"Tell me, how bad is it?" Erik asked the surgeon.
The man removed his mask. "He'll live. You can see him now."
Charles looked groggy but fine. With an arm in a cast though. Erik sighed and smiled as he pushed a strand of hair from Charles's forehead.
His relief lasted only until they were back home. The surgeon had prescribed lots of rest, and Erik had to take care of Charles. He soon realized that he may not have what it takes to be a nurse, after Charles had almost drowned twice during his bath, and Erik had spilled scalding soup on Charles's lap.
"Charles! There's someone here that I'd like to introduce to you." Erik opened the door and came in the room with a young woman. "Moira will be your nurse from now on."
Charles's polite smile didn't reach his eyes. "Hello, Moira. Could you please give us a moment?" When she had left the bedroom, Charles's smile disappeared in an instant. "What the fuck is that?"
"She's not a 'that'," Erik replied.
Charles rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
Erik sat on the bed, eyes cast downwards in shame. "Look, I make mistake after mistake. I can't take care of you properly. So I thought..."
"That I would be happy spending my convalescence with a stranger? You should have told me I was such a bother."
"Never!"
Charles sighed and rubbed his forehead as if he was suffering from a headache. "Listen, I know it wasn't your intention. But I don't care if you spill food on me..."
"Your thighs were burned red!"
Charles laughed at the memory. "And they healed." He put his hand on Erik's arm. "I want you to take care of me, no matter how bad you do."
"But..."
Charles shook his head. "Pay Moira for the day, and bring me my breakfast, stupid fool," he added with a wink.
Charles's words must have held some magic: Erik did better every day afterwards, and by the end of Charles's recovery, he could even wash clothes without all of them turning into a muddy brown.