[zemo lets his fingers lace gently through steve's, no hesitation this time. it seems to bring him some small bit of comfort right now, and honestly given how bad this looks - he'd do just about anything if it meant making him even the slightest bit better. hearing that this isn't that bad doesn't do much to reassure the deep furrow of his brow and the way his lips are practically etched into a concerned frown. the fact that he was so unaware of his own surroundings and the passage of time is especially alarming - a few days, certainly, but nearly a whole week...and who knows how long it would have continued without anyone to properly care for him. steve didn't answer but his surroundings do it for him. he's dehydrated and certainly underfed, and zemo isn't going anywhere until he can fix both of those things. his fingers squeeze lightly again, as if he'd like to grip tighter but is afraid that'll somehow be too much for the way he looks so weak.]
I'm glad I came.
[he can't help but reach up with his free hand again, palm bypassing where the rag is cooling at his forehead to brush through hair again in a gentle stroke. christ, if he wasn't so clearly in need of being taken care of, zemo might stay just like this and keep repeating the motion. he can tell it soothes steve, which is something he files away for later. his voice is warm, a low murmur like he's afraid even speaking too loudly will somehow make him uncomfortable. that, and he's still feeling residual guilt for storming in here and making such a spectacle without consideration for what had happened. he'd assumed the worst, and while he knows it wasn't entirely his fault given the total lack of communication, it couldn't have been further from his imagined slights and more crushingly, his fears.]
You need to eat, Steve. [he pauses, swallowing his own pride and knowing this isn't the time to play hot and cold. he only hesitates a moment before adding quietly:] I want to cook for you.
[and then, just so it doesn't feel like he's given something of himself away he adds:] I can't trust the sort of man who makes pancake mix from a box to tell me what he should or shouldn't be doing right now. [there's a wry pull of his lips and another soft squeeze before he pulls his hand away and pats steve's lightly in parting.]
I promise I will be quick about it and come back.
[it helps having been here before - he knows exactly where the utensils and pots and pans are. thank goodness it looks like steve or his roommate have recently done some semblance of shopping - and he doesn't care if he accidentally takes something reserved for the other inhabitant of the household. to him, this literally feels like life or death right now. he pulls out a serving tray which he's willing to bet is steve's anyhow, arranging it while the food simmers with a napkin, spoon, and a glass of water. he can make tea for them both later, for now he busies himself with the food. it's not like the traditional sokovian dish back home that oeznik would bring to him when he was miserable with flu, full of garlic cloves and flavour that revived him from what felt like the brink of death - but it's the american counterpart. and it's hard to fuck up chicken noodle soup, even on short notice.
he carries it back to steve's room carefully, nudging over his desk chair to sit down at his bedside.]
[ Ah, the pancake mix. It feels like a lifetime ago they flirted and made a mess of the dorm kitchen together, but it had led to a party, a week of silence, and kiss...
And now what? Zemo arriving to take care of him, even though he certainly has no obligation to. A part of Steve feels guilty for that, for worrying and putting his care into the hands of others. But the relief at having someone here, holding his hand, touching his hair, promising to help him? It's undeniably written in the way his shoulders sag, the way he sighs and settles instead of rebutting against the offer.
He holds his hands up in a mock surrender. ]
Got me. I threw the pancake mix out in your honor.
[ But Zemo's up and gone before he can really process much else, before any other words can sleepily tumble from his lips. He shifts instead on the bed, settling his back against his headboard and pillows, reaching to tug his quilt back over him to stifle some of the fever shivers prickling beneath his skin. It's easier to think about sleeping now, knowing someone waits for him in the other room. His mother used to cook in the kitchen while he rested, peeking in from time to time with worry through the crack of the door.
She thought he hadn't seen her, but he had. The lines around the corners of her mouth when she frowned, the furrow of her brows, making divots that pry at the gentle laugh lines on her face. She wasn't built to frown, and to know he's made her do that?
Steve's nearly drifted off when Zemo returns and he blinks awake, expression pinched with brief confusion until the tray comes to rest against his bedside. The soup steams and the smell of the salty broth makes his mouth water. He hadn't felt like eating until this moment, somehow, and he moves to push himself up further in the bed, straightening his back and reaching first for the glass of water, without even asking permission. (He should, considering Zemo made this for him. Snatching things away seems rude). He drinks nearly half the glass down with a satisfied sigh, tilting his head back against the wall. ]
I needed that.
[ It makes him feel a little more human, even if he still feels the fatigue of the fever making every ounce of him feel a thousand pounds heavier. The soup is his next target, his tired hands reaching to press the bowl between his palms and pull it off the tray to cradle it for its warmth. He knows he'll need to eat it, eventually, but he seems utterly content to hold it up at his sternum, letting the steam waft up along his chest, his chin, his face. ]
You don't have to do all this. [ A small smile, his head tipping back against the wall in a lazy loll. ] It's warm. Smells good.
[ It takes a minute or so of him enjoying the warmth before he finally takes a slow bite, humming at the warmth, the water and food already beginning to bring a healthier color back into his face. ] Tastes good, too.
