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Phil woke up by sitting up straight and promptly vomiting into a blue bag.
Other hands were holding the bag for him, hands covered with some kind of indigo-colored latex and possibly offering words of comfort. Though what words, he couldn’t understand, nor was he likely to remember. At least he’d told them that this would happen. Anaesthesia had a habit of making him sick, something he’d learned from years of close calls and long hospital visits. It was awful, but at least it was contained.
He spit into the bag, tears from the effort of vomiting dropping from his eyelashes, and managed to make a noise that told them he was done.
He hated his colon. God. He hated it, hated it, hated it. It seemed like it had brought him nothing but pain and anxiety — and medical bills — for the last decade or more. If it wasn’t such an important part of his body, he would’ve told them to rip it out and be done with it by now. But even then, they probably wouldn’t. Doctors and their oaths.
In a way, though, they just had. A little bit. What was the word? It wasn’t a colonoscopy. He knew what that was; he’d had it before. There was a different suffix, one that meant you took it out, or took part of it out.
Grimacing, he let hands guide him back to lay on the bed. His stomach hurt. He knew it would hurt, just like he knew he would throw up coming off the anaesthesia, but knowing it and living it were two very different things. The pain was still medium-level, at least, muted by a drug they had pushed into his IV that made his muscles feel tight, then warm and relaxed.
Ectomy!….Colectomy! That was the word. Colectomy. Pity that it was only part. Fucking diverticulitis.
Phil rolled his eyes to himself. Sure. He could remember a word like “diverticulitis” with no problem.
Next to his bed, a nurse was typing into the stand-up monitor. He didn’t know where he was, other than somewhere inside the hospital but outside of the operating room. The lights above him were bright, and his eyelids were heavy from lingering sleep and the narcotics in his blood. When he blearily blinked them open, he caught flashes of the rail of his bed, the floral-pattern curtain hiding him from the rest of the bay, and an analog clock on the wall.
“How would you rate your pain?”
The nurse next to him asked him this, still typing away, but it was hard to pay attention to what she was saying. All of the voices on the ward floated up, landed directly to his ears, and he had to play back her voice to realize this is the only one that was actually directed at him.
He tried to inhale, winced, then tried again, slowly.
“Mmm ‘s a…five…six,” he wheezed. The labor of speaking wasn’t really helping.
“I’ll see if I can get something for you about that. Are you cold? Do you need a warm blanket?”
There was a trace of warmth and care in their voice, which Phil appreciated, but he grunted a dissenting noise and shook his head. He bent one of his legs at the knee and propped it against the railing of the bed. There was so much pressure in his stomach. God.
“Okay, just let me know if you need anything. They’re clearing out a spot for you in recovery which should be ready in a few minutes.” She grabbed a pulse ox, then clamped it on one of his outstretched fingers. “Can you remind me who’s waiting for you?”
Phil braced himself for more talking.
“Dan…ah…friend.”
“We’ll get you to him shortly,” she said, then disappeared behind the curtain. She came back what must’ve been only moments later, but still drugged, Phil was having difficulty keeping track of time. “Here’s something for that pain. You think you can take it?”
Phil nodded, grabbing the little cup with the pill and tossing it back, then washing it down with the other little cup of water she held out for him. Holy shit, his mouth was so dry. Even his throat, the back of his nose, it felt like moisture hadn’t touched those in days.
“Thank you,” he exhaled harshly. He felt bad for the pain that was probably making him seem angry or ungrateful. He didn’t want any of the staff to think he was mad at them; they were just doing their jobs, and they were doing great, as far as Phil could tell.
“You’re very welcome,” she said, taking the empty cups back and disposing of them. “A few more minutes, we’ll get you down there.”
Phil decided to keep his eyes shut, screwing them tight against the bright lights above him and the pain inside him. Really, the pain was present, but it was probably made worse by the knowledge of what was causing it. They had just cut out part of his guts, pumped air into his stomach, air that was largely still there. And his dick hurt, a lingering sting that was probably the result of a catheter they’d removed before he woke up.
The pain kept him from true sleep, but his body was wavering in and out of a dream-like state. He hated the thought that he wouldn’t have even just an hour to take a nap, to consciously recover from this ordeal. They were helping him, slowly, but not slowly enough for his liking.
