Re: log: chicago - atticus/matt
Heard the footsteps on the stairs. Atticus set his book aside. Hadn't been reading anyway. Or, rather, had read the same sentence four times. Was hard to concentrate when everything felt acutely painful. Wasn't worried. Knew this was normal, to be expected, nothing to worry about. But was still hard to focus through it. Would need to work in a few days. Hoped he felt better by then, but it would be OK if he didn't. Vade Mecum's basement, where his office was located, was quiet. Would be fine. Could continue to go through the neglected collection of letters, even if he was feeling poorly. Told himself that. Almost believed it.
The book quickly became engulfed by blankets. Heard voices. Listened halfheartedly. Mostly acknowledged sounds as something that was augmented. Was sure the men were too far down the stairs to be heard as loudly, as clearly as they were. Head pounded. Considered the fact that Matt had, without protest, driven across the country. Hoped he'd stayed with PJ for the moon. Hadn't thought of that, and he hadn't considered. Atticus knew he was a selfish man. Should've insisted, but he hadn't. Was pleased Matt had come. Still thought the man was intended for PJ, but perhaps there was some level of reciprocated interest. For Atticus, this didn't conflict with his own interest in Janus, in Steve. Wasn't a possessive man. Too much work? Too old? Didn't think about it much. Hadn't allowed himself to feel for the duration of his life. Wasn't going to question the awakening of feeling now. See? Was a selfish man.
The door opened, and Atticus looked toward the door slowly. Was sitting up against the headboard, pillows shoved up behind his back. Matt was displeased. Atticus chuckled. No cough, and no rumble to his lungs. Just a chuckle.
"They say it's normal. The saliva from the bite needs to get in the bloodstream. Body tries to fight it off, like an infection. Supposed to be a rough month. If it doesn't kill you, then it goes away before the next moon." The explanation was delivered to Matt's back, as Matt opened the windows. "Stop worrying. Feel like shit, but won't die. Come here." Moved to shove the blankets aside, but they were already shoved down and over. Patted the sweat-soaked mattress instead. Atticus wasn't particularly concerned with cleanliness. There was no doubt he needed a bath, coated as he was with sweat and illness. But wasn't too concerned about it. Knew he didn't look great. Wasn't concerned about that either. Was mostly interested in how worried Matt looked.