[for a moment, he wonders if maybe he should have offered to feed steve himself. but that felt maybe a step too far, a little insulting. something tells him steve wouldn't mind it though, even though zemo himself had bristled at the memory of steve nearly having to do the same the night he'd tucked him into bed and made sure he took aspirin and drank down water before sleeping. he'd felt utterly childish, embarrassed and exposed by his own weakness even though he knew the other boy wouldn't judge him for it. after his anger subsided now he just feels...immeasurably grateful. like he wants to pay him back in kind, and he'd happily stay at his bedside to care for him so long as steve wants him here. and for now, he's very much getting the impression his company is appreciated first and foremost, but maybe his culinary skills too - even if the likelihood of him still getting much flavor is debatable at this point.
he holds the tray steady for steve at his side, leaning in with a soft smile and tipping his head in acknowledgment of steve's compliments. it's already apparent in the way he perks up slightly, skin less pale and ruddy in the cheeks. zemo can't stop himself from reaching out to lightly brush some of his hair back again and adjusting the cool rag along the back of his neck so it doesn't slide off his forehead and right into his soup.]
You said that already. But what you're failing to identify is - I want to do it for you. You already know I like cooking.
[he shrugs lightly, as if it's nothing. but there's a pause and a clearly small hesitation, as he leans forward and places a hand at steve's shoulder with a soft squeeze. he hunches in a bit, as if doing so might somehow add levity to the very serious thing he chooses to admit in this moment. steve surely isn't delirious enough to forget it, and this more than anything should prove he isn't holding any grudges for the unintentional disappearing act.]
And...did it occur to you that maybe I want to take care of a boy that I like?
[his eyes flick up slowly, and if steve meets them he'll surely see the nervousness zemo is letting peek through as authentic - no mask of haughtiness, no mistaking his implication. that's right, he likes steve rogers. and whatever this tentative thing they've started is...at least they both know it's mutual now. it's been bumpy and full of misunderstandings, but for maybe the first time now it feels as if they're both on even footing and ready to take the next step together.
which is maybe another selfish reason he has for dropping everything to take care of steve. nursing him back to health means the sooner he's up and about, the sooner he comes back to zemo's dorm room, and the sooner they pick up where they left off. which is decidedly not anything to do with the chapter they're paused at in their studies and entirely to do with getting steve's mouth on his own again - maybe this time wandering down his neck, maybe somewhere more comfortable where zemo can slide a hand under his shirt -
focus, he has to remind himself, jaw twitching as he swallows hard and clears away this dangerous train of thought.]
It isn't much, but it will do the trick for tonight.
[ The soup does a great deal to perk him up, filling his belly and chest with a slow, easy warmth. He doesn't remember when he ate last, when he last crawled out of bed to fill his water bottle, so this small meal is enough to make him feel a little more human already. He should be eating more of it, instead of savoring the warmth of the bowl, and so dutifully, he takes another bite.
He pauses when that hand reaches to brush hair from his face and his eyes dip, a dark fan of lashes against pink cheeks, moving in slow motion to the gentle touch. A sigh falls from his lips, the cool cloth moved to his neck almost as delectable as the very touch itself. His eyes open under the gentle pressure on his shoulder, and he's met with the pretty boy at his bedside leaning in. For a moment, even in the haze of his fever, he wants to lean to kiss him. But he knows, even now, that this pretty, posh boy might not be too keen on chicken-noodle-soup-kisses, as much as Steve finds himself following the line of the boy's lips.
His own curve, lazy and warm at the comment. A boy that he likes? Steve gently lowers the soup to rest on a thigh, and one warmed hand reaches for the arm held up by his shoulder, tracing the line of his forearm to his elbow. ]
A boy that you like? Well, that boy's one lucky fella. I'd wager he likes you, too.
[ He huffs softly and lets his hand drop back down to stabilize the bowl against his quad, smiling quietly into the brothy reflection. Another bite, then another, humming at the pleasant warmth that seems to take root in his bones, replacing the shivering chill from before. It isn't much, no, but Zemo's right. It's working. ]
That's probably the fever talking. [ He huffs a small laugh. ] But if he asks you to a movie one day then I'll come back and say I told you so.
[ Steve looks back up into those nervous eyes and smiles, faint and tired, but leans his head just so his cheek can rest against the other boy's arm, wanting the contact, the warmth, the comfort. Just as he pressed in against his chest before. ]
I'm glad you're here. [ Quiet, vulnerable, and he noses the skin of his wrist with a soft, tired sigh. ] I feel terrible.
[it wasn't a stretch to say he'd been on edge about how bad steve's condition looked when he first got here. bad enough that he was still strongly considering calling the school nurse, gut roiling with concern and fear that one wrong move and steve would be unconscious or worse. but now that he's eating and getting proper fluids, it seems he'll be on the mend at least for the night. they can re-evaluate in the morning.
in the morning - oh. subconsciously he's already made the decision to stay the night, apparently, which is just fine considering he'd consciously do the same. especially now - and especially when steve looks at him like that. it doesn't strike him until he sees the way his mouth pulls into an easy albeit hazy smile and then reaches for him just how much he's missed the boys presence back at his dorm and in class. ironic, given he'd abandoned the very same thing a week prior and expected it to be easy for steve to swallow. he blinks lightly when steve reaches for his arm, fingers light and bringing to stark realization just how affected he is by even the barest amount of contact as he suppresses a shudder and nods.]
If he asks - I'll tell him I had a lovely one with a terribly handsome boy recently he'll have to measure up to. Even if he was a blanket hog and made a mess of the popcorn.