Someone — another nurse? — pushed back the curtain all the way, and Phil opened one eye.
“Alright, let’s get you down the hall,” they said, smiling. “We’ll have all your belongings down there and can help you get dressed. You’ll have all the time you need.”
As they removed the breaks from the bed and began to wheel him down the corridor, Phil wondered how much he could push the all the time you need business. The movement was disorientating, and he found himself worried for a moment if it would make him motion sick.
Within moments, though, the bed pivoted, and he found himself backing into another nook.
“Here we are,” the nurse said, locking the wheels. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled, then we’ll see if we can sit you up and get you dressed.”
With that, she shuffled away, and Phil heard minute rustling from the corner. He opened one eye, just a crack, and saw black and grey flannel behind the rail of his bed.
“Hi buddy,” Dan said softly. “How are you feeling?”
Phil relaxed as much as he could, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt more comfortable knowing he had someone there to speak for him, to advocate for him. He grunted, an unamused sound as if to say Look at me. I’ve been better.
Dan breathed a laugh, then brushed his knuckles against Phil’s upper arm.
“They stole…” Phil breathed, then paused to gulp more air, “…my guts.”
“Yes, well, they weren’t very nice guts,” Dan said, and Phil could hear a smile warp the sentence. He was glad. He knew Dan had a tendency to spiral, especially in environments like this. He knew this wasn’t the first time, either.
Phil was done talking, deciding it was too much work for the moment. Even his voice sounded off, gravelly and groggy from the sleep and the lack of moisture in his throat. Better to focus on staying awake and soaking up as much energy as he could, if he could.
The nurse returned, and Dan stepped back. She was a soothing presence on her own, though, which Phil appreciated. She took out the IV in his arm with care and a soft voice, then asked if he could sit up and work his way out of the bed.
Phil raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. It took some assistance, and what felt like a few small blows to his lower abdomen, but soon, he was standing on shaking legs, one hand supported by the nurse, one hand supported by Dan.
“We’re just going to make our way to the bathroom around the corner. Take as much time as you need, we’ll help you all the way there,” she said.
It was slow going at first, but Phil found that the steps got easier with distance. He was glad for the grippy socks they’d given him, which gave him more purchase on the ground to propel himself with. His steps were a bit wide and swingy, but he figured, well, whatever worked.
When they finally got to the single bathroom, the nurse relayed instructions for getting dressed: basically, stay seated and don’t fall. She said she’d be just around the corner, and to pull on the red rope by the toilet if he needed assistance.
Dan looked over to him once she was out of sight.
“D’you want me here?”
With one hand still on Dan’s arm, Phil nodded.
“Please, yes,” he breathed.
With shuffling steps, Phil made his way to the chair in the corner, not needing the toilet, and peeled off the hospital gown they’d given him hours ago. Then he sat, slowly, hoping he wasn’t going to jostle his injuries in the process.
Dan grabbed Phil’s clothes from the neon purple bag labeled ‘PERSONAL ITEMS’ and knelt in front of where Phil sat.
“Alright,” Dan said, shaking out a fresh pair of underwear and widening the leg holes. “Pants first.”
Phil picked up one foot, gingerly, then stepped into the pants. He followed with the other foot, then used his grip on the rail next to him to help Dan get the pants up around his hips. They followed the same pattern for the trousers — big trousers with a comfortable waistband — and by the time they got to the shirt, Phil was able to slip it over his head without a problem.
“Ready to stand?” Dan asked, offering his hand.
Phil grimaced, but took the hand, using it to shakingly raise himself to a somewhat bent over position. Dan’s arm was solid underneath him. He was glad for the physical guidance of someone equal to his stature. The nurse was much shorter than him, and he was somewhat worried that, had it just been her, he would’ve knocked them both over.
The walk back to his alcove was slow, but not as tenuous as it was before. The nurse caught up with them on the way back, making sure the curtain was open and the bed was ready when they arrived.
Phil sat back on the bed by bending his knees first, entering a hunched position, and then letting himself fall back a couple of inches to plop onto the mattress.
“Ready to go home?” the nurse asked.
