Nowhere to Hide (M, illness)
Would you guys believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble? Hahahahah who the hell do I think I am??
This is a Matt & Mark fic, told in Matt's POV, which I don't think I've ever written in before. In it, Mark is sick and tries to hide it from Matt, which works exactly as well as you'd think it would. Guys, I have been writing this one alllll week which is so unlike me, and I think working on it over an extended period paid off because I honestly like it quite a bit. Matt's head was SO fun to get into, and Mark is SO fun to write miserable because he's awful at being miserable. It's a bit of a behemoth and there's no snz until over 2k words in (apologies), but I really think it's one of my better fics. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please let me know your thoughts :) :)
CW: Male snz, male illness, coughing, fever, dizziness, illness denial, chance of contagion. Sappiness. Whump. Angst. The usual. Unedited for the most part because I need to get it out and have no more time this week to look at it lol. 6.5k words under the cut.
Nowhere to Hide
Bzz, bzz.
On a Monday in May, five months after making their relationship official, Mark texted Matt to cancel their date that night. From the second he glanced at the text, Matt knew something was up.
10:21AM
Mark
hey babe, can we reschedule tonight? forgot I promised ben that I would help him with promo materials for the gig they have next week :/ I know its last minute, im sorry!!
Matt furrowed his eyebrows at his phone, the inside of his cheek held between his top and bottom teeth in concentration. Huh.
10:22AM
Matt
ofc we can reschedule :) but im also happy to help with promo stuff!! I took that graphic design class in highschool, remember? and I mean ive been hoping to meet ben, since hes like. your only friend lmao
Mark didn’t respond; generally, he was the type to answer immediately, the bubbles on the bottom of their chat popping up almost the second that Matt’s message was sent. Today, though, the message didn’t even get read for almost five minutes. Again, Matt’s face pinched with worry. His boyfriend was absolutely not the type to cancel a date and then abandon his phone – quite the opposite, honestly. If anything, Matt figured Mark would have responded quicker than he usually did, falling over himself with unnecessary apologies and berating himself for forgetting something like this. After seven minutes went by, Matt unlocked his phone again and stared at their chat. Mark had read his message.
Patience was not one of the virtues Matt possessed. When the bubbles didn’t pop up a minute after Mark read his text, Matt pressed the video button to FaceTime his boyfriend.
Within three seconds, the call was rejected. Matt gave his phone a look of disbelief – no shot Mark rejected his call. No way. He pressed the video button again.
Brrm, brrm. Boop. Rejected.
What the fuck.
10:37AM
Matt
???
did I say something wrong? why are you ignoring my calls?
10:37AM
Matt
The texts were read immediately. This time, Mark started typing.
10:38AM
Mark
no!! im sorry, im just out right now, im driving. lets have you meet ben another day, if thats ok baby? I just know he wants to lock in on the promo stuff and I don’t want him like ignoring you or smthn and then you both hate each other
Matt read the text over twice. Was Mark high or something?
10:38AM
Matt
ur driving? since when do you have a car?
The text stream went silent again. Beneath the pajama shirt he was wearing – Mark’s old shirt, a Duluth tee that was near threadbare and smelled like his shampoo – Matt started to sweat. What was really going on here? Mark never canceled anything with Matt, not even if he was busy. They’d run errands together, been to Restaurant Supply in the middle of a date for Elijah and Greyson. Hell, Mark hadn’t even canceled a date post an all-nighter helping Elijah do inventory after a crazy service. Now he couldn’t do a date because he was going to be helping Ben? He was driving in Manhattan? Or… was he not in the city, did Ben live in the burbs? Matt couldn’t remember any details Mark had given him about his high school buddy, the only guy Mark ever hung out with outside the other restaurant employees. Had they had some sort of… fling in high school?
Was… was Mark cheating on him?
The thought sent a pang through his chest that felt like he’d been pierced by an arrow. A lump formed in the back of his throat, and immediately tears welled in his eyes. He was moments away from calling again, when a new text from Mark popped up in their chat.
10:41AM
Mark
sorry, I meant im on the train. little out of it today lol, I guess anothee reason to reschedule?
And now he was sending texts with typos. Mark, Matt’s Type-A boyfriend (was there something beyond Type A? Type Pre-A? Type A-Plus?) was hastily sending misspelled texts and mistakenly saying he was driving when he wasn’t. Something here didn’t add up. Sighing heavily through his nose, Matt typed out a message back.