[said wryly, his confidence coming back almost immediately now that steve's reciprocated it and the sky hasn't fallen in a crash to the ground. they like each other. still. it's a dangerous thing to embark on, but the longer he pushes it away the harder it'll be...and he can't do it anymore.
he's lost in thought for a moment about all the ways this could go wrong that he nearly misses what steve is saying, brought back to the present by another soft touch against his arm. this time he's able to reciprocate it, letting him nuzzle in before shifting to cup his cheek gently and not that thank god he doesn't feel completely like he's burning up anymore. still too warm, but mildly improved. his fingers flex against the soft skin, and before he can overthink it he leans down to press a soft kiss to his temple, fighting every urge to want to press one to his lips. he barely pulls back, just enough to lock eyes with steve up close and let his concern be visible in the furrow of his brow.]
I would have come sooner. Next time - I won't wait so long.
[it's not his fault he couldn't call or didn't tell him. but he can - that door is open now on zemo's end, finally. his thumb brushes across the high point of steve's cheekbones in an affectionate swipe before he shifts it along his back, letting steve lean into his body and give him more of what he's so clearly seeking.]
Eat more. [it's a soft whisper, as he lets his chin nuzzle against the top of steve's head.] full of fond concern.] Have you taken anything for the fever?
[ The soup sits forgotten, resting against the curve of his own thigh, Steve finding that the warmth Zemo emanates is far better than that of the salty broth. He smiles, lazy and tired, and tips his head back just a little to look into the other boy's face, blue eyes soaking in the features of him up close like this. ]
Mm, darn. I'll let him know you've got other plans. But he might be a blanket hog, too. [ For emphasis, he plucks at the quilt on his bed, the way its bunched around him and under him, certainly not for the sharing in a moment like this. But the idea that he can call him, now, and have him here? It makes something flutter in the pit of his stomach. They aren't barbs and flirty remarks or rushed kisses in a dorm room door frame. Steve doesn't know what they are, but whatever it is feels safe.
The lips against his temple make his eyes flutter, lashes a dark fan against the pink rise of his cheeks where Steve's sure he can still feel the brush of finger tips grazing his skin. He's never felt this way before, not about anyone. They never quite leave such a lingering effect in their wake, and Steve suddenly finds he's sad, too, that those soft lips landed anywhere but his own. ]
Next time - I'll call you.
[ I want you here with me, is everything it implies, and once he's welcomed into Zemo's side he lets himself relax, his body going soft and pliant, his face tipped up against the soft pulse-point at Zemo's throat. He should eat more, he should pry himself away from the warmth of the other boy and eat, drink water, sleep, but even now he feels the fatigue pull at him, heavy and slow. ]
I don't think I can eat anymore. [ Apologetic, because he knows it's for his own benefit, but his appetite has all but left. A soft nuzzle, a sigh.]
There might be some advil in the bedside drawer. [ The bottle's near empty, enough for one dose but little else, but he fears that admitting it would mean Zemo would leave his side, would fetch something else. ] But I'm okay. This happens sometimes, it passes eventually.
[looking at steve feels an awful like looking straight into the sun - even with the visible effects of his sickness - and zemo cannot fathom going a day without this radiant warmth. maybe he'd been lying to himself all along in pretending not to know why steve had always pushed to be in his presence, to pop up at seemingly random times or keep extending invites just to share space together. looking at all the affection so raw in his face right now - how could he have ever wasted such a precious resource, a privilege others would beg for? his gaze slips down, categorizing the things he missed from afar - a light dusting of beauty marks on both cheeks, the precise shade of pink on plush lips and impossibly long, dark lashes despite the light gold threaded through his perfect hair.
it seems wholly unfair that now they've both laid themselves bare and he's ready to kiss steve senseless only for him to have fallen so ill. he wouldn't have believed it unless he'd seen it with his own eyes - the invincible steve rogers isn't a god among men, completely human and susceptible to the same things the rest of them are. but the reality of him so vulnerable in the moment makes zemo want to protect him with a fierceness that is overwhelming, that aches deeply in his chest and has him nuzzling in even closer to the boy lying against him. he presses another kiss to the top of his head, knowing he'll have that many more opportunities the faster he gets better.
so....he's decided he'll just have to see to it that his recovery is as quick as possible.]
It's alright. Your coloring looks better already.
[his fingers press gently atop steve's for one brief moment before they slip past to grip the edge of the bowl and carefully pull it from his lap. he turns to set it down on the top of his neatly organized dresser and away from any risk it'll spill. though, eventually if steve can actually manage sitting upright somewhere that isn't bed, he'll gladly change the sweat-drenched sheets for something fresh and far more comfortable.
he hums lightly, brows lifting and trying to sound conversational despite the way his heart is thudding in his chest at his next statement.]
Maybe next time you won't even need to call. That is - I'll already be at your side.
[his gaze peeks back over, even as he's rifling one-handed for the feel of the advil bottle which rattles disappointingly in response. he pours out the last two pills and extends them in his palm, offering him the water in his other hand.]
Take this for me, okay? [a soft, reassuring smile in steve's direction that turns a little mischievous at the end.] I've always wanted to play Florence Nightingale for someone, you know. Aside from my poor entrance, I am not so bad, hm? But I could use the little ah - [he gestures to the top of his head, mimicking a nurse's cap.]
