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Ignacio was all too eager to shed the guise of Encke that night.
He hurt. His lungs were still burning. His head was spinning, perhaps from the rush of adrenaline. His side hurt. The injuries of the past few days had been piling on him, and all he wanted was for it to stop. Perhaps if he curled up in bed and rested, by morning, most of the injuries would clear themselves up. Perhaps the coughing would stop, too.
All he had to do is curl in bed without Richard's notice.
It seemed like an easy enough task. Most of the time, when Ignacio came home from a late patrol, Richard had long been asleep. He doubted there would be much of an exception today -- why would there be?
He coughed loudly, reminding himself of why there might have been.
He fumbled around in his pocket, grabbing his key and pushing it into the door. It clicked easily and the door popped open with a jolt, and Ignacio nearly fell on his face in the process. The cough came again, and he winced as he pushed himself to stand up straight. He didn't notice anyone awake readily, and let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps his entrance hadn't been too noisy.
Carefully, Ignacio pushed the door back shut, locking it behind him.
Now just to get to his bed. An easy enough task, he was sure.
If only he could stop coughing.
He hurt. His lungs were still burning. His head was spinning, perhaps from the rush of adrenaline. His side hurt. The injuries of the past few days had been piling on him, and all he wanted was for it to stop. Perhaps if he curled up in bed and rested, by morning, most of the injuries would clear themselves up. Perhaps the coughing would stop, too.
All he had to do is curl in bed without Richard's notice.
It seemed like an easy enough task. Most of the time, when Ignacio came home from a late patrol, Richard had long been asleep. He doubted there would be much of an exception today -- why would there be?
He coughed loudly, reminding himself of why there might have been.
He fumbled around in his pocket, grabbing his key and pushing it into the door. It clicked easily and the door popped open with a jolt, and Ignacio nearly fell on his face in the process. The cough came again, and he winced as he pushed himself to stand up straight. He didn't notice anyone awake readily, and let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps his entrance hadn't been too noisy.
Carefully, Ignacio pushed the door back shut, locking it behind him.
Now just to get to his bed. An easy enough task, he was sure.
If only he could stop coughing.
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Richard was asleep. At least, more or less. He had slept restlessly through much of the night. Normally, he didn't so much as roll over when Ignacio left or when he returned--so long as Ignacio was careful. However, he had been up and down between restless sleep and groggy semi-consciousness for most of the night. Had he ever actually noticed Ignacio was gone? No, not really, except once where he'd assumed he'd gone off to the bathroom or to get some water and then had fallen back asleep in pretty short order.
But it was a light sleep, an easily disturbed sleep. Someone's dog barking, or a particularly loud cicada outside the window, or a horn honking down the street or something woke him again. He didn't know what noise it had been this time. He did notice, however, Ignacio still not in bed. Had it been a long time since the last time he noticed? Had he fallen asleep for an hour or five minutes? Richard couldn't tell, but he could tell that now he was also thirsty. With a heavy sigh, he peeled himself out of bed, fumbled for his glasses, and staggered downstairs to the kitchen.
His brain did not register, in his groggy state, the fact that Ignacio's side of the bed was cool to the touch.
He did notice, however, when he got downstairs and slapped the pilot light over the stove on for some light, that Ignacio wasn't down here, either. Leaning against the counter, quietly sipping water from a Mickey Mouse mug held in both hands, Richard squinted into the dim light that the pilot light cast into the rest of the kitchen. Had... he gone out for a run? Richard did that sometimes, and Ignacio had done that on occasion. It was good when sleeping just... wasn't happening, though Richard usually went for a jog earlier in the night. Not... o'dark stupid or whatever time it was now.
Maybe Richard should've gone for a jog instead of tossing and turning all night. Maybe he would've been able to actually fall--and stay--asleep. Maybe he could be asleep right now instead of staring pensively into the kitchen with a Mickey Mouse mug raised to his lips. Tap water was warmer than he liked. Maybe he could've avoided drinking tap water. His brain was processing this possibility and slowly coming around to remembering ice existed when he heard the front door open. It took a moment to click, but the coughing did not. He did not precisely come awake all at once, but looking towards the other side of the kitchen was more attentive than looking out into it blankly.
