one’s lasting a long time, Oscar.”
Oscar’s eyes screw shut, a hand coming up to rub them roughly, “I know. It’s just really bad this time. I thought the medication would help the length of the depression episodes but they don’t.”
Lando smiles sadly, “We can work it out, Oscar. We can go to the doctor together. I’ll be your moral support!”
Oscar forces himself to give Lando a tiny grin in response, “Maybe.”
Lando sighs dejectedly, “Okay. I’ll leave you alone now. Please eat what I left in the fridge.”
Oscar hums, noncommittal.
Lando shuffles out of the apartment with a plan.
Oscar might hate him, but he has to try.
———
LANDO
— I just saw Oscar.
— I went to his apartment.
CHARLES
— How is he?
— He is alright?
LANDO
— um, I wouldn’t say alright.
— I would actually say it’s pretty bad. :(
— He gets like this sometimes, when his depression spirals out of control.
— I need your help.
CHARLES
— Of course.
— Anything for Oscar.
———-
Lando presses the spare key to Oscar’s apartment into Charles’ hand.
“You’ll take care of him, right?”
Charles nods firmly, “Of course.”
Lando fidgets nervously, “It isn’t pretty, okay? Depression never is. You can’t make him feel bad for the state of his apartment. It- he can’t really control how bad his depression gets.”
Charles listens intently, his eyes sharpening, “Of course. I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“He’s- he’s my best friend. I love him a lot. He seems to really like you, and you seem to take care of him well. Sooo I thought I would call you.”
“Thank you, Lando. I can tell you’re a good friend. I’m glad Oscar has a friend like you.” Charles smiles softly.
Lando chuckles nervously, “Does that mean you’ll stop threatening me?”
Charles winks quickly, starting towards the apartment building. “No promises.”
Lando’s groan echoes loudly.
————
Charles is hit by the smell of sadness and rot when he enters the apartment.
His heart aches painfully, as he glances around, at the dishes piling the sink, at the laundry scattered around, at the discarded pill bottles on the counter.
“Merde.” He mutters, shucking off his coat and shoes.
His racing heart won’t settle until he sees Oscar alive and breathing, so he steps over the clutter and ventures into Oscar’s cave.
His sharp, green eyes lock onto the lump of Oscar on the bed. He strides quickly over, hands already reaching out to touch.
He lays gently on the bed wrapping his arms around Oscar blanket-clad form.
His shaking hands settle at the feel of Oscar’s chest moving up and down, slow with sleep.
Oscar breathes out sharply, his eyes fluttering open, clouded with confusion.
“L’ndo?” He slurs, turning his head around.
Charles watches as his eyes clear with recognition, “Charles? What’rrye doin here?”
Charles moves quickly, straddling Oscar, grabbing his wrists in one hand, and gripping his chin firmly in the other.
“Lando texted me. We’ve been worried about you.”
Oscar slurs out from squished lips, “L’ndo that traitor.”
Charles' grip tightens and he tuts, “Don’t blame him. I’m very grateful to him right now. Do you know how worried I was when you suddenly went dark on me? Why weren’t you answering my texts?”
“M’ phone wasss dead.”
Charles sighs, his head coming to rest below Oscar’s chin.
He breathes in the smell of Oscar. He doesn’t smell how he usually does, right now he smells of sadness, of rot. The scent of sweat stings Charles’ nose.
Charles wants it gone.
His head lifts and Oscar's eyes follow his.
“I’m going to pull you out of this, Mon bébé. You understand?”
Oscar nods, wet eyes glistening.
Charles presses kisses across his face in relief.
“Charles, I smell bad.” Oscar whines, trying to turn his head away.
Charles doesn’t relent, smacking a kiss against his cheekbone, “I don’t care.”
Oscar giggles quietly and Charles feels a smidge of worry leave his body, like a lone drop of water escaping a pool of water.
Charles murmurs as he nuzzles into Oscar’s cheek, “We’ll take a shower. We’ll eat something. And I’ll clean up. We’ll go slow. Hmm?”
Oscar’s face scrunches in embarrassment, “Y’ don’t have to clean up after me.”
Charles sits up, hands supporting him on either side of Oscar’s head, “I don’t have to. I want to.”
Oscar tries to break eye contact and Charles nudges him back with fingers under his chin, “You going to be good for me, Oscar?”
Oscar hasn’t felt the alleviation of Charles taking the lead in weeks, his brain slowing down.
“Y’sss, sir.” He slurs out.
Charles grins widely in relief, “Good boy.”
Oscar groans quietly as Charles guides him to stand, a strong arm supporting his back.