[ Steve mourns the loss of him instantaneously, the very warmth of the other boy gone as he fusses with the soup bowl, the water, the medicine. Sure, he knows too well it's for its own benefit, that the medicine will temper his fever, will return his appetite, will set him on the course of mending, but it doesn't change his disappointment. He hums lowly, a grumbling sound, as he sits back up a little more in the absence of him.
His eyes follow his movements, a hazy, slow thing, and he nearly misses the implication in the words: ]
I'd like that.
[ A soft smile, and he leans to take the pills from the extended hand, but not before he presses the faintest of kisses in against Zemo's lips, more a press and a mush of the tips of their noses than a kiss proper. But he stays close, be it for effect or the fact that he's just that fatigued. ] It feels like you were always meant to be here. By my side.
[ A soft huff passes between his lips before he sits back, the leaning almost too much to sustain overlong. He pops the pills into his mouth, fumbles a drink from the glass, then another. He practically finishes off the glass before he meekly offers it back, letting his mussed, blond head fall back against the headboard. His eyes never leave Zemo's face, watching the way his lips quirk, the way he moves, the gesture to the top of his head and -
For a brief moment, Steve pictures him as a modern Florence Nightingale, all wrapped up in a nurse's uniform that trims his waist in and makes his legs look impossibly long. His eyes flutter briefly to the bend of Zemo's knee, where he half expects to see a skirt and ivory skin, maybe a mole or a freckle somewhere he hasn't yet found -
He swallows hard and he lets his eyes drift shut on a sigh. A tired smile falls into place and he reaches to snare up Zemo's fingers in his own. ]
Not so bad at all. I'm glad you're here, but I don't know how much longer I can stay awake. I'm sorry.
[it's a little messy and more than a little unexpected the way steve suddenly sneaks in a soft insistence of his lips. not a proper kiss at all, but enough to make zemo smile against them even as he tastes the remnants of soup broth and chicken between a flutter of lashes and nuzzling noses. he wishes he could let steve rest against him like this for the rest of the night - taking comfort in the fact that he isn't alone, that he will be taken care of by zemo who feels as if his heart might burst from how quickly he's fallen head over heels now that he's decided it's easier to let the chips fall where they may. he hums in acknowledgment, pulling back with a small frown tugging down his lips in regret at the separation.]
I like it here. Better than quietly trying to sneak a glance across the way at study sessions, anyhow. But before we can make the most of it...we need to get you well.
[before they can even so much as think about heated kisses that won't be interrupted by second-guesses or frustrated outbursts. the thought makes him giddy, bolstered even higher by the warm fingers that twine with his own and the consideration in steve's gaze from head to toe like he's actually picturing zemo in a full nurse's attire. maybe someday. and with that internal admission comes the realization that yes - this feels different than anything else he's ever embarked on. not that he has much to compare it to, but even the closest thing he had to adoring another person in boarding school seems so small and far away in comparison. there's a heaviness to this, a devotion that he feels all the way down to his bones that warms him to his core thinking about them. steven rogers and helmut zemo. together, a packaged deal.
nevermind the reality of it waiting outside these dorm room walls. for now...he can feel like he's floating as he can't stop the stupid smile pulling at his mouth or the way his fingers flex fondly around steve's.]
It's okay - you need the rest.
[he dips down again, lips pressing softly against steve's temple for a gentle kiss. but mostly it's so he can whisper what follows in a soft drag against his skin.]
Was wird da künftig erst sein? Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein.
[but what will the future bring? sleep, my little prince, sleep. a german lullaby he remembers from his youth, back when he was struggling to juggle french and german alongside refining his sokovian. english was always the hardest - so different from the similarity of the others. maybe someday he can tell steve how he really feels in every language he knows.]
[ The tug of fatigue is unmanageable, undeniable, even if all he wants is to stay tucked up against this boy, whispering back and forth until the night turns to morning. His eyes stay heavy, lashes a dark fan against skin rubbed darker by exhaustion. The rosy hit of fever has dulled in his cheeks now, aided by the soup and the medicine, though he's sure it's more the company that's raised his spirits than anything else.
He hasn't ever considered being drawn to someone like he is this boy, with his sharp remarks and upturned nose, and yet he finds himself remembering coy little smiles, their intellectual arguments, the way beauty marks and freckles speckle his skin. Never has he felt the urge to memorize someone, to take quiet ownership of everything about someone and cherish it, whole and deep.
He's had girlfriends and a rogue boyfriend, but this feels different. ]
I think we can still sneak glances all we want, right?
[ He makes a point to sleepily open his eyes, half-lidded, and tug their joined hands to rest against his chest instead of in the bed beside them. He settles, finally, sliding down onto his back proper, his blond hair a mess of wild fringe in his face, around the pillow, cow-licked and sleep worn. If Zemo can look at him like that, while he's like this? Something stirs, warm and fond in his chest.
Eyes flicker closed again when he feels the pull of lips and whispers against his temple. He recognizes some of the words, enough to string together the phrases after a few years of studying languages, and a smile pulls at his lips, slow and lazy. He pulls Zemo's hands up, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles with a tired sigh. ]
That make you my princess then? [ He looks up at him, cheeky and tired, but there's not much fight in his voice. Instead, he turns onto his side in the bed, keeping his fingers linked with Zemo's, resting just near the edge of the mattress. ]
Thank you.
[ His lips move like he might say something else, like there's more he wants to say, but the fatigue wins and finally, Steve slips into light sleep, fingers slackening around Zemo's as he settles, dreamless and still. ]
Only when everyone is looking. When it's just us...we have nothing to hide.