From this angle, he couldn't see the front door, as there was a hallway... foyer... thing and Richard was on the wrong side of the kitchen, with a fridge and everything in the way. The coughing, however, had him putting the mug on the counter and walking toward the front door. He didn't like the sound of the coughing, and the more he woke up the less he liked it. Brows furrowed, he rested a hand on the fridge and leaned around the corner to peer out into the foyer. It was considerably darker now, with the small stove pilot light not reaching anywhere far enough, and it took a second for Richard's eyes to adjust. But he could see a silhouette of someone there, but they were either shorter than Ignacio or Ignacio was hunched over.
So, while his eyes adjusted and his brain continued to come back online, Richard ventured a curious, but concerned, "Ignacio?"
But it was a light sleep, an easily disturbed sleep. Someone's dog barking, or a particularly loud cicada outside the window, or a horn honking down the street or something woke him again. He didn't know what noise it had been this time. He did notice, however, Ignacio still not in bed. Had it been a long time since the last time he noticed? Had he fallen asleep for an hour or five minutes? Richard couldn't tell, but he could tell that now he was also thirsty. With a heavy sigh, he peeled himself out of bed, fumbled for his glasses, and staggered downstairs to the kitchen.
His brain did not register, in his groggy state, the fact that Ignacio's side of the bed was cool to the touch.
He did notice, however, when he got downstairs and slapped the pilot light over the stove on for some light, that Ignacio wasn't down here, either. Leaning against the counter, quietly sipping water from a Mickey Mouse mug held in both hands, Richard squinted into the dim light that the pilot light cast into the rest of the kitchen. Had... he gone out for a run? Richard did that sometimes, and Ignacio had done that on occasion. It was good when sleeping just... wasn't happening, though Richard usually went for a jog earlier in the night. Not... o'dark stupid or whatever time it was now.
Maybe Richard should've gone for a jog instead of tossing and turning all night. Maybe he would've been able to actually fall--and stay--asleep. Maybe he could be asleep right now instead of staring pensively into the kitchen with a Mickey Mouse mug raised to his lips. Tap water was warmer than he liked. Maybe he could've avoided drinking tap water. His brain was processing this possibility and slowly coming around to remembering ice existed when he heard the front door open. It took a moment to click, but the coughing did not. He did not precisely come awake all at once, but looking towards the other side of the kitchen was more attentive than looking out into it blankly.
From this angle, he couldn't see the front door, as there was a hallway... foyer... thing and Richard was on the wrong side of the kitchen, with a fridge and everything in the way. The coughing, however, had him putting the mug on the counter and walking toward the front door. He didn't like the sound of the coughing, and the more he woke up the less he liked it. Brows furrowed, he rested a hand on the fridge and leaned around the corner to peer out into the foyer. It was considerably darker now, with the small stove pilot light not reaching anywhere far enough, and it took a second for Richard's eyes to adjust. But he could see a silhouette of someone there, but they were either shorter than Ignacio or Ignacio was hunched over.
So, while his eyes adjusted and his brain continued to come back online, Richard ventured a curious, but concerned, "Ignacio?"
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Oh <******** the hell was Richard doing awake? It was clear he had been awake for a bit, or at least, he was awake long enough to not sound like he was some kind of gruff lumberjack. Maybe he was just thirsty. Perhaps he could goad him into going back to--
The coughing came again, and instead of a response, Ignacio grabbed at his ribs and coughed hard. His hand felt wet. Hopefully that was just spit.
His first instinct was just to ignore Richard and walk right by him to bed, but he knew that would do nothing to stop the questions. Maybe he could make an excuse that he caught a cold on set. Considering he hadn't come home with a cold that day, he honestly wasn't sure if Richard would buy it. That would be quite the sudden onset.
He was taking too long to talk.
"Arra," managed Ignacio, his voice not as strong as he would have liked. His tone wavered, the final a coming out more like a voice crack. "What are you doing up? It's way too," he felt a cough coming on. He felt it. He swallowed it down, "early."
He sounded like he had just smoked three packs of cigarettes. At once.
The coughing came again, and instead of a response, Ignacio grabbed at his ribs and coughed hard. His hand felt wet. Hopefully that was just spit.
His first instinct was just to ignore Richard and walk right by him to bed, but he knew that would do nothing to stop the questions. Maybe he could make an excuse that he caught a cold on set. Considering he hadn't come home with a cold that day, he honestly wasn't sure if Richard would buy it. That would be quite the sudden onset.
He was taking too long to talk.
"Arra," managed Ignacio, his voice not as strong as he would have liked. His tone wavered, the final a coming out more like a voice crack. "What are you doing up? It's way too," he felt a cough coming on. He felt it. He swallowed it down, "early."
He sounded like he had just smoked three packs of cigarettes. At once.
