At the sound of the door creaking open, Tino comes running.
On the mat inside, blood dripped from the tall, sturdy man standing there, hunched over, coughing. Whose blood it was, no one could say for sure, and Tino really hates when Berwald comes home like this. Regardless, he removed the blood-stained cloth, preparing to wash it all when Berwald was in the shower, getting the last of the sticky substance off his body.
By the time he's out of the shower, you could never tell the amount of blood that had been there. He just sat, all perfect and shiny, resting from the long while away from home. Tino cooks dinner in the other room; dishes he thinks the Swede likes.
But Berwald is a man of very few words and a masked face. Impenetrable.
Offering a somewhat nervous smile, Tino set the plate down in front of him, and he devoured it like he hadn't eaten in days. Which he may well might not have. War was a time where fighting and death and despair and murder took precedence. Where killing just one more man on the other side was more important than a nice meal or a good night's sleep, not haunted by the faces and voices of those they've felt die by their hands. Berwald was strong, stronger than most, but Tino knew that even this man's strength wavered in the face of battle. It took its toll, just like everyone else.
Berwald may not show it, but Tino knows.
Once finished, Berwald opens his mouth again, and Tino always listens closely because it was hard to hear him, and he would rarely repeat himself. "Thank you."
Tino tried to make his smile bright as possible. "My pleasure." If he can make Berwald feel just a little bit better...
"For everything." Blue eyes, usually so intense and focused, were scared. Vulnerable. "It means a lot to me, Tino. It really does."
Although Tino had wished for otherwise, he assumed that his efforts went unnoticed—cleaning the house, washing the blood out of his clothes, making dinner. "I..." he wasn't sure how to respond to the big, strong Swedish man, lowering his mask and inviting someone in for the first time. "You...mean a lot to me." Maybe the wrong thing to say at this moment. Maybe the right thing.
A blush shifted across the other's face, to which Tino felt his own burning up. Oh gawd, he'd said the wrong thing, hadn't he? Oh, he was so stupid...
"Likewise." It takes all their courage, but their eyes meet, blue and purple, like a sunset over water. Berwald may be a man of few words, and Tino a man of many words with little meaning, yet they really didn't need words in this moment.
Quite a while later, the door creaks open again, and Tino comes running as always. This time Berwald looks more worse for wear, to which Tino scowls. "I hate when you come home like this."
"Me too," he mumbled in response, pulling his shoes off.
"Here, let me help," Tino insists, shooing his hands away and sliding the boot off. Next were his clothes, more blood to be scrubbed out, and his traditional shower.
This time though, as Tino was cooking, Berwald came up behind him and held him tightly against his chest, rough hands drifting through soft hair. Tino looked up questioningly at him, and Berwald's grip tightened. "I...I love you."
"I love you too." Tino takes a moment to close his eyes, embraced by strong arms, by HIS strong arms; a rare moment in between absences and the constant cleaning of blood. Just a short moment, the delightful fragrance of him on all sides and everything else but Berwald disappears.