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The first thing he noticed was how awkwardly Erebus sat in his chair.
It was practically a miracle they’d both made it to dinner in the first place—a long week for all four of them that still wasn’t done hadn’t made it easy—but Erebus was barely eating, picking at his food with one arm held oddly against his chest, propped against the table as if to hide that. The chicken had cooled on both their plates, the smell of rosemary and hot oil still hanging over the table. Jupiter didn’t point it out.
The room was silent thanks to Saturn and his usual abundance of words missing, and Uranus was at the university for a late event held for art students on campus, which left just them to enjoy the meal together for now, two chairs pushed in at the far end and the table too long for just the pair of them. It gave him plenty of opportunity to observe the one who usually was the observer, and it only concerned him more how Erebus didn’t even seem to notice his sharp attention. “How have your cases gone?” he finally asked, watching Erebus pause mid-poke at one piece of chicken, his fork spearing through it and scraping against the plate. “I know you can’t share any details, but I don’t need any. A simple answer works.”
Erebus grunted. “Fine,” he said. “Solved. Filed. All that.”
He still hadn’t moved his arm.
“I see,” Jupiter said slowly, putting down his fork.
Erebus’s eyes flicked towards it.
“Does that have anything to do with the fact that you’re holding your arm like it hurts?”
Their eyes met as he arched an eyebrow.
“What?” Erebus scoffed, pulling his arm in against his chest. “This is just how I normally sit.” But his expression flickered with even that movement, and Jupiter couldn’t help a frown. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s fine.” Undeterred, Jupiter stayed silent, tipping his head to the side. “Stop it! Stars above, I just caught it on a fence.”
“A fence?”
“A fence,” Erebus repeated, staring hard. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“If it’s nothing,” Jupiter said, already pushing to his feet, “then let me look at it.”
Erebus stayed seated, practically cradling his arm against his chest. “Pfft. Seriously? I can take care of myself, Jupiter. Stop worrying.” Still, his eyes flicked away, his jaw setting. “It’s a little scratch.” That sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anything else, and it only made Jupiter’s own resolve strengthen. He rounded the table to Erebus’s side and waited, laying one hand against the back of his chair.
“Please, Erebus?”
“Don’t please me, Jupiter,” Erebus said, disgruntled; and then he tilted his head back and his expression flattened, lips pressing thin. “And stop it with that look!”
Jupiter had no idea what look he was referencing.
“You know I won’t let this go.”
Erebus nearly growled, shifting from side to side in his chair.
“Yeah, I know. That’s what’s so annoying about you, Jupiter. You care too much.”
“I care too much about my own husband?” he asked, giving his ring-clad hand a pointed look.
“Yes,” Erebus answered, flatly. “Too much.”
“Mhm.”
Jupiter finally moved his hand, laying it flat against Erebus's upper back instead of against the chair; even through the shirt Erebus was warm under his palm, warmer than he ever ran. The moment he did, Erebus’s shoulders hiked up and then slumped as he sighed purposefully, scowling down at his plate. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you can’t say anything.”
“I certainly can’t promise that,” Jupiter said, already reaching for Erebus’s arm and gently easing it away from his chest. Even that gentle of a touch seemed to at least unsettle him as he gritted his teeth together. “I do care far too much about you.”
Erebus huffed, turning his head away. “Just… pull my sleeve up.”
He did exactly that, and the bandage wrap hidden underneath Erebus’s sleeve made his breath catch, touch gentling even more. “How large is it?”
“A scratch,” Erebus muttered. “Just a long one.”
“Forgive me,” Jupiter said, searching for the edge of the bandage wrap, “but I don’t think I believe you, honey.” The moment he found it, he waited until Erebus glanced back at him and begrudgingly nodded to start peeling it away, revealing the white bandage underneath. One much bigger than he expected it to be, based on the word scratch. “Erebus?”
That time Erebus groaned. “Wh-at?”
Jupiter peeled the rest of the bandage wrap off. “This is not a scratch.”
He turned Erebus’s arm slightly—though that tiny movement made him audibly hiss through his teeth—and eyed the skin around the bandage itself. Under the low kitchen light it looked darker than normal, with a spreading purple tinge that made his heart skip a beat; when he carefully laid his fingertips against the edges, it felt warmer than he’d ever felt Erebus’s skin be, cold as he usually ran.
“Of course it’s a scratch,” Erebus snapped, shaking his head and then pausing, eyes lost for a moment before he refocused and added roughly, “I’ve seen it when I changed the damn bandage. It’s just a stubborn one.”
“This is not a stubborn scratch,” he repeated. “I know you know that.”
Stars, he knew Erebus had a tendency to hide things—especially things related to his job—but this was far more than a simple story to share. This was—
“I think this is infected,” he said, scanning the gauze pad where Erebus had taped it down. The moment he caught sight of creeping lines heading up the inside of his arm, he inhaled sharply. “How often have you changed this, Erebus?”
Erebus bristled. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
He didn’t pull his arm away.
“Of course not,” Jupiter said, eyes jumping to his face—for the first time in a while, he was close enough to Erebus to really look at him, studying every inch. “I’m simply…” He paused, letting go of Erebus’s arm just to lay the back of his hand against his forehead. The warmth underneath his hand had his chest tightening, mouth thinning. “I’m worried. And you have a fever and an infected wound. How long have you—?”