[he looks miles better already, and zemo would like to think it's a combination of the cooking and his presence. eventually he'll gladly help change the sheets and make it even more refreshing, but for now he can quietly tidy up elsewhere while steve hopefully rests a little easier. his first consideration had been to simply sit with him until he drifted away into a more comfortable version of sleep - keep cooling skin, hold his hand, brush the errant and damp strands of hair from his forehead. and once he was fully asleep - steal a few moments to admire the gentle flutter of long lashes against his skin and start committing the light dusting of beauty marks across his cheek and bare arms to memory. and after he'd had his fill, steal away in the cover of the night when no one else was watching and sleep in his own bed. but seeing just how vulnerable steve actually is now - he can't imagine setting foot out of this room until sunlight is streaming in and making gold out of steve's hair.
he watches with a soft smile as steve gently tugs his hand up, brushing even softer lips across the backs of his fingers before seeming to deflate again from the energy that alone takes. he twists his hand - not to pull it away but to lightly cup at the warm cheek and let his thumb stroke across stubble that he's been too weak to get rid of. the slight flush that creeps into his cheeks is unavoidable when steve makes the comparison, and he dips his head briefly in a somewhat sheepish acknowledgment.]
That's exactly what it means. But even princes need their beauty sleep.
[he pauses, glancing back up and watching steve shift one last time before really starting to let himself be pulled into that enthralling lull. only when his breathing evens out does he lean forward and press another soft kiss to his forehead, lips dragging lightly against his skin.]
I'll be here in the morning. I promise.
[only when he's confident steve won't wake does he gently tug his hand away, pressing his palm briefly against the back of his hand as if to physically repeat what he's uttered. he wants to make good on his original mission - cleaning up the kitchen, doing the small bit of dishes that have piled up and been left sitting. wiping down the sinks and the mirror in the bathroom, then rummaging in both their drawers for some more aspirin which he triumphantly finds and sets down on steve's side of the sink. it easily be replaced before his roommate gets back, but for now desperate times. only when he's satisfied with the slightly more organized state of things does he quietly tiptoe back towards the bedroom and tug over a chair. his back won't thank him for it in the morning, but he'll be the first thing steve sees, and that far outweighs any discomfort.]
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I'm glad I came.
[he can't help but reach up with his free hand again, palm bypassing where the rag is cooling at his forehead to brush through hair again in a gentle stroke. christ, if he wasn't so clearly in need of being taken care of, zemo might stay just like this and keep repeating the motion. he can tell it soothes steve, which is something he files away for later. his voice is warm, a low murmur like he's afraid even speaking too loudly will somehow make him uncomfortable. that, and he's still feeling residual guilt for storming in here and making such a spectacle without consideration for what had happened. he'd assumed the worst, and while he knows it wasn't entirely his fault given the total lack of communication, it couldn't have been further from his imagined slights and more crushingly, his fears.]
You need to eat, Steve. [he pauses, swallowing his own pride and knowing this isn't the time to play hot and cold. he only hesitates a moment before adding quietly:] I want to cook for you.
[and then, just so it doesn't feel like he's given something of himself away he adds:] I can't trust the sort of man who makes pancake mix from a box to tell me what he should or shouldn't be doing right now. [there's a wry pull of his lips and another soft squeeze before he pulls his hand away and pats steve's lightly in parting.]
I promise I will be quick about it and come back.
[it helps having been here before - he knows exactly where the utensils and pots and pans are. thank goodness it looks like steve or his roommate have recently done some semblance of shopping - and he doesn't care if he accidentally takes something reserved for the other inhabitant of the household. to him, this literally feels like life or death right now. he pulls out a serving tray which he's willing to bet is steve's anyhow, arranging it while the food simmers with a napkin, spoon, and a glass of water. he can make tea for them both later, for now he busies himself with the food. it's not like the traditional sokovian dish back home that oeznik would bring to him when he was miserable with flu, full of garlic cloves and flavour that revived him from what felt like the brink of death - but it's the american counterpart. and it's hard to fuck up chicken noodle soup, even on short notice.
he carries it back to steve's room carefully, nudging over his desk chair to sit down at his bedside.]
See? That was nothing.
no subject
And now what? Zemo arriving to take care of him, even though he certainly has no obligation to. A part of Steve feels guilty for that, for worrying and putting his care into the hands of others. But the relief at having someone here, holding his hand, touching his hair, promising to help him? It's undeniably written in the way his shoulders sag, the way he sighs and settles instead of rebutting against the offer.
He holds his hands up in a mock surrender. ]
Got me. I threw the pancake mix out in your honor.
[ But Zemo's up and gone before he can really process much else, before any other words can sleepily tumble from his lips. He shifts instead on the bed, settling his back against his headboard and pillows, reaching to tug his quilt back over him to stifle some of the fever shivers prickling beneath his skin. It's easier to think about sleeping now, knowing someone waits for him in the other room. His mother used to cook in the kitchen while he rested, peeking in from time to time with worry through the crack of the door.
She thought he hadn't seen her, but he had. The lines around the corners of her mouth when she frowned, the furrow of her brows, making divots that pry at the gentle laugh lines on her face. She wasn't built to frown, and to know he's made her do that?
