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“Hey, have you seen my–” Stier halted halfway past the door. “Uh… what’s this?” He walked in, motioning vaguely to Dtier.
“This?” Came a garbled response. Dtier looked around at the piles of blankets and used tissues across the couch. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up–”
“No, no, no. What– Did someone poison you?!” Flames shot out of Stier’s hands and reflected in his eyes. Dtier almost laughed but it turned into a choked cough.
“N– no man. Nothing like that. It’s just a cold.”
“Oh,” the flames dispersed. “So FreezeMaster did this?”
“No! A cold, like a disease?”
“A disease?”
“A virus! You know, like the flu? It’s nothing, it’ll be gone in–” Dtier coughed violently, unable to finish.
“Doesn’t seem like anything. Are you going to die?”
“No. No, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to be gross for a couple of days.”
“Gross?”
“Yeah. Full of snot, coughing, sound like a frog, all that good stuff.” They sniffled and Stier walked up to them, laying a hand on their cheek and stroking a thumb along their jaw.
“You are anything but gross.”
He leaned down to kiss Dtier, but they stopped him pushing against his chest with another cough.
“No! You’ll get sick.”
“I will not. I don’t get… sick.”
“Really?”
“Not so far at least.”
“Weird.” Both of them chuckled at that but then Stier was back to staring intently at Dtier, raking over their face with his eyes.
“You look miserable.” It wasn’t a lie. Dtier’s nose was puffy, their complexion shockingly pale, and there was an unsettling sheen to their forehead. Bringing up a hand, Stier felt their cheek, then forehead, then neck. “And you’re way hotter than a normal human.”
“I know what I am but what are you?”
“Don’t,” Stier laughed.
“It was worth a shot,” Dtier shrugged, pushing Stier’s hand away from them. He stood there a moment, not sure what to do next.
“And you’ll be okay? You promise?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”
“Okay,” He let go of them with a sigh. “Just… let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
As Stier walked out of the room Dtier said, “Actually, if you don’t mind…”
…….
A few hours later Stier was wondering why he’d said anything.
He walked back into the living room of his lair which had since been converted to a sickroom. Every blanket in the lair was piled on the couch converted to a bed with pillows and more than one furniture store run. Four fans pointed at the patient in question who looked the picture of comfort despite their so-called ‘affliction.’ Stier knocked on the doorway entrance, balancing a tray of plain oatmeal, medication he’d found at the corner pharmacy, and a glass of some vile concoction Dtier had insisted on.
“Alright, I made your disgusting orange water,”
“For the last time, it’s Emergency.”
“I thought you said a cold wasn’t an emergency!”
“No, I– oh never mind, just bring it here.”
Stier set the tray down, seating himself where he could brush the hair out of Dtier’s face as they drank the orange emergency water.
“You look comfortable.”
“Mhm,” Dtier made a pleased noise as they dug into their oatmeal.
“Alright, well if there’s nothing else.”
“Oh! I could really do with some buttered toast.”
Steir cringed.
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“I just made you oatmeal.”
“You’re still afraid of the toaster aren’t you?”
“I am not afraid of the toaster.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It just has a nasty habit of… surprising me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fine! I’ll make your buttered toast.”
“Love you!”
Stier paused where he stood in the doorway, smiling to himself.
“Love you too,” he whispered as he flew to the kitchen.