Phil nodded, a motion made sloppy by his exhaustion.
“D’you think you can walk, or would you like a wheelchair?” she asked, tone inclined like she already knew the answer.
Phil blinked, still breathing slowly through his mouth.
“Chair,” he gasped. “Thank you.”
She smiled, and he thought he caught a trace of a smile on Dan’s face, as well.
“Let me double check with all your doctors that you’re good to go, and we’ll get you wheeled out of here. Hold tight,” she said, then disappeared behind the curtain.
Without the need to focus on a conversation, Phil let his eyes flutter shut, stabilizing himself with a firm hold on the blankets beneath him. The drugs — he assumed they were the drugs — were making him dizzy, but not unpleasantly so. He just felt like he was stuck in a half-asleep purgatory, doomed to nod off for a moment, only to be sucked back to the world before he could succumb to the sleep he desperately wanted.
Dan spoke, and Phil’s skin flinched as he snapped back to.
“Don’t fall asleep, bub,” he murmured, shuffling closer to his side, but not touching him. Phil was grateful, uncertain about how much he really wanted to be touched at the moment. “We can’t have you falling on the floor again.”
Phil exhaled, then grunted.
“I just…want to be home,” he rasped.
“I know,” Dan said. “We’ll get home and you can sleep as long or as little as you want. Anywhere you want.”
Phil made an attempt to smile, to make Dan feel better about trying to make him feel better. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Phil hobbled through their front door with one hand holding Dan’s forearm in a vice grip.
“You got it,” Dan whispered. “You got it.”
From his other arm, Dan slung off the backpack with their belongings, leaving it by the front door. Phil figured he’d be back for it later.
“Not…painful,” Phil wheezed, inching closer to their bedroom step by step. “Just…uncomfortable.”
Right at the moment they made it to the edge of the bed, Dan paused.
“Trousers off?”
Phil bit back a curse, just wanting to finally sit down, but Dan had a point.
“Good idea. Can you—?”
“‘Course.”
“Slowly,” Phil managed. “Around the— the waistband.” Even the thought of something brushing his wounds there made his face hot.
“Here, put your arms on my shoulders.”
Phil kept his eyes open as he readjusted his point of balance, anxious about falling over. He could feel Dan grabbing hold of the waistband, then holding it an inch or two from the front of his abdomen as he pulled them down, nowhere near the wounds.
Phil exhaled when the trousers fell to the floor, and Dan used the position they were in to help Phil lower himself to a sitting position on the bed. He kneeled, carefully peeling off Phil’s shoes and trousers by his feet, then tossed them to the side.
“Socks, too?”
Phil nodded, noticing an uncomfortable twinge developing in his upper arm and shoulder on the right side of his body. He winced, raising a hand to massage the area.
“What’s wrong?” Dan asked, standing up from the floor.
“I think— those bubbles,” he breathed, closing his eyes again. Talking was making it worse. He prayed that Dan understood what he was referring to without having to explain it again. The surgeon had explained that the type of surgery they were doing required expanding Phil’s stomach with gas, then draining most of it before he woke up. But there would still be some left, and when they got stuck — especially around his diaphragm — it was going to send pain up to his neck and shoulders.
Thankfully, Dan understood.
“Flat Philly it is, then,” he said, removing the mountain of pillows from the head of the bed. “Need help with your legs?”
Phil had a sudden vision of Dan pushing his legs up on the bed using the wrong angle and sparking pain around his incision, so he shook his head and grunted. Slowly, more slowly than he would’ve thought necessary, he brought up one leg to the bed, then the other, breathing evenly as he did so.
He took a moment to reorient, sitting up straight, before using the strength of his arms to walk himself backwards into a laying position. Dan was right next to him, it looked like, hovering a hand behind his back just in case he needed the support.
“There you go,” Dan murmured. “And now you don’t have to get up again until you actually want to.”
Phil exhaled, the first happy sigh he felt like he’d had in days. He could’ve cried.
“Thank fuck.”
Dan messed with the blankets, making sure Phil was covered, and the fan was on, and his phone was next to him, just in case.
“Anything else? I’ll be in and out with some water and drugs, but you look like you won’t be with me very long.”
