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Blitzø was not hovering. He absolutely wasn't. But the fact of the matter was that it was a small apartment even when only he and Loona occupied it. Having a third person on the couch--a third person whose gangly limbs did _not_ fit on the couch, by the way—made it pretty impossible not to haunt the same area as each other.
...which meant it was pretty hard not to notice that said third person had been asleep for over fourteen solid hours. And Blitzø did notice. Continually. Every time he passed the couch to get a snack or use the bathroom or just casually walk past to see if Stolas's water glass needed refilling.
But! He was NOT hovering. Full stop. Fuck that.
On an entirely, completely, utterly unrelated note, on his last few trips across the room he'd noticed an increasingly high flush creeping onto Stolas's face as he slept. Any other time, Blitzø would have chalked it up to Stolas having a particularly horny dream. Satan knew Blitzø had summoned a flush that deep to Stolas's feathery cheeks many a time. But this looked different. Especially combined with the fact that Stolas hadn't even stirred enough to drink water or take a piss in fourteen hours (and twenty-seven minutes, but what asshole was counting, anyway?) Blitzø tried telling himself that Stolas was probably just exhausted and the best thing for him was to sleep it off, but...when he caught Stolas shivering even under the blanket he'd loaned him, he felt like he was going to burst into flames if he didn't do something.
Loona, thankfully, had left about an hour ago, supposedly to run errands. Blitzø suspected that was code for "get some fucking time to herself to shake off whatever the HELL happened yesterday." But it also meant the apartment was unbearably quiet. Blitzø tried to intentionally bustle around the main living area a bit too loudly, hoping that it might wake Stolas on its own. No dice. Stolas didn't even shift in his sleep. Not for the first time in the last several hours, Blitzø found himself wondering just what the fuck those sin assholes had done to him. He wasn't dead, at least, but was this exhaustion and (probable) fever just a side effect of draining his magic? Was it just because Stolas was such a prissy blueblood that he got sick whenever he was stressed out? Or was it something worse, something more sinister that was part of his punishment?
...his punishment that he absolutely did not deserve. Blitzø could admit that in the privacy of his own thoughts, at least.
From across the room (he'd parked himself in the kitchenette because he wasn't hovering. If he was hovering, he'd be in the living room. Obviously) he heard Stolas make a ragged, uncomfortable little hooting sound in his sleep. Which was neither adorable nor concerning. Blitzø groaned and went in search of a second blanket. Naturally, there wasn't one. Loona didn't exactly have many overnight guests, and the kinds of guests Blitzø brought home were usually too drunk or horny (or both) to bother with making up a proper bed. He briefly considered borrowing Loona's blanket, but that...probably wouldn't go over well. She'd already been kind enough to scare up some spare clothes for Stolas to sleep in. Blitzø didn't feel like pushing his luck. Especially after the day they'd all had.
Grumbling to himself, Blitzø grabbed a bottle of pills and plopped onto the floor next to where Stolas's head was half buried in his pillow. Gently, more gently than he would have believed himself capable of, he brushed a hand over Stolas's forehead. Yep, burning up, as he thought. Fuck Satan and that other bird fucker whose name Blitzø hadn't bothered to learn (and certainly didn't intend to start now). "Stolas?" he half whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Stolas mumbled something that sounded sort of like an apology (dammit, of COURSE Stolas could apologize so easily that he did it in his SLEEP. Fuck him, honestly) but didn't wake.
Blitzø shook his shoulder a little. "Hey, asshole. You have a fever and you need to take something before it cooks your stupid birdbrain."
Not exactly the soft awakening he'd been going for. Shitstains, why was he so bad at this?
Thankfully, while he had managed to (fucking finally!) rouse Stolas, the owl seemed too groggy to have registered the actual words. His eyes all blinked open at a different rate, which only enhanced his expression of absolutely delirious exhaustion. "Octavia?" he mumbled.
Blitzø grimaced, feeling a peculiar mixture of sorrow, guilt, and maybe a tiny bit of envy that his name wasn't the first one out of Stolas's mouth WHAT so sue him. "Bzzt. Try again."
Stolas tried to rise to his elbows on the couch, but shuddered and aborted the whole attempt halfway through, flopping back to the cushions pathetically. "Blitzy?"
The nickname did not, even a little bit, make Blitzø's heart turn over. Nope. This was fine. "Getting warmer. Speaking of which, you look like death warmed over so I brought you meds. Also you should probably at least drink some water before you shrivel up."
Stolas made a little “mf” sound as if he understood, but his eyes were already starting to droop closed again, seemingly without his say-so.
"Hey, come on, Stolas." Blitzø shook his shoulder again. "You've been comatose for fourteen hours."
