Work Text:
It started as a little cough. Simon noticed Ryland couldn’t seem to clear his throat when they were on the phone earlier in the week, hearing him lower the microphone away from his face as he tried to get the rough edges of his voice to smooth out. He thought nothing of it at first, but quickly began to get the feeling that it was worse than he was letting on when Ryland texted to cancel their Friday night plans earlier in the day.
It’s no big deal, I just need some rest and I’ll be a-okay in the morning! 😊
The text had made him immediately suspicious. Ryland never cancelled, especially not when Thai food and Meryl Streep were on the line. Simon was worried, to say the least.
He tried to distract himself with work, doing his best to focus on the cataloging he had to do before his shift was over. But as he typed on the ancient computer behind the help desk, his mind wandered of its own accord back to Ryland. He tried to figure out what he could do or how he could help, which is how he found himself thinking of his mom and the winter he’d gotten pneumonia.
It had been before they moved to Eden and Simon was probably about four years old. The heat in their shitty, run-down apartment had broken again—the landlord seemingly unreachable every time they begged him to fix it—so when Simon had come home from day care with a sore throat, it had rapidly turned into a cough that crackled in his lungs and made his chest permanently ache. He could still remember how he had been unable to get out of bed, the coughing fits leaving his small body too sore and tired to move. His mom had to call out of work for the rest of the week, something that left them more than a little worse-off when it came to making the rent that month, but there wasn’t anything else to be done according to the doctor; it was a viral infection, he just had to wait it out. As he thought of those five days when he was bedridden, he remembered how his mom had made him soup to soothe his throat and stave off the shivers that wracked his feverish body. He might not have her recipes or cooking ability, but it seemed like something he could do, at least.
Ryland had stopped replying somewhere around 3PM, something that didn’t sit quite right with Simon and left him only more resolved to check up on him. After work, he swung by his place to raid his own fridge, grabbing everything he thought he would need—and quickly throwing a bag together with an extra change of clothes—before setting out for Ryland’s apartment.
When he arrived, standing awkwardly outside his front door after knocking the first time, he heard nothing. There were no signs of life; no light coming through the crack in the bottom of the door where it was hung slightly crooked, no muffled sounds from the apartment or response when Simon texted to ask him to open up. He tried knocking again, slightly louder this time—but not as loud as his anxiety told him to—as he worried about disturbing his neighbors.
He was debating knocking a third time when he thought he heard something through the door. Simon strained his ears for any noise, holding his breath as he listened for the sound of someone moving around inside the apartment.
He didn’t have to wait long before the door was being cautiously pulled open, a very confused and very tired-looking Ryland peering out from what looked to be a pitch black apartment. Simon immediately noticed the dark circles under his eyes and his sickly pallor, a distressing pale grey that caused him to flood with concern.
“Simon?” Ryland blearily rubbed at his eyes as he squinted against the harsh lighting of the hallway. “What’re you doing here?”
“I thought I’d check on you,” he tilted his head as he gave Ryland a once over, taking in the pajamas he was wearing at 5:30 on a Friday and the quilt wrapped around his shoulders. After a moment of Ryland staring at him blankly, he decided to prompt him, “Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he shuffled aside so Simon could enter, squeezing past Ryland and into the small hallway of his apartment. He set his stuff down to remove his shoes before straightening to get a good look at his partner.
He looked exhausted. Even with only the dim light filtering in through the front doorway, there was no other word for his appearance. Simon’s eyes caught on the way his lids drooped, already threatening to close, and he felt a pang of guilt as he realized Ryland had clearly been sleeping before he arrived.
“How are you feeling?” he hedged, lifting a hand to wear the blanket had slipped off his shoulder and righting it.
“Oh, I’m all good,” Ryland waved a hand dismissively in the air between them. “Just a little cold, nothing for you to be worried about.”
Before Simon could even open his mouth to rebut what was clearly a very unconvincing lie, Ryland was overtaken by a series of coughs that proceeded to go from bad to worse. Simon didn’t like it one bit.
“Want to try again?” He levelled Ryland with a knowing look as his coughing died down to a wheeze Simon could hear from three feet away.
His voice had gone gravelly when he spoke next, “It really is just a nasty cold, I promise I’m okay. Just a little tired, is all.”
When Ryland swayed where he stood, worry chewed at Simon—its teeth sinking into him as he felt the instinct to fix it rise up in his chest.
“Okay, why don’t we get you sitting down,” he closed the door after finding the lightswitch along the wall, guiding Ryland down the short hallway to his living room. Once in front of the couch, he collapsed onto it almost immediately. Despite his worry, Simon couldn’t help the small smile that appeared in response to the sigh that escaped Ryland’s lips as he closed his eyes and flopped over on the cushions.
How did he manage to be both so dramatic and also so dismissive at the same time?
It was frustratingly cute.
Simon lowered himself to the cushion next to Ryland’s head, lifting his hand to run his fingers through some of the golden tufts that were sticking out at odd angles, smoothing them back as best he could.