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Well, Ignacio was right in that Richard was just getting a glass of water. But something about that coughing wasn't right, and the glass of water was abandoned on the counter as Richard moved into the foyer. The gruff voice wasn't helping, either. The way Ignacio's voice wavered and cracked...
“I was getting water. Couldn't sleep. Where'd you go?" That he had noticed Ignacio wasn't in bed was obvious, and so went unspoken. That Ignacio was not okay was also obvious, and so that question also went unspoken. Instead, Richard reached out to put a hand on Ignacio's shoulder--him being bent over put his shoulder much lower than normal and so Richard initially missed in the dark--and leaned down.
He could feel that there wasn't something right, though, when he did that. Ignacio's muscles were much too tense, too knotted. He'd had first aid and sports medicine training since he was eighteen and first started doing solo classes. His mother--and her insurance--had insisted on it. And so, without saying anything except a quick apology, Richard straightened and reached out over Ignacio with one arm to slap the hall light on.
“I was getting water. Couldn't sleep. Where'd you go?" That he had noticed Ignacio wasn't in bed was obvious, and so went unspoken. That Ignacio was not okay was also obvious, and so that question also went unspoken. Instead, Richard reached out to put a hand on Ignacio's shoulder--him being bent over put his shoulder much lower than normal and so Richard initially missed in the dark--and leaned down.
He could feel that there wasn't something right, though, when he did that. Ignacio's muscles were much too tense, too knotted. He'd had first aid and sports medicine training since he was eighteen and first started doing solo classes. His mother--and her insurance--had insisted on it. And so, without saying anything except a quick apology, Richard straightened and reached out over Ignacio with one arm to slap the hall light on.
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something he didn't recognize--
"I went out."
That much was obvious. s**t, was Richard reaching to turn on the light? Dammit dammit dammit--
Turning on the light would have made the fact that Ignacio didn't look good a bit more obvious. He was thankful any dirt washed off with the melting away of the Enckean costume, but he still looked ... tired. His eyes were baggy. His hair was disshelved. There were probably a couple marks on his body that weren't there before, maybe. He wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to that.
Ignacio desperately tried to stand up, to look okay.
He knew from improv, the more words he said, the less that people would actually believe him. The punchier lines were better. He'd just stick with, "Couldn't sleep either."
"I went out."
That much was obvious. s**t, was Richard reaching to turn on the light? Dammit dammit dammit--
Turning on the light would have made the fact that Ignacio didn't look good a bit more obvious. He was thankful any dirt washed off with the melting away of the Enckean costume, but he still looked ... tired. His eyes were baggy. His hair was disshelved. There were probably a couple marks on his body that weren't there before, maybe. He wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to that.
Ignacio desperately tried to stand up, to look okay.
He knew from improv, the more words he said, the less that people would actually believe him. The punchier lines were better. He'd just stick with, "Couldn't sleep either."
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Ignacio had gone out for runs at night due to insomnia before. He did them pretty regularly, actually. Richard did the same thing on occasion. But he had never come back looking like this. This wasn’t “I went out running” messiness. This was something else, something Richard couldn’t really put a name to, but he knew that he didn’t like the look of it. He could see a couple of bruises starting to blossom on Ignacio’s skin, still small and light blue. He could see the tension in Ignacio’s body on top of feeling it.
The punchier lines were better, and under different circumstances Richard would have believed him without question. But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t a run unless Ignacio had been running away from someone.
Or something.
He had glanced down while trying to figure out how to respond, how to make it clear that he knew better than that, and that was when he saw the smears of pink spit on the side of the hand Ignacio had been coughing into. He didn’t ask, reaching for the hand and turning it palm side up, apologizing belatedly again.
“Ignacio...”
The punchier lines were better, and under different circumstances Richard would have believed him without question. But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t a run unless Ignacio had been running away from someone.
Or something.
He had glanced down while trying to figure out how to respond, how to make it clear that he knew better than that, and that was when he saw the smears of pink spit on the side of the hand Ignacio had been coughing into. He didn’t ask, reaching for the hand and turning it palm side up, apologizing belatedly again.
“Ignacio...”
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In all honesty, Ignacio had not been entirely lying. He had done a lot of running. Running to give chase, running to save lives, running to attempt to get a better vantage point. Richard was likely right about at least one thing, though: this was not ordinary running.
He was just not necessarily running away.
