plaguedrat | (no subject)

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For two months, Rat has done his best to avoid cooking meals. To him, it marks acceptance giving in to the form of the city and letting the apartment it provided become his home. Grey's presence has changed that rule. It's why he's bought carrots, potatoes, a round of beef, stock wine, and spices. For Grey.

Cooking for himself, letting this place be any kind of permanent? Rat can't do that. For Grey, though, he can.

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Nodding, he eases Grey forward so that there's room to bend him backward so that he can soak his hair. As with the soap, he lathers shampoo in his hands before smoothing it into Grey's hair.

The plastic bag squinches against the side of the tub as Grey moves. There's some flailing when he's pulled backward; he's never, after all, had his head underwater, and he splutters when he comes up.

"Hey, you're okay!" Rat says, trying not to laugh. He can't quite stifle it, especially when the water is barely two feet deep.

But it's water and he didn't know to hold his breath and Grey only has one hand to wipe his eyes and he didn't know -

Grey makes some inarticulate noises. He doesn't mind water, he thinks. As long as it doesn't go over his head.

Fair enough, fair enough. Rat massages Grey's scalp, hoping it'll pacify his indignation.

If Grey knew what embarrassment was, he'd be embarrassed. As it is, he's like a sulky puppy. Though the fingers against his scalp are really nice.

Really nice.

"I'm going to tip you back again," Rat says, warning this time. Just long enough to rinse the shampoo out of Grey's hair.

"When your cast is off, you can just stand under the shower instead of sitting."

The water's already a little dingy. Grey grabs what he can to hold on to as he's tipped back. His eyes are shut tight, his mouth too.

It's the work of a few seconds and Rat lets Grey back up. Noting the state of the water, he reaches out past Grey to let it drain so that he can replace it with clean water.

Grey scrubs at his eyes again and snuffles out a breath. Are they done?

"Keep your cast away," he warns. After a second, he pours out more hot water and points at the shower head above them, turning the knob that sends the spray down over them.

Gah. This is all very traumatic. Grey has had a shower before, but the water sprays down and the sad puppy with the plastic on his arm just looks more sad. Is this what people do regularly?! Why?!

Because it helps them keep clean, mostly. Rat tends to prefer baths to showers, though he sits easily enough under the spray as he washes his own hair and body. "You can step out if you need," he says, head tipped back and eyes closed.

Blinking against the water that splashes in his eyes, Grey does climb out. He's only half-clean, really, but that's plenty for him. He crouches on the tiles, watching.

Fully washed, Rat steps out and towels off quickly. It should be strange to him that he's already comfortable with this casual level of intimacy but it seems to work between them.

Is that what Grey should do?

Sometimes being here - in Darrow - makes him very tired. He doesn't know what to do sometimes and it's tiring. He doesn't mean to grow easily discouraged. It's just that sometimes, things seem so strange.

Rat would suggest that Grey make his own rules, living the way that suits him best. It's how he's managed so far.

He goes through his drawers and throws on one of the undershirts and pairs of boxers he bought in a multipack out of necessity, deliberately being indifferent in his choices. Still damp, they cling to his skin.

"Clean shirt?"

Unfolding, Grey pads, still dripping, into the room, nodding. He's never lived for himself; he doesn't know how. Perhaps that's something that makes Curtis so angry.

From the same pack, Rat tosses a clean shirt and some boxers to Grey. It makes little difference to him, if Grey wants to keep them.

It just occurs to Grey to take off the plastic bag and then he steps into the boxers and pulls the short over his head. He still feels discombobulated and he gives his head a shake to get the water out of it.

Impulsive again, Rat reaches up and combs his fingers through Grey's hair, smoothing it away from his face. Down the back of his head and on over his shoulder and arm, Rat touches Grey's right hand lifting the injury up for his inspection.

"How long have the stitches been in?" Underneath the suture, the wound looks old. Well-covered and left to heal.

Um .... Grey blinks as he thinks. Time is still strange and fluid for him. He finally shrugs. (Nearly four weeks, but he might not be thinking that way.) The day he got here, it was stitched. He was tough and didn't let the nurse see his pain.

"It looks healed," he says, banking on experience. "If I had the right stuff I could cut the stitches out for you, but they're already dissolving on their own."

Edited 2014-10-10 20:47 (UTC)

Flexing his hand, Grey watches it. It feels healed, too; it no longer stings and he very nearly smiled. That's good news.

"Can't do anything about the wrist though," Rat admits, sounding very nearly apologetic about it. He runs his fingertips over the closed wound and then relinquishes Grey's hand.

When did he become so fastidious? So attending? Rat tries not to think too much of it.