10:42AM
Matt
are you ok?
Sure, they’d only been together officially for three months, but Matt and Mark had known one another for years. Matt figured they’d been close for long enough that he could cut through the bullshit. And this? This situation was fucking bullshit.
10:43AM
Mark
im ok baby, sorry for canceling and being confusing. everything is fine, pls don’t worry :) ill see you at work tommoro ok?
At this second typo, Matt closed their chat and stood from his bed. He pulled on the closest pair of jeans he could find, keeping the sleep shirt on and donning a hoodie over top it. He needed some air.
***
“Wow, one day off in the last ten days and you’re calling me. I’m honored, really. I didn’t realize you loved work this much. Care to come in tonight?”
Matt, twenty blocks from his house at a patio table at his favorite coffee shop, rolled his eyes so hard he was sure Greyson could hear it through the phone. “Fuck off, Chef,” he said, sipping his latte. On the other end, Greyson laughed.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” his boss asked, the bustle of the kitchen preparing for service a constant hum behind him. Matt sighed through his nose, tracing the outline of his coffee cup with a finger.
“I think Mark might be cheating on me,” he said, his voice low. Before he could even really register what he’d said, Greyson guffawed.
“Mark? Are we talking about the same Mark who can’t keep his hands off of you for three seconds to get through a service? The one who leaves those gay-ass little poems in your apron every day? That Mark?”
“I don’t think you can say ‘gay-ass’ like that, Chef. I think people frown on that now.”
“Why? I’m a gay-ass. You’re a gay-ass. Mark’s a gay-ass. The poems are gay-ass.” Greyson said, the sound of a Kitchenaid being thunked on the prep table obnoxiously loud behind him. “It’s a descriptor at that point. Not a slur.”
Matt couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “You’re certainly an ass,” he said, prompting another laugh from his boss.
“Whatever,” Greyson said, turning on the noisy Kitchenaid and yelling into the phone. “All I’m saying is I would sooner bet on the moon being made of fucking brie before I’d bet on Mark cheating on you. What the fuck even happened?”
Leaning back in the patio chair, Matt squeezed his temples between a thumb and forefinger. “He’s being fucking bizarre, that’s all. He canceled our date for tonight, said he’s doing some random thing with his friend, and when I asked if I could just join him he started acting weird. He’s ignoring my calls, avoiding me. Texting fucking typos, if you can believe that. It’s just all…” Matt blew air out from between his closed lips, a soft pbbtt sound escaping them. “It’s just… weird. I dunno.”
For a moment, the other end of the line was silent, save for Greyson steadily chopping and Elijah coming up to ask who’s on the phone?
“Tell Elijah I said hi,” Matt said.
“Matt says hi.”
Why the fuck is Matt calling you?
“He thinks Mark is cheating on him.”
In the background, Elijah snorted out a laugh. Put him on speaker. Then, more clearly, “Matt, Mark is not cheating on you.”
“Greyson, can you not keep anything to yourself?” Matt asked, frustrated. “Seriously.”
“Sorry,” Greyson laughed. “I figured Elijah didn’t count as telling someone.” A thunk in the background, then an ow! as Elijah smacked Greyson. Matt groaned. Again, he relayed the story while Elijah listened on.
“Hmm,” Elijah hummed, thinking. “Have you gone to his house?”
Matt rolled his eyes. What a boomer, he thought, though he kept it to himself. “No, he said he isn’t home,” he said. “He was on the train or in a car or in some guy’s bed.”
Elijah huffed out another laugh. “Yeah, so you said. But I mean… Mark isn’t known for being a great liar. And while you’re right, this all sounds like a lie, I agree with Greyson. Mark would rather eat glass than cheat on, like, a spelling test. I think he’d pass away before he’d cheat on you. So I mean… maybe just like… go there? See if he’s there? Because I’d assume he’s just, like, having a freak out over something. Panicking over whether you really like him or whatever, you know how he is. I doubt he’s even left the apartment today.”
While Matt hated to admit it, that did sound like something Mark would do. He let a beat go by before he answered the two older men waiting on the other end. “Alright,” he said, standing. “Okay, yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll… I’ll head over there.”
Greyson made a noise of approval. “Good man,” he said, his voice becoming clearer as he took Matt off of speakerphone. “And hey, he lives so close to the restaurant, if he doesn’t answer you could always pop in and run middle for me!”