Steve's nearly drifted off when Zemo returns and he blinks awake, expression pinched with brief confusion until the tray comes to rest against his bedside. The soup steams and the smell of the salty broth makes his mouth water. He hadn't felt like eating until this moment, somehow, and he moves to push himself up further in the bed, straightening his back and reaching first for the glass of water, without even asking permission. (He should, considering Zemo made this for him. Snatching things away seems rude). He drinks nearly half the glass down with a satisfied sigh, tilting his head back against the wall. ]
I needed that.
[ It makes him feel a little more human, even if he still feels the fatigue of the fever making every ounce of him feel a thousand pounds heavier. The soup is his next target, his tired hands reaching to press the bowl between his palms and pull it off the tray to cradle it for its warmth. He knows he'll need to eat it, eventually, but he seems utterly content to hold it up at his sternum, letting the steam waft up along his chest, his chin, his face. ]
You don't have to do all this. [ A small smile, his head tipping back against the wall in a lazy loll. ] It's warm. Smells good.
[ It takes a minute or so of him enjoying the warmth before he finally takes a slow bite, humming at the warmth, the water and food already beginning to bring a healthier color back into his face. ] Tastes good, too.
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he holds the tray steady for steve at his side, leaning in with a soft smile and tipping his head in acknowledgment of steve's compliments. it's already apparent in the way he perks up slightly, skin less pale and ruddy in the cheeks. zemo can't stop himself from reaching out to lightly brush some of his hair back again and adjusting the cool rag along the back of his neck so it doesn't slide off his forehead and right into his soup.]
You said that already. But what you're failing to identify is - I want to do it for you. You already know I like cooking.
[he shrugs lightly, as if it's nothing. but there's a pause and a clearly small hesitation, as he leans forward and places a hand at steve's shoulder with a soft squeeze. he hunches in a bit, as if doing so might somehow add levity to the very serious thing he chooses to admit in this moment. steve surely isn't delirious enough to forget it, and this more than anything should prove he isn't holding any grudges for the unintentional disappearing act.]
And...did it occur to you that maybe I want to take care of a boy that I like?
[his eyes flick up slowly, and if steve meets them he'll surely see the nervousness zemo is letting peek through as authentic - no mask of haughtiness, no mistaking his implication. that's right, he likes steve rogers. and whatever this tentative thing they've started is...at least they both know it's mutual now. it's been bumpy and full of misunderstandings, but for maybe the first time now it feels as if they're both on even footing and ready to take the next step together.
which is maybe another selfish reason he has for dropping everything to take care of steve. nursing him back to health means the sooner he's up and about, the sooner he comes back to zemo's dorm room, and the sooner they pick up where they left off. which is decidedly not anything to do with the chapter they're paused at in their studies and entirely to do with getting steve's mouth on his own again - maybe this time wandering down his neck, maybe somewhere more comfortable where zemo can slide a hand under his shirt -
focus, he has to remind himself, jaw twitching as he swallows hard and clears away this dangerous train of thought.]
It isn't much, but it will do the trick for tonight.
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He pauses when that hand reaches to brush hair from his face and his eyes dip, a dark fan of lashes against pink cheeks, moving in slow motion to the gentle touch. A sigh falls from his lips, the cool cloth moved to his neck almost as delectable as the very touch itself. His eyes open under the gentle pressure on his shoulder, and he's met with the pretty boy at his bedside leaning in. For a moment, even in the haze of his fever, he wants to lean to kiss him. But he knows, even now, that this pretty, posh boy might not be too keen on chicken-noodle-soup-kisses, as much as Steve finds himself following the line of the boy's lips.
His own curve, lazy and warm at the comment. A boy that he likes? Steve gently lowers the soup to rest on a thigh, and one warmed hand reaches for the arm held up by his shoulder, tracing the line of his forearm to his elbow. ]
A boy that you like? Well, that boy's one lucky fella. I'd wager he likes you, too.
[ He huffs softly and lets his hand drop back down to stabilize the bowl against his quad, smiling quietly into the brothy reflection. Another bite, then another, humming at the pleasant warmth that seems to take root in his bones, replacing the shivering chill from before. It isn't much, no, but Zemo's right. It's working. ]
That's probably the fever talking. [ He huffs a small laugh. ] But if he asks you to a movie one day then I'll come back and say I told you so.
[ Steve looks back up into those nervous eyes and smiles, faint and tired, but leans his head just so his cheek can rest against the other boy's arm, wanting the contact, the warmth, the comfort. Just as he pressed in against his chest before. ]
I'm glad you're here. [ Quiet, vulnerable, and he noses the skin of his wrist with a soft, tired sigh. ] I feel terrible.
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in the morning - oh. subconsciously he's already made the decision to stay the night, apparently, which is just fine considering he'd consciously do the same. especially now - and especially when steve looks at him like that. it doesn't strike him until he sees the way his mouth pulls into an easy albeit hazy smile and then reaches for him just how much he's missed the boys presence back at his dorm and in class. ironic, given he'd abandoned the very same thing a week prior and expected it to be easy for steve to swallow. he blinks lightly when steve reaches for his arm, fingers light and bringing to stark realization just how affected he is by even the barest amount of contact as he suppresses a shudder and nods.]
If he asks - I'll tell him I had a lovely one with a terribly handsome boy recently he'll have to measure up to. Even if he was a blanket hog and made a mess of the popcorn.
