#also @tumblr's internal spell check fuck you Remy is a perfectly common name

[sucker-for-sniffles]

Go Home (Part 2/3)

part 1

Come talk to me when you’re ready. Remy should’ve known better than to say something so vague. Julian was probably panicking over how long he was supposed to wait, and in the meantime Remy was left in his sick misery to wonder if he’d ever come around at all.

He’d been past denying how ill he was by the time he got home. He’d had to lean on his valet just to get to his bed, and Mama had called for a doctor as soon as she saw him, and spent the interim fretting over him as if there was much of anything she could do. He kept his mouth shut about how his rendez-vous had gone.

When the doctor arrived, he’d just given Remy something bitter to drink and commanded bed rest. Julian, Mama, and Remy’s own common sense had said the same, but he supposed now it was official. Boring as bed rest was, he’d be stuck here until he felt better. Which, his aching chest and plugged-up nose reminded him, may as well be forever.

He’d given up waiting for Julian (against his own will) around nine, when exhaustion overtook his nerves and he drifted off to sleep with a book still open on his lap.

He awoke in the midst of a coughing fit with it still dark. Mama or a servant must have put out the candles and tucked him in while he slept, but he was alone now and missing the way Julian had rubbed his back, even if he’d yelled at him right after. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, he mused as he wiped his face dry of sweat and tears on the edge of his blanket. He’d been an idiot.

It was a rough night, and a rougher morning once he was awake enough that he couldn’t keep sleeping through his illness and the waiting. He finished his book, then started it over from the beginning because he couldn’t be bothered to pick another one. A servant had left a stack of simple handkerchiefs on his nightstand, a couple of which lay spent next to Remy on his bed.

Julian finally came to him late in the afternoon. A messenger knocked gently on his door, interpreted the vague mumble Remy made in return as an invitation to open it, and told him, “There’s a man at the door to see you.”

Remy nodded and dragged himself up to sit a little straighter, hoping Julian wouldn’t be too put off by what a mess he was.

“I told him you were indisposed, but he insisted you’re expecting him,” the messenger continued, politely averting his eyes from Remy’s state.

Remy sniffled. “Scar on his jaw?” he rasped, hoping the messenger could understand him at all as he tried to clear his throat discreetly.

The messenger nodded.

“I am expecting him. Send him up here?” The messenger nodded, and Remy thanked him with a flash of a smile. He ducked out the door, and Remy succumbed to a fit of coughing once he’d left, holding an arm across his chest to dull the pain of it and hoping he’d still have a voice to talk to Julian.

Julian poked his head carefully in the room a few minutes later, after Remy had managed to mop himself up and hide the crumpled handkerchiefs under his covers. He was sure he still looked dreadful, especially compared with Julian, who’d dressed to the nine, with his hair done up nicely and makeup applied with the precision of the night they’d met.

Remy smiled. “Dressed up to visit my sickbed?”

Julian’s lips twitched in an expression Remy couldn’t read. “I meant to for your visit,” he mumbled, “so I thought I might as well…”

“You look beautiful,” Remy said softly.

“Wish I could say the same.” Remy wasn’t sure if Julian meant for him to hear the comment. Julian glanced around the room, then dragged Remy’s desk chair next to his bed. “I gave flowers to your doorman,” he said, this time definitely with a hint of a smile.

Remy held back laughter, not wanting to make himself cough again. “Excuse me?”

Julian twirled a lock of hair around his finger. “I thought, I wanted to bring you a get well gift, only my usual gift is flowers from the garden, and I didn’t think until I was on your doorstep that they…” Julian shrugged. “He’s going to give them to his wife.”

Remy smiled, the expression only halfway forced. “So our spat brought romance into somebody’s life.”

Julian’s face fell and his head dropped to watch the floor. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

An insistent tickle shot through Remy’s nose and stole his breath away before he could respond. He snatched a handkerchief from his nightstand and hovered it in front of his face expectantly.

Julian seemed to interpret his silence as anger, because he went on, his voice tight. “I should never have left you alo--oh, bless you!” he said, his head snapping up at the sound of Remy’s sneeze.

Remy didn’t bother responding until the second one was out, scraping at his throat in a way he was growing all too familiar and all too irritated with. He coughed lightly to clear his throat and looked back to Julian. “Excuse me.”

“Bless you,” Julian murmured again.

Remy sniffled. “I’m not angry with you--” he started.

Julian cut him off with a snort. “That’s a lie.”

“It’s…” Remy pressed a hand to his forehead, like he could push away the fever and leave room for him to think. “It’s not a lie. I--mm--I am angry. But I want to know what happened, more than that.”

“What happened?” Julian looked in the vicinity of Remy’s knees. “I lost my temper, shouted at you for being ill, and left you alone after you’d fainted. And I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse.”

Remy shrugged lightly. “Everybody loses their temper sometimes.”

“Not like that.”