At this, Matt snorted. “Yeah, Chef, sure. Thanks, asshole.”
“Welcome!” Greyson sang. “Good luck. Tell Mark we said ‘mwah, mwah.”
Matt rolled his eyes, hung up the phone. He pulled up his his uber app and typed Mark’s address in. It’ll be fine, he thought to himself, everything will be fine.
***
This is a mistake.
As Matt’s uber pulled up to Mark’s apartment building, he felt his insides twist like they were being coiled into a balloon animal. He nodded to the driver and stepped out of the car, his heart thumping wildly, and stood silently at the front door, trying to work up the nerve to push the call button for Mark’s apartment. Why had he done this? Why did he listen to his old-ass bosses?
“Just go to his house,” Matt mumbled mockingly under his breath. “The hell is wrong with me.”
Instead of pressing the call button, Matt took a picture of the call box outside of Mark’s apartment and sent it in their text stream. Surprise? He typed out under the picture, and sent that as well. In his chest, his heart hammered ever harder.
Unlike this morning, the three dots popped up in their chat immediately after Matt’s picture went through.
Mark
12:32PM
?
Mark
12:32PM
are you at my apartment?
“Fuuckk,” Matt muttered, pulling a hand down his face. Of course Mark would be pissed; who just showed up at someone else’s house, unbidden? This wasn’t the fucking eighties. Leaning on the wall of the apartment building, Matt attempted to fix what he’d done.
Matt
12:33PM
uhhh, maybe? lol.
Matt
12:33PM
you seemed a little weird this morning over text...i just wanted to make sure ur ok
Matt
12:34PM
sorry, I know that’s kinda weird. but could I come up? just to say hi?
He waited. The bubbles took a moment to pop up after he sent his last text, but – finally – pop up they did. It took a few tries, but eventually Matt heard the bzzz of the front door unlocking. On his phone, Mark replied.
Mark
12:36PM
ok. juust don’t judge the mess. hjaha
Matt clicked his phone off, the lump of worry resurfacing as he clocked more typos from his boyfriend. Maybe Mark was drunk? Elijah may have clocked it; some sort of mental health crisis day might have been underway. Maybe it’s good I came, he thought, climbing the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Maybe this is what he needs.
When he got to Mark’s front door, though, he hesitated. It was still weird, right? That he’d come? And when Mark asked why he’d really shown up here unannounced, what would he say? I’m a jealous little baby who wanted to make sure you weren’t fucking around on me? That didn’t sound great, honestly.
But also… he was worried. This was part of it, right? Part of loving someone. Part of being serious – you checked on each other. You reached out to each other. Matt pulled in a deep breath through his nose; he was here. Mark knew he was here. No choice but to follow through now. He knocked on the door.
It took a moment, but eventually the door clicked open to a Mark unlike Matt had ever seen him before. He was so shocked by his boyfriend’s appearance, Matt couldn’t help but mutter an “Oh,” as they made eye contact.
“C’mbon in,” Mark muttered, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry againd.”
Matt stepped inside and took in both his boyfriend and the surrounding apartment. Mark’s impossibly tall frame was stooped, his hair unwashed and greasy in his face. Around them, the apartment was certainly a mess; takeout containers and gatorade bottles littered the kitchen, the blinds were half-drawn, and on the couch there were a mess of blankets that Mark had clearly just emerged from.
Matt had never seen Mark like this; was this a mental health crisis? He took in his boyfriend’s face, the two of them not moving from the entry of the apartment. His bright blue eyes were watery, like he’d been crying, and he was deathly pale; shit. What am I supposed to do?
“Are… are you okay, baby?” Matt finally asked, a question that felt ridiculous given the state of his boyfriend. Mark attempted a smile, before his face faded into a look that Matt didn’t recognize. Oh, fuck, is he about to cry? Fix it, dumb ass, fix it!
“I’m sorry,” Matt said, “I mean, it’s fine if you’re not okay, I was just -”
“HUHTZCHH-uhh! NnGTZCH-ue!”
Mark wrenched into a crumpled tissue Matt hadn’t realized he was holding, the sneezes tearing out of him painfully. He stayed there for a moment, turned away from his boyfriend, as a flurry of congested coughs escaped him. When Mark righted himself, his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, the tissue hidden in a fist. Ohhh.
“Bless you,” Matt said, carefully. Swallowing hard enough for his adam’s apple to bob up and down his throat, Mark nodded. “You’re sick,” Matt mused, not moving from his spot. Mark coughed out a laugh.