“No way,” Erebus interrupted, scowling at him. “Forget it, Jupiter.”
“You don’t think this is infected?” Jupiter asked, motioning towards the obviously-infected, still-covered wound on his arm. “I’d ask to look at it, but I’m not sure I want that taken off. It’d probably do more to hurt than help for me to do it.”
“Right.” Erebus’s chair scraped the tile as he sharply stood up. “Then—”
Jupiter loosely caught one hand around his upper arm when he swayed, Erebus's uninjured hand latching to the edge of the table. That touch earned him a subtle flinch that Erebus tried and failed to disguise, turning his head away. “When did it happen?”
“…Tuesday.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“And?” Erebus didn’t look at him. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
“You have a fever,” Jupiter repeated. “You have a fever and an infected wound that’s obviously spreading.” He inhaled, breathing out through his nose. “We’re going to the ER.”
That time, Erebus jerked around to look at him, swayed on his feet, and barely reacted when Jupiter reached out to steady him. “What? Stars above, way to overreact! I’m fine! Look.”
He reached down, grabbed the edge of the bandage, and ripped it right off.
Both of them stared at the cut on his arm, the edges torn and uneven. The skin had pulled tight and shiny over the swelling; a thin yellow crust had dried along the worst of the tear, and under the antiseptic on the gauze a sweetish smell rose off it.
“…It didn’t look like that before,” Erebus muttered. “That’s new.”
“Car,” Jupiter said, already steering Erebus away from the table, leaving their forgotten food behind mid-dinner. “Now.” He barely remembered to make sure to swipe his keys from the counter and toe on a pair of shoes, too consumed with bringing a now-concerningly-silent Erebus out with him. Luckily for him, he was parked in the driveway already.
Rather than let his husband go, Jupiter kept a hand loosely wrapped around his upper arm and led him straight to the passenger seat—and that, at the least, got him a thin-mouthed look from Erebus and a mutter of, “I’m not a child,” that he ignored outright.
After all, it was better to deal with his mutterings than to let him fall, or worse.
He did take a moment in the car to pull his phone free from his pocket—inwardly thankful he’d left it there over dinner—and send both Saturn and Uranus a quick explanation text. Erebus stayed slumped in the passenger seat the whole time, staring at his own arm like it was alien to him. That more than anything made him set his phone down and finally pull out of the driveway, straight onto the neighborhood streets perhaps a touch faster than he should have. The streetlights came through the windshield one after another, and every pass showed him a little more: the sweat shining along Erebus's hairline, the damp curl of hair stuck to his temple.
“Wow, Jupes,” Erebus muttered, “Forgot those street laws?”
“And you forgot to tell me that you apparently cut your arm,” Jupiter replied.
“Hey, I thought it’d heal itself! It’s not like I haven’t been injured before.”
Jupiter didn't even have to look at him to know what he was referencing, the pale scar that crisscrossed his eye clear enough in his mind without looking. Sighing, he tightened his grip on the wheel as they came to a stop at the turn leaving the neighborhood. “You said you scraped it on—on a fence, right?” He set his jaw. “A fence that likely had bacteria in abundance. This is far from a surprise, Erebus.”
All Erebus did in return was scoff, turning to look out the car window. "I'm fine."
The turn signal ticked away in the quiet.
Jupiter would believe that when the Sun disappeared.
“It’s been a long week,” Erebus kept on, sounding less himself with every word, “I’m run down. I’ve hardly slept, and—and a cut from a fence hurts, okay? It’s not like I thought something was wrong.” He laughed dully. “I just thought…”
A red light gave him the chance to look over at Erebus, who was still staring out the window, hunched on himself with his arm over his lap. “Thought what?”
“I had a deal with myself,” he said instead, “that if it hadn’t gotten better by tonight, I’d mention it.” His uninjured hand curled into a fist. “You just caught me a little early.”
Jupiter’s lips pressed together, his eyes on the road as the light turned green. “Did I?”
“I didn’t want any of you to freak out about it.” From the corner of his eye, he watched as Erebus tilted his head so that his hair fell over his shoulder, curtaining his face from view. “I don’t like being… fussed over. It’s annoying.”
“Annoying,” Jupiter repeated. Erebus stayed silent; rather than let the moment stretch, he freed one hand from the wheel and reached over, laying it on Erebus’s knee and squeezing. “Well, you know I’m going to fuss either way. That’s what you signed up for when you married me, isn’t it? I fussed before, and I’ll fuss after. You’re the one who decides whether I fuss over a scratch on a Tuesday, or an infected cut on a Thursday.”
“Hmph,” Erebus said, an answer Jupiter was used to hearing from him.
They drew to a stop, turning into the emergency room parking lot; only once he’d parked did Jupiter turn in his seat, reaching out to cup Erebus’s chin in one hand, turning his surprisingly-pliant head to face him. “It’s because I love you,” he said, quietly. “You know that.”
Erebus wet his lips, swallowing. “I do.”
Jupiter fixed a sweat-damp strand of hair plastered to his forehead, brow pinching at the heat under his fingers. “Good. Now let’s go inside and get that dressed, alright?”
“Do we have to?”
The silence before Jupiter pushed open his car door was Erebus’s only answer.