I’ve had to fight with him to get him to the doctors. He didn’t want to. I don’t blame him, I don’t think human doctors have ever really treated a demon and if they have, they’ve either kept their mouth shut, or they were wrong about who they were treating. I can only imagine the kind of reaction they’d have to seeing how quickly we tend to heal.
So I did have to fight with him and the only reason he finally agreed to go was because I told him he was one of us, the doctor that was. That was a lie, I feel terrible about it but at least I had an expert to tell me something, anything about his current condition. The answer was not what I expected but at least I can say I saw someone about the whole thing and I didn’t just sit back and wait for him to heal, which is what we’re having to do now anyway. Still.
Those beautiful golden eyes, I just want them to turn my way again and look at me, see me. Some asshole set fireworks alight right next to him. In the goddamned store! What kind of moron does this, really? The whole store went up and there I was, outside just waiting for him to buy what he was wanting to buy without me seeing it, a surprise he said. It sure as hell didn’t turn out to be a good surprise.
The doctor took a look at his eyes, I explained to him what happened and he said that all we could do was wait. Come back after I can’t recall how many days to see the kind of progress that was being made in the healing department but I don’t think Quentin’ll let me do that. Even if I did tell him, as a lie but just to get him to see someone, that the guy was a demon too.
Hell, I know his hearing on his left side is nearly gone too and I just hope that’s as temporary as the rest. Some would take advantage of that kind of thing but I don’t want to. I want him to be able to hear me step up to him, I want him to know I’m getting closer. If I were any bolder I’d say I want him to be able to hear me just fine when I whisper in his ear to tell him how much he means to me. I’m just not that bold or crazy yet.
He’d been working around with a crew up on the second and third floor, fixing up… something. I don’t know what. He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. It’s his building and he’s free to do what he wants with it. I’m just the friend living there with him, making his life and mine bearable or something like that. Today, when he woke up, he said it was all done but before he wanted to show me, he had to get something from that little corner store a few streets away and it’s where we’d been when all hell broke loose. I mean that almost literally, when the first firework was lit, I guess it lit most of everything else that was on the floor because there were ambulances and fire trucks and the whole thing.
I managed to sneak Quentin away from the rest. I know he didn’t want to be around too many folks and it gave me time to look him over, to clean him up and all that rot. I fussed over him, I admit it more than willingly, it gave me an excuse to touch him though it was all more than innocent. His face, his shoulders, I stayed above the waist. The rest of him was fine anyway. Well mostly, a few scratches and those were healed within a few hours.
Every morning now though, as of the past week, I get up when he does, usually a little before him so I can at least get myself dressed, I step into his room since he’s given me permission, I don’t stray too far from him but I let him do what he wants, I can’t really get in his way, I know he’s independent and my fussing over him would probably piss him off in a bad way, or I don’t know, I just haven’t given it a try.
So I’m at his side, I half-lead him to his bathroom and get his shower started for him at the temperature he might be most comfortable with since he has issues getting the temperature right, at this moment and he’s a bit irritable if he can’t get it set after a few moments. I hand him his bottles and I still behave, I don’t look. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to do that to him when he can’t tell what I’m doing. Never mind this half fantasy where I want to do the washing up myself, running the cloth over him and all, touching him, mapping him out. Still innocently, always!
When he’s done washing up, I hand him his towel and I step out, making sure there’s nothing in his way. I’ve set clothes out on his bed, usually nothing more than his usual pants and a shirt, the simplest of garments. Something he has no issues putting on though twice now he’s put the shirt on backwards and it did give me an excuse to brush my fingers over him to get it over his head, switched around and back on again.
After shower, it’s breakfast time, we haven’t really had time to settle back into night living again and I don’t mind much yet. I prepare him something simple and easy to eat before we’re on the couch and I’m mostly just reading to him, or the television is on and I’m sketching him while he listens to it best as he can. I know he doesn’t like this weakness but he’s been as patient as I can imagine he might ever be in this situation.
What warms me, though I know he’s just doing it because he thinks I’m going out of my way to help him, is that every night, when I help to get him settled in bed, he kisses my cheek just before I head back to my room. You have no idea how badly I have wanted to turn my head just at the last moment to feel his lips on mine but I’m not that kind of guy, not yet in any case, I couldn’t do that.
If I kiss him, it’ll be a willingly shared kiss between the two of us. At least now that he sleeps soundly enough and that he can hear me even less than he did before this whole thing, I’m not too afraid of getting rid of my daily frustrations and sexual tensions while I’m in bed. I’m still quiet, but at least I can hear him coming in if he does but he hasn’t yet.
I just want his eyes to brighten and look my way again. I want him to smile at me and I want us to have some good times together again soon.