[ Stephen is all calm practicality against the fevered flush of him; Silco crumples back down into the bed in a confusing stew of feelings. He isn't used to being cared for, and his heart is beating high in his throat. Can't bring himself to say thank you, just huddles miserably back under the covers and enjoys the brief respite from being seen. At least until his stomach turns and he has to drag himself to the bathroom once more.
He does fall asleep again despite himself, and he's vulnerable with it when Stephen returns, sleepy-pliant and feverish, batting uselessly at his hands even as he drapes into his space. Drinks another glass of water hungrily, takes the sour pills he's given with deep mistrust. Getting easier as a patient the worse he feels, as his paranoid defensive instincts fall to the simple desire to have companionship in his final moments.
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He does fall asleep again despite himself, and he's vulnerable with it when Stephen returns, sleepy-pliant and feverish, batting uselessly at his hands even as he drapes into his space. Drinks another glass of water hungrily, takes the sour pills he's given with deep mistrust. Getting easier as a patient the worse he feels, as his paranoid defensive instincts fall to the simple desire to have companionship in his final moments.
(Okay, he's not dying. But it feels like it.) ]