[said wryly, his confidence coming back almost immediately now that steve's reciprocated it and the sky hasn't fallen in a crash to the ground. they like each other. still. it's a dangerous thing to embark on, but the longer he pushes it away the harder it'll be...and he can't do it anymore.
he's lost in thought for a moment about all the ways this could go wrong that he nearly misses what steve is saying, brought back to the present by another soft touch against his arm. this time he's able to reciprocate it, letting him nuzzle in before shifting to cup his cheek gently and not that thank god he doesn't feel completely like he's burning up anymore. still too warm, but mildly improved. his fingers flex against the soft skin, and before he can overthink it he leans down to press a soft kiss to his temple, fighting every urge to want to press one to his lips. he barely pulls back, just enough to lock eyes with steve up close and let his concern be visible in the furrow of his brow.]
I would have come sooner. Next time - I won't wait so long.
[it's not his fault he couldn't call or didn't tell him. but he can - that door is open now on zemo's end, finally. his thumb brushes across the high point of steve's cheekbones in an affectionate swipe before he shifts it along his back, letting steve lean into his body and give him more of what he's so clearly seeking.]
Eat more. [it's a soft whisper, as he lets his chin nuzzle against the top of steve's head.] full of fond concern.] Have you taken anything for the fever?
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Mm, darn. I'll let him know you've got other plans. But he might be a blanket hog, too. [ For emphasis, he plucks at the quilt on his bed, the way its bunched around him and under him, certainly not for the sharing in a moment like this. But the idea that he can call him, now, and have him here? It makes something flutter in the pit of his stomach. They aren't barbs and flirty remarks or rushed kisses in a dorm room door frame. Steve doesn't know what they are, but whatever it is feels safe.
The lips against his temple make his eyes flutter, lashes a dark fan against the pink rise of his cheeks where Steve's sure he can still feel the brush of finger tips grazing his skin. He's never felt this way before, not about anyone. They never quite leave such a lingering effect in their wake, and Steve suddenly finds he's sad, too, that those soft lips landed anywhere but his own. ]
Next time - I'll call you.
[ I want you here with me, is everything it implies, and once he's welcomed into Zemo's side he lets himself relax, his body going soft and pliant, his face tipped up against the soft pulse-point at Zemo's throat. He should eat more, he should pry himself away from the warmth of the other boy and eat, drink water, sleep, but even now he feels the fatigue pull at him, heavy and slow. ]
I don't think I can eat anymore. [ Apologetic, because he knows it's for his own benefit, but his appetite has all but left. A soft nuzzle, a sigh.]
There might be some advil in the bedside drawer. [ The bottle's near empty, enough for one dose but little else, but he fears that admitting it would mean Zemo would leave his side, would fetch something else. ] But I'm okay. This happens sometimes, it passes eventually.
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it seems wholly unfair that now they've both laid themselves bare and he's ready to kiss steve senseless only for him to have fallen so ill. he wouldn't have believed it unless he'd seen it with his own eyes - the invincible steve rogers isn't a god among men, completely human and susceptible to the same things the rest of them are. but the reality of him so vulnerable in the moment makes zemo want to protect him with a fierceness that is overwhelming, that aches deeply in his chest and has him nuzzling in even closer to the boy lying against him. he presses another kiss to the top of his head, knowing he'll have that many more opportunities the faster he gets better.
so....he's decided he'll just have to see to it that his recovery is as quick as possible.]
It's alright. Your coloring looks better already.
[his fingers press gently atop steve's for one brief moment before they slip past to grip the edge of the bowl and carefully pull it from his lap. he turns to set it down on the top of his neatly organized dresser and away from any risk it'll spill. though, eventually if steve can actually manage sitting upright somewhere that isn't bed, he'll gladly change the sweat-drenched sheets for something fresh and far more comfortable.
he hums lightly, brows lifting and trying to sound conversational despite the way his heart is thudding in his chest at his next statement.]
Maybe next time you won't even need to call. That is - I'll already be at your side.
[his gaze peeks back over, even as he's rifling one-handed for the feel of the advil bottle which rattles disappointingly in response. he pours out the last two pills and extends them in his palm, offering him the water in his other hand.]
Take this for me, okay? [a soft, reassuring smile in steve's direction that turns a little mischievous at the end.] I've always wanted to play Florence Nightingale for someone, you know. Aside from my poor entrance, I am not so bad, hm? But I could use the little ah - [he gestures to the top of his head, mimicking a nurse's cap.]
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His eyes follow his movements, a hazy, slow thing, and he nearly misses the implication in the words: ]
I'd like that.
[ A soft smile, and he leans to take the pills from the extended hand, but not before he presses the faintest of kisses in against Zemo's lips, more a press and a mush of the tips of their noses than a kiss proper. But he stays close, be it for effect or the fact that he's just that fatigued. ] It feels like you were always meant to be here. By my side.
[ A soft huff passes between his lips before he sits back, the leaning almost too much to sustain overlong. He pops the pills into his mouth, fumbles a drink from the glass, then another. He practically finishes off the glass before he meekly offers it back, letting his mussed, blond head fall back against the headboard. His eyes never leave Zemo's face, watching the way his lips quirk, the way he moves, the gesture to the top of his head and -
For a brief moment, Steve pictures him as a modern Florence Nightingale, all wrapped up in a nurse's uniform that trims his waist in and makes his legs look impossibly long. His eyes flutter briefly to the bend of Zemo's knee, where he half expects to see a skirt and ivory skin, maybe a mole or a freckle somewhere he hasn't yet found -
He swallows hard and he lets his eyes drift shut on a sigh. A tired smile falls into place and he reaches to snare up Zemo's fingers in his own. ]
Not so bad at all. I'm glad you're here, but I don't know how much longer I can stay awake. I'm sorry.