“What gave it away?” he managed, swaying lightly on his feet. Feeling bold, Matt took three steps across the entryway and slid an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. Their height difference was always comical – Greyson loved to make fun of them for it – but today, it felt almost dangerous. Mark was really swaying, clearly unable to stand for much longer, and Matt wasn’t sure if he’d be able to catch his boyfriend if he came toppling down. He held tight.
“Can we sit?” Matt asked, sagging under Mark’s weight. Mark nodded slowly, groggily.
“Yeah,” he said, untangling himself from Matt’s grip. “Sorry, yeah, let’s sit.”
Carefully, Matt guided Mark back to his blanket nest and sat him down as gently as possible, flopping down next to him in the process. “You mbay wahh – hh… ngh. Wandt to sit a little further awahhh – hhETSZCH-ue! Snf. ’Scuse mbe,” Mark grabbed a tissue from the box that was set on the coffee table in front of them, turned away to quietly blow his nose.
“Bless you,” Matt said again, ignoring his boyfriend’s warning. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me you were sick?”
Mark attempted a smile, wiping the tissue beneath his nose gently. “Didn’t, uh… didn’t want to worry you,” he managed, clearing his throat. Matt scoffed.
“Babe, I hate to break it to you, but you sending cryptic-ass texts with typos galore was far more worrying than knowing that you’re sick,” he said, pushing Mark’s sweaty hair off of his face. Christ, he was burning up.
Beneath Matt’s hand, Mark visibly relaxed. “Feels good,” he muttered, eyes closed. Matt moved his hand down his boyfriend’s face, cupping his hot, dry cheek. They really needed to get that fever down.
“Have you taken anything?” Matt asked, voice low. Mark shrugged.
“Didn’t have andything,” he said, sniffling. “Onesec – hhhITSZCH-uhh! HIIITCH-uee!” Again, Mark collapsed into the near-ruined tissue, pained coughs on the tail of even more painful-sounding sneezes. Matt winced at the pinched, crunching sound.
“You sound fucking awful, babe,” he said, rubbing Mark’s back in slow circles. “We really need to get you something for that fever. How did you get so fuckin’ sick, like, overnight? You seemed fine at work yesterday.”
If it was even possible, Mark’s fever-reddened face deepened in color. “Umb,” he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “I, uh… I’mb pretty good at, like. Hiding it?” He pushed his palms into his sweatpants, avoiding Matt’s gaze. “I’ve felt off for, umb. I dunno. A couple days?”
Matt blanched at this admission. “A couple days? Baby, seriously, why would you hide that from me? Or Elijah or Chef? I mean, if Elijah knew you were sick I’m sure he would’ve sent you home. Did you feel this shitty yesterday?”
“Ndo. I felt okay, today is the worst so faahhh… snrf. So far – hh-! HhNTSZCHH-uhh!” This time, Mark didn’t have the wherewithal to fold into the tissue, opting instead to sneeze into his own lap and wipe his hands over the spray left there. Against his better judgment, Matt pulled a handful of tissues out of the box; a few to hand to Mark to clean himself up, and a few for Matt to wipe off his boyfriend’s pants. Mark flinched at the touch.
“Don’t,” he said, gently pushing Matt’s hands away. “You’ll get sigck.”
“Baby, I don’t care if I get sick, I think that’s what you’re not understanding. I would rather get sick a thousand times over than know you’re alone in your apartment with no medicine, sick as a dog. I’d rather get sick as fuck than know you’ve hidden feeling shitty from me for days on end. That hurts, Mark. I don’t give a fuck about getting sick, Greyson infects the rest of us like once a month, minimum.” He held his boyfriend’s face between his palms then, the heat radiating into his hands. “I really just want to be there for you. Okay?”
Mark opened his mouth to answer, but his face dissolved into a now-familiar one before he could. Before Matt could remove his hands from the other man’s face, Mark crushed his nose into his own shoulder, attempting to stifle. “Hhh-TXCH! NGTSH-uhh! HRXTSH-ue!” Another gurgling, helpless sniffle. Another grating, congested cough. Matt sighed; this conversation was going to have to wait until Mark was medicated, that much was obvious.
“Bless you, babe,” Matt said, handing the box of tissues on the coffee table to his boyfriend. “Okay, enough of this conversation. I need to go to the pharmacy and pick you up some shit. You’re fuckin’ dying.”