Ignacio felt the tension building higher, not necessarily because of adrenaline now, but because he felt Richard's eyes boring into him. He would honestly rather the adrenaline. It didn't require lying to his lover. He attempted to swallow down his nerves, keeping his arms low and not doing the instinctual thing of running his hand through his hair. Besides, his hand was wet. Last thing he needed to do was stroke the red remnants into his red --
No, don't grab his hand, don't grab his hand--
He knew better than to fight it, the resistance would seem even weirder than the fact that he was literally bleeding out of his lungs, but he was fighting against every instinct in his body to not just turn tail and run. Richard couldn't be involved with this. His Arra could not be a member of this. He wasn't allowed to know. He needed to stay as far away as possible. He needed to not be involved with whatever smoke spilled out of the half-monster's lungs, with hands that stabbed into chests and stole souls and crushed them and ate them and destroyed them--
Ignacio felt the panic building, and his mind jumped to the fact that maybe he should shove Richard out of the way and look for the things he still hated identifying--
"I'm fine, Arra," insisted Ignacio, pulling his hand away. Haphazardly, he wiped the hand against his leg. It didn't particularly help matters that much, but it at least got it off his hand. "Bit my tongue." Not entirely untrue.
He was just not necessarily running away.
Ignacio felt the tension building higher, not necessarily because of adrenaline now, but because he felt Richard's eyes boring into him. He would honestly rather the adrenaline. It didn't require lying to his lover. He attempted to swallow down his nerves, keeping his arms low and not doing the instinctual thing of running his hand through his hair. Besides, his hand was wet. Last thing he needed to do was stroke the red remnants into his red --
No, don't grab his hand, don't grab his hand--
He knew better than to fight it, the resistance would seem even weirder than the fact that he was literally bleeding out of his lungs, but he was fighting against every instinct in his body to not just turn tail and run. Richard couldn't be involved with this. His Arra could not be a member of this. He wasn't allowed to know. He needed to stay as far away as possible. He needed to not be involved with whatever smoke spilled out of the half-monster's lungs, with hands that stabbed into chests and stole souls and crushed them and ate them and destroyed them--
Ignacio felt the panic building, and his mind jumped to the fact that maybe he should shove Richard out of the way and look for the things he still hated identifying--
"I'm fine, Arra," insisted Ignacio, pulling his hand away. Haphazardly, he wiped the hand against his leg. It didn't particularly help matters that much, but it at least got it off his hand. "Bit my tongue." Not entirely untrue.
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Richard was gullible, and he knew that. He knew that. But he wasn’t stupid and, while he knew Ignacio wasn’t trying to insult his intelligence, he had to suppress the tick of frustration when Ignacio kept insisting that he was fine, that it was okay. Bit his tongue? Not coughing like that he didn’t. Bit his tongue would explain some of the blood, sure, but not… like that. That was not a good cough. That was not a “I ran too hard” cough. That was a “my ribs are maybe broken” cough. It was thick, hoarse, wet.
Who had hurt him? That Ignacio was hurt was unquestionable in Richard’s mind. Who had hurt him? Who was making him cough like that? On the heels of the tick of frustration came a wave of anger that he had to take a moment to suppress, to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He wasn’t angry at Ignacio, and he couldn’t have Ignacio thinking he was. He knew Ignacio well enough to know that lying to him, outright lying, was not something Ignacio liked doing. He had always beaten himself up when Richard caught him, and it was usually something that was—to Ignacio at least—very important.
He wanted to yell, sure. He wanted to challenge him, say that something was wrong, he knew something was wrong and demand that Ignacio tell him what so that he could help.
Who had hurt Ignacio, and why was he protecting them by insisting that nothing was wrong?
The thought that maybe Ignacio wasn’t protecting someone, that he had taken care of things and just didn’t want to give a debriefing standing in the hallway, occurred to Richard. However, it didn’t particularly mollify him at all. He knew that he wasn’t going to get an answer now and he wasn’t going to get an answer later, either. Ignacio had pulled his hand away, wiped the blood away, lied to him.
Richard was gullible, he knew that, but he was not stupid.
He knew that Ignacio wanted him to drop it, and desperately.
But if Ignacio was coughing up blood, that was something Richard couldn’t put a bandage on. He couldn’t splint a punctured lung. He closed his eyes again, silent again, but this time to listen to Ignacio’s breathing. Did he hear the bubbling he’d been trained to listen for? The bubbling would tell him there was a puncture and air would be leaking into Ignacio’s chest.
He did not hear bubbling when Ignacio inhaled and exhaled.
What about wheezing? Had a lung collapsed?
…Not that he could hear.
