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The I told you so delivered before his morning tea was even poured earned his husband a scowl and wordless grumble. Said grumble eventually devolved into a sputtering cough, but Hazel waited until he could drag in a breath, and then resumed pouring hot water from the kettle before dunking a tea bag into the steaming contents of his favored mug.[break][break]

“If you’re trying to make me regret it, I don’t,” he continued to grumble, voice hoarse and croaky. Barely there. His fingers were chilled despite the fever, and so they readily wrapped around the heating ceramic as Hugo fretted and pressed the back of his hand to Hazel’s forehead, slipping up under damp bangs. He really did feel atrocious.[break][break]

And maybe also a little disoriented and foggy from the medication he’d already taken. The nighttime kind, because he'd discovered they were out of the daytime counterpart. “I don’t need to go to a doctor,” he insisted, fingers curling around Hugo’s for a moment to tug him away from their kitchen so that he could toddle to the living room.[break][break]

At some point he’d been smart enough to hand his cup to his husband to hold for the trek.[break][break]

He didn’t want anything to do with the hospital. Not for as long as he could avoid it. “It’s just a cold. I will tell you if it gets worse,” he gave the other an earnest look, the gray shade of his eyes dulled, “I promise.” As much as he put off going anywhere near a doctor, the fretting was something that Hazel found himself soft for. It was nice having someone who cared that much about his well being.[break][break]

Hazel settled on the large, plush couch–the cushions practically swallowing his narrow, bony frame up. Though he was wearing a sweater, he pulled a heavy quilt down over his lap, and then reached his hands out for his tea. “Hm? What can you do..?” he asked in echo, head tilting. “You know, there is an old Hoennian legend. All about the magical leaves of the budew and how when it was combined with other herbs, the drink saved many from plague-death.”[break][break]

His head flopped back against the back of the couch and he looked up at Hugo with a tired smile. “It is said now, years and years later, that drinking the same thing brings good favor and good health in the coming year. Wouldn’t that be nice?” A soft, wheezy laugh followed the dry remark. “More cough syrup from the pharmacy down the street will do though, dear.”

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Hazel sighed, leaning against Hugo for a moment as the other fiddled with his hair. He felt himself sag in the effort to hold himself up. “My love, you should long know by now I will not regret time spent, when it is spent with you.” It was only a little conniving. Mostly meant in earnest, but also to appeal to Hugo and soften his irritation.[break][break]

“Hugo,” he replied simply, breezily to that wheedling tone. He shot his partner a look, prepared to double down on what he’d said. It was just a cold. He’d be alright, truly. Except he couldn’t make that promise, could he? Already, he felt worse off than he normally might’ve, but he still wished to prolong or avoid a hospital visit if he could help it.[break][break]

He’d meant what he’d said, though— if he didn’t improve, he would relent and allow Hugo to take him in. He didn’t mean to cause his husband undue stress, and the last thing he wanted was to leave Hugo alone, but after a lifetime of extended stays, quarantines, and being poked and prodded, it was the last place on earth Hazel wished to be.[break][break]

So for now, right there on the couch in their home would suffice, and Hugo would have to accept that. The stubbornness eased just so, though, as he peered up at Hugo. Head nestled against the pillow he’d brought out, and tucked under his blanket, he felt childish. But comfortable, and comforted. “Mhm, if you would be so kind.”
His eyelids drooped, but there was a tired smile on his lips. It was just playfulness, his agreement.[break][break]

“Just the cough syrup. And maybe some ginger ale.” Hugo’s lips felt cool against the heat radiating from his forehead. A hand snuck out from under the covers and snagged the other’s wrist as Hazel held his palm against his face for a moment. “Thank you, darling.”

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All of this was a reminder of his persistent weakness. His inability to figure out how to make himself better, more capable. He knew that he worried Hugo, and he detested that about himself. It was an ugly feeling, and he’d always hated that weakness in himself. But somehow it had only amplified once Hugo had slipped into his life and made a home there. Because then it muddled with a newfound fear of leaving his husband alone. So he wanted to seem strong, and able-bodied, though acting as much was only ever to his detriment.[break][break]

“It is never too early for that,” he insisted, words a petulant half-mumble, “you’re a big softie and you know it.” A tired smile pulled at his mouth as he watched Hugo. Did his eyes look faded? Muted with illness? He wasn’t sure. A cough crawled up his throat before he could even attempt to perk himself up some for his partner’s sake.[break][break]

Hugo wouldn’t buy it, anyway. He always saw right through any little tricks Hazel tried to pull off. There was still an exasperated laugh that fell from his mouth, and for Hazel, that brought relief. He was maybe put out with Hazel’s stubbornness, but he wasn’t angry with him. And really, Hazel knew that Hugo was thinking about Lia as well. Even if he didn’t say as much.[break][break]

“Thank you. I love you, dearest.” He pressed a soft kiss against Hugo’s knuckles before relinquishing the hold on his wrist and settling back down against the plush couch cushions and the coolness of his pillow. ‘Course I will,” he grumbled, but even as the other moved toward the door, Hazel was drifting off before barely managing to turn on a documentary that was droll by even his standards.[break][break]

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, out like a light. At some point, Nico had come and hopped up with him, and his arms had slipped around the small espeon to hug him close. When his eyes blinked open, it seemed to be far, far later in the day. Groggy confusion dampened his expression. “Hugo?” His voice more hoarse than before.[break][break]

But he was fixated on the heavy quiet of their home. The stillness and lack of additional presence.