"I’ve been—that—why am I still—" Stolas scrubbed at his eyes impatiently. Blitzø had never known him to be at a loss for words. Even in the middle of their hottest nights together, Stolas was a fucking thesaurus on long legs. "...so tired?" he finally finished.
"I guess...everything took a lot out of you." Yeah, no shit, Blitzø. Why was this so hard? "Dyou need help sitting up?"
"No. Thank you." Stolas visibly tried to gather himself. "I'd like to retain what scraps of dignity remain to me."
There was the thesaurus. Blitzø was more relieved than he cared to admit. "Right."
With a mighty groan, Stolas managed to drag himself into a sitting position. The blanket made a slow, sliding attempt to escape to the floor, but Blitzø caught it and tucked it more comfortably across Stolas's lap before handing him a couple of pills and the water. Stolas knocked back pills and water in a few greedy gulps.
"Told ya. Dehydrated," Blitzø interjected, then waggled his eyebrows. "Want to go another round?"
Stolas tried to roll his eyes, but with how limp and groggy he looked, it lost most of the effect. "Another glass of water would be most welcome, yes."
By the time Blitzø refilled the glass and came back, Stolas was practically dozing off again, still sitting propped up with his head drooping towards his chest. Feeling bolder, Blitzø sat next to him on the couch and elbowed him. Stolas started badly but tried to cover for it by coughing before accepting the water and, again, downing the entire glass in one go. "Fuck me, it's like you haven't drank or slept in weeks or something," Blitzø said in as conversational a tone as he could muster. "Does this always happen when you fancy fucks lose your powers?"
"Believe it or not, there isn't much of a precedent for...this sort of thing." Stolas set the glass aside, not quite looking at Blitzø.
"Soooo you're saying we're trendsetters?"
Stolas snorted, but it sounded brittle even to Blitzø's ears. "I'm saying I could crumble to dust tomorrow for all I know. There's no—no one has ever—" Again, Stolas seemed to lose his words. He covered his face with his hands, shivering and taking shaky breaths.
"Hey, hey, it's cool. We don't have to talk about it right now."
"N-no, it's fine. It doesn't matter." Stolas let out a concerningly manic-sounding little giggle. "Maybe nothing matters anymore. Maybe I'm the biggest fool under the earth."
Blitzø didn't know how to even begin with the nihilism (which, huh, had Stolas always been that bleak, or was it new?) so he decided to go with his usual humor but add a touch of that vulnerability stuff everyone was always going on about. "Yeah, well...maybe that makes two of us." He was both hoping and dreading that this might prompt Stolas to talk about them. But Stolas either chose to let the moment go or was distracted by another full-body shiver that started at his feet and moved all the way up to his topmost feathers. He gathered the blanket closer, trying to fit as much of himself under its warmth as possible. "Okay, note to self, later today I'm going to buy you a better blanket. Hang on."
Blitzø rummaged through his closet and came back with an armload of sweaters. He was alarmed to find that in that brief absence, Stolas's eyes had filled with tears. Panicking, Blitzø defaulted to talking as much as possible. "So uh, these are all obviously too small for you—you're welcome to try, I never wear any of these stupid things but M and M always get them for me for the holidays, so if you rip 'em or something it's no big deal—but I thought we could also just pile them on top of the blanket. It's stupid, but it's the best I've got for the moment?"
Stolas took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Blitzø could literally see Stolas grasping for his usual posh, unbothered demeanor and it fucking killed him to witness. How long had Stolas been forced to act however his bullshit stuck up family wanted him to act?
...and why hadn't Blitzø ever wondered about that before now?
"I will be okay," Stolas said, voice monotone as he stared at the ceiling. "Once the medicine you have so kindly provided kicks in, I'm sure I'll be right as rain."
"Alright, fuck that."
"I—excuse me?"
"You can't bullshit me, birdbrain, I am the KING of bullshit. And that's bullshit. You're not okay and you don't have to be."
Stolas blinked at Blitzø, apparently at a loss for words again.
Blitzø let out an annoyed sigh. "And I know that's rich, coming from me. Fuck, if I've learned anything this month it's that I'm also the king of trying to outrun my feelings. But I—" Blitzø licked his lips, mouth dry all of a sudden. "I wanna do better. I want to be better. And you should, too. Not that you're bad right now, just—goddamn I'm bad at this. Just—don’t feel like you have to pretend while you're here, alright? You saved my stupid life yesterday. The least I can do is let you be messy in my apartment if that's what you need."
The corner of Stolas's mouth twitched faintly, but Blitzø noticed it and grinned. Before he could object, he started piling sweaters onto and around Stolas.
"I'm not...even remotely sure what I need right now," Stolas whispered. There was a hitch in his voice that might have been unshed tears or might have been the exhaustion creeping back in.
"Great, join the club. Bet I can hazard a guess on a few things you need, though.'
