never look away

Bastien preferred being cold to being hot. Much easier to warm oneself up than cool down. But with the constant chill in the air of Swiss winters, brought illness. Global pandemic aside, Bastien was what many would call a germaphobe: everything was cleaned and washed properly and handled with care, touched only when necessary. His parents liked the house tidy, yes, but he wasn’t sure when he himself adapted such hygienic practices. Something within his control perhaps. 

Christophe never felt the need to call him out on it. At least verbally. That crooked smile and the way those green eyes teased him with fondness without a word were unfair sometimes. Over the years Christophe adapted and contributed to Bastien’s practices, intentional or not. Even if just around him.

But no matter how careful he’d been, year after year avoiding indoor crowded spaces (although that was for an unrelated reason), potlucks, public bathrooms, etc he wound up sick. It didn’t make sense, how could his body betray him like this? He wanted to blame something or someone, but that was energy his brain couldn’t spare once Christophe had put him to bed. 

He didn’t like being sick. Hated it. There was so much to do, especially a week before Christmas. But mostly he didn’t like feeling useless. Not allowed to perform his duties he’d established in the household or professionally. When others took time off work for being sick, he was happy to have them away so not to spread their germs, and Bastien should feel the same about himself but… he was the responsible one that didn’t get sick. Took care of Christophe when he got sick, which admittedly wasn’t often (thank god). 

Feebly he relinquished his tablet with the to-do’s to Christophe, who rummaged through the drawers for his own stylus to use and a face mask. Bastien watched Christophe’s eyes widen at the line items, then soften. Not as bad as he thought or did he think Bastien was exaggerating? He huffed at the latter as well as his miserable predicament. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Christophe said.

“All of it?” Bastien was skeptical. 

“As much as I can.”

“Thank you for being honest.”

“I’m not incapable, Baz. Just not as thorough. The priorities will take priorities. That’s what bold means, right?”

“Right.” Christophe often accompanied him on errands. It wasn’t like it was foreign to him. He could do it. The shopping. The cooking. The cleaning. Read off reports to Josef. “Your license is valid, yes?”

“Yes it’s valid and yes I remember how to drive.”

“Right, of course.” Ugh his head was foggy. Why did fog hurt? “Your family’s party. What will--”

“We’ll see how you are in six days. Don’t want to cancel prematurely.”

“But I’m supposed to make the buche de noel. Your mother loves it so…”

“She does, but I know for a fact she’d rather you not worry about it and rest. And if we have to miss out this year, that’s okay. Maybe we can do something for New Year’s instead.”

No, that wouldn’t do. Bastien frowned. Christmas was more ruined than Christophe was letting on! “But…”

“No buts.” Christophe leaned in and pressed his mask-covered lips to Bastien’s forehead. “I’ll take care of things.” He then turned and bent over to pick up Sabine then placed her on Bastien’s chest. She pattered her paws in rotation a couple times before settling into a loaf. “Keep Daddy in bed.” 

Unfair. No one was allowed to move a comfy cat. 

“Get some rest, mon amor.” 

The next few days were torture. 

It hadn’t been the first time Bastien had been sick, but it no less made him feel awful about it. Mostly had been days he’s stressed himself out into a state of burnout that Christophe forced him into bed before he fell asleep at his feet and passed out. But this? Hearing Christophe downstairs in the kitchen and living space cleaning and cooking and sweetly humming, he didn’t like it. No, the humming he liked, it was nice. Everything else, though!

He was able to calm when Christophe brought him a meal and its taste was good. They’d lived together for years so of course he was used to the tastes of the house and could mimic it well enough. Yes they both ate well. The cake for the Giacometti’s party however, that Bastien knew was too large a task for his beau.

What was worse? Arriving empty handed or skipping it all together? 

By day five and the symptoms only lessening by fifty percent, Bastien knew they wouldn’t be going to Christophe’s parents. No dinner around the table, no cookie baking or poems for Samichlaus and finding the hidden gifts around their lovely home. They saw them at least a month ago, but a hug from Nina sounded really nice and now Bastien would have to wait. 

Christophe’s hugs would suffice. The ones Bastien allowed at bedtime before Christophe retreated to the guest bedroom because Bastien would not be able to live even more with himself if Christophe were to get sick, too. Sabine remained dutiful and at his side. 

Bastien wanted to tell Christophe to go to the Christmas market without him so he could still experience the joys of the season. 

“We went the second week of December, love,” Christophe reminded him with a smile.

Surely once wasn’t enough. Especially if they were going to miss the party and mass. 

“I’d never go do something I know you love without you. I have more than enough Christmas cheer here.”

Bastien frowned with skepticism. 

“Our eve meal is almost ready. If you’re up to eating.”

Oh he would eat everything in sight even if his stomach wasn’t entirely agreeing on solid foods at the moment. He wouldn’t waste Christophe’s efforts. Or disappoint himself. Too many days he dwelled on what he was missing out on for his own enjoyment. If Christophe said it was fine for him, it was, but Bastien couldn’t say the same for himself. “Yes. I would like to eat,” Bastien finally said, knowing Christophe was waiting for his answer. 

“Can we eat together downstairs?”

It was odd to be on this end of permission. Shouldn’t Bastien be the one asking to be free of his insisted quarantine? Still, he couldn’t deny how much he wanted to. “I’d like that.”

Christophe took hold of the comforter and pulled it back and offered Bastien his robe and toed his slippers toward the bed. 

Slipping his arms into the sleeves, Bastien took Christophe’s offered hand and stood into his slippers. It was unnecessary to need assistance down the stairs, but Bastien appreciated it all the same. 

Whatever Christophe had made smelled wonderful. 

As they descended, Bastien noticed the fireplace had been lit, the main lights dimmed, and a small table had been set up in front of the tree. Struck by all implications and sentiments, Bastien let Christophe lead him to the table and down into one of the chairs. He barely registered Christophe saying he’d be right back with their Christmas dinner.

When Christophe returned, a plate of fondue chinoise, mixed greens, and a single zimtsterne was placed in front of him. The star design on the fondue was charmingly homemade. And if it weren’t for how much he loved the cookies, he would have chided Christophe for putting dessert on the dinner plate. Judging by the shape and thickness of the frosting, Bastien knew they had to be Nina’s doing. 

Christophe returned with his own plate and two glasses of wine. “I asked Mother what they were having tonight and gave it a go. She offered to bring it over to us, but I convinced her a plate of her zimtsterne would be perfect.”

Being ill would dull his taste buds naturally, but the atmosphere, the thoughts and care put into it, it would be the most wonderful meal he’d ever had. 

He’d worried about nothing. Christophe took care of everything.

Christophe really was Samichlaus in his own way.