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay,” Remy pressed on.

Julian pressed his hands over his eyes, likely ruining the makeup he’d so carefully applied. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world, Rose,” Remy said, though his delivery of the line was ruined by the cough that seized his lungs before he’d even finished talking. He bent forward, handkerchief clamped over his mouth--he’d promised Katerina not to get Julian sick, after all.

He felt Julian’s hand on his arm, light and hesitant, and leaned into it to encourage him. Julian slipped the hand to Remy’s back and held the other against his chest, just gently squeezing him until the fit subsided. Remy took a few moments to catch his breath and let the ache in his chest subside as much as it was likely to. “Thank you,” he murmured hoarsely.

“No need.” Julian shook his head. He didn’t sit down, keeping one hand lightly on Remy’s back. “You seem worse off.”

“Maybe,” Remy admitted, though there was no question Julian was right.

“You’ve seen a doctor?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And?”

“He told me to rest.” Remy sniffled and leaned back into his pillows, letting Julian’s hand slip off him, as much as he’d enjoyed the contact.

Julian held his arm half-extended, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “And you have been?”

“I haven’t had much choice,” Remy said with a smile that, for once, came easily.

Julian’s lips puckered slightly. “I don’t suppose my company is very restful right now,” he observed, though he sat back down without waiting for a response.

“I’d rather like your company,” Remy countered, “especially since you haven’t answered my question.”

Julian’s eyebrows came together and he cocked his head a tad.

“What happened yesterday?” Remy clarified. “And are you all right?”

“I’m all right, now,” Julian said, answering the easy question first. “And I don’t...what do you mean, what happened?”

Remy coughed to clear his throat, wincing at the stab of pain and at the way Julian’s hand darted out almost automatically. “I mean, I’ve never seen you angry. I never would have believed you could shout like that. What came over you?”

Julian’s expression soured in an instant, and a flash of guilt stabbed through Remy. He didn’t mean to make Julian share anything he didn’t want to. But when he started to speak again, Julian just shook his head and said, “Mother did.”

Remy watched with as neutral an expression as he could muster, waiting for Julian to elaborate.

“I...she…” Julian dragged a hand through his hair, pulling a fair chunk out of the style he’d given it. “We shout at home. Mother and Kitty shout. I don’t. I know she’ll punish me. But she shouts when I don’t do what she wants, and she tells me it’s for my own good and I hate it, but I...I don’t know how else…”

His face twisted up, and Remy took over talking. “How else to tell me what an ass I was being?” he said, smiling to show Julian he was half-joking.

Julian rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, dragging a streak of black onto his cheek. “You weren’t being an ass.”

“I was, a little,” Remy insisted.

Julian shook his head firmly. “Stubborn, maybe. I was concerned for you, and I didn’t know how to make you listen, but it certainly wasn’t that.”

Remy gave him an assuring smile. “Well, it certainly did make me listen.”

“That isn’t funny,” Julian said sharply, and the smile slipped from Remy’s face. “You...you’re incredible, and charming, and kind, and you don’t deserve to be shouted at, no matter how stubborn you’re acting.”

“The same goes for you, Jules.”

Julian ducked his head so Remy couldn’t read his expression.

“You know that, right?” Remy reached out a hand, and Julian thankfully took the hint and met him halfway, twining their fingers together. “You don’t deserve to be shouted at.”

“I know,” Julian said weakly.

A surge of something fierce, something made of affection and protectiveness, washed through Remy, and before his fevered brain could catch up to his mouth, he blurted, “I love you.”

Julian’s head shot up, eyebrows tight together. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Remy pulled his hand back from Julian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--” He cleared his throat, more to stall for time than because he needed to. “I didn’t think.”

Julian just stared, wide-eyed and whatever he was feeling masked by shock.

“I mean it, though.” Remy let enough time pass that he could think through his words. “This isn’t the right time to say so, but I love you.”

Julian ducked his head, a little choking sound coming from his throat. “I...I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” Remy promised him. “I shouldn’t have--I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Julian murmured, still facing down. “I--dammit. I love you too.” His words were quick, almost inaudible, but they made Remy’s chest flutter in a delightful way that had nothing to do with his cold.

Julian stood abruptly from his chair. “I should--I should leave?” he said, pointing vaguely to the door. “I should, um. You should--the doctor said--rest.”

Remy fought back the grin on his face. “I’m resting.”

Julian murmured something inaudible about dinner, scratching the back of his neck.

“Jules?” Remy said, the smile softening into something less gleeful. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like it if you stayed the night.”

Julian was quiet for a moment. “You would?”

“It’s miserable, being ill and alone,” Remy said, trying not to sound too desperate. “But of course, if you aren’t comfortable--”

“I’ll stay,” Julian interrupted. There was something choked in his voice, and he rubbed absently at his jaw. “I’ll--I understand.”

This time, Remy didn’t bother to hide his grin.