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Hugo wasn't prone to anxiety.
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He liked to think himself adequately resilient to such reactive emotions. If anything, he was probably too composed and unaffected on the daily. However, the past few weeks felt exhausting, filled to the brim with anxious feelings that he didn't really know how to handle. Who would have thought? That he'd wind up falling in love and expose himself to all the bitterest of vulnerable emotions. He had given himself a glaring weakness and he didn't regret it for a single second.
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Still, he couldn't help but think for a moment of mock-irony, that he had always talked himself above the concept of love. A non-romantic such as him? Psh as if. Yet, here he was, feeling every nerve grinding every time he heard so much as a cough from his husband. Maybe he was being overbearing, he tried his best. Hazel might have preferred if he'd simply gone to work, rather than fretted over the phone with idiotic delivery men and assistants. One did not control an illegal smuggling ring without involvement, especially not a control freak like him. Granted, he had a greater degree of nonchalance for working than his husband did. He knew that Hazel was desperate to return to full-time work.
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The world would keep turning, regardless of their involvement. Maybe that was the terrifying concept that neither of them were willing to accept. Yet, it mattered to him. All of this, the little life they'd crafted together, it was important. Far more than for their work.
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"What kind of tea are we feeling today?" He wouldn't want to presume, after all some days were chamomile and others were black or maybe even green.

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It wasn’t that he felt smothered, necessarily. If there was anyone he cared to have doting on and fretting over him, it was Hugo. After a lifetime of being accustomed to a lack of constant presence, Hazel had taken to his husband’s need to tend to him and be near quite easily—though maybe it felt a bit foreign and strange at first. It was more that Hazel didn’t want to be ill in the first place.[break][break]

His body protested his insistence that he was alright. It worked contrary to his desire to be whole and functional. He was always at a constant odds with only himself and his physical body. There was nothing so frustrating as a sharp mind in such an inept host. But rather than accept it, he’d developed the ugly habit of ignoring his limitations. So to have someone guiding and keeping him within the parameters of his physical capabilities was, well, frustrating.[break][break]

What Hazel wanted was to go back to work full time. He wanted Hugo to be able to do the same—he felt responsible for his partner’s desire to stay home. If he’d not had that nose bleed, that dizzy spell months ago, perhaps he wouldn’t be holding Hugo back. Maybe he could be resuming his own studies. Maybe he could be helping with the books for those smuggling shipments. There was plenty he could be doing right now and wasn’t.[break][break]

He felt restless.[break][break]

His mind always worked, never rested. But now even his thoughts felt muted—wrapped in a fuzzy, gossamer fog. It ached now, throbbing dully against his temples as he came to sidle up alongside Hugo to lean against his shoulder. “Peppermint, please,” he answered with a sigh as his fingers prodded at his own forehead. “That’s good for headaches, right?”[break][break]

He pushed away the thought normally, he would automatically know that.[break][break]

“I was thinking maybe I’d go to my office today,” he tossed the suggestion out tentatively. Feeling out how Hugo might react.

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Hugo was trying so hard to be both supporting and protective, but it wasn't easy. It felt like a balancing act and he was prone to leaning towards one side or the other. When Hazel's health was in question, well sometimes he could throw support aside and be a bit over-protective. Admittedly, he was a little exhausted by the effort of remaining balanced. He wanted to be good for Hazel, especially after knowing what little real support the other had received throughout his life.
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He wanted to be different, but sometimes he worried that he was a failure. That he was nothing but a source of frustration for the other man. So, despite his want to remain balanced, he couldn't help himself but react at that. "Again?" He paused before sharply nodding, "Peppermint it is then."
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It wasn't like he nagged Hazel or went out of his way to be annoying like that. Sometimes, it just sort of happened. It wasn't a great source of friction, but it could spark a fair share of arguments. Hugo couldn't help but think about his sister and imagining how she didn't make it in the end. The strange empty flightless sort of feeling that followed, imagining Hazel in her place. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It hurt too much. He forced himself back into the present, back into the world where that wouldn't happen. It wouldn't.
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Hugo paused at that little offered suggestion. His husband was practically beating at the walls, ready to be let loose so that he can be productive again. It was sentiment that Hugo understood, but it felt too early. "Are you sure?" Another brief pause, "I mean... if you think you are ready, alright. I don't know though." Supportive Hugo, the good husband. He sighed, not knowing what he felt anymore.