Ryland nuzzled closer, scooting further up to place his head in Simon’s lap as he mumbled sleepily, “You don’t have to stay, I’d hate to get you sick.”
“Don’t worry about me, I want to be here,” Simon worked his fingers across his scalp, lingering at the spot where his skull met his spine when Ryland tilted his head back into the sensation. “You ready to tell me how you’re actually feeling?”
He felt his shoulders deflate with a sigh, “It’s mostly just the cough and this headache that won’t go away.” That explained the dark, at least. “Feels crumby, but not the end of the world. There’s been something going around the school and I was bound to get it eventually.”
Simon hummed as he thought, trying to remember what his mom would do, “Have you taken anything, for either?”
Ryland hesitated and Simon rolled his eyes as he took his silence for an answer.
“So no, you haven’t taken any medicine,” he huffed a small laugh as Ryland remained silent, staunchly refusing to acknowledge his words.
Stubborn to the end, he mused to himself.
Simon used his hand to lift Ryland’s head from his lap and slip out from under him, the movement met with sounds of protest as Ryland sat up and narrowed his eyes at him indignantly.
“Where’re you going?” he practically pouted, making Simon chuckle. “Come back.”
He stepped toward him and bent to plant a gentle kiss to his forehead, unsurprised when Ryland took the opportunity to lean forward and wrap his arms around his torso. So clingy when he wasn’t feeling well. Simon filed the information away for later as he detached himself to the sound of more complaints and stepped back, levelling Ryland with a stern look, “I’m going to grab you some medicine and some water, since I’m guessing you haven’t been drinking enough either.”
Or eating, in all likelihood. Simon kept that part of his sentence to himself, for now. He’d handle that next.
Ryland grumbled something Simon chose not to hear as he pattered lightly out of the living room. He walked past the kitchen and down the hallway to the bathroom, where he easily found painkillers and some cold medicine in the cupboard and slipped them both into his pocket. On his way back to the living room, he ducked into the kitchen to fill a glass with water before returning to Ryland.
Simon found him still sitting in the same position he’d left him in, the only difference being his closed eyes and the way his head drooped slightly toward his chest. He slowly sat next to him on the couch, watching as his eyelids fluttered open at the movement and he turned to look at the glass Simon was holding out
“Drink, it’ll help,” he urged gently, watching as Ryland accepted the cup and brought it to his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medicine he’d grabbed, tilting them into Ryland’s palm when he held out his hand.
After he’d taken the pills and drank half the water, Ryland set the glass on his coffee table with a slightly chagrined smile, “Thanks, Si.”
“No problem,” he nodded. “Now how about you lay down for a little?”
He propped one of the throw pillows up at the end of the couch, standing to motion Ryland to lay his head down, realizing just how tired he must be when he complied without any of his usual protests. He reached down to fix the blanket still wrapped around his body, tugging it down where it had ridden up from the movement until it covered his legs. Once it did, he tucked the remainder of the blanket in closely around the rest of him.
Simon heard a small chuckle from the end of the couch, glancing up to see Ryland looking at him from where his head rested on the pillow.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Ryland’s voice was gentle, the unspoken gratitude clear in the way his words were accompanied by a soft smile. He paused, warmth at the compliment mingling with grief as he thought about telling him the reason why.
“I used to get sick a lot as a kid,” Simon spoke quietly, half-lost in his own memory. “My mom always did this sort of stuff for me. I guess it stuck a little.”
He smiled sadly up at Ryland, met with a look of such care and adoration that he averted his gaze almost immediately. He straightened after concluding the blanket had been handled satisfactorily, his hand lingering where it covered Ryland’s shoulder.
“Sleep tight,” Simon murmured down to where his eyes were once again closed. He turned to head back to where he’d left his things in the hall, when he was stopped by a hand on his wrist.
“Wait,” he turned to find Ryland’s eyes open and alight with alarm, his hand sliding down to grab Simon’s. “Don’t go.”
He felt his eyes crinkle with a smile as he squeezed Ryland’s hand and stepped closer, “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. But you need rest while the medicine kicks in. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Ryland frowned, clearly trying to decide if his words were acceptable. Simon watched as he accepted them with a nod, losing the battle with his exhaustion as he settled back down into the pillows. Simon stared at him for another moment before brushing Ryland’s palm with his thumb and carefully tucking his arm back under the blanket, small snores already beginning to fill the room. He reached out his fingers to delicately remove his glasses and set them on the coffee table before retreating as quietly as he could to the hallway.
He spent the next couple hours in the kitchen, doing his best to approximate the soup his mom used to make him. Since discovering the numerous cookbooks the library stocked its shelves with—several of which were dedicated entirely to Korean recipes and flavors, much to his amazement—he’d been trying to cook more. Many of the recipes he read about he had never even heard of or had no memory of ever trying. He grieved the loss of the opportunity to learn to cook them from his mom, but cherished the ability to do that part of her justice now.
