k coming home with his hands battered from falling off of his skateboard. proko wordlessly leading him into the living room and turning on the tv to distract him while he digs out the first aid kit.
k reluctantly presenting his palms, skin torn and bleeding, covered in dirt.
the pair sitting on the couch like that, k hissing and letting out a steady stream of profanities, both english and bulgarian when the alcohol touches raw skin.
“proko, fuck. шибан задник, обичам те.”
proko just kissing k’s cheek and smiling patiently, being as gentle as he can.
proko taking k by the wrist and stretching his arm out, running a soothing thumb across bare skin when his boyfriend curses again.
k finally giving in and resting his head on proko’s shoulder as he finishes patching up and disinfecting the wounds.
proko lifting k’s bandaged hand and kissing it after he’s done.
“god, proko. you’re not my mother.”
venom coating his words, but proko still seeing him run fond fingers over the carefully applied bandages.
the pair falling asleep on the couch like that, proko pulling k to rest on his chest with muffled, angry bulgarian still coming from the tv.