Another deep breath on Richard’s part, and he opened his eyes to look into Ignacio’s. He chose his next words very carefully.
After all, he was not stupid.
“I know you’re not being honest,” he stated. “…But if you have reasons I don’t know about, whatever, just… let’s get you cleaned up. Please.”
There was a little bit of begging in that “please”.
Who had hurt him? That Ignacio was hurt was unquestionable in Richard’s mind. Who had hurt him? Who was making him cough like that? On the heels of the tick of frustration came a wave of anger that he had to take a moment to suppress, to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He wasn’t angry at Ignacio, and he couldn’t have Ignacio thinking he was. He knew Ignacio well enough to know that lying to him, outright lying, was not something Ignacio liked doing. He had always beaten himself up when Richard caught him, and it was usually something that was—to Ignacio at least—very important.
He wanted to yell, sure. He wanted to challenge him, say that something was wrong, he knew something was wrong and demand that Ignacio tell him what so that he could help.
Who had hurt Ignacio, and why was he protecting them by insisting that nothing was wrong?
The thought that maybe Ignacio wasn’t protecting someone, that he had taken care of things and just didn’t want to give a debriefing standing in the hallway, occurred to Richard. However, it didn’t particularly mollify him at all. He knew that he wasn’t going to get an answer now and he wasn’t going to get an answer later, either. Ignacio had pulled his hand away, wiped the blood away, lied to him.
Richard was gullible, he knew that, but he was not stupid.
He knew that Ignacio wanted him to drop it, and desperately.
But if Ignacio was coughing up blood, that was something Richard couldn’t put a bandage on. He couldn’t splint a punctured lung. He closed his eyes again, silent again, but this time to listen to Ignacio’s breathing. Did he hear the bubbling he’d been trained to listen for? The bubbling would tell him there was a puncture and air would be leaking into Ignacio’s chest.
He did not hear bubbling when Ignacio inhaled and exhaled.
What about wheezing? Had a lung collapsed?
…Not that he could hear.
Another deep breath on Richard’s part, and he opened his eyes to look into Ignacio’s. He chose his next words very carefully.
After all, he was not stupid.
“I know you’re not being honest,” he stated. “…But if you have reasons I don’t know about, whatever, just… let’s get you cleaned up. Please.”
There was a little bit of begging in that “please”.
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Ignacio was never going to give an answer, never wanted to give an answer, was never likely to explain himself or even try to give Richard any level of mollification. That was not what he wanted. The more Richard knew, the more danger he was in.
Because he knew Richard. He knew his Arra.
Arra was relentless. Arra would never stop until he had the answer to what Ignacio was talking about, even if he kept it vague. When it came to Ignacio, Ignacio knew Arra did not know how to back off fully. If Arra had actually backed off fully, it was likely he would not be standing there in the entry way at the moment, desperately trying to fight off more coughing before it worried him more. (It was failing.) It was likely he would not be standing at all. (He may have long been six feet under, already decaying, perhaps even dust to the wind, he had no idea how he would have been buried--)
Ignacio couldn't give him a clue even if he wanted to.
Thankfully, he did not want to.
Hadn't ever wanted to. Hadn't given a clue for years. How had he failed so badly?
Richard was listening in, and Ignacio knew he had to pull back for a moment from talking, if just to appease the first aid instinct urge in Richard to check for a punctured lung. He knew his lung wasn't punctured; he knew he would be fine within a day or two, he just needed some time to rest. He needed time to get back to his comet, perhaps when it wasn't past three in the morning and when he didn't need to get some sleep. The fact that he wasn't entirely human, to some extent, would have been lost on Richard, though. And he wanted it to remain that way.
Usually Richard bought his lies, and with a cough that perhaps emphasized that dishonesty, Ignacio turned away when called out on it. He didn't speak to it, though.
"I'll be alright, really." His voice sounded hoarse, but it was getting easier.
He pushed past Richard, heading towards the kitchen. Maybe some water would help.
"Just need some rest."
Because he knew Richard. He knew his Arra.
Arra was relentless. Arra would never stop until he had the answer to what Ignacio was talking about, even if he kept it vague. When it came to Ignacio, Ignacio knew Arra did not know how to back off fully. If Arra had actually backed off fully, it was likely he would not be standing there in the entry way at the moment, desperately trying to fight off more coughing before it worried him more. (It was failing.) It was likely he would not be standing at all. (He may have long been six feet under, already decaying, perhaps even dust to the wind, he had no idea how he would have been buried--)
Ignacio couldn't give him a clue even if he wanted to.
