Hanna had some sympathy, his spoon still pointed at him, but, soon enough he set it down. He paused a moment, considering before he nodded for Maurice to sit down, "At least get off your feet okay? I Can get you a blanket for out here and maybe we can watch something while you eat, huh?" He dipped his spoon in his wizardy brew and took a sip, pleasantly surprised, and checked the recipe he had written down one last time before confirming that it was done. Mrs. Hutch really was a gem if she could help him make something that tasted good without supervision.
He grabbed two bowls, figuring that if he put the effort in, he wanted to sample more too, and filled them. "You want anything to drink?"
He sat down after some awkward fumbling because in his stupor he couldn't remember how to scoot a chair and just sort of nosily dragged it out away from the table. Maurice was by no means a creature of grace but he was at least usually more coordinated than this.
"I'd like that. And um." He eyed the fridge. "Coffee...or. No. Just hot water. Tea. That's hot water." He struggled to think and propped his head on his hand. Ugh, he felt like an old VCR. He tugged the bowl toward him once it had been filled and stared at the spoon he'd been supplied with.
Oh, god, he wasn't sure he could use that properly without flinging soup everywhere. Instead, Maurice just carefully picked up the bowl and sipped from it, enjoying the warmth against his hands. He continued to rasp, but it was a relieved rasp. He was amazed that while he was so feverish, something warm inside really helped.
"Hanna, this is so good." He put the bowl down and breathed in its scent, finally getting a proper whiff. "It's like Mom makes. I didn't know you made soup!"
Hanna almost laughed, Maurice trying to form sentences was cute, even if it was kind of hurting his heart that he was so discombobulated. "Don't hurt yourself, I'll get you some tea." And, wandering to find the previous mug he had used back in the bedroom, he brought it back out and heated up some water in the microwave.
He would be lying if he said he wasn't eagerly watching Maurice take his first few sips of soup. And, at he praise, he beamed. "W-well...It kind of is her recipe. She gave it to me over the phone. I figured it'd help a little. A taste of home." The microwave beeps, and Hanna digs a box of tea out of the grocery bag that was sitting on the counter, Echinachea and lemon that claimed it did wonders for sore throats and sickness on the side of the box. It smelled like heaven, so Hanna had to at least give it points for that if it didn't work. "I think it's supposed to steep like, five minutes, so wait on it a bit." He'll warn him before pulling up the chair next to him, looking at him curiously.
He didn't look much better than he had before, but if he got him to fall asleep on the couch while watching something, then perhaps they'd see more progress. "How do you feel?"
"It is?" He processed this slowly as Hanna went bustling around to make him some tea. By the time the redhead sat back down, Maurice had tears in his eyes. Or maybe they were just leaking because he was sick. He fought his way through a hideous cough so that he could speak again. "You went through all--all the trouble to get my mom's recipe and then made it just so I would feel better!"
No, those were real tears. He dragged a hand under his nose and made another disgusting sound.
"Wait, are you crying?" Of all the things, Hanna hadn't expected that. A thank you yes, a big hug maybe, but not tears. Though perhaps he should have, he's seen the vampire cry over sillier things when he was happy. "It wasn't any trouble to call your mom, she's like, the perfect lady, okay?" Maurice's dad was a lucky man, serious.
"You're going to dehydrate yourself, crying like that," he teases, not caring much that he was making gross noises as he cried, but leaning towards him regardless and wrapping his arms around him in a hug, "Love you too, Maury."
Now he just needed to eat his soup so they could cuddle on the couch till Maurice fell asleep again. Then he'd feel like an accomplished caregiver.
"No!" said Maurice who was still crying. He leaned into the hug and managed to avoid making Hanna's ribs creak. It was unclear whether he was just getting better at controlling his strength or if the cold was kicking his ass that hard.
"Okay." Once he calmed down, he ate his soup in silence, savoring the flavor and letting the heat do its job in opening up his nose and throat. Finally he pushed his empty bowl forward and coughed a few times. "Thanks, Hanna. That was perfect."
He's thankful for that, but it's a little unclear to him either which one it is. He's hoping it was the first rather than the second.
Eating his own helping, Hanna was pleasantly surprised in his own work, knowing that the instructions he was following was by the best lady in the world, but figuring he might fuck it up some how regardless. "There's more if you want some," He offers when Maurice is done, and he even gets up to get him more in case he wants it, "Or I can get you some more medicine...has it been eight hours? Probably not.." He glances at the clock, trying to remember when he had given him the NyQuil. Definitely not eight hours.
