#dinoballs

Gyro fought back the way his lips wanted to curl into a humorous smile. Johnny would never genuinely share this concern unless