Phil didn’t think or speak a coherent reply, but let out a happy-sounding sigh from under the blankets.
Dan hissed a small laugh. “Okay, night night, bub.”
Phil registered the dimming of the lights, then fell fast asleep.
Two hours later, Phil woke up to a pressure on his bladder, one that was impossible to ignore.
With a sigh, he resigned himself to it. He grabbed his phone where it rested next to his head, squinted against the light, and called Dan.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dan’s phone rang at full volume, somewhere on the floor at the foot of his bed. There was a shuffling sound before the ringer stopped, and Dan’s shape popped up near Phil’s feet, stooped and staggering.
“You okay?”
“What the fuck are you doing on the floor?” Phil wheezed out in a rush. “I just…need to piss.”
“You’re in my bed,” Dan murmured, using the dial on the wall to bring the lights up slightly. “And I want to be around if you need something. Like right now.”
Phil rolled onto his side, then began to use his arms to push himself up on the bed. It took nearly all of his concentration not to use his core muscles like he was used to.
“What if I had…” he breathed heavily, pausing to concentrate on swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Talking wasn’t worth the effort. “Oh, nevermind.”
Dan offered his arm again, and Phil held onto it with one hand, using the leverage to pull himself up and walk himself over to the en suite.
“Still need me?” Dan asked when Phil began to walk towards the toilet on his own. He flipped the light on.
“No, I got it.”
When Phil reemerged at the door and flicked the light off, he held onto Dan’s proffered arm again.
“Thank you,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.
“Can I convince you to take paracetamol? I’m worried about you waking up through the night with discomfort. This could be a good way to get ahead of that.”
Phil gingerly sat back down on the bed, then shook his head to ward off some of the dizziness.
“Um. Sure,” he said, looking over at their small array of medicines on the nightstand that Dan had brought out earlier. A thought occurred to him. “What if I need that other stuff? The oxycodone? Do they mix?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dan said, popping open the bottle and offering one of the pills to Phil, along with his water. “I was looking that up earlier. That’s why I was thinking of using this one as insurance.”
Phil took the pill, sipping water through the straw, then handed it back to Dan.
“Sounds good to me,” he said, dragging his legs back up on the bed.
“Just let me know,” Dan whispered, smoothing Phil’s hair back.
Phil gave a hum of agreement, and was back to sleep within minutes.
Phil woke up several times during the night wondering if he would ever stop fucking pissing.
He’d flashed his phone light down to the floor around the bottom of the bed, just in case. No chance he was going to trip over Dan and land them both back in the emergency room in the middle of the night. Each time, he hobbled himself over, not thinking it worthwhile to wake Dan up for something he could do on his own, then got himself back in bed, praying he would be able to sleep a little bit longer this time.
He woke again to the sound of a soft knock on the doorframe, though by that point, he felt rested, like he’d been asleep for a while.
“Knock knock,” Dan said softly, walking in. “Sorry to wake you. Do you think you could drink some more water for me?”
Phil grumbled. “More pissing.”
“Unfortunately,” Dan replied, holding up the cup with the straw for Phil to drink from. Phil drank as much as he could, then flopped his head back on the pillow. “It’s been eight hours. Can I talk you into more paracetamol?”
“S’pose,” he breathed, but Dan was already reaching for the bottle. Phil had a feeling he would’ve been talked into it either way.
Phil turned his head just enough that he didn’t choke on the pill while swallowing it, then returned to his pillow. He was starting to feel the bruising from the wounds, especially on his left side, where he’d heard most of the work had been done from. He was afraid to stretch his legs out all the way, so they were raised, bent at the knee.
He felt Dan place a hand on his head, solid and reassuring, his thumb stroking his scalp.
“Time is it?” he slurred.
Dan tapped his phone. “Half eleven.” He took a moment to brush some of the hair off of Phil’s forehead. “You think we can do a shower today? Maybe not now, but later. It might help you feel better, getting all the hospital off of you.”
Phil thought about it, and his knee jerk reaction was to shut it down. He was already hobbling around, and he couldn’t really stand up straight, which took a toll on the muscles in his back. Plus, he hadn’t seen his wounds yet, and they might look gnarly and make him feel sick. Still, the thought of the warm water on his back, plus the feeling of cleanliness and a sense of accomplishment — it was compelling.