This snapped Mark out of his stupor; his head shot up, bloodshot eyes locking desperately with Matt’s. “Ndo, ndo babe you don’t ndeed to get mbe anything. I’mb fine, really, please don’t -”
“Mark,” Matt interrupted, a gentle hand placed on his boyfriend’s bouncing knee. “Honey. I say this with love: chill out. I’m not being put out by you or whatever. I want to get you medicine. Alright? Where’s the closest pharmacy to here?”
Defeated, Mark shrugged. Helpful, Matt thought, pulling out his phone and -
“Fuck, you live close to, like, nothing,” he muttered, scrolling through the results google pulled up. “Why is it all fancy-people areas have nothing helpful around? There’s not even, like a grocery store within a ten-block radius.”
“Butlers?” Mark offered, prompting a snort from Matt.
“How could I forget about butlers?” he asked, clicking through the apps on his phone. “Okay, either I can order a doordash that’ll be here in… fuck, two hours? This area, I swear to god… okay, not that. I can walk to this Duane Reed, and be back in like… an hour and a half?” He glanced up at Mark, whose white face and wet eyes betrayed exactly how he felt about Matt leaving for an hour and a half. Pivot, Matt thought to himself.
“Or…” Suddenly, an idea popped into Matt’s head. He sat up straighter, smiling at Mark when it did; perfect.
“Or,” he said, “I can just run next door to Elliot’s and raid the cabinet Elijah keeps there.”
At this, Mark paled even further. “Ndo,” he said, adamant. “Babe, Elijah is goigg to be so annoyed if you show up there to steal mbedicine for mbe. I’mb okay, I promise, I’ve mbade it this long without anything, just… just stay with mbe.” He held tight to Matt’s hand.
In his chest, Matt’s heart ached like a vice was gripped around it. He pressed his lips together, folding his other hand over the one Mark had taken. “Honey,” he said, carefully, “I want to stay with you—I will stay with you – but we have to get your fever down. We have to get your cough under control. And Elijah won’t give a fuck, he buys all that shit for this exact situation. It’s literally either this, or urgent care.” He shrugged in a way that he hoped conveyed this is the best idea I can come up with, please just go with it. Mark sighed, defeated.
“Okay,” he said, voice small. “But I - I really don’t wandt to be alonde. I’mb sorry for trying to keep you away.” He looked up, feverish tears threatening to fall. “But please don’t leave mbe alonde.”
Matt pushed a hand through his hair, the lump in the back of his throat reappearing. “It’s a short walk,” he said, finally. “Just… let’s get you bundled up. If you can walk, you can come with me.”
***
Any hope Matt had that they could make this a quick, quiet trip was dashed the moment they stepped in the back kitchen doors.
“Hh-!” Mark’s breath hitched audibly, his glazed-over eyes fluttering closed as he tucked into his elbow away from Matt. “Hhh-ITSZCCH-ue! Huh -! HHITSZCHH-uhh! ITSZCHH-uee!” The sneezes ripped out of him, loud enough to make Matt flinch in sympathy. Around the corner and across the kitchen, Elijah’s voice rang out as Mark attempted to recompose himself.
“Jesus fucking christ… who’s back there?”
Mark’s face colored, embarrassment further flushing his pink cheeks. “We should just go,” he whispered to Matt, voice thready and congested. Matt shook his head; they’d made it here, somehow, despite the fact that Mark was swaying on his feet and couldn’t get a word in edgewise without sneezing or coughing so hard he nearly fell over. They’d walked the two blocks over here – a five-minute stroll that had drawn itself out into a forty-five-minute diatribe – and they’d made it in the doors. Matt wasn’t leaving until Mark was medicated, whether everyone here liked it or not.
“No,” Matt said, guiding Mark slowly through the kitchen. “We made it here, we’re getting you medicine. Plus, you need to sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Unable to argue with that point, Mark just huffed out a sigh that immediately turned into a coughing fit. The spasms wracked his body, tore him in half and into his elbow right in the middle of the kitchen, unwilling to let up until he was nearly gagging with the effort. Slowly, carefully, Matt rubbed small circles into the small of his boyfriend’s back while Elijah and Greyson popped their heads out of the office in concern.
“...Mark?” Elijah asked, standing from his desk chair and walking towards the younger two managers. “Good lord, what are you guys doing here?”