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As much as Hazel would like to claim he was adept at taking care of himself…he would be lying. After decades of medical care, he’d adapted bad habits in the years he’d spent on his own. Pushing too far, ignoring warning signs until they were impossible to look away from. It was always only then that he reluctantly nursed himself back into a functional state, and he only went to the doctor if it truly couldn’t be avoided.[break][break]

So it was for the better that Hugo was there to keep him in line, even if there were many embarrassing instances where doing so turned Hazel childish and petulant, like a kid refusing to take cough syrup. He always felt guilty afterward for the arguments he caused by being a problem. By always being burdensome to the other. There were dark thoughts he didn’t often voice—resentments for himself than for the attention Hugo pressed upon him in bouts of overprotectiveness.[break][break]

Wouldn’t you be happier without me to worry about? Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I wasn’t around to hold you back?[break][break]

Hazel was too selfish—another thing he detested in himself. It ached too much to consider letting Hugo go. Not that he’d ever asked for such a thing, but Hazel knew he struggled. He wasn’t oblivious. He knew this reminded his partner of Leá.[break][break]

“Yes, again,” he admitted quietly, too worn out to really insist he was fine. And he was quick to amend when he detected reluctance in Hugo’s tone. “Not to stay, and you can take me there. I’d just like some of the books I keep there. Thank you.” He leaned against him again, too warm forehead pressing against the side of Hugo’s face briefly before Hazel took the tea cup.[break][break]

“I would just like to get some fresh air, and pick them out myself. That’s all.” Mug cradled in both hands, he turned to go sit. In the kitchen nook, where the bay windows let in warm afternoon light. It sounded nice, and though he could probably find somewhere else more comfortable to curl up, Hazel found himself unwilling to drift far from Hugo’s side. Maybe if this cleared up some of the fog in his head, they could play a pointless game of cards, or chip away at a puzzle.[break][break]

He was just turning to make the suggestion when it felt like his head practically short-circuited. His brain blanked out, and his vision swam as vertigo seized him. “H—“ Abrupt as the sudden onset was, he wasn’t able to finish his sentence. Vision tunneling and spitting, he was only aware of the sudden, prickling lick of heat that crawled up the back of his neck and the turn of nausea that meant he was inevitably about to pass out.[break][break]

Hot tea splashed over his hands, but he didn’t register it. Nor did the sound of ceramic hitting the kitchen tiles. He tried to turn to look at his husband, to make his mouth work. Oh. Something isn’t right. It was probably pitiful to see—the inability to catch himself as he went slack. A short-lived burst of pain as the side of his head connected with the table edge before everything cut to jarring dark.

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Hugo tried his best not to nag his husband, it was unhelpful and could easily lead to contempt. The last thing he wanted was Hazel refusing to tell him what was going on out of fear that he'd get reprimanded. Hugo couldn't always help himself though, maybe that was just the latent traces of trauma from losing Leá.
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Granted though, his baby sister had been far softer and sweeter than Hazel. She hadn't seemed to fight at all, there was sort of a cheerful acceptance of it like she was afraid to upset others. Meanwhile, Hazel held onto his vulnerability like a dragon hoarding treasure. Hugo tried to imagine how he'd be and the truth was that he'd be a hundred times worse so he probably had no right to be upset with any of that.
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For a moment, he rested against Hazel, letting his hands slip around his waist before they split apart. At least Hazel seemed to be doing better. That was at least a relief. The doctor said they didn't believe it was cause for worry so Hugo wouldn't worry. Or at least, he would try not to for Hazel's sake.
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Hugo turned away to spoon the mug of hot water until the color spilled out of the bag like watercolor. The thought dawned on him that Hazel had been cooped up too much and that couldn't be good for him either. "You know, we could probably afford to do something fun, for once.. I—" His attention split away, almost like a sixth sense that something was terribly wrong. He spun around at the crashing sound of ceramic on tile.
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"Hazel?" The realization wasn't immediate. He felt petrified as his eyes zeroed in on the motionless form of his husband laying on the ground. Then, time snapped back with the fierceness of a rubber band. "Hazel!" He crashed down to the ground beside him, hands immediately moving to cup his head. The knot on the back was noticeable, but not as terrifying as the blood that spilled out of the cut on his head. "Shit, shit..." Focus. The voice cracked in his head. He was supposed to be the one in control, always. There was no time to slack on that, especially not then. No time to be emotional or stupid.
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"Phone," He shouted. Mr. White was watching with that sort placid expression that Hugo usually regarded with dark humor. Right then, if he could kill the clown, he almost might have. The phone was chucked towards him with haphazard telekinesis. His fingers slipped across the smooth surface, smearing it with blood.
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Before he could speak again, a towel was tossed over shortly after as he pressed it to the side of Hazel's head as the operator answered. "I need an ambulance, please." His voice shook, this was not the time. He hunkered over Hazel, keeping the line on as he fed the address. "I'm so sorry, please be okay. I don't know what to do. Don't do this to me."