“I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no,” he mumbled.
Dam continued to stroke his head. “That’s alright. I’ll ask later.” There was a moment of silence, and Phil allowed himself to feel the warm weight of Dan’s hand resting on his scalp. “Can I get you anything else?”
There wasn’t going to be much to do, Phil thought, realizing how incapacitated he would be for most of the day. It was probably going to be a rotation of the different apps on his phone until he had the energy to get to the living room, at the very least.
He opened his eyes, blinking up at Dan.
“Could you play the piano for a bit?” he asked, suddenly inspired. The piano was far enough from their bedroom that it wouldn’t be loud, but he would still hear it. “Anything, just something slow and soft. I’m sure I’ll fall asleep again soon.”
Dan gave a small smile, eyes darting across Phil’s face.
“Okay.” He gave Phil a firm forehead kiss, then stood. “I’ll have my phone with me on vibrate. If you need anything, or if I’m too loud, let me know.”
“Okay,” Phil said with his own smile, and watched him go.
Several minutes later, the soft keys of the piano started floating through the air, slow and gentle like Phil was hoping for. It felt like a floatie at the pool, holding him buoyant out of the water, preventing him from sinking. He recognized some of it at first — pieces of video game soundtracks that Dan had been obsessed with over the years, a few of Hozier’s slower songs, a classical piece that Phil had never bothered to really remember the name of — before it became more unintelligible and unmemorable.
It didn’t help that he was dipping in and out of sleep. He would let his mind wander during one piece, then open his eyes a few minutes later to something that sounded completely different. He couldn’t be blamed, he reasoned. All that piss.
It was with that final curse at piss that Phil let the music lull him to sleep, and he floated back into his dreams.
Something was stabbing Phil in the shoulder, and when it woke him up, he found that something was stabbing him in the ribs, too.
He didn’t know what time it was, or what he had done to deserve or invoke this, but he tried, in vain, to breathe without pain. The sharp sensations inside his shoulder and ribs demanded that he gulp in air, but as soon as he tried, he was rewarded with a sharper stabbing feeling in his ribs. He felt like he was trapped, and the right side of his body was suffering intensely.
Not knowing where this came from or having experienced it before, he had half a mind to wait and see if it would resolve on its own. Maybe he breathed wrong, or moved wrong, or there was just a nerve that was stuck and he needed to wiggle to get it free.
But he dismissed the thought pretty quickly. This was awful. He needed a solution as quickly as possible.
“Dan!”
Holy shit. He was going to explode. He fumbled for his phone on the bed, then, grasping it, called him for good measure.
He had to calm down. Focus on taking small breaths, but not hyperventilating. He wasn’t dying, it was just pain.
Dan was there in seconds, he knew, but it felt like several minutes.
“Hey, what’s wrong? What do you need?”
He was in comfortable clothes, but not necessarily sleep wear. It was probably mid-afternoon, then.
Phil inhaled to speak, then winced when the sharp pain returned to his rib.
“Oxy— the pill—”
“I’ve got it,” Dan said, diving into the bottles of medication on the nightstand. It seemed he knew exactly where it was, because he pulled the bottle, popped it open, and had a pill offered on his hand before Phil could worry.
Phil took the pill between unsteady fingers and popped it in his mouth, washing it down with the water Dan smoothly passed to him.
Phil closed his eyes, willing the pill to kick in fast. His hands were clenched at his sides, gripping the sheets underneath him.
“Take it easy,” Dan murmured, though Phil knew it was mostly for his own ease. Dan lowered himself down to the floor next to the bed, joints popping. “Talk to me when you can.”
Breathing became easier, though he couldn’t tell if that was a psychosomatic symptom of knowing he’d just taken something that would be helping soon. Over the course of several minutes — yes, only a few minutes — he found his body relaxing without his permission. The grip he had on the sheets went loose, his eyebrows less scrunched, and he took a few tentative deep breaths to check his rib.
Nothing. The pain was gone.
“Wow,” Phil mumbled, then tried to wet his mouth. “That was really fast.”
“What happened?”