"We should save it for later tonight...today? Todaynight. Whenever dinner is. This is brekfust." He blinked wearily at the blanketed windows and then tried to find the microwave in search of the clock. No good. The screen was just a glowy green blob for him. "You know, I think I might wait a little while before takin' another dose."
He stood, too exhausted to collect his bowl and put it in the sink. Instead he left that to Hanna and trundled his way over to the sofa where he sank down onto it. Maurice leaned heavily against the arm, thankful to have something that could prop him up and was soft at the same time.
"I can't even remember the last time I was sick. This is so stupid. I should be takin' care of you."
"Whenever you feel up to eating again," He offered, picking up their dishes and setting them in the sink. He considers the soup, the burner off, but he'd have to wait for it to cool more before putting it in the fridge. That'd take a while.
Turning back around from his pondering, he's glad Maurice has made his way to the couch, picking up his tea cup and bringing it with, setting it to the side in case he wanted it. "You always take care of me. And I can't all that often since you don't need someone to come save you from a fight." He has a scar on his nose now, hidden by his new pair of glasses, but if it weren't for Maurice he could easily say it could have been much worse than a slightly crooked nose and a small mark.
"Unless it's spiders and sickness, I guess. So if that's where I come in to be the big hero, I'm totally fine with it." He'll sit right next to Maurice and shift, leaning against him as he leaned against the arm of the sofa, "Time to let me be the big, strong guy in shining armor, huh?"
When Hanna sat down, Maurice lifted a heavy arm to put it around him. "You c'n save me from all the spiders. Every spider." He drew in a deep, raspy breath, Hanna's soup was doing some good since he didn't sound like he was talking through bubblegum. "Fuck spiders. Why are there even spiders? Don't answer that. It probably has soomethum...something to do with th' circle of life."
He shifted and turned so that he could bring his other hand around and pat Hanna on the face with the flat of his palm.
"I beat the circle of life. I'm dead. Deeeeeeead." He leaned his neck down and found to his dismay that Hanna's face was too far way to kiss. "Help me."
He had seemed fine earlier, but it seems the less groggy Maurice got, the more loopy he got. He is suddenly very thankful to himself for having bought the pill form of NyQuil on his grocery trip, and would be dispensing them personally rather than handing them over. It was a weird thought, having to do so, but he supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised. This is Maurice, he's told him of when he'd done worse, has seen him at worse, so he supposes it was just good that he had done it when he actually needed the medication.
"You're undead, there is a difference. I don't kiss strictly dead people, and you're not a corpse." He said as calmly as he could back without grinning like a moron, "Should I kiss you? I mean, you're sick. I don't want to get your cooties." He's just being an ass, "Do you reaaaaaally want one?"
"I dooo!" He shoved his elbow against the sofa arm and leaned up and stretched his short neck down as far as he could, making kissy lips. He wanted to smooch Hanna on his airplane runway of a forehead. "Please, please!"
Hanna snorts, unable to keep it in with how ridiculous Maurice is being, and pushes himself up, leaning the extra few inches needed to kiss those ridiculous lips. "You are a huge dork, and you should be ashamed."
"Neverrrr." He gave Hanna several kisses, each with a loud, exaggerated "MWAH" sound. Then he laughed at himself and started coughing again. He was such a mess. But he was a happy, lucky mess. "Dammet. Hannett. Ah love you," he sang badly. "You're nice 'n cool. Is this what it's like? Hugging me on a hot day?"
Hanna didn't feel especially cold, but Maurice felt especially warm, warmer than he had before, which is a little worrying, but oddly normal in their usual weird way. He felt alive rather than cool, and even if he didn't mind, it was nice to just feel that against his skin. Still, he laughs when Maurice sings to him, leaning more heavily against him and kissing his nose, "Are you serenading me with Rocky Horror?"
Maurice pulled away from the smooches to blink dopeily at Hanna, one eye at a time. Then, something like fear rippled across his face and sobered him instantly. He quickly tried to regain his groggy lost expression.
Hanna raised an eyebrow, not sure what to think of his sudden expression. "You know, sweet transvestite? Time warp?" He knows this is the south...but didn't they have monthly Rocky theater down here too?