They shuffle towards the bathroom, Charles murmuring softly, “There we go, almost there. Gooood job, petit.”
Charles guides Oscar out of his clothes, and strips himself down to his undershirt and underwear.
He guides Oscar under the warm spray of water, cooing as Oscar shivers.
Oscar leans his weight onto Charles, seeking warmth and trusting him to support his frame.
Oscar feels chills of pleasure form as Charles massages his scalp with Shampoo, breathy sighs leaving his lips.
“Let’s rinse, petit. Good.”
Oscar wraps his arms around Charles’ shoulders as he conditions his hair, running his fingers through the tangles gently.
“Such beautiful hair, Oscar. Beautiful hair for a beautiful boy.”
Oscar can feel his heart pitter-patter faster in bashfulness.
Oscar has enough sense to insist he washes his own body, but he swears he sees Charles pout lightly in response.
As Oscar places the washcloth back on the shelf, Charles speaks up, “All done?”
Oscar nods softly, squeaking when Charles wraps him roughly in his arms, pressing kisses to his hairline.
“Good boy, Cheri! So proud of you.”
Oscar is beet red as Charles guides him out of the shower and gently dries him off.
“Let’s go pick out something to wear, hmm?” Charles hums, taking Oscar’s hand and guiding him back towards the bedroom.
Oscar sits on the bed while he points to each drawer as Charles rifles through them to find what he wants.
He ends up in an oversized university shirt, boxers that ran large (he stole them from Charles) and fuzzy socks that Charles insisted we wore.
Charles guides Oscar to the couch and produces multiple clean blankets from the linen closet that he wraps Oscar in.
“What do you want to watch, petit?” Charles inquires, turning on the tv.
Oscar thinks for a second, his brows furrowing. “Um… Top Gear.”
Charles puts it on, fluffs Oscar’s pillow and nods in approval, leaving to order food on his phone.
Once he’s satisfied, having ordered Oscar’s favorite, he turns to tackle the cleaning.
He clears the sink and loads the dishwasher.
He picks up all of the laundry.
He checks on Oscar, “Doing alright, petit?”
He strips Oscar’s bed, putting it into the washing machine.
He packs up all of the trash into trash bags.
He checks on Oscar. “All good?”
He sorts the recycling into separate bags.
He takes clean sheets out of the linen closet and remakes Oscar’s bed.
He checks on Oscar. “Warm enough, Osc?”
He sorts Oscar’s pills.
He picks up the delivered food from outside the door.
He goes to Oscar, grinning warmly as he approaches Oscar with the food. He’s still wrapped up in blankets blinking sleepily at the tv.
“I got Bolognese, bébé. Sit up and we’ll eat.” Charles murmurs, softly sitting beside Oscar.
Oscar blinks slowly, sitting up, as Charles unpacks the food and hands it to him.
Oscar only starts eating when he sees Charles has turned away from him.
Charles pretends to watch the tv as Oscar eats slowly, looking more awake then he did a few moments ago.
He can’t help but wrap his hand around the scruff of Oscar’s neck squeezing softly, “Good.”
Oscar mewls softly in response.
Charles plays with the tiny hairs at the back of Oscar’s neck as he works slowly through the food, his chest warming more and more with each bite he takes.
Charles is cataloguing everything he needs to do later: Make an appointment with a good psychiatrist, set Oscar up with his doctor, maybe bring Leo over to cheer Oscar up-”
“All done.” Oscar murmurs, discarding the plate so he can nuzzle into Charles’ chest.
Charles responds by pressing a smacking kiss to Oscar’s head, “Gooood job, amour. Bon travail.”
Charles sighs contendedly, running his hand through Oscar’s hair, as he nuzzles further into his chest.
They sit there peacefully for twenty minutes, Charles feeling his eyes growing heavy.
They snap open as he hears a sniffle come from Oscar.
“What is wrong, cheri? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Charles lowers his head to listen carefully as Oscar responds quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Charles coos in response, “What are you sorry for? Hmm? There is nothing to be sorry for.”
Charles’ chest aches with phantom pain as a ragged breath forces its way out of Oscar’s chest, “I ignored you for weeks, and- and you had to come clean up after me.”
Charles squeezes Oscar closer to his chest, “You were feeling poorly, Oscar. I promise there is nothing to be sorry for. My poor baby, feeling so bad.”
Oscar sniffles pathetically, and shoves his tear and snot soaked face further into Charles’ pecks.
“We’ll figure it out, petit. I’ll be here.” Charles rumbles, rocking Oscar rhythmically.