Chapter Text
Strands of black hair covered the entire shower wall, Nathan couldn’t remember the last time he had brushed, or well, washed his hair this thoroughly.
Clumps of dead hair fell into his hand as he combed the conditioner through with his fingers. His skin was scarily similar to the shower walls' pale color.
He groaned, leaning forwards to rinse. Eyes closed, he holds his breath, fingers running through once more to get the last of the expensive product out.
Close to his feet lay more strands of hair, feeling grateful that Mordhaus has individual showers for each of his bandmates. There was no energy left in the man to quickly spray down the shower. Nathan limps down the hallway. He hasn’t noticed how easily simple tasks have been wearing him out. Sure, he’d been stuck in his head and always at work but he’d never let himself look visibly neglected. Especially not since Pickles returned.
Nathan was reminded of his role instantly, hearing shouting from downstairs. Assuming he had time before things went sideways, he slipped on a tank top and boxers. Before entering the kitchen, to his surprise, all noise had calmed down significantly as if the two men fighting could sense his presence. Trying a new hobby? Dethklok had never needed to cook, always having food presented to them. “We ams making pancake!” Toki shrieks.
The bitchy blond swats at his emotional bandmate, and hands over the phone. With his voice full of phlegm, Nathan huffs “Let him make something, he’s been inside for a week.”
He had been hungry too, he woke up far too late to be served lunch. He steps out of the kitchen, feeling his knees creak. He feels like one big bruise.
Pickles sat himself on the couch next to Nathan with two big plates, he held them both out, giving a soft nod toward them. He shook him gently.
“C’mere, sit up!”
Nathan fumbled the plates drowsily. “Hrrhh..” “Toki wouldn’t eat em, guess ‘e was bored. I asked Murderface if he wanted some but he said dey were poisoned.” The freckled man grabs one of the pancakes off the plate and bites it, which convinces his buddy to do the same.
Eventually Nathan picks a pancake up and finishes it in three bites. The two share a glance. Seeing Pickles isn’t yet pleased, Nathan snacks on his plates without much discussion.
The older man places the back of his hand on Nathan’s cheek, then forehead. He takes in the coolness of his hand. “Any better t’day bud?” Nathan grabs his wrist gently and presses his cheek further into the cool comfort. “Mmh a bit.” Pickles picks up the plates, leaving him alone on the couch. Nathan stretches himself out, placing a cushion behind his neck. His body barely fits, and he holds his knees to his chest..
He slept for at least an hour before Pickles scooped his legs up, making room for himself. Delicate fingers lay against his face again, they move to swipe the sweat off Nathan’s cheek. Both of his small, talented hands could fit on the larger man’s pudgy chest comfortably.
This is what Nathan’s mind decides to focus on. He shakily grabs the ginger’s wrists, causing Pickles to re-examine their situation. Nathan’s expression remains gentle as he guides his hands to his chest. Pickles became cool again, letting his vocalist relocate his hands.
Pickles felt the other man’s slow pulse quicken and once again steady itself. Cheap fabric felt soft to his calloused cracking fingers. Nathan felt his drummer’s hands move across the fabric. His stomach dropped, he sat up.
Pickles ran his hands down his pal’s sides, leaving them resting on his waist.
A few seconds passed before Nathan made uncomfortable eye contact, he felt the shame seep in and Pickles caught that. The ginger moved away briskly standing up to grab his bag.
“S’ko upstairs.”
Pickles fiddles with a backpack, eventually grabbing 4 prerolls, a 2 liter of ginger ale, and cold medicine. “Let’s get you feeling better, hm?”