[ it's only because rufus couches it in an order that tseng is able to allow himself stillness. don't move, rufus says. let me do it, rufus says, and still tseng can't imagine what "it" he might do—reach for the button to summon the staff? press the button that controls tseng's pain medication, such that he might be able to push himself up after all?
no. no, what rufus means to do is to sit at tseng's elbow on the mattress and press an ice chip to his lower lip, to let it melt until cool water trickles into his mouth and down his throat. he does it like it's nothing, like he isn't rewriting everything tseng has ever known about the delicate balance between them. there are things that tseng has never allowed himself to imagine, thoughts he has never allowed himself to entertain, because he knows that to do so would be ruinous—and here rufus is, enacting like fifteen of them all at once, completely unaware of the havoc he's wreaking in the process.
tseng parts his lips slightly and swallows. he focuses on the water, how it soothes his dry mouth, his parched throat. the fluids pumping into him through one of his ivs are certainly no replacement for the base pleasure of drinking after a long time without water. and so tseng is content to let his eyes close again, feeling the ice melt, feeling the water drip, trying desperately not to feel the brush of rufus shinra's fingertips against his mouth.
when he speaks again, his voice is steadier. still slow and a little hazy at the edges, and it still takes a little time for him to catch his breath, but it's much easier to form words. ]
Thank you.
[ sir. he should say sir. somehow he can't bring himself to shape his lips around the word. tseng blinks his eyes open again, focuses them on rufus, so much closer than before and so much more beautiful. brilliant. rufus has always been so brilliant; it's a privilege to see him this close. he can feel his forearm pressing against rufus' hip where he's settled on the bed. tseng doesn't remember the last time he touched rufus, if it wasn't to rush him out of some crisis or another.
something, perhaps the drugs in his veins, prompts him to say, ] I thought I was going to die. ...I didn't want to.
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no. no, what rufus means to do is to sit at tseng's elbow on the mattress and press an ice chip to his lower lip, to let it melt until cool water trickles into his mouth and down his throat. he does it like it's nothing, like he isn't rewriting everything tseng has ever known about the delicate balance between them. there are things that tseng has never allowed himself to imagine, thoughts he has never allowed himself to entertain, because he knows that to do so would be ruinous—and here rufus is, enacting like fifteen of them all at once, completely unaware of the havoc he's wreaking in the process.
tseng parts his lips slightly and swallows. he focuses on the water, how it soothes his dry mouth, his parched throat. the fluids pumping into him through one of his ivs are certainly no replacement for the base pleasure of drinking after a long time without water. and so tseng is content to let his eyes close again, feeling the ice melt, feeling the water drip, trying desperately not to feel the brush of rufus shinra's fingertips against his mouth.
when he speaks again, his voice is steadier. still slow and a little hazy at the edges, and it still takes a little time for him to catch his breath, but it's much easier to form words. ]
Thank you.
[ sir. he should say sir. somehow he can't bring himself to shape his lips around the word. tseng blinks his eyes open again, focuses them on rufus, so much closer than before and so much more beautiful. brilliant. rufus has always been so brilliant; it's a privilege to see him this close. he can feel his forearm pressing against rufus' hip where he's settled on the bed. tseng doesn't remember the last time he touched rufus, if it wasn't to rush him out of some crisis or another.
something, perhaps the drugs in his veins, prompts him to say, ] I thought I was going to die. ...I didn't want to.