Phil tried to describe as best he could, making sure Dan knew it was a weird feeling and not anything to do with his actual wounds or something that could be terribly wrong. It was just a lot of pain to wake up to all at once and then figure out how to deal with it.
“I think it was the bubbles,” he concluded.
“Sorry.”
“‘S okay. Just glad it went away.” Phil blinked a bit, looking at the room with fresh eyes, then grabbing his phone and checking his notifications. “Actually, I feel well fresh. This is great.”
Dan laughed.
“Should I go?”
“No, stay,” Phil said, and punctuated his assertion by folding a corner of the duvet back and patting the mattress. “Come have TikTok time with me.”
An hour later, shoulder to shoulder with Dan, Phil started to feel like a weighted blanket. Not like he was underneath a weighted blanket, but the blanket itself. He felt heavy, but also light, like a rain cloud that remained in the air but felt the marginal pull of gravity nevertheless.
He was also starting to feel a bit fuzzy.
He hummed.
“I think the rest of that pill is here. Took a while.”
Dan looked over at him, phone still balanced between his fingers. “Oh yeah?”
“Kinda happy. Mostly sleepy.” Phil switched his phone off, then let it lay on his chest. “Nothing crazy, just not a normal feeling.”
“I would say happy and sleepy are your most normal feelings, other than hungry,” Dan cracked. “Should I go?”
“No!” Phil protested, knowing he sounded petulant. “Hush. I’m just going to rest my eyes.”
Beside him, he heard Dan huff a laugh.
“Alright, well. When you wake up, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Okay,” Phil sighed, already half asleep.
Between meals, medications, and assessing his general pain level, Phil didn’t have time that day to worry about a shower. Plus, he had to admit, he was still a little high from the painkiller.
So when the next morning came around, he was itching to get clean, and told Dan as much.
“Okay, we should probably take some sort of preventative pain relief before we try,” Dan said, assessing him from where he stood next to the bed.
Phil hummed. Good point.
“I think…” he started, then waffled. “No, yeah, I think it’s worth an oxycodone. I won’t get that little high for another hour or so, but it’s a pretty good pain blanket up to that point. It shouldn’t take an hour to shower, right?”
Dan made a face, shrugging.
“Depends on what you want clean. How long you want to stay under the warm water.”
Phil shook his head, then pulled himself into a half-seated position using the strength of his arms.
“It won’t take that long.”
They took a moment, Dan gathering a clean set of pajamas for Phil that wouldn’t bother him in bed or rub against his wounds, Phil grabbing his bottle of water and for a few extra sips after swallowing the pill.
When Dan went to the en suite to get everything set up, Phil gingerly pulled his legs up, then down across the edge of the bed. The shift in weight pulled on the wounds a little bit, but he was acquainted with the period of adjustment by this point.
By the time Dan returned, Phil was standing, but he was bent nearly ninety degrees at the waist, perfectly still.
“Hello,” Dan threw out.
“Yeah I’m getting there. It’s just…comfortable like this.”
“Take your time.”
Phil certainly did, unraveling inch by inch, his back muscles burning and wound throbbing with the effort of moving so slowly. He was only slightly hunched over by the time he gave up, one hand pressed lightly to the area around his wound.
“This is the best I’ve got,” he exhaled. He began to put one foot in front of the other, and Dan was at his side as a supporting presence before he could take another step.
“Hold on to me if you need me,” he said. Phil could only nod.
He was faster than yesterday, he could tell. Or the day before. He mastered the art of breathing at the right time, and of swinging his legs in a way that took pressure off his left side. The oxycodone was kicking in a little bit too, because by the time he made it to the toilet, there was little to no pain in his shoulder, and his mood was almost chipper.
Dan turned around while he pissed, turning on the water in the shower and checking the temperature.
“Can I help?”
Phil looked up, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder.
“What, with pissing?”
“No, shut up, with the shower.”
“Oh,” Phil said, flushing and tugging his shirt off slowly. “I mean, I’ll probably be alright.”
For a second, he got stuck, pulling on a part that wouldn’t give, his arms tangled and shirt covering his head. Then Dan was there, gingerly pulling on the part of the shirt that was stuck until Phil was free, looking at him face to face.
“I should rephrase. I don’t mean do you need, I mean, may I.”