"I've gone a few times when I was able. I don't know too many of the audience lines, but come on. You were totally just spoofing dammit Janet!"
Maurice really hoped he was already purple from his fever because oh god OH GOD NO he shouldn't have said that! Hanna was going to find out hew as the biggest nerd ever.
Shocking.
"Um. Well--" He took this opportunity to start coughing again, differently than he had when he was actually trying to fight for air. He was a good actor, but this was Hanna and he was one audience he just...couldn't lie to. So he opted for not answering at all because that wasn't telling or anything!
Maurice, you could never be as big a nerd as Hanna, it's impossible. You're still a cool kid, he promises.
When he completely avoids answering the question though, Hanna isn't sure what to say. He's coughing sure, but that doesn't sound right, or even real. "What's wrong with you...You're acting really funny, I mean, funnier than you were before."
The dead man made an unhappy, reluctant sound and broke eye-contact. It felt like a shame since he'd gotten so good at it too. Plus it didn't hurt that Hanna's eyes were pretty and he didn't have a troublesome reflection in his glasses getting in the way.
"Um. I...guess." He fought back a real cough, now afraid that Hanna might be upset with him and he didn't want to sound any more avoidant than he already was. Now his color was changing even through his fever and now that he was actually hot he felt it. "I guess. I like it. Some."
He pushed the hair out of his face and fumbled with his shirt collar, his claws tearing little holes in it.
"The. Songs are. Catchy. And. Funny." WHY WAS THIS SO HARD. He had performed a goofy mechanic-themed strip tease for this man and somehow telling him that he liked musicals was more embarrassing? Okay, brain. "I just. I'm not used to..."
He was fidgeting, nervous. Hanna wasn't sure what to think of his behavior, why he was suddenly so dodgy, but...god. What was he even talking about? "You like what?" Even when he continued, Hanna wasn't entirely sure.
Were they still talking about Rocky? "You're not used to what?"
He shifted on the spot and sat up straight. This was so stupid. It was SUCH a stupid thing to not want to talk about. He guessed old ingrained fears died hard.
"Um. Okay. It's dumb. It's REAL dumb please don't think that I think you or anybody else is--" He made a face and held pu his clawed hands as if he were about to reveal some reality-shattering secret. "I'm really, really-- I don't usually. Fuck." He covered his face and spoke through his hands. "Hanna, I love the shit out of musicals and I don't tell anyone because I'm afraid they'll make fun of me. Because I used to be that guy."
Hanna blinks at Maurice, waiting for something hard to take, something difficult, but, when he opens his mouth? He blinks again, really stare, and it's confusing. "Wait, what?"
That was it? Usually he would be comforting, tell him it's okay, but Hanna is just staring at his sick boyfriend wondering what on earth he can say to make him feel better. "Maurice...You do realize that I got beat up for thinking that the Fae were real, right? Back in school? But that didn't stop me from still thinking they existed, and telling people they did." His point wasn't to make him feel bad, wasn't to remind him that he used to be 'that guy', just...
"Just because someone can make fun of you for it doesn't mean you should be afraid to even talk about it. What's stopping you? I mean, you're big enough to tell them they're stupid and to stop laughing, they probably would. So why are you afraid at all? You like it, so what? What power would anyone hold over you if they found out? None. None at all."
"Yyyyyeah, but I guess when I mean to say I made fun of people...I also kinda. Beat the shit out of 'em. I used to not be a great person. Like. Even remotely. But. It's not because I thought it was stupid."
He rubbed the back of his neck. Oof, this was going to be tough if Hanna was going to get the full story. Especially after he just finished talking up his momma.
"It's got a lot to do with like--I used to be in theater. When I was little." His face manages to lose a little color despite his illness. It wasn't a happy memory and as he spoke, he looked more and more ashamed.
"Maybe...middle school? Ish? Sam had just gotten into highschool. Anyway, when she came home pregnant with Carol, Mom flipped her shit and decided nobody else could mess up our family. So I got yanked outta drama real fast. She didn't want there to be a chance that I was a sissy or gay or whatever. So I guess it became a...defense mechanism? For a really long time. She's not like that anymore though! You saw--and she loves me! Us! She loves us!"
"Oh." That was kind of funny, in a messed up way. The person he just talked about, beating him up? That could have been Maurice. It makes him think of the cliche story lines in shows, how characters beat the shit out of the ones they like because they're afraid to admit they like them. Bullying was...complicated, he always knew that, but it was weird to hear it from an ex-bully, who he just so happened to be dating.