Being so young when his mom had died meant he lacked many memories of them together, but some things still stuck out to him. Things like, for instance, the specific soup recipe she saved for when he wasn’t feeling well. It had taken some sifting through of the cookbooks he had available, but he’d managed to finally find one that seemed close enough only a couple weeks ago.
The only problem was that the recipe he was going off of called for an entire cooked hen. That wasn’t exactly something he had access to at the moment, so he decided some normal chicken would have to suffice. He worked quietly, doing his best not to disturb Ryland where he slept in the adjacent room. He added a few extra vegetables he had grabbed from his fridge earlier, figuring the extra nutrients couldn’t hurt as he loosely chopped them and began sauteeing them with the other seasonings.
Before he knew it, memories of his childhood were flooding back to him as Ryland’s kitchen began to smell just like his mom’s used to. He relished the way it smelled like home, humming quietly to himself as he cooked.
He was putting the final few touches on the soup—it always needed more salt—and was still humming softly when he was surprised by a voice speaking from the doorway.
“You have a great voice.”
Simon spun around, holding the spoon in front of him defensively on instinct as his heart raced.
“Woah, sorry,” Ryland tilted his head and laughed apologetically, unable to speak for a moment when it turned into a small series of coughs. When he finally regained his breath, he continued, voice rougher than it had been, “Didn’t mean to scare you, you were really in the zone.”
Simon lowered the spoon, feeling slightly foolish as he returned his smile, “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t think you’d be awake anytime soon.”
As he spoke he noticed that Ryland did look a little improved, despite the coughing fit. He looked slightly less exhausted than he had, but was still paler than Simon would have liked.
“It smelled too good to stay asleep,” Ryland replied, yawning as he came over to peek into the pot on the stove. “What is it?”
Simon blushed, feeling a strange combination of pride and sheepishness mix in his gut.
“Well, according to this recipe, it’s called samgyetang. I don’t know if it’s exactly the same, but it’s like what my mom used to make,” he kept his gaze carefully focused on the stove, refusing to look at Ryland’s face.
That didn’t last long though as Simon felt him step closer, still not quite touching him as he spoke.
“Thank you, Simon,” Ryland emphasized his words with purposeful eye contact. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”
He nodded, eyes flitting up to Ryland’s before darting away again, praying desperately that Ryland actually liked the recipe. Otherwise this was about to be really awkward.
“Is it ready?” Ryland’s voice sounded hopeful. “Can we try it?”
“Oh, uh, sure,” Simon gave it a final stir as he turned off the heat, fighting his instincts to throw it out the nearest window before Ryland could try it and tell him he hated it. “It should be done.”
They worked together to dish up the soup, Ryland grabbing two bowls while Simon found a ladle in one of the kitchen drawers. He scooped it into the bowls carefully, doing his best not to spill as Ryland held each dish close to the pot for him.
When they were full, Ryland suggested forgoing the chairs at his dining table in favor of curling up on his couch. The two of them slotted in next to each other on the plush sofa, Simon trying desperately to keep his bowl from spilling—something considerably more difficult with only one hand.
But eventually, they managed to find something comfortable for both of them. They sat side-by-side, each cradling a bowl wrapped in a dish towel to keep them from touching the too-hot ceramic. Simon suggested keeping their original evening plans, a proposal he knew Ryland couldn’t refuse as he watched his eyes light up at the idea. It was the most alive he’d looked all evening, making Simon smile as Ryland excitedly reached for the remote to turn on Mamma Mia! before they both dug into their dinner.
He did his best not to look too pleased when Ryland asked for a second-helping only twenty minutes into the movie—he’d been right about his lack of food intake over the past twenty-four hours, much to Ryland’s chagrin—and made sure to put the rest of the leftovers in a tupperware for the next day after carrying the refilled bowl back to him. Once both their bowls were empty for good, Simon started to stand to take them to the kitchen but found himself unable to fully rise. Ryland had thrown an arm over him, gently tugging him back to the couch before pulling the stacked bowls from his hand and placing them on the coffee table.
“Don’t worry about it for now,” he scooted closer, Simon instinctually lifting his arm to encircle Ryland’s shoulders as he nestled up to his side. He laughed as Ryland buried his face in his chest, turning his face away from the TV screen completely.
“You’re missing the movie,” he threaded his fingers through his hair once again as Ryland only nuzzled closer.
“Don’t care, seen it already. This is better anyway,” he felt his ears go warm as he hummed his agreement, scooting down to allow him to rest his head at a more comfortable angle.
By the end of the movie, they were practically stacked on top of each other. Simon watched Ryland’s face where it was laying on his chest, illuminated by the glow of the credits scrolling across the television. Somewhere midway through the movie, he had fallen asleep again. Simon brushed his fingers against the slight furrow between his brows, smoothing it out with a gentle caress and earning himself a contented sigh from his sleeping partner. He smiled to himself before reaching over Ryland to the back of the couch, spreading a blanket across their intertwined limbs before propping his own head up with a pillow.
He might as well get comfortable, he figured. He definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.