“Oh,” Phil repeated. He looked over at their shower, a fairly flat terrain, but devoid of rails or easy places to steady himself, and he suddenly felt a bit uneasy. “Um, yes please.”
Dan nodded, then started taking off his own clothes. Phil only had to drop his pants and step out of them, then made his way to the shower.
Whatever worries he had about the shower — slipping and falling, the hot water burning his wounds, getting dizzy — evaporated as soon as the warm water hit his back. He almost moaned at the feeling. All of the tension in his muscles melted under the temperature and the water pressure, and he felt enveloped by a blanket that was neither stifling nor scratchy. He even realized, after a few moments, that he could stand fully now, although whether that was because of the water or the narcotics, he couldn’t say.
Dan entered slowly behind him, and Phil exhaled.
“I live here now.”
Dan hissed a laugh. “I’ll let you pay the water bill, then.”
“I always pay the water bill.”
“Right. Get your head wet, you knob.”
Phil hummed as he let the water massage his scalp, and Dan took the next several minutes working shampoo and conditioner into his hair, then rinsing it all out. Phil always loved the feeling of Dan washing his hair, the pads of his thumbs working the blood in his scalp, his giant hands covering more of his head than he would’ve thought possible.
“Not getting dizzy, are you?” Dan asked, making sure the water got out most of his conditioner.
“Mmmmmno,” Phil slurred.
Dan huffed a laugh, then grabbed the shower gel from the shelf.
“I’m gonna wash your legs, and try to wash off the Betadine around your torso. Can you wash your face?”
Phil hummed in response, then reached for his facial cleanser. Dan crouched, working the soap around Phil’s legs, and even the firm touch felt nice. He knew Dan would be careful with the wounds, probably just as squeamish about them as Phil was himself, just a little less loud about it.
Sure enough, Dan’s touch became gentle around Phil’s lower abdomen, working in a wide circumference around the skin that was still healing.
Out of nowhere, Dan put on a gruff voice and said “Who did this to you?”
Phil laughed — he couldn’t help it — but forgot about the consequences of contracting his core.
Immediately, the laugh turned into a wince and an exclamation of pain, a gasped Ah! that had Dan’s hands flying off of him.
“Sorry, did—”
“Banned! Laughing is banned!” Phil gritted through his teeth. He held his breath, then took in one heaving gulp of air. “Argh, soap on my face.”
He turned towards the water, trying to use it as a distraction from the pain as Dan continued his litany of apologies behind him. When the soap was off, Phil wiped his eyes, then looked down.
Christ, they really did a number on him. The laparoscopy had required two incisions in the soft flesh above his hip bones and one in his belly button, all sealed by medical glue. He was grateful that it wasn’t a surgery that required more cutting or scarring, but Jesus, the bruising around the area was deep and purple.
“Okay,” Phil breathed. “We gotta clean my chest and get out of here.”
By the time the drug hit in earnest, Phil was dry, clothed, and sitting perfectly still on the couch in their living room. On the TV in front of them, Howl’s Moving Castle had been playing for the last half hour.
He would’ve liked to be cuddled up to Dan, in theory, but at this point in his recovery, something like that wasn’t on the table. He was feeling much better than he was two days ago, sure, but that only meant so much. For today, a “comfortable” position on the couch meant propped in the corner against a lengthwise pillow, sitting up straight and entirely supported, with his legs up on the ottoman flush against the sofa. He didn’t have to activate any core muscles to be there, simply let the cushions do all the work.
Dan sat next to him, arm touching Phil’s, holding a bowl of popcorn in his lap that Phil would occasionally reach into.
“Can I not convince you to eat something with a little more sustenance?” Dan asked him. “We could throw something together here or get anything delivered.”
Phil thought about it, although sluggishly. Nothing was funny, but he felt like he had a small smile on the corners of his mouth, the feeling of the weighted blanket present in his body again. He wasn’t thinking about anything too hard. Nothing could make him angry. Nothing could upset him.
“Maybe,” he slurred. Then he blinked, waking himself up a bit. He wasn’t high, he didn’t want Dan to think he was completely out of it. “It’s more like. Responsive hunger. I’ll eat something that’s put in front of me, but I’m never hungry enough to seek anything out, myself.”