As he continued, Hanna's lips pursed, not really sure of what to say, but nodding, "I...I don't doubt she does. She gets so happy when she see's you happy, and I can respect that...I'm sorry I kind of, made you have to dish the whole thing." Maurice is sick, he shouldn't have to stress out even more. "And you know, I didn't go beating people up, but I was kind of mean to people when- yanno. I lost my parents." He's quiet, but in situations like these, he knows sharing always helps, even if his stomach is doing really weird things. "That's kind of why I...I'm used to being alone. I was a huge asshole and all my friends just gave up and left. I obviously got better, like. I'm not like that any more, but I can kind of get where you're coming from. Acting out because you're afraid."
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theattic2014-11-09 07:55 pm
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He grabbed two bowls, figuring that if he put the effort in, he wanted to sample more too, and filled them. "You want anything to drink?"
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"I'd like that. And um." He eyed the fridge. "Coffee...or. No. Just hot water. Tea. That's hot water." He struggled to think and propped his head on his hand. Ugh, he felt like an old VCR. He tugged the bowl toward him once it had been filled and stared at the spoon he'd been supplied with.
Oh, god, he wasn't sure he could use that properly without flinging soup everywhere. Instead, Maurice just carefully picked up the bowl and sipped from it, enjoying the warmth against his hands. He continued to rasp, but it was a relieved rasp. He was amazed that while he was so feverish, something warm inside really helped.
"Hanna, this is so good." He put the bowl down and breathed in its scent, finally getting a proper whiff. "It's like Mom makes. I didn't know you made soup!"
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He would be lying if he said he wasn't eagerly watching Maurice take his first few sips of soup. And, at he praise, he beamed. "W-well...It kind of is her recipe. She gave it to me over the phone. I figured it'd help a little. A taste of home." The microwave beeps, and Hanna digs a box of tea out of the grocery bag that was sitting on the counter, Echinachea and lemon that claimed it did wonders for sore throats and sickness on the side of the box. It smelled like heaven, so Hanna had to at least give it points for that if it didn't work. "I think it's supposed to steep like, five minutes, so wait on it a bit." He'll warn him before pulling up the chair next to him, looking at him curiously.
He didn't look much better than he had before, but if he got him to fall asleep on the couch while watching something, then perhaps they'd see more progress. "How do you feel?"
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No, those were real tears. He dragged a hand under his nose and made another disgusting sound.
"Ah luhv you so much, Hanna."
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"You're going to dehydrate yourself, crying like that," he teases, not caring much that he was making gross noises as he cried, but leaning towards him regardless and wrapping his arms around him in a hug, "Love you too, Maury."
Now he just needed to eat his soup so they could cuddle on the couch till Maurice fell asleep again. Then he'd feel like an accomplished caregiver.
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"Okay." Once he calmed down, he ate his soup in silence, savoring the flavor and letting the heat do its job in opening up his nose and throat. Finally he pushed his empty bowl forward and coughed a few times. "Thanks, Hanna. That was perfect."
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Eating his own helping, Hanna was pleasantly surprised in his own work, knowing that the instructions he was following was by the best lady in the world, but figuring he might fuck it up some how regardless. "There's more if you want some," He offers when Maurice is done, and he even gets up to get him more in case he wants it, "Or I can get you some more medicine...has it been eight hours? Probably not.." He glances at the clock, trying to remember when he had given him the NyQuil. Definitely not eight hours.
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He stood, too exhausted to collect his bowl and put it in the sink. Instead he left that to Hanna and trundled his way over to the sofa where he sank down onto it. Maurice leaned heavily against the arm, thankful to have something that could prop him up and was soft at the same time.
"I can't even remember the last time I was sick. This is so stupid. I should be takin' care of you."
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Turning back around from his pondering, he's glad Maurice has made his way to the couch, picking up his tea cup and bringing it with, setting it to the side in case he wanted it. "You always take care of me. And I can't all that often since you don't need someone to come save you from a fight." He has a scar on his nose now, hidden by his new pair of glasses, but if it weren't for Maurice he could easily say it could have been much worse than a slightly crooked nose and a small mark.
"Unless it's spiders and sickness, I guess. So if that's where I come in to be the big hero, I'm totally fine with it." He'll sit right next to Maurice and shift, leaning against him as he leaned against the arm of the sofa, "Time to let me be the big, strong guy in shining armor, huh?"
