[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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no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.]