Based on carl and ryland's cats Bombie (aka Bombalurina, afemale ginger tabby from a dumpster) and Sunny (Aka Sun eater/ Astrophage, a male black Persian from one of his mom's friends-she works in rescue- his mom's from a hoarding/breeding situation)
Something I really like to think about is Carl doing non romantic-romantic things with Grace. Giving him the peice of toast with the most avocado because Grace likes avocado. Waking him up exactly 5 minutes before coffee is done because he knows he's going to stay in bed 10 before getting dressed and by the time he's downstairs its cooled enough to drink. Getting Grace snacks and food even when he says no thank you. Taking pictures of stray cats, dogs on walks, butterflies and big open flowers and sending them to grace so it can feel like he's on the walk too during sick days when he sleeps most of the day. Pulling his waist to the side so he dosn't walk into someone or a pole while yapping and distracted. Kissing his forehead while he's sleeping and covers him up. Brings the paper to him first so he can do the cross words. Etc.
Things that make you a really awsome friend but if you're in a relationship suddenly its "aww how romantic" instead of "What a good friend".
You ever think maybe a huge part of romance is being that person's best friend? Or do you guys forget that like- 24/7?
Sometimes I'll look at two canonly romantic characters and think "Man they're not very good friends" because something media loves to do is show them kissing and fucking and thats it. No other development. It's rare to find Canon romantic characters who exhibit being good friends and THEN getting into a relationship. A lot of movies portray a charater meeting another and immediately "falling in love" with them but think about nothing but physical intimacy. Im not saying it's impossible to click with someone or shaming those who get physically intimate quickly, Im just saying I wish media portrayed couples as friends too instead of just either aracatypes A, dysfunctional but crazy about each other or B, nothing wrong ever and perfect together 4 days after meeting.
Its just not realistic. I know shows and movies aren't supposed to be realistic but a TON of our societal expectations are from movies. Hell, I hate to say it but I'm still expecting subconsciously for someone to bump into me and I fall in love just by looking at their eyes because thats what tv says is normal, right??
The chances of that happening, esspecially as a demi-aroace person is less likely then me winning the lottery.
Hearing his name, Grace turns to look behind him. "Yeah?" He puts down his half way finished crochet dress. It started out as just an idea for a skirt, but the holes were far too large so he was making a top to go with it as a sort of teasing lounge wear, lingerie if you will.
"Where do you want to be for dinner?"
"I-"
"And don't you dare say that you arn't hungry. You skipped breakfast and lunch.."
Grace went quiet, looking at the clock. It was already 7 pm and the only thing he had was a handful of chocolate chips around 2. He makes a noise, panic filling his eyes like a mouse realizing it was stuck in a bowl with olive oil covering the bottom. His hands and legs suddenly felt jittery. Like maybe if he ran fast enough upstairs he could lock the door. But he didn't move. He couldn't. All he could do was stare like a doe facing headlights for the first and final time.
Carl sighs. "Ry, Come on sweetheart.. I made all your favorites, And there's plenty of time after to still work on your project."
Ryland said nothing. He couldn't. His body felt like stone, his stomach suddenly feeling like ocean waves crashing so hard that it overflowed into the stashed treasure. He gags, quickly getting up to make it just in time of the small trash can next to the tv.
Carl sighs, Not sure if he could do this today. He needed him to eat. This whole stupid "running out of food" delusion didn't help. "Ryland, There is plenty of food. Too much if you ask me."
"..I know." His eyes sting with the satl of his eyes. He hurts again.
"Fine! Fine. What do you want?"
"I.. I don't want anything.."
"Grace.."
Grace's uncomfortable tears turn thicker. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He didnt know why he couldn't.. he just.. couldn't.
Carl was frustrated with him. He could hear it in his voice. Carl wasn't yelling, no, but this is the most upset he's heard him in a long time directed towards him. Without realizing, the tears were falling down his face like nobodies business, falling onto his jeans in big splashes as he heaves over the trash can. He was so tired of being a burden, but Carl would never understand. Even he himself didn't understand his body. Why was it so agasint the thought of digesting anything? Since there was nothing in his stomach to actually puke up, Grace was vomiting a couple remaints of the chocolate, and water. It he'd a pinkish color from the juice he drank ealier. His throat felt like a hundred fire ants crawled in and began nesting inside, sore and tingly, like he had eaten a spicy pepper that punched him on the way down with the force of a grown man.
"You can't just cry every time you don't want to do something, Ry. You can't keep doing this.." He was crouched a couple feet away from him, his eyes now soft and pitiful. Grace sniffled, knitting his brows together. He didn't want his pity. He didn't even want him to be encouraging him right now. And suddenly he was so tired. So angry and uncomfortable.
This is what chronic illness did. It hurt you in all sorts of ways and makes you distant from those you care about. Still.. he wondered *which* of his illnesses was causing this. Was this the autism? No.. he'd be eating everything if this was a pause in hunger signals. It was probably that mystery one again.
"Maybe.. you got sick at the beach yesterdsy..?" Carl asks, his voice soft. Grace knew he was internally scolding himself for being frustrated with an ill 73 year old man. Carl was- no.. is. A good husband. He always has been. Even if they did marry for convenience, You'd never know from how much Carl takes care of him.