Thankfully, he did not want to.
Hadn't ever wanted to. Hadn't given a clue for years. How had he failed so badly?
Richard was listening in, and Ignacio knew he had to pull back for a moment from talking, if just to appease the first aid instinct urge in Richard to check for a punctured lung. He knew his lung wasn't punctured; he knew he would be fine within a day or two, he just needed some time to rest. He needed time to get back to his comet, perhaps when it wasn't past three in the morning and when he didn't need to get some sleep. The fact that he wasn't entirely human, to some extent, would have been lost on Richard, though. And he wanted it to remain that way.
Usually Richard bought his lies, and with a cough that perhaps emphasized that dishonesty, Ignacio turned away when called out on it. He didn't speak to it, though.
"I'll be alright, really." His voice sounded hoarse, but it was getting easier.
He pushed past Richard, heading towards the kitchen. Maybe some water would help.
"Just need some rest."
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He was not alright, and Richard was dubious about the amount of good "some rest" would do him. But rather than contest it, Richard dutifully followed behind him back towards the kitchen. He cast a glance backwards, noticed some smudges on the door that his parents might object to, and resolved to wipe those off before he went back to bed. Cold water and some paper towels should do the trick. Maybe a stain eraser pad. But... first, he followed Ignacio.
He had not missed the way Ignacio hadn't responded, at least not directly, to Richard pointing out the lies. But, as promised, he didn't pursue the matter. Even if Ignacio was still being so difficult so as to not let Richard look at him--I have first aid training, he wanted to protest--Richard would keep his word. But that did not mean he had to let Ignacio continue to brush off him being concerned. He, himself, would be lying if he said it didn't sting, a bit, to have to remind himself that this was not the first time Ignacio had done so.
It just had been a very long time since then.
He didn't repeat the request. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, walked around him, used his longer stride and higher energy to beat Ignacio to the glasses. He filled it from the fridge, not looking at Ignacio, not sure what to say or, more importantly, how to say it. The man he offered the glass--no, not a glass, a plastic cup, because Ignacio was shaky and might drop it--to was incredibly important to him. Sure, his friends and family were important to him, but...
Ignacio had provided a "center" for him when they'd met that he hadn't known he needed, and he'd continued to do so in the years since. And it had been years. His friends and family were important to him, and it wasn't that they were less important than Ignacio, because they weren't, but... Ignacio was special. He just... was. Even when there used to be more darkness than light in Ignacio's eyes, Richard had been drawn to him. And now, when there was more darkness than light in Ignacio's eyes, Richard was compelled to stay by him. If something were to happen--what could happen? Ignacio was home and safe--Richard would be right there. What did he exactly expect to be able to do?
Didn't matter. He would be there.
Just in case.
He had not missed the way Ignacio hadn't responded, at least not directly, to Richard pointing out the lies. But, as promised, he didn't pursue the matter. Even if Ignacio was still being so difficult so as to not let Richard look at him--I have first aid training, he wanted to protest--Richard would keep his word. But that did not mean he had to let Ignacio continue to brush off him being concerned. He, himself, would be lying if he said it didn't sting, a bit, to have to remind himself that this was not the first time Ignacio had done so.
It just had been a very long time since then.
He didn't repeat the request. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, walked around him, used his longer stride and higher energy to beat Ignacio to the glasses. He filled it from the fridge, not looking at Ignacio, not sure what to say or, more importantly, how to say it. The man he offered the glass--no, not a glass, a plastic cup, because Ignacio was shaky and might drop it--to was incredibly important to him. Sure, his friends and family were important to him, but...
Ignacio had provided a "center" for him when they'd met that he hadn't known he needed, and he'd continued to do so in the years since. And it had been years. His friends and family were important to him, and it wasn't that they were less important than Ignacio, because they weren't, but... Ignacio was special. He just... was. Even when there used to be more darkness than light in Ignacio's eyes, Richard had been drawn to him. And now, when there was more darkness than light in Ignacio's eyes, Richard was compelled to stay by him. If something were to happen--what could happen? Ignacio was home and safe--Richard would be right there. What did he exactly expect to be able to do?
Didn't matter. He would be there.
Just in case.
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Ignacio knew Richard would follow, whether he wanted him to or not. He would honestly rather him not; it was easier to keep up the lying if he didn't have to look Richard in the eyes.
But he couldn't waver, no matter how much he wanted to.
