It was the little things that hurt. Bending down to pick up something dropped, putting on a shirt. He hid the pain well, but not well enough. He was trying to be tough, or at least look tough if it killed him. And it could have in his condition, fast healer or not. He might not have minded. He always had to be perfect, and that was the intriguing and frustrating thing about him.
Trowa watched out of the corner of his eye as the other boy tried to bring his coffee cup to his mouth. He was using his left arm on purpose, to convince both of them he could still use it and just fine.
Trowa told himself to keep out of it. He was trying to prove something important.
A silent grunt, and Trowa's hand shot out to grab the cup. "I told you to take better care," he said. Not scolding. Just reminding, again.
"I think I can handle coffee," said the boy.
They stared each other down for a long minute. Then Trowa told him, "You're tired. Get some rest. I'll clean up here."
The Japanese boy stood and walked to the small bedroom. Trowa watched him go before he turned to the desk, in the unlikely chance anything happened. He carefully organized the papers they had been going over earlier, putting them in neat piles. He shut off the computers. He picked up the disks, ignoring the passing thought that the other boy might appreciate them more where he had left them.
He went to the table and poured a tumbler of water from the bottles he brought in from the truck. For his stomachache, he dropped two Alka-Seltzer tabs in the water, watching them fizz and dissolve.
There was a wince from the other room. A very quiet one, but Trowa heard it. He hurried to the Japanese boy. He was trying to change out of his shirt, but it still hurt to bend his arm. Trowa hated to see him this way. "Let me help you," he said. "I don't want you to open your wound again." The boy didn't fight him when he pulled the shirt off his shoulders, the sleeves off his arms. He shook the shirt once and hung it on the back of a nearby chair. The boy picked up the green tanktop Trowa had first seen him in. Trowa knew he was going to be cold but decided not to nag him about it. He already sounded enough like Catherine. He took the shirt from the boy before he could hurt himself trying to put it on. "Arms out," Trowa said. That way he wouldn't have to bend them. He put the boy's arms through the holes, and brought the shirt over his head.
Their eyes met. "Thank you," the boy said.
Trowa barely registered his words before he reached out to touch the side of the other boy's face. Everything about this guy was perfect, even the unreadable look in his eyes. Especially the unreadable look in his eyes. It was so human, so honest and beautiful it made Trowa's heart flutter. He closed his eyes and laid a soft kiss on his temple. The Japanese boy started under his touch, seemed to stumble forward half a millimeter, but nothing else. Somewhere in the back of his mind Trowa knew it was rash, but he didn't care. He tilted his head and kissed those perfect lips.
It was the absence of a reaction that made him pull away. When he opened his eyes it was to look down. His heart was beating so fast. He picked up the tumbler he had set on the nightstand. "Here," he said quietly. "You need this more than I do. But I'm afraid it won't help much." The boy started to take it with his left hand. "No," Trowa said. "Right hand."
The Japanese boy took the tumbler in his right hand. He downed the contents quickly, never taking his eyes off of Trowa's to make sure the taller boy was finally satisfied. He handed the glass back to Trowa and sat down on the bed. After that, Trowa gave him the privacy he deserved until he was asleep.
Later he went back with a book and sat in the chair with the boy's shirt over it, but found he could not concentrate on the words. He watched the boy instead, making sure each breath rose and fell in time; unable to tear his gaze away from his perfect face, resting in perfect, dreamless slumber. It made him tired, but he could not for the life of him fall asleep.
He saw the boy shiver in his sleep, and curl in on himself just slightly. He wouldn't ask for warmth if he was freezing, but Trowa understood. He went over and slid under the thin covers behind him. Something inside him told him to keep his distance. This was a strange, dangerous boy beside him. No different from himself, really. He put one arm around the Japanese boy and pulled himself close.
He felt the boy stir in his sleep, in his arms, but relax. It was a wonderful feeling, but it made him nervous. "Why do you care so much?" the boy asked suddenly, like he had asked the day before.
It was Trowa's turn to tense up. He wanted to apologize for waking him up. Instead he said, barely audibly, "Because I admire you."
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He didn't regret telling the truth; in fact, it felt good after days of changing the subject. But the other boy sighed in obvious disapproval. "Why? You don't even know my name."
Trowa smiled. He had completely forgotten until now. He never asked the boy his name. Little things like names simply meant nothing when you didn't have one yourself. "What's in a name?" he said, moving even closer. He buried his face in the other boy's shoulder, daring him to reject him with more questions.
And slowly, he felt the boy's injured arm move on top of his. Cold fingers entwined with his, and the Japanese boy pulled Trowa's hand to his chest. He sighed as one does before drifting off, and said nothing else. Trowa closed his eyes and felt the heart beating steady against his fist, warm for once.