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He shifted and turned so that he could bring his other hand around and pat Hanna on the face with the flat of his palm.
"I beat the circle of life. I'm dead. Deeeeeeead." He leaned his neck down and found to his dismay that Hanna's face was too far way to kiss. "Help me."
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"You're undead, there is a difference. I don't kiss strictly dead people, and you're not a corpse." He said as calmly as he could back without grinning like a moron, "Should I kiss you? I mean, you're sick. I don't want to get your cooties." He's just being an ass, "Do you reaaaaaally want one?"
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"What's a Rocky Horror?"
OH GOD.
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"I've gone a few times when I was able. I don't know too many of the audience lines, but come on. You were totally just spoofing dammit Janet!"
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Shocking.
"Um. Well--" He took this opportunity to start coughing again, differently than he had when he was actually trying to fight for air. He was a good actor, but this was Hanna and he was one audience he just...couldn't lie to. So he opted for not answering at all because that wasn't telling or anything!
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When he completely avoids answering the question though, Hanna isn't sure what to say. He's coughing sure, but that doesn't sound right, or even real. "What's wrong with you...You're acting really funny, I mean, funnier than you were before."
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"Um. I...guess." He fought back a real cough, now afraid that Hanna might be upset with him and he didn't want to sound any more avoidant than he already was. Now his color was changing even through his fever and now that he was actually hot he felt it. "I guess. I like it. Some."
He pushed the hair out of his face and fumbled with his shirt collar, his claws tearing little holes in it.
"The. Songs are. Catchy. And. Funny." WHY WAS THIS SO HARD. He had performed a goofy mechanic-themed strip tease for this man and somehow telling him that he liked musicals was more embarrassing? Okay, brain. "I just. I'm not used to..."
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Were they still talking about Rocky? "You're not used to what?"
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"Um. Okay. It's dumb. It's REAL dumb please don't think that I think you or anybody else is--" He made a face and held pu his clawed hands as if he were about to reveal some reality-shattering secret. "I'm really, really-- I don't usually. Fuck." He covered his face and spoke through his hands. "Hanna, I love the shit out of musicals and I don't tell anyone because I'm afraid they'll make fun of me. Because I used to be that guy."
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That was it? Usually he would be comforting, tell him it's okay, but Hanna is just staring at his sick boyfriend wondering what on earth he can say to make him feel better. "Maurice...You do realize that I got beat up for thinking that the Fae were real, right? Back in school? But that didn't stop me from still thinking they existed, and telling people they did." His point wasn't to make him feel bad, wasn't to remind him that he used to be 'that guy', just...
"Just because someone can make fun of you for it doesn't mean you should be afraid to even talk about it. What's stopping you? I mean, you're big enough to tell them they're stupid and to stop laughing, they probably would. So why are you afraid at all? You like it, so what? What power would anyone hold over you if they found out? None. None at all."
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He rubbed the back of his neck. Oof, this was going to be tough if Hanna was going to get the full story. Especially after he just finished talking up his momma.
"It's got a lot to do with like--I used to be in theater. When I was little." His face manages to lose a little color despite his illness. It wasn't a happy memory and as he spoke, he looked more and more ashamed.
"Maybe...middle school? Ish? Sam had just gotten into highschool. Anyway, when she came home pregnant with Carol, Mom flipped her shit and decided nobody else could mess up our family. So I got yanked outta drama real fast. She didn't want there to be a chance that I was a sissy or gay or whatever. So I guess it became a...defense mechanism? For a really long time. She's not like that anymore though! You saw--and she loves me! Us! She loves us!"
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As he continued, Hanna's lips pursed, not really sure of what to say, but nodding, "I...I don't doubt she does. She gets so happy when she see's you happy, and I can respect that...I'm sorry I kind of, made you have to dish the whole thing." Maurice is sick, he shouldn't have to stress out even more. "And you know, I didn't go beating people up, but I was kind of mean to people when- yanno. I lost my parents." He's quiet, but in situations like these, he knows sharing always helps, even if his stomach is doing really weird things. "That's kind of why I...I'm used to being alone. I was a huge asshole and all my friends just gave up and left. I obviously got better, like. I'm not like that any more, but I can kind of get where you're coming from. Acting out because you're afraid."
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