Of course Richard intercepted him and insisted on getting the water for him. He opened his mouth to protest the move; he was fine, he would come to bed soon, please just let him be, but instead he coughed. It was with a grim line of a smile that he accepted the water, mostly because he knew Richard would likely scold him if he didn't.
He drank the water in silence, not sure what else to say, not wanting to say more. He wished Richard would leave him alone. He wished he wouldn't.
But he couldn't waver, no matter how much he wanted to.
Of course Richard intercepted him and insisted on getting the water for him. He opened his mouth to protest the move; he was fine, he would come to bed soon, please just let him be, but instead he coughed. It was with a grim line of a smile that he accepted the water, mostly because he knew Richard would likely scold him if he didn't.
He drank the water in silence, not sure what else to say, not wanting to say more. He wished Richard would leave him alone. He wished he wouldn't.
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While Ignacio drank the water, Richard found himself filled with anxious energy. Out of a desire to channel it into something productive rather than something that might annoy Ignacio, Richard crossed the kitchen again to rifle through the medicine drawer. He could do something about the bruises while they were still new, minimize how much blood leaked from capillaries under the skin, keep them small and make them easier to heal. He could do something about the knots he knew were in Ignacio's muscles, keep them from setting into paralyzing stiffness come morning. Ignacio was drinking the water, for which Richard was glad. But hydration--though important--would not fix everything.
He eschewed aspirin, not wanting to thin Ignacio's blood. Instead, he opted for ibuprofen. It would help the swelling and the pain both. He kept the dosage to 500mg, not wanting to elevate risk of internal bleeding.
Just in case.
For the bruises, Richard grabbed a washcloth and wrapped it around ice cubes before returning to the drawer to pull out something that smelled like mint. The ice cubes would slow and stop the bleeding capillaries causing the bruises. The jar of minty poultice would encourage his body to process the buildup in the area, reducing what had already leaked out. Returning to Ignacio's side, Richard offered him the ibuprofen with one hand while thumbing the cream onto his skin with the other.
He eschewed aspirin, not wanting to thin Ignacio's blood. Instead, he opted for ibuprofen. It would help the swelling and the pain both. He kept the dosage to 500mg, not wanting to elevate risk of internal bleeding.
Just in case.
For the bruises, Richard grabbed a washcloth and wrapped it around ice cubes before returning to the drawer to pull out something that smelled like mint. The ice cubes would slow and stop the bleeding capillaries causing the bruises. The jar of minty poultice would encourage his body to process the buildup in the area, reducing what had already leaked out. Returning to Ignacio's side, Richard offered him the ibuprofen with one hand while thumbing the cream onto his skin with the other.
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Unfortunately, bringing him things when he didn't want to be brought things was also a form of annoying him. Ignacio let out a long sigh. He wished Richard would leave him alone.
He wished Richard would never leave.
He wished Richard would leave. He would be safer there, not handing Ignacio ibuprofen. He accepted it, because of course he did. Not accepting it would break Richard's heart, probably further than he had already shattered it. He had to keep lying. Richard had to stay out of that portion of his life.
Ignacio coughed into his water, but dumped three ibuprofen into his mouth and gulped the water down. He didn't need it. He knew to keep up the impression, he had to pretend he did. Richard couldn't suspect anything.
"You really don't need to," insisted Ignacio, once more. "I just want to sleep, okay?"
He wished Richard would never leave.
He wished Richard would leave. He would be safer there, not handing Ignacio ibuprofen. He accepted it, because of course he did. Not accepting it would break Richard's heart, probably further than he had already shattered it. He had to keep lying. Richard had to stay out of that portion of his life.
Ignacio coughed into his water, but dumped three ibuprofen into his mouth and gulped the water down. He didn't need it. He knew to keep up the impression, he had to pretend he did. Richard couldn't suspect anything.
"You really don't need to," insisted Ignacio, once more. "I just want to sleep, okay?"
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Richard knew what the sigh meant, even as Ignacio obliged him by taking the ibuprofen. As poor a liar as Richard was, it was easier to feign a neutral expression, and so he did. Neutrality was letting the muscles of his face relax, though they twitched into a wince when Ignacio coughed into the water. But at least he'd taken the ibuprofen. There was that, at least. And so Richard didn't say anything about the coughing, though the way his hand on Ignacio's shoulder paused probably said enough.
He was quiet as he carefully rubbed the washcloth with ice cubes against the bruises on Ignacio's skin.
