38across | (no subject)

[ It's pain on a level Cheol-gang's never experienced—like his core's been pierced by a massive beam of steel rebar, like someone's filled the affected kidney with loose razor blades. It's hard to draw in a full breath. It's hard to think, to talk, to move, even though pacing is the only thing that eases even a modicum of the pain. He's warm and cold at the same time, sweating and shivering, mouth still sour after the latest fit of vomiting no matter how many times he rinses it.

He doesn't understand how—or when—this happened, or why it's happening, though before the misery reached a level at which most of his thoughts were occupied by not screaming it did occur to him that he doesn't know anything about his own family medical history, as the doctor worded it.

Javert's been here since the start of it, since they showed up at the hospital and these incompetent ghouls started running all manner of tests and breaching his personal space and handling him like a doll as opposed to a grown man. It's comforting. Javert's not going to let them take advantage, and he's built in a way that's intimidating to most, which helps further. On that note.

Cheol-gang scoots toward the edge of the hospital bed, until the bedrail lightly presses into his side, then looks up at the man sitting tense in the synthetic leather chair a few feet away. ]

There's enough room for you here.

[ He can't make the pain stop or expedite the apparently critical surgery they're now waiting for, but there's something comforting to his presence, to feeling him there and knowing he's at least not alone in dealing with this new dimension of hell. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( Javert has hardly left his side since their arrival. He can hardly remember how long it's been — every minute feels like an hour, and every hour like an eternity. He's still dressed in the same clothes, in the same dark woolen overcoat buttoned all the way to the chin. He knows he must look a sight, after not having shaved for so long. The fact that Cheol-gang is not chiding him for it only makes Javert feel worse.

He cannot help but seem distressed when his beloved suggests he lay with him in bed. His body trembles from head to toe, looking at the other man with a mixture of shame and apprehension. )

I am fine.

( He's borne far worse than this. Just the sight of Cheol-gang pressing his aching body against the bedrail makes his heart clench in his chest. Javert's comfort does not matter. )

You should try to sleep.

[ Sleep. It's laughable, enough for Cheol-gang to come close to questioning his grasp on the situation at hand, but... he knows Javert is trying. That he's saying that simply because he's worried.

So he doesn't lash out, just draws in a stiff, shuddering breath, tries his best to sharpen his focus to a point and compose a semi-logical sentence in reply. ]

I can't do that.

[ Clearly Javert isn't getting it, that this isn't about whether or not he's tired so much as his own pathetic desire to be comforted, reassured like some frightened animal, because he knows his partner would already be beside him if he did register what was being asked of him.

He opens his mouth to repeat the request only to end up falling silent and tensing his grip on the bedsheets for several long seconds instead. He's not sure exactly how long it's been before he tries again. ]

Lie down with me.

( Javert shudders at the request, looking over at the other man as if he cannot believe what he is asking. Cheol-gang has never desired his comfort, not even when he has been feeling unwell and unlike himself. Javert sits frozen for a moment, uncertain of what to do until his body begins to move for him. Unbuttoning his coat and folding it in his arms, setting it atop bed as a pillow, while the rest of his body follows gently.

He's careful not to jostle the bed too much, knowing his weight and his size, and how tender Cheol-gang's body must be feeling after such an arduous day. )

Can you lay on your side? Or would that be too painful?

( His fingers brush against Cheol-gang's brow, wiping away the sweat that's begun to bead along his forehead, his touch gentle and considerate. )

[ It's less lying down on his side that presents a challenge than it is staying there: staying in any position for more than a few minutes at a time is difficult. Lying differently will make it hurt less, his body keeps silently promising, but it's never true: so he tosses and turns and changes position over and over again, searching desperately for some magic configuration that will lessen the agony.

It's too complex of a sentiment to try to express right now. He leans into the touch instead, savoring the light, cool brush of his partner's fingers against his forehead. The fact that they feel cool, he realizes dimly, probably means that he's still running a fever. If Western medicine's so great, it should be able to get the infection under control more easily than this. ]

My left is okay.

[ He can't imagine what it would feel like to rest all of his body weight on the blocked kidney: probably excruciating enough to make him lose consciousness. Maybe it'd just rupture and kill him. He's not sure.

With a quiet grunt of effort he pushes himself up from the mattress and turns onto his unaffected side, back to Javert for the moment. If he's asking this because he wants to hold him in the way Cheol-gang's done for him a few times, he's... not opposed to it. Even the new warmth of a familiar body lying so close to his own is comforting in this moment, though it isn't enough to wrench his grip off of the sheets balled up and clamped in his sweating palms or to steady his erratic breaths. ]

( He can feel how hot his forehead is, his skin practically searing as he wipes the pads of his fingers across his beloved's brow. It makes his heart seize in his chest with worry. How much longer can his body continue to fight? Why it is taking the doctors so long to do anything?

Javert hates feeling useless. He can hardly imagine an emotion worse than this. When Cheol-gang turns on his side, Javert shifts gently toward him, desiring to comfort him even if he's not sure how to do it. He cannot rub the pain away as Cheol-gang has done for him. Javert doesn't dare to even move, afraid that he may hurt his partner unintentionally. )

Tell me where I might touch you.

( He murmurs, pressing his chest a little more closely to Cheol-gang's back. )

Anywhere that isn't my back. Or belly.

[ Because the pain's radiating, was the word that the doctor used. Radiating convincingly enough for him to have initially assumed this was just another instance of consuming milk without intending to, at least for a minute or two, before the real pain set in. Then it became clear that this wasn't another bout of his apparent lactose intolerance. Then he realized he needed to visit the nearest emergency room.

It's a conscious effort to minimize the writhing and twisting—he doesn't want to make staying here uncomfortable enough for Javert that he wants to leave, because if he leaves he's pretty sure that will pull the pin on whatever's been brewing in his mind since this all started however many hours ago—but his spine and shoulders still tighten against Javert's chest, he still brings one knee up to his core for a few seconds before deciding that makes the pain worse, not better, he still partly kicks the blankets off in an effort to balance the simultaneous hot and cold surging through him.

Cheol-gang reaches behind himself with another muted grunt, groping blindly until his hand finds Javert's and guides it back to lay against the pillow he's been hugging to his chest, draping his partner's heavy arm over the side of his ribcage. It's something he'd never allow, under regular circumstances: claustrophobic. But in this instance the feeling of smallness and entrapment is soothing, grounding. He's here. Someone who won't turn on him and won't side with these vampires is here.

Another hard spasm as the colic resumes. Cheol-gang's breath catches in his throat and his grip on Javert's hand tightens until his own aches with the strain of such a vice grasp. ]

Tell me something. Distract me.