Finally, when Mark was able to get a hold of his lungs, Matt helped him stand to his full height and answered the question for the both of them. “Um… well, Mark isn’t cheating on me,” he said, an attempt to make light of the situation that immediately backfired when Mark’s head turned on a swivel to give his boyfriend an incredulous look.
“You… you thought I was cheatigg ond you?” he asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.
Oops, Matt thought, cringing. “I… no, baby, I was just worried because you wouldn’t call me back, I didn’t actually think you were cheating, I-”
“I would ndever cheat on you, Mbatt,” Mark interrupted, tears welling in his eyes. “Ndever. I… I cand’t believe you would thingk -”
“- I didn’t think it, baby, I was just worried, I-”
“Okay,” Elijah cut in, placing a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders. “Maybe we save this conversation for later, hmm?” He looked at Matt, then Mark, then back to Matt. “Let’s stick with the original question: what are you fucking doing here? Mark looks like he’s about to keel the fuck over, and neither of you even work today. I know we’ve instilled some bad habits in you both,” at this, he looked to Greyson, still seated in the office, who held up both of his hands in feigned innocence.
“Why am I catching strays?! I’m not even a part of this conversation!”
“Because you Pavlov’s Dogged our management team into thinking that they have to come to work when they’re sick, whether they’re on the schedule or not, apparently,” Elijah answered, turning back towards the younger men. “Anyway,” he said, “don’t you think you should be… home?”
“The office,” Matt explained, gesturing that way. “We figured it’d be easier to come here and steal some Nyquil than try and make it across town to buy some.”
Matt sighed, Mark still leaning heavily into him. “We were at Mark’s place, but he doesn’t have any medicine,” Matt explained. “And this stupid rich people area isn’t exactly rich in pharmacies, so we figured we’d come and use the in-home pharmacy.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow, confused.
“Ahh,” Elijah said. “Got it. And… you couldn’t come by yourself?” He gave Mark a once-over, taking in the chills wracking his body, his pallor and red, running nose. Mark looked down, while Matt lowered his voice to explain.
“Um… he didn’t want to stay home alone,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a long walk.”
Finally, Elijah seemed to understand. “Oh,” he said, face softening. “I see.” He turned to Mark then, grabbing him gently by the shoulder and leading him towards the office. “Let’s see if we can’t get you doped up.”
While Elijah sat Mark in his office chair and began perusing the medicine drawer, Greyson exited the office and approached his sous.
“So I was right,” Greyson bragged, slapping Matt on the back. “Per the usual.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “You knew he was sick? Since when?”
“Not about that,” Greyson said, cringing as they watched Mark dip into the elbow of his sweatshirt to sneeze again. “You’re going to be down so bad in a couple days, fuck. Take some Zicam or something, I’m not letting you stay home this weekend.”
“I’ll be fine,” Matt deadpanned. “What do you mean you were right?”
Greyson shrugged. “That he isn’t cheating on you. I mean seriously, Matt, did you really think Mark of all people would cheat? The man worships the ground you walk on.”
The lump that had made its home in Matt’s throat all day dissolved into tears that filled his eyes; he worships the ground you walk on. It wasn’t an understatement, not really, and Matt knew it. From the moment they began seeing each other, Matt began receiving flowers almost weekly, had been taken on near-constant dates, and was always getting little messages from his boyfriend about how beautiful he was, how lucky Mark was to have him. There was almost nothing Matt could do wrong in Mark’s eyes, it seemed – Matt was a chef, quick to anger and frustration, and Mark never took the bait to fight, always stayed cool and collected. He never made Matt feel like he was lesser than, the way Matt had always felt from the time he was a kid, never flaunted the money his family clearly had, never made Matt feel weird about the fact that he barely spoke about his fucked-up upbringing. Mark was good. Mark was everything Matt knew he didn’t really deserve, but got to have anyway. He swiped under his eyes quickly, hoping Greyson wouldn’t notice the tears falling.
“Yeah,” Matt said, voice thick. “Hey… do we still have that beef stock from the wedding over the weekend?”
Greyson knit his eyebrows, glancing over at his sous. “Yeah, it’s in the freezer. Why?”
“Would you mind if I took some with me when we go?”
Before he could answer, Mark pulled both their attention back to the office. “HNTSZZCHH-uhh! Fuck, ’scuse mbe, sorry,” he muttered, pulling a few tissues off of the box on the GM’s desk.
“Bless,” Elijah said, placing the Nyquil in front of his floor manager. “Don’t take that til you get home. Greyson, can you go into dry storage and get the Lysol spray?”
“Let me amend,” Greyson said to Matt, “we’re all going to be down so bad in a couple days.” He sighed, pulling a hand down his face. “Yes, dear, I’ll go get it,” Greyson called to Elijah. Before heading to the back, he turned to face Matt. “You can have the stock,” he said. “Go. Take care of your guy.”
Matt nodded. Take care of your guy. He would certainly try.
***
“Okay,” Matt said as they walked in the front door, “go lie down.”
For the first time all day, Mark laughed in earnest. “What amb I, a dog?” he asked, the laugh quickly turning to an angry cough. In lieu of trusting his boyfriend to follow any instructions in this state, Matt guided him to the couch and gently lowered him down.
“Not a dog,” he said, pulling a blanket up over Mark’s middle and turning the TV on to the Great British Baking Show. “Just bad at being sick. Obviously. This or What Not to Wear?”
“This is good,” Mark said, eyelids already drooping. “Sit with mbe?” he asked, voice giving out on the last word. Matt bit his cheek at the raw sound of his boyfriend’s voice, then leaned down and kissed his warm – not hot, thank god the ibuprofen was starting to kick in – forehead.
“Soon,” he said, holding up the Trader Joe’s bag filled with supplies from the restaurant. “Just give me a bit to put this all away. Close your eyes, love.”
Mark nodded, nearly asleep before the words even came out of Matt’s mouth. “Love you,” he muttered, swiping mindlessly under his nose. Matt’s heart ached.
“Love you,” he said back, though Mark had already begun to snore.
In the kitchen, Matt quickly and quietly got to work. The bag from work he’d filled with medicine, and more tissues, and, at Greyson’s insistence, Lysol wipes, but he’d also filled it with everything he’d need to make beef stew; carrots, potatoes, celery, even some filet scrap that he was fairly sure Greyson wouldn’t notice was missing. Working his ass off in a kitchen had to come with some perks, he reasoned with himself.
Last out of the bag was the beef stock he’d made for a demi they’d included on the filet set from the wedding over the weekend. Matt had spent hours babying the stock, feeding it beef bones and veal bones and fortifying it with some older stock they’d been trying to use up. What had been borne of his babying was a rich, deep broth that frankly he could’ve just gone at with a spoon and a piece of bread. The demi it made was unreal.
Now, standing in Mark’s tiny kitchen, Matt got to work. With an expert hand, one who spent thousands of hours doing it at this point, he peeled potatoes, chopping them into equal-sized chunks, then moved on to thinly slicing the celery and carrots, mincing the garlic. He carefully picked and chopped thyme, his hands moving quickly and with practiced ease. When he was younger – younger even than Greyson knew, about fifteen – Matt had begun washing dishes, doing prep at a diner; grating potatoes for hashbrowns and par-cooking bacon and chopping so many onions that the skin under his eyes was constantly red and raw from weeping. It was a hard work, but it was everything to him. It kept his mind busy, gave him a reason to step away selling pretty good weed and horrible coke. Cooking wasn’t what he wanted to do when he grew up, but in all honesty the idea that he would even grow up past his teen years had been a long shot to Matt. Cooking gave him a lifeline, it changed all that. It gave him a future to consider.
And when he was nineteen – again, younger than Greyson, who thought Matt was into his mid-twenties when he brought him on, realized – and he saw that a new restaurant, a buzzy, hip restaurant that just screamed James Bear Award Winner, Michelin-bait, as it were, had opened up clear on the opposite side of town from where he worked and lived in a studio with three friends, he knew he had to work there. He got the job on the spot; the first time he knew he was worth something. Cooking hadn’t been his dream, but in a lot of ways – ways different than he even knew at the time, he thought, looking over to his snoring boyfriend – it had been his destiny. And who was Matt to argue with destiny?
Matt turned the stove down, allowing the flavors to meld together, and cleaned up the small area. While the soup simmered and English people talked about soggy bottoms quietly on the TV, Matt checked his phone. One new message.
2:37PM
Chef
lij said to tell mark to stay home tomorrow, if u could let him know plss!! hope hes feeling better soon. don’t get sick, ur still comin in whether u want to or not LMAO. love ya kid. enjoy the filet scrap ;)
The tears he’d been fighting all day finally coursed silently down Matt’s cheeks. Fucking Greyson. If he weren’t such a player, the man would’ve made a great dad.
Matt took a deep breath, clicked off his phone, and turned off the soup. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, composing himself as much as he could before looking for a vessel for their meal. The bowls Mark had were cereal bowls, not soup bowls, but they would do. Matt ladled out the soup and headed to the couch, gently rubbing Mark’s shoulder to wake him.
“Mmm?” Mark startled awake, a hand pressing deep into his eye socket beneath his glasses. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?”
“Yes, but don’t apologize,” Matt said, setting the bowls down on the coffee table. “You’re sick, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Mark huffed out a little laugh. “I guess,” he said, sitting up slowly. “Did… you mbake mbe soup?”
Matt blushed. “I mean, I made both of us soup. Because I figured if I just made you soup, you wouldn’t eat it.”
“You kndow mbe well,” Mark managed, taking Matt’s hand. “You didn’t have to do that. I have food here.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, amused. “Protein bars aren’t food,” he laughed.
“Proteind bars aren’t good food,” Mark corrected him. “But they are technically food.”
This time, they both laughed, Mark’s ending once again in a soupy, productive cough that he muffled into his sleeve. “Sorry,” he said again, “gross.” Matt handed him the water bottle on the coffee table, rubbed his back in slow circles.
“Can you please stop apologizing for not feeling well?” he asked, earnest. “Please?”
“Ndo prombiseehh – hh – HRTZCH-ue! Huh -! Hh… hhITSZCCHH-ue!” This time, Mark folded his hands over his nose and mouth, grimacing at what Matt assumed was the mess he left behind. Matt walked over to the kitchen table where he’d left the medicine and supplies, opened a box of tissues. Handed it silently to his boyfriend.
“Sorry,” Mark said once again, after he’d cleaned himself up. “God, I’mb a fuckigg mbess.”
Matt tilted his head in a little half-nod. “Kinda,” he said, prompting another laugh from Mark. “But baby… that’s okay. You’ve seen me a fucking mess. Hell, you’ve taken care of me as a fucking mess like, twice since we’ve started seeing each other. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you sick.”
Mark scoffed. “That’s ndot true. We’ve worked together for years, you’ve definitely seen mbe sigck.”
“I mean, yeah, I’ve like, seen you with a cold at work a couple times. But even then, you like hide from everyone. Half the time no one even knows you’re sick until you’re like forced to call out. I’ve never seen you… I don’t know, ill. Like this.”
Shrugging, Mark began to pick at the blanket over his lap. “I mbean… yeah. That’s kinda by design.”
“But why?”
Mark sighed stuffily. “I just… I don’t kndow, baby. I wasn’t, like, allowed to be sick as a kid. My parents weren’t exactly… the warmbest. It’s just what I’mb used to. Sweat it out, alone. Put on a brave face.”
“Apologize for normal bodily functions.”
A laugh. “Yeah. I guess that, too.”
They sat in silence for a moment after that, letting the words sink in. Finally, Matt said, “I’m sorry for thinking you were cheating on me. I’m not used to having things work out. Or be good. Or whatever.”
Mark looked at his boyfriend. Gave a little smile. “You deserve good things,” he said. The lump reappeared, and Matt looked down while Mark placed a hand over his. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’mb sorry for… hiding. Ndot telling you. I should’ve told you.” He squeezed Matt’s hand then, and Matt squeezed back. “I’mb sorry.”
Matt looked up at his boyfriend – his miserably ill, pale, red-eyed boyfriend. His sweet, tender boy. Never had he ever felt such affection for someone. It was scary, to feel this much, to have something to lose. He knew that Mark felt that, too.
“It’s okay,” Matt said, pulling Mark in for a hug. Against what Matt knew was his boyfriend’s better judgment, he hugged back, held Matt tight until he was once again forced to pull away to -
“HRTSZCHH-uee!” Unable to get to his elbow, Mark sneezed into the space between the two men, their laps misting with spray. “God, you’re gonna get so fuckigg sick,” Mark muttered, swiping under his nose and looking up at Matt with those big, apologetic eyes. “Like so fuckigg disgustingly sick.”
Matt shrugged, leaned in to kiss Mark’s hot, wet lips. “Oh, well,” he said, a hand placed on his boyfriend’s cheek. “At least I’ll have someone to ride it out with.”
Without pulling away, Mark closed his eyes, a smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “You will. You always will.”
