Hot Chocolate
Very fluffy little comfort thing for a flash prompt that I wrote on my phone at midnight and have not edited. Enjoy! 🩷
Pairing: Cyrus/Daniel
Word count: 620
Cyrus Becker.
They shaved your hair.
Like the Farm.
Your fingers comb through your thick curls, stopping absently at the shaved patch where your head had split open in the car crash and they had to sew you together like a damaged doll. You feel the wirey yarn of sutures against your fingertips and press down. Marvel in morbid curiosity at how familiar it is.
You hate it.
How many days did they say before the stitches would dissolve? Two weeks, you think. How long has it been? You don’t know—it’s hard to keep track of the days when you’re this doped up.
At least you aren’t confined to a bedroom anymore. Caged.
Soft hands tangle with yours, gently tugging your grip—and thoughts—away from the sutures. You blink. Cringe. “Shit, Danny. You startled me,”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel soothes, predictably apologetic. “What’s on your mind?” He hands you a steaming ceramic mug and fixes his equally warm attention on you. Your cheeks flush against your better judgment and Daniel’s mind perks up, cautiously sanguine. Daring to hope, but knowing that look in your eye.
“Not happy things,” You let him down gently, accepting the mug with a soft inhale. Peppermint hot chocolate. Your favorite. You squint suspiciously at Daniel, “How…?”
Daniel winces with a playful smile, sitting down beside you. “Ortega told me. I thought it could… maybe help?” His gaze softens and the ribbon of concern in his mind slips free, waving in front of you like a flag. You snap your gaze down to your hot chocolate. Wonder how far you could get if you ran with your casts on. He’s too much, sometimes. Too kind.
“Did you slip bourbon in it?”
“Not while you’re on painkillers,”
“Then it won’t help.”
Daniel’s mind recoils, his concern and guilt suffocating his mindscape like a butterfly net. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”
Remorse jams into your ribcage, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” You sip on the hot chocolate as though it might double as an I’m sorry. “That was mean. I’m just… sore,” Daniel is already doing so much for you—housing you, nursing you back to health, loving you—you have no right to be so harsh with him.
He shakes his head, his smile finding its authenticity again. “It’s okay. If I were you, I’d probably be mean and grumpy too,” Daniel’s voice is light and airy and you laugh because for everything your brain can conjure up, you can not imagine a mean Daniel Sullivan.
Angry, yes, you’ve seen him angry. But never mean. Never cruel.
You love him.
“Thank you,” you say with a little laugh. He’d been right. The hot chocolate is helping. Soothing. And unlike vodka or tequila, it tastes good. Daniel tips his head at you and blonde locks of hair tumble in front of his eyes, shaping his face with the same tenderness his mind holds. “For… all of this.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Daniel says, laughing a little before actually winking. Either he’s been spending too much time with Ricardo or he’s getting bold in the face of your soft honesty. “I like taking care of you.” Sincerity overtakes any intended flirtation and the moment’s warmth flushes through your system as intoxicating as liquor.
“I love you, Danny,”
Daniel inhales softly, surprised, and his butterflies envelope you with doting adoration. “I love you too, Cyrus.” And his mind says it too, and you believe him, and you trust him, and shit, you really, really love him.
It terrifies you but it’s enough for now. He’s enough. He makes it all okay.
They may have shaved your hair but you are not at the Farm.
You’re safe.
