I'm (not) Okay

[das_vedanya]

WHO: Ivan and Alfred
WHEN: Saturday September 25th-26th
WHERE : St. Florence Hospital, Third Floor, Room 23
WHAT: Ivan visits Alfred in the hospital, talks about possible suspects, and gets frustrated when Alfred refuses to tell him who did it.

Comments

[waitforsuperman]

When he first saw the figure come in, Alfred had expected it to be a doctor (the big long beige coat could've been white for all he knew, half-awake) but by the time the man was at the foot of his bed, he knew exactly who it was and the smallest of smile passed across his face and he leaned up, expecting the lips to touch his but instead they found his forehead.

He shivered, not quite expecting that kiss, the lips or the human contact that wasn't related to stabbing him with needles, wrapping him up in bandages or pulling back his eyelid to flash a light there.

It was nice. He managed to remain still when Ivan took his hand and before he could open his mouth to even say hello or ask Ivan all the questions buzzing through his mind, the door to the room opened. People weren't in constant flow but Alfred didn't want to bother the Russian when he was reading so when there weren't people in the room, his attention was on the small TV. Days of Our Lives was quickly becoming his favourite show

[das_vedanya]

"Alfred-" he was on his feet now, and fury and fear were churning in his stomach like a flame, and he was suddenly reminded of a similar pain he'd experienced only a few days prior. That same pain, knowing that it was his fault. If he hadn't have gotten sick... Alfred wouldn't have to see him. He remembered the irritated look reflected in the back light of cell phone when he sent his text to Alfred - almost an insult, followed by an order to look the door.

The sadness pooled in his throat, and it came out in the form of anger.

"Why not? You- how can you protect the person who did this to you?!" Tolstoy fell off the chair behind him and fell on the floor with a thump. "Or do you not trust me?" His voice suddenly sounded broken, and he stood uselessly in the center of the hospital room near the foot of Alfred's bed.

[waitforsuperman]

Wincing at the voice, Alfred closed his eyes quickly, pressing against the back of his bed. The steady line of his heartbeat on the machine beside him suddenly accelerated. He coughed, curling up, trembling. Shitshitshit- was he really this easily scared? He felt even more pathetic now.

But as he listened to the book fall to the ground, he opened his eyes again to look up at the slumped figure of the Russian. Silly Ivan... The one person Alfred should be frightened of and yet so easily made to look like a child.

His hand lifted from the bed, stretching out for Ivan, fingers wiggling in an inviting manner. "I just... this person did this because of me. I don't want them hurt because of my mistakes. Do you understand me Ivan?" he felt like he was telling a four-year-old why they couldn't have a toy, tone slightly patronising while straining to make the other understand.

[das_vedanya]

"But-" his hands tensed in the thigh of his slacks, pinched it. He looked up from his feet, wincing at every beep, beep, beep of the machine and knowing that the hastening pace of it was his fault. Ivan's fault, Alfred's fault. The kidnapper's fault.

As if Alfred had lassoed him in, Ivan was wandering to his bedside with a foreign drive putting each foot in front of the other. Then he was standing at the bedside, the moonlight fell over his back and caught in the flecks of his hair - his eyelashes. He watched Alfred's hand hover between them before he held his hand out to let Alfred's rest on it. "Alfred, I... you can't possibly think this is your fault."