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The medicine he took still felt heavy in his system, making him dazed and sluggish as he released his hold on Nicodemus and struggled to sit up. His head swung one way, and then the other, as he looked around the room in search of his husband. “Hugo?” Another croak to the empty air. He looked down at the espeon with a frown, and Nico blinked back up at him with a swish of his tail. Unspokenly understanding the question being asked in Hazel’s expression. “No.”[break][break]

Succinct as ever.[break][break]

Maybe it hadn’t actually been too long. Maybe he was really just that out of it. Another cough volleyed up his throat. His hair stuck to his face, and he still felt too warm with fever. Carefully, he shoved the blanket off of him and tried to push himself up from the couch. His knees buckled, but he forced them to straighten. Then, wobbly and uncoordinated, he shuffled back to from the living room to the kitchen.[break][break]

Even just that made him feel short of breath, and he leaned on the counter heavily for a moment. He pulled down a glass from the cabinet, but it knocked to the side. All he wanted was a glass of water to clear his throat, but more sputtering coughs followed. Rattling through his chest and making it that much more difficult to drag in a consistent breath. His espeon wove through his ankles again and again, fretting. Where was Hugo? Had something happened? Usually it didn’t take long to visit the corner store just down the street. And Hazel hadn’t given him an exhaustive list of things to buy… so what had happened.[break][break]

He hardly had the time to slip into a panic over it, or consider finding his phone to try and call him. As his coughs wound down, he tried to right the glass on the countertop with a shaky hand. As his head spun with a sense of vertigo, he dimly registered something warm wicking down his chin. Fingers lifting to his face, they came away bright red and wet. “Ah.” A nose bleed. Of course. His hand lifted to his face fully, leaving smears, as he fumbled to find a rag or papertowel.

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Damn it, this was a bad one. Both hands had come up to cup over his nose without realizing it, but he was still disoriented from the medicine he’d taken so one dropped to hold him up against the counter again as he failed to find a rag. Leaving behind smears on the pale marble.[break][break]

Of course, it was at that exact moment that he heard the front door open, Hugo’s voice trickling through their home. Though he felt an immediate relief that he was okay, Hazel was suddenly filled with the desperate need to cover up, to make himself seem alright. Which was, well– a bit of an impossible task. A petulant sort of frustration welled up in him, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he was caught like that. Unable to fill up a glass of water for himself or find a towel to staunch his nose bleed. It felt bitter on his tongue, like the coppery tang of blood in the back of his throat.[break][break]

Hazel shook his head at the apology. It wasn’t Hugo’s fault. Of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t like he would’ve been able to stop a coughing fit or a nosebleed from happening. But of course, he was there, looking after him as soon as he’d walked back through the door. Something in Hazel’s chest eased. The panic that had wanted to rise up was quelled. Though the question didn’t make him feel much better. “Nothing,” he protested, the word curdling into a whine, “just coughed too much.”[break][break]

He looked at him through dazed eyes that narrowed in confusion. Voice muffled by the rag held up to his nose. “...What?” His budew cure..? Sluggishly, his mind drummed up the story he’d told hours before. “Oh. You- why?” It was a local myth. One that he, to his memory, had never been anything beyond superstition. The realization was followed by a wheezy laugh.[break][break]

He probably shouldn’t have, given Hugo’s obvious worry and his own internalized frustration, but he couldn’t help himself.

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A knot of frustration remained tangled in his chest. He felt that annoying precursor to wanting to give up and cry like a child. The burn behind his eyes that always crept up when all of this became too much. When it was all too heavy to hold. Hazel spent most of his time acting alright. He had be alright. He would never get anywhere or do anything if he wasn’t. “I’m fine.” The insisting protest was a weak, pitiful one. Half-hearted because they both knew that he was not fine.[break][break]

So, he let Hugo clean him up. Fell silent as he wiped away the mess and held the towel to Hazel’s nose until the bleeding slowed to a stop. He was too tired to fight against that care and concern. Today, He didn't want to. He sunk into it like a warm bath as Hugo explained his reasons. Until the knot in his chest began to ease.[break][break]

He pressed a hand to Hugo’s face, cradling it against his palm. “You’re my sweet, caring husband and I’m thankful for that. Even when you get wild ideas.” He leaned against him, still too tired to hold himself up long. Just for a moment before he moved to fill the kettle and set it on the stove. “Since you went to all the effort.”[break][break]

He could at least try. For Hugo’s sake if nothing else.