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I like it here. Better than quietly trying to sneak a glance across the way at study sessions, anyhow. But before we can make the most of it...we need to get you well.
[before they can even so much as think about heated kisses that won't be interrupted by second-guesses or frustrated outbursts. the thought makes him giddy, bolstered even higher by the warm fingers that twine with his own and the consideration in steve's gaze from head to toe like he's actually picturing zemo in a full nurse's attire. maybe someday. and with that internal admission comes the realization that yes - this feels different than anything else he's ever embarked on. not that he has much to compare it to, but even the closest thing he had to adoring another person in boarding school seems so small and far away in comparison. there's a heaviness to this, a devotion that he feels all the way down to his bones that warms him to his core thinking about them. steven rogers and helmut zemo. together, a packaged deal.
nevermind the reality of it waiting outside these dorm room walls. for now...he can feel like he's floating as he can't stop the stupid smile pulling at his mouth or the way his fingers flex fondly around steve's.]
It's okay - you need the rest.
[he dips down again, lips pressing softly against steve's temple for a gentle kiss. but mostly it's so he can whisper what follows in a soft drag against his skin.]
Was wird da künftig erst sein? Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein.
[but what will the future bring? sleep, my little prince, sleep. a german lullaby he remembers from his youth, back when he was struggling to juggle french and german alongside refining his sokovian. english was always the hardest - so different from the similarity of the others. maybe someday he can tell steve how he really feels in every language he knows.]
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He hasn't ever considered being drawn to someone like he is this boy, with his sharp remarks and upturned nose, and yet he finds himself remembering coy little smiles, their intellectual arguments, the way beauty marks and freckles speckle his skin. Never has he felt the urge to memorize someone, to take quiet ownership of everything about someone and cherish it, whole and deep.
He's had girlfriends and a rogue boyfriend, but this feels different. ]
I think we can still sneak glances all we want, right?
[ He makes a point to sleepily open his eyes, half-lidded, and tug their joined hands to rest against his chest instead of in the bed beside them. He settles, finally, sliding down onto his back proper, his blond hair a mess of wild fringe in his face, around the pillow, cow-licked and sleep worn. If Zemo can look at him like that, while he's like this? Something stirs, warm and fond in his chest.
Eyes flicker closed again when he feels the pull of lips and whispers against his temple. He recognizes some of the words, enough to string together the phrases after a few years of studying languages, and a smile pulls at his lips, slow and lazy. He pulls Zemo's hands up, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles with a tired sigh. ]
That make you my princess then? [ He looks up at him, cheeky and tired, but there's not much fight in his voice. Instead, he turns onto his side in the bed, keeping his fingers linked with Zemo's, resting just near the edge of the mattress. ]
Thank you.
[ His lips move like he might say something else, like there's more he wants to say, but the fatigue wins and finally, Steve slips into light sleep, fingers slackening around Zemo's as he settles, dreamless and still. ]
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[he looks miles better already, and zemo would like to think it's a combination of the cooking and his presence. eventually he'll gladly help change the sheets and make it even more refreshing, but for now he can quietly tidy up elsewhere while steve hopefully rests a little easier. his first consideration had been to simply sit with him until he drifted away into a more comfortable version of sleep - keep cooling skin, hold his hand, brush the errant and damp strands of hair from his forehead. and once he was fully asleep - steal a few moments to admire the gentle flutter of long lashes against his skin and start committing the light dusting of beauty marks across his cheek and bare arms to memory. and after he'd had his fill, steal away in the cover of the night when no one else was watching and sleep in his own bed. but seeing just how vulnerable steve actually is now - he can't imagine setting foot out of this room until sunlight is streaming in and making gold out of steve's hair.
he watches with a soft smile as steve gently tugs his hand up, brushing even softer lips across the backs of his fingers before seeming to deflate again from the energy that alone takes. he twists his hand - not to pull it away but to lightly cup at the warm cheek and let his thumb stroke across stubble that he's been too weak to get rid of. the slight flush that creeps into his cheeks is unavoidable when steve makes the comparison, and he dips his head briefly in a somewhat sheepish acknowledgment.]
That's exactly what it means. But even princes need their beauty sleep.
[he pauses, glancing back up and watching steve shift one last time before really starting to let himself be pulled into that enthralling lull. only when his breathing evens out does he lean forward and press another soft kiss to his forehead, lips dragging lightly against his skin.]
I'll be here in the morning. I promise.
[only when he's confident steve won't wake does he gently tug his hand away, pressing his palm briefly against the back of his hand as if to physically repeat what he's uttered. he wants to make good on his original mission - cleaning up the kitchen, doing the small bit of dishes that have piled up and been left sitting. wiping down the sinks and the mirror in the bathroom, then rummaging in both their drawers for some more aspirin which he triumphantly finds and sets down on steve's side of the sink. it easily be replaced before his roommate gets back, but for now desperate times. only when he's satisfied with the slightly more organized state of things does he quietly tiptoe back towards the bedroom and tug over a chair. his back won't thank him for it in the morning, but he'll be the first thing steve sees, and that far outweighs any discomfort.]