Stolas sighed deeply. "I’m really not in the right headspace for sex just now, Blitz.”
Not what he was alluding to (for once) and it actually stung a little that that's what Stolas thought he meant. Though hadn't Blitzø been the one who insisted, over and over, that their situation was only about sex and nothing else? "Okay, first of all, ew. My daughter could walk in the front door any minute. I may be a freak, but I’m not that kind of freak.” Blitzø clocked the way Stolas seemed to shrink a bit at the word "daughter," and swiftly moved on. "Second of all, I was gonna suggest another glass of water and more sleep, asshole. Maybe even some food if you're feeling particularly spicy."
He wasn't rewarded with another almost-smile, but at least Stolas seemed to step back from the chasm of paternal grief and guilt for the moment. "I'm not certain I can eat just now, but more water sounds good," Stolas mumbled.
Glad for a clear direction, Blitzø retrieved more water. When Stolas straightened up a bit to take it, half the sweater pile toppled onto the ground. Blitzø swore under his breath.
"No, it's fine." Stolas drank only half of the water this time before setting it aside.
Blitzø noticed how bad his shiver had gotten, and a faint blush rose to his cheeks as an idea occurred to him. "Fuck, the things I do for you, bird dick." The words sounded hollow even to him. Who was he to complain right now? After everything he'd put Stolas through, and everything Stolas had just given up for him, where did he get off begrudging him what tiny comfort he could offer?
"W-what?" Stolas actually let out a tiny squawk of alarm as Blitzø pulled him into a lying position on the couch and crawled in beside him. "B-Blitz, I'm not sure that—"
"It's just until your fever breaks, kay? I'm not letting you be miserable on my account. Or—more miserable than you have to be, since—WHATEVER. Do you want me to fuck off? Cuz I will happily fuck off."
He felt rather than saw Stolas's uncertainty. It was yet another reminder of how badly he'd hurt him, physically feeling the way Stolas held himself back for a moment despite how badly he clearly wanted this. Blitzø tilted his head as far back as it could go to look upside-down at Stolas's face. The owl's flush had gotten significantly worse, which was a bit gratifying if he was honest.
"This isn't anything—we still need to talk, I know. And if...if you want me to leave, I'll leave. But if you want, you could just think of me as a very warm throw pillow. Or a space heater.”
Stolas chuckled thinly. "I said it before. I haven't the faintest idea what I want or need just now."
"Then let me take care of you," Blitzø blurted out. There. He'd said at least one of the seventeen terrible vulnerable things knocking around inside his thick skull. "It doesn't have to—mean anything, I know I fucked that up. Or we can like, talk about it once you're better. Or next year. Or never. But right now...please. Let me do something to help."
Stolas was so quiet and so still for such a long moment that Blitzø started to wonder if he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. Finally, though, Stolas mumbled, "Then can I make a truly self indulgent request?"
"Sure, yeah. Dyou want me to kill someone? I don't normally do demons anymore, but I'll make an exception this time."
Stolas shook his head. He grappled with his words for another moment, blinking heavily.
"Spit it out before you pass out again, dumbass."
"I've—neverbeenthelittlespoon," Stolas blurted, his face feathers turning very red indeed. "And, well, it might be more effective. At. Warmth."
Blitzø blinked. His cheeks might also be a touch red now. "Wait, never?"
"You were never exactly a cuddler," said Stolas, voice going a bit blurry around the edges. His embarrassment was quickly being overtaken by returning exhaustion. "And my ex-wife makes you look positively touchy-feely."
"Not a competition I was aware of entering, but glad to know I'm better than her at something else." Blitzø climbed over Stolas's wiry torso and snuggled close to his back, wrapping his arms around him. Stolas was right—he'd never lingered long in a position like this. Not one that didn't involve a lot less clothing, at least. And he did feel more than a little silly, given that he was half Stolas's size. But he couldn't argue with the results. He felt Stolas let go of muscles he hadn't noticed were tense. A long, weary sigh escaped the owl's lips, and his head nestled back into the crook of Blitzø's shoulder.
"Everything you ever hoped for?" Blitzø quipped.
Stolas hummed in response, which Blitzø wasn't sure how to interpret. He found himself stroking the feathers on the top of Stolas's head. It was as if he'd found Stolas's power-off button; Stolas's head grew heavier on his shoulder almost instantly, and his shaky breaths grew more even and steady.
It was supposed to only be until Stolas's fever broke. But by the time Blitzø noticed sweat beginning to gather on the back of his neck, Blitzø was starting to get sleepy himself. He gingerly kicked the blanket and remaining sweaters off the couch—he needn't have worried though, Stolas was dead to the world again—and settled himself into a more comfortable position against Stolas's back.
That's how Loona found them an hour later when she returned, sleeping soundly in a tangle of limbs and feathers.