it might have something to do with the acid. god, he – todd really hates acid. it got old fast. fucking acid.
todd can’t text like this, and, he never really can, but right now his hands are melting and he has – things. to worry about.
so, todd just kind of… shouts.
“DIRK,” he yells into the apartment, voice strained, “MY MEDS!”
he hears a loud thud, like someone falling off a chair, and then scrambling, and then he hisses as his hands throb. dirk rushes into the room, reading glasses askew on his nose, and if he wasn’t in so much fucking pain, todd would have laughed.
“open,” says dirk, red pill already shaken out into his palm. todd opens his mouth. dirk hands tremble slightly as he places the pill on his tongue. they do every time. todd closes and swallows it dry.
now there’s nothing to do as they wait for the meds to kick in. they, because dirk sits down next to him on the kitchen floor, close but not touching at all. not yet.
just as he’s making to knock the back of his head into the counter, dirk says, “don’t knock your head into the counter.”
todd resists the very tempting urge to knock his head against the counter. dirk plays with the loose threads at the hem of his shirt. it’s a t-shirt, for once – a bit stretched, and bland, and falling apart: it’s todd’s shirt. obviously. dirk rubs the fabric between his fingers like it’s made of gold.
some time later, which todd knows is about twenty minutes, but feels more along the lines of a lifetime, the burn in his hands settles into a dull ache. todd knocks his head back into the counter. gently.
“yeah,” says todd, and falls bodily into dirk. his partner’s arm winds around his shoulders, pulling him closer, then letting go.
“acid,” todd tells him. “my hands. wrists. i’ll be fine.”
“bullshit,” dirk says. “give me your hands.” todd obediently hands them over. they shake slightly in dirk’s settled grip.
he closes his eyes and sighs, sinking further into dirk, when he feels him start rubbing little circles into his wrists.
“that feels nice,” he mumbles.
“does it?” dirk says, more rhetorical than anything, but todd nods tiredly against his shoulder anyway. “good. i’m glad.”
todd tucks his face into dirk’s neck and allows himself to be taken care of.
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