Chapter Summary: Toris tries to keep his boyfriend's hopes up as Feliks' condition deteriorates.

Ch. 33: Tragedy in Slow Motion

It has been so hard to appear normal since the night he took his first trip to the clinic, with the man called Holly bleeding all over the backseat of his car. Toris finds himself shaking at odd moments, unable to look at the backseat, though Ivan took his car the next morning and got it cleaned - without asking, of course. The only time he feels remotely like the man he used to be is when he's with Feliks. The good thing is he is able to see his boyfriend more often now, to come during the actual visiting hours and stay the night. He can also afford to bring decent meals that his lover never eats. Tonight it's Chinese food; he's hoping Feliks will be able to keep down some lo mein.

For Feliks, this week has totally and completely sucked. He feels like shit, he's in pain, and there's nothing good on television. He feels like his life is a complete waste. There are half-finished fashion designs in the sketch book next to his bed, alongside a notebook filled with a few crap poems, a lot of pony doodles, and vague musings. A shirt he was embroidering for Toris sits at the bottom of the bed, but it will never look right; even when he manages to thread the needle it hurts to work on it for too long. None of it is worth much. He hasn't been worth much since the stables and the track closed down. It's not like there's anyplace else in town that has horses for him to take care of.

The worst of it is, despite the usual glow of happiness that comes whenever his boyfriend visits, today he doesn't want to see Toris at all. Or rather, he doesn't want Toris to see him. When he hears the door open he rolls on his side and draws the covers over his head.

Toris slips fully into the room, half-wondering if Feliks is napping, and sets the food down on a dresser that belongs to Feliks' comatose roommate. "Baby?" he calls, smiling when he sees his shoulder twitch beneath the covers. He heads over and slides into bed beside him, reaching for his body beneath the blanket with a cheerful smile on his face.

Feliks curls further into himself, covering his head with his arms. "Please don't, Tori." God, his voice is already breaking. Totally unfair; now Toris will never let it be.

Toris flinches at the crack in his voice, the way Feliks tries to struggle away from him. He swallows hard and slides away a little. "What's wrong?" he asks softly, pulling at the covers.

Feliks immediately grabs hold of the sheets and tugs them back around his body. "Don't. I just...don't look, okay? I'm like, a serious nightmare today." He laughs a little, trying to make it sound easier. Toris has always called him a princess, teased him for being a beauty queen. He's not pretty anymore. His eyes are sunken in, his skin is gross, and now...now...he bites his lip to keep from crying.

The way he's acting isn't right. Toris' eyes shoot to the edge of his covers where he can see his lover's hands shake, and... there. Feliks' hairbrush is on the nightstand, with clumps of lovely blonde hair caught in the bristles. Swallowing hard, he takes hold of the covers and crawls beneath them, peering through the darkness to see. Feliks whips around with a pained look on his face. Toris tries to smile, and manages, because it's Feliks. Who still looks beautiful, half-bald and skinny as he is. "It's - Baby, you should've just told me."

Feliks shakes his head, trying to back away without falling out of the bed. "No way! I look awful! I mean it was getting all thin, but now it's just coming out like that." He sits up, throwing the covers off and pointing to his pillow. The white linen is covered in long blonde strands, looking no more substantial than a spider's web. He's not bald, not yet, but there are noticeable patches now and what remains is so thin he can see his scalp through it. It's a harsh blow for one who has always been pretty - vain, admittedly, but why wouldn't he be when he looked damn good in a suit or a skirt? Now he just looks like a corpse. His lip trembles, and dammit he's crying again. "I'm sorry. It's so stupid, I know it's just hair, but it's my hair. You always said you liked it, and now I don't know why anyone would want to be seen with me at all."

"Hey." Toris cuts him off, reaching out to trail his fingers up to Feliks' shoulder and slide closer. He can't stand the way this is hurting him; really hurting him, worse than any part of this nightmare has so far. Feliks looks like he might crumble under Toris' fingers. "Don't say that. You can't. You're the most beautiful thing in the world, and it doesn't have anything to do with your hair." Carefully pulling him into his arms, Toris hugs him close and whispers in his ear. "You looked good with it, yeah, but it always got in your eyes. I love your eyes. And I love your smile. I love every part of you there is. Losing your hair doesn't hurt that."

Feliks can't help cuddling up to him, taking advantage of his warmth. Unfortunately, he can't help crying either. All of Toris' platitudes are nice, but they don't change a thing. "It's ugly and I hate it! It's completely unfair! This isn't even the disease. It's the medicine! I've always had long hair Tori, you know that. Now it's as good as gone. It's just...it's NOT FAIR!"

"No. It's not," Toris admits. He pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head where there is a white bald patch. It's hard to look at, but once he does, he doesn't really mind the sight. "But you'll get by. We'll get by, I promise. You're not going to lose me." He tucks his lips into the side of Feliks' throat. "We'll make lemonade out of this, you'll see."

"How do we make anything out of this? I can't do anything, Tori. Now I can't even do my hair!" Feliks wipes at his eyes and frowns at the wet patch on Toris' shirt. The fact that he can feel those lips on his head doesn't help things, but at least his boyfriend isn't utterly repulsed.