But Ignacio wanted to sleep, and Richard couldn't blame him. So he didn't keep it up for long before pulling the washcloth away, wiping away the traces of water with the flat of his palm, trying not to let his fingers linger over Ignacio's shoulder. Instead, he offered a smile, as much of one as he felt he could sincerely manage, over his shoulder as he turned to put the ice cubes in the sink, running cold water over the washcloth. The cream went back in the drawer, and Richard took the now-wet washcloth to the smudge on the front door where Ignacio had shut it. Had touched it with the hands he'd been coughing into.
It would raise way too many questions if his parents saw it. There wasn't much there, and it started coming away after a few seconds of careful scrubbing, luckily.
He was quiet as he carefully rubbed the washcloth with ice cubes against the bruises on Ignacio's skin.
But Ignacio wanted to sleep, and Richard couldn't blame him. So he didn't keep it up for long before pulling the washcloth away, wiping away the traces of water with the flat of his palm, trying not to let his fingers linger over Ignacio's shoulder. Instead, he offered a smile, as much of one as he felt he could sincerely manage, over his shoulder as he turned to put the ice cubes in the sink, running cold water over the washcloth. The cream went back in the drawer, and Richard took the now-wet washcloth to the smudge on the front door where Ignacio had shut it. Had touched it with the hands he'd been coughing into.
It would raise way too many questions if his parents saw it. There wasn't much there, and it started coming away after a few seconds of careful scrubbing, luckily.
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It felt nice to have Richard touch him. It was comforting, in a way, even if he didn't want him there. Even if he did want him there. Ignacio couldn't let himself relax into it, though. If he gave a signal that he wanted it, Richard would keep at it. Ignacio did want it, but he didn't need it. And he also didn't want it, truly, he just wanted to rest, so perhaps Richard could see him in the morning and realize he was fine, the bruising was minimal at best, and all he really needed was a good night's rest.
And a trip to his comet. Ignacio was already planning the logistics of that in his head. He might need to escape during the day, when Richard was at work.
The smile was sincere, but weak, and Ignacio knew why it was. Richard didn't like being lied to. He didn't like that Ignacio was hiding. Ignacio knew that Richard didn't.
He did it for Richard's own good.
When Richard disappeared to the front hall, Ignacio set the water cup in the sink and headed up the stairs. If he was going to shrug the questions off, if he was going to get any sleep at all that night, he needed to get started on that before Richard came up and made Ignacio just feel worse about all this. At that rate, he would need to get his sleep in in his old bed on his comet. How long had it been since that thing had truly been slept in?
Never mind that, he had his own bed to sleep in, and Ignacio wanted nothing more than to forget this ever happened and rest in it.
And a trip to his comet. Ignacio was already planning the logistics of that in his head. He might need to escape during the day, when Richard was at work.
The smile was sincere, but weak, and Ignacio knew why it was. Richard didn't like being lied to. He didn't like that Ignacio was hiding. Ignacio knew that Richard didn't.
He did it for Richard's own good.
When Richard disappeared to the front hall, Ignacio set the water cup in the sink and headed up the stairs. If he was going to shrug the questions off, if he was going to get any sleep at all that night, he needed to get started on that before Richard came up and made Ignacio just feel worse about all this. At that rate, he would need to get his sleep in in his old bed on his comet. How long had it been since that thing had truly been slept in?
Never mind that, he had his own bed to sleep in, and Ignacio wanted nothing more than to forget this ever happened and rest in it.
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When Richard heard Ignacio head up the stairs, he listened carefully while patting away the last of the smudging on the door. When his estimation of where Ignacio was--based on where he heard the footsteps going--had Ignacio a satisfactory distance away if he was hearing it right, he let himself sag a bit. He looked at the wet spot on the door then down at the washcloth that had helped him erase any trace that Ignacio had come through that door with anything other than a smile. Certainly not that disheveled let-me-sleep-for-eight-hundred-years look. It tugged at him, the sigh and the impatience Ignacio had had for going upstairs, going, well, away. Logically, he knew it, and the lying, weren't about him. Not in the fault way, anyway. Logically, he knew it didn't mean anything for Ignacio's feelings towards him. He rubbed a bit of dish soap through the wash cloth, running it under cold water until the suds stopped coming up from the fabric.
Logically, he could guess that whatever it was was very important to Ignacio, something worth lying to him over. He had kept repeating that mentally to himself to try and make it easier to swallow.
It wasn't working.
Frustrated, he rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.
Logically, he could guess that whatever it was was very important to Ignacio, something worth lying to him over. He had kept repeating that mentally to himself to try and make it easier to swallow.
It wasn't working.
Frustrated, he rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.
Amasis
