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The light shudder that emitted from the injured man’s mouth caused Martini to slightly jolt out of his uncomfortable sleep, head snapping towards Tequila. It had been exactly 5 weeks after the incident with Margarita, and the man himself wasn’t doing any better in terms of recovery. Martini had noticed how more reckless and unresting he’d become, doing missions all by himself and coming back battered almost half to death, constantly getting scolded by Weisswurst about the uncleanness and constant scars, yet his face remains like a fake mold of himself, a whine or two were more dull, and even he’d stopped verbally retaliating as much as he was before when handed distasteful medicine.
Tequila recently had been in a more brutal accident, him barely able to walk as he promptly passed out halfway through his return home, his chest was riddled with more intense scarring and his face was all matted up and dirty, it was too horrid to be described by Martini himself, who found out quickly after scavenging for the younger male alongside Fish n’ Chips. Having to carry the passed out cowboy, he was promptly rested and was almost on his way to recovery until a sudden common cold came up, attaching onto Tequila like a snake biting its fangs and soon after, was back to square one. The others frequently visited him best they could, especially Candy Cane to make him smile just a bit brighter, to which Tequila does, being so fond of the little girl. Martini was the only one willing to stay with the feverish man until he was better, opting for breaks out of the room every so often. While he was most certainly mad, no, aggravated, to the point of wanting to yell at Tequila, his heart had a different, more safer option. To just stay with him until he felt better. Well, that proved to be more than difficult, to say the least. It was like taking care of a baby, one moment he could be resting, the next spewing nout the worst snot ever concocted from his nose, and so on. With his prior injuries, he constantly got hot 90% of the time, safe to say, he felt more of a nurse than a friend who was oh-so nice to help Weisswurst with him.
Upon Martini hearing the small squeaks of the shorter man, he’d looked to see exactly what was happening, his head sore from sleeping in the available space he had, sleeping on the beside couch. It wasn’t too comfortable but he made do, his face contorted from a annoyed tired face to a more concerned one, seeing Tequila gripping his sickly pale fingers, littered with small bits faded to a light pink, weakly at his blonde hair, yet it looked painfully tight, his face—his entire body, despite having pains on his left side, had moved so he couldn’t get a good look at him. The only thing that visibly made him concerned was the soft whimpers and sobs that came from the man.
Martini didn’t particularly know what to do, he was always one for trying to help out the best he can, but in a situation like this? He was hopeless. Trying to not startle the man, the elf slowly approached the sniffling man, unsure of how to even comfort him. Looking at his face more clearly, he was asleep, his soft snores could be heard amidst the whimpers, seems he was having a night terror—common to having the cold. He couldn’t help but think of what he was sobbing about, he had little doubt it was about the Margarita incident. Nothing ever spooked him so hard, not even the most vicious Angels.
Deciding to try something risky, but suitable, he slowly lifted his hand to lightly graze at Tequila’s cheek, hesitant to fully touch him. “Wake up,,,” He whispered as loud as he could, sitting at the available space he had in the side of the bed- finally placing his hand on his cheek, cupping it gently. His skin was soft, very warm, not as warm as 3 days ago, but the kind of warmth he’d find whenever Tequila went out all day. Perhaps he was too forward, as Martini started to stroke his thumb against the hot and sickly skin, before Tequila suddenly jolted awake—his hand practically teleporting to Martini’s wrist, gripping it tightly- the same tightness as if he held his gun, before shooting up and trying to attack the other, a failed effort as he was weak, and hurt, Martini had the upper hand, in a hurry as he got his wrist out of the tight grip and munched the hands into one, tightly holding them in back while Tequila kept swinging around,
“Tequila—TEQUILA–hey Hey hey hey hey—” Martini called out for him, to no avail as he was persistent, like he always was.
“Nonoonolet Go of me please—”
“HEY, hey,” Martini interrupted amidst his rambles of spit and sobs, “You’re not there anymore, Tequila, please,” He whispered, trying to calm him down. It seemed to work, Tequila stopped thrashing around, looking around slowly. The quiet and warm room, furnished so neatly, he wasn’t there at the village, fending for his life, almost dying, no, he was…here. He was safe. He was with Martini.
There was silence between the two, minus Tequila’s heavy breathing. It felt heavy with tension, the room felt uncomfortable, or maybe it was because of the close space. Martini simply stared at the cowboy, hands slowly loosening his grip on the cowboy’s wrists, “Are you feeling better now?”
Tequila stayed silent, opting to look down from Martini. The elf simply exhaled unwanted air, before fixing the sick man’s hair, putting the strands of hair behind his ear. “Was it that bad?” He asked suddenly, his hands now parting his bangs so he could see.
“..yea.” A meek voice came through, it was so quiet Martini almost didn’t hear it.
“I know it was.” Was all Martini responded with, as Tequila finally looked up at him. Besides the fact his face screamed sick, he looked…more sadder than ever. His eye bags were present, his smile wasn’t there, hell, Martini felt his whole mood lower just by looking at the poor man below him. His face was all concerned, focused on him. “Would it be okay if i–”
“yea.” Tequila interrupted, “just for a little.” His voice was hoarse, yet a little bit louder than the first time he spoke.
Martini did a soft smile, wrapping his slim arms around Tequila, bringing him in. Tequila latched onto him, head shoved somewhere in his chest—hands softly gripping onto the fabric of Martini’s tight-fitted shirt. The room was quiet, but a soft quiet, the kind of quiet that you’d feel upon looking at the stars, or reading a good book. He relishes in the quiet Tequila as well. It was a long time for ‘just a little’, Martini thought, as he soon spoke correctly. Tequila fell asleep into his arms, his face peaceful, with tear streaks across his cheeks and his forehead gone warmer, Martini did a soft huff. Bastard.
The elf slowly laid the cowboy down on the bed front facing, taking a small risk as he gently gave a peck on his forehead, a goodnight kiss was what they called it. His cheeks pink, he (unfortunately) let go of his arms from the sleeping man, gently placing Tequila’s arms away from him. Martini felt horribly drowsy, he probably wouldn’t remember this, so wouldn’t Tequila himself. He found that to be unfortunate. At least he had a chance to be more forward, sighing as he soon laid down on the available couch, dozing off slowly until the sunrise came about.