He reached for another small handful of popcorn, the blue skies and green grass on the screen making him feel like a flower dancing in the wind.
“That sort of sounds like we should get something delivered,” Dan said.
Phil hummed. “I’ll think about it. Maybe when the movie is over, or close to over.”
This was nice, so nice, he thought to himself. He probably still had that smirk on his face. It was the most quiet, at-peace feeling he’d had in a long time. Eventually, he would have to return to work. Busy schedules, emails, high-energy videos, sponsorships. But that was a far away thing. Now, at this moment, he had Dan, popcorn, Studio Ghibli — it was even raining outside, a steady drum against the walls and roofs of their house that was liable to lull him to sleep before the movie ended.
“You feeling okay?” Dan asked, turning his head to sneak a glance at him.
Phil nodded with his stupid little smile and hummed, a barely-audible mhm.
“Clean,” he said. “Sleepy.”
With that, Phil rested his head against Dan’s shoulder, the normally-bony landing zone made squishy by a blanket Dan had wrapped around himself. He was so grateful for Dan, always, but especially now, to have a partner who was gentle, and patient, and loving, willing to take care of him after something like this. His sentinel at the gates of danger or illness.
“I love you,” he said softly, the warm and fuzzies still squeezing his heart as he said so.
Dan let his own head drop, resting his cheek against the top of Phil’s head, but did not respond.
In the midst of his lull, this lack of response tugged Phil slowly back to wakefulness. It didn’t seem right.
He raised his head, about to crack a joke about Dan not saying it back, when he caught a glimpse of his wobbly chin, the corners of his mouth downturned, his eyes red and slightly dewy.
“Hey—” Phil ventured, before Dan reached out and pulled him softly back to his shoulder.
“Shut up. It’s okay.”
“Dan…”
Phil stayed put, knowing Dan was self conscious when he cried, but reached out and grabbed one of Dan’s hands, folding it into his own.
Dan cleared his throat minutely, and when he spoke, his voice sounded gravelly.
“You go to the hospital a lot.”
Phil hummed, understanding. He was worried this would happen.
“And I’m very grateful for their services,” Phil said, patiently. “They have kept me healthy so I can live longer.”
Dan was silent for a moment as Phil rubbed his thumb across the back of his hand.
“I just worry—”
“Well you should consider not doing that,” Phil interrupted, deadpan.
Dan huffed a laugh.
“Thank you. I didn’t consider that as one of my options.”
This was the trade, Phil recalled. When it came to Phil’s health, Phil himself was the primary shareholder of any health anxieties or hospital scares. He was always hyper-vigilant about noting any sort of changes to his body, anything he should be concerned about, anything he wasn’t concerned about that he was concerned he should be concerned about.
But when something actually happened, he was calm. The anxiety of it had prepared him, gotten him to a place of recovery, and he felt good about successfully managing the very thing he spent most of his time anticipating.
That’s when Dan took over. For several days after an incident, minimum, Dan would be the one with health anxiety. He would work himself up into a right state making sure Phil was recovering well enough and staying comfortable, and the whole time, he would dwell on what could’ve happened if something had gone wrong, or the problem had gone undetected. And the more traumatic the incident, the more he would wind himself into a spiral about it.
“I’m not dying anytime soon,” Phil said, trying to keep himself awake long enough to prevent one of these spirals now. “I’m not going to leave you behind.”
Above him, he heard a sniffle, then a long, shaky inhale.
“Yeah,” Dan breathed.
“Can I have a proper kiss now?”
There was a moment of silence, then: “Yeah.”
Phil raised his head from Dan’s shoulder again, then used a hand to brush one of the tears from the corner of Dan’s eye. He used the same hand to pull him close, giving him a brief, salty kiss.
“Can you tell me you love me?”
Dan smiled and rolled his eyes, wiping the rest of his own tears away.
“I love you, idiot.”
“Okay. Enough to order me Deliveroo?”
Dan’s smile grew, and Phil smiled back at him. Dan reached for his phone.
“What do you want?”
By the time the food arrived, Phil was passed out cold on the couch.
That was alright. His watcher would keep it safe for him until he woke up.