"Well..." Toris tries to think. Wigs? Fuck no. Feliks would slit his throat before anyone even mentioned Lady Gaga. Wait... "Hats. Remember that year-long stretch in high school when you wore a different hat every day? You should shop for some." There is nothing Feliks loves more than shopping, and thanks to Ivan, that might actually be possible. "Anything you want. We can afford it."

Feliks perks up just a little at the mention of shopping, but remains unconvinced. He knows Braginski is loaded, but there's no way he's paying Toris that much to work the bar and do his laundry or whatever. Not with the medical bills. "How exactly can we afford anything? I am just a sink hole for cash these days, and you...I mean, no one pays an assistant that much."

Toris raises his eyebrows at Feliks, trying not to tense up. "Ivan does." He laces their fingers together. "Besides, he's paying the rent now too. He had me move into the apartment above the bar, next door to his kids. He wants me to keep an eye on them." And Ivan wants to keep an eye on him. The thought makes his stomach twist. "Wanna check my bank account? It's pretty much amazing."

Feliks blinks, a little taken aback. They've never been particularly well-off, even when they were both working. Plus, if Toris is living above the bar... "Our apartment?"

"I moved everything there." Toris tries to smile, and finds he can't; not really. The whole situation is very strange. He knows how it must sound, but it's not like that. Ivan just wants him to watch out for Raivis' antics, and make sure Eddie doesn't work himself sick. That's all. He squeezes Feliks' hand. "I mean, there's a month left on the lease, but... It just makes things easier. It's not a bad place, Feli. You should see it."

Feliks can feel the tears coming again. They saved for ages to get that apartment. They lived there for years, through all their best times and all their stupid fights. They redid it at least once a year, and Feliks painted murals on the walls. The apartment was theirs. It was like his hair - it mattered because it had been around for so long, because it had grown with them. Now, even if - when he gets out of here, he won't see that home again. What can he say? Toris is paying for everything, and he's just dead weight. He doesn't even have the looks to be a trophy boyfriend anymore. "O-oh."

Toris knew he shouldn't have said anything. God, sometimes he's so stupid. He hugs Feliks against his chest, and buries his face in his shoulder, whispering against his throat, "It wasn't home without you there. I couldn't..." His throat is swelling closed and his eyes are growing hot, but Toris can't cry now. He needs to make this okay. "Every time I looked around I just got lonelier. I never stay there anymore. I don't want to be anywhere you're not, understand? Besides, this means there's a whole new place for you to redecorate when you get out of here."

Feliks can't think of anything to say. A huge part of him wants to scream at Toris because he did not even ask for his opinion. On the other hand, he can't yell at Toris. Toris is the only thing he has left now that is anywhere near familiar and normal. He loves the man, and trusts him, and if he thought leaving their apartment was the best thing to do, it probably was. Maybe that is where all the money is coming from. Yet money, for all the good it does him, cannot buy comfort. Feliks sniffs, tears still running over his face, and turns to breathe in Toris' skin. "I don't feel good."

Toris pulls him closer, wishing Feliks would just scream at him and get it over with. He knows it was wrong to accept the offer; he knows it was wrong to go along with Ivan's wishes. But he wants to be able to do things for his boyfriend. Still, Feliks isn't happy. Paying his bills isn't going to change that. He needs to find other ways to make him feel better. "I'm sorry," Toris whispers, reaching up to wipe away his boyfriend's tears. "Please, just tell me I did the wrong thing and I'll move back. I'll take everything back. If that's what you want, I'll put it all back tomorrow."

Feliks shakes his head. What he wants, Toris cannot give him. He wants to be better - completely better, free of every disease. He wants to go home and sleep in their own bed for about a week, and then to make love to Toris for another. He wants to eat without feeling sick, to work, to not smell like hospital, to be pretty again. Toris can't do any of that that, and Feliks will not ask for too many miracles. That Toris is here with him, that they're not out on the streets due to all the bills, those are the things he needs to remember and be grateful for. "I want you with me. If..." he takes a breath to quell the shaking. "If this is what it takes, then fine. We can always get another apartment, yeah?"

'But that one was ours.' Toris can almost hear it. He can hear the bitterness in his voice, hear that Feliks is so unhappy, but there's nothing he can do about it except play his cards and hope to win. He presses his face into that soft skin and sinks into him. "We will," he promises. This is one, at least, that he'll be able to keep if he continues squirrelling cash away, saying his prayers, and biding his time. He has enough saved now to support Feliks for a few months if the boss decides to get rid of him the nasty way. Maybe he can arrange something with Tino at the clinic in case things go that route. It's a stretch. But maybe, if things get tight... "I know we will. We'll find something better."

"Totally." There's not enough conviction to the word, but it's all Feliks can manage. This whole day has exhausted him. He shifts into a more comfortable position, resting his head on the pillow but wrapping his arms around Toris. "I'm gonna nap for a while, okay?"

"Go ahead. I'm here." Toris kisses his forehead, letting Feliks curl into his body. Those weak, skinny arms make him swallow. It's odd to see the man he once gained all of his strength from looking so frail. He doesn't like thinking about it. He just breathes him in, curling into him as well and holding on tight.