"Do you want some ice cream? Do you want a steak? I can order in if you want.." The only problem about Carl is he assumed that Grace didn't want to eat the food he made specifcally, when in reality this wasn't the case at all. Grace didn't- couldn't, eat anything.
He opens his mouth to speak, but he only gags and buries his face back in the trashcan. Nothing much was coming out, but that was the problem.
Usually when Grace puked, Carl would make a joke about 'finally knocking him up' but he said nothing now. Only looked at him with great concern, like when you realize your four pawed best friend isn't so bushy tailed and young anymore...
"...Do you need to go to the hospital?" He asks, used to Grace's non verbal intervals.
Grace quickly shook his head. They've already been to the hospital several times. They just kept doing tests and then saying "good news! There's nothing wrong" which- in turn, was actually terrible news. Because he still had days like these. Where the mere thought of eating was enough to vomit. He was tired of sitting in the waiting room while Carl argued with the doctors. He could always hear them outside the door, "Savior Grace just has anxiety." "It's just paranoia" "He's at a healthy weight, I don't see problem" "maybe its ptsd." "Probably just throwing a tantrum." "Sometimes elders who experience great stress make up things for attention."
Grace's tears became heavier, shaking his head more rapidly as he scooted back away from Carl. His breathing began to pick up, his hands shook and his heart raced. He could feel the panic attack rushing at him like a cheetah trying to catch up to a Labrador puppy to play with, but at that moment, the puppy is terrified for it's life.
"No!" He chokes out, throat raspy from the stomach acid.
"Okay- okay. Ryland look at me. We won't go." Before Grace could even put up his pinky, Carl nodded. "Pinky promise."
Most seen it as childish, but it was the most honorable of honesty to Grace. A way for him to know he wasn't being tricked. He was so dehydrated, so tired.. that wasn't the right word.. exhausted.
He was so tired of waiting. Tired of being told he was lying. Tired of blood work, ultrasounds, urine testing, more blood work.
The last doctor recommended a feeding tube and Grace ran from the room, only to end up back in Carls arms sobbing. Just like now. He knew thats what they would do. They'd hold him down and stick tubes and wires in him again. And Carl would just look at him with that stupid face of pity. He wanted to punch him. To yell at him to quit pitying him. To grab his shirt, burry his face in the crook of his neck and never leave. It's where he was now. He wanted held. The thought was disgusting. He didn't want touched. 'Don't touch me. It burns!' He thought, but he was the one clutching onto Carl for dear life.
Immediately scooping him up, Carl whispers to him but Grace has no clue what he's saying. 'Let go! Leave me alone!' His mind screams, digging his own nails into the man's shoulders in longing to stay. "Shhh.. shh you're okay." He whispers.
Grace is hyperventilating, he can't catch his breath and he is suffocating, drowning, screaming into the side of his neck as if the ocean muffled him. His face was soaked, wet and salty. It had to be the ocean, but he was drowning.. drowning.. he couldn't breathe, 'I'm going to die' he thinks briefly- just before he's dropped down, laid on plush and gentleness. "Shh.. breathe.."
He claws at him a little more, terrified to let go, but Carl holds his hands, allowing him to take in his surroundings.
This was his room. His bed. His window of fresh open air.
Like touching cattle prods, Grace rips his hands away, going to the large 1:1 scale of a weighted crochet model of his friend.
"Rocky." He whimpers, putting his nose to the yarn, deep breaths coming in his nose and out his mouth. While Rocky was his literal rock, Carl was his metaphorical one. He held the thing so tight that it comedically looked like Grace was breaking his back cartoon style. Carl didn't laugh. He only walks over, opening the window further and leaves him alone.
With the new space and new air, Grace is able to stabilize his heart rate. He's no longer panting in panic and fear or frustrations. He lays there, still. Alive.
Grace rolls slightly to see what Carl was holding when he returned. For such a big man, he was quiet on his toes.
He was holding a plate of food.
Ryland's heart sank.
"No.." he whispers. But Carl doesn't hand it to him. Instead he hands him his project supplies, taking off his slippers and sits on the edge of the bed. His back leans agasint the head board.
Neither of them said anything.
Every time Carl picks up food in his Fork, Grace swallows, nervous and still nauseous. He had pills for that, but they didn't work that well. Still, he gets into his bedside and grabs one, taking it with the water he always kept there.
As the evening went on, Carl watches silently as Grace crocheted. Grace laid his head on his shoulder, content in the world around him. Still, he couldn't eat and yet Carl spent supper by his side, watching Grace do- undo- do- redo, a loop every now and again.
It wasn't until he put the empty plate down that he spoke. "What is that thing anyway?"
"You can't tell?"
"I thought it was a skirt but now I can't tell."
"Well, good. Then it's a surprise."
Silence was always something that Grace tried to fill. It felt awkward if not. But it was never awkward with Carl, never tense, even after a mild argument. Grace didn't have a TV in his room, but they don't need it. They sit, in silence, basking in one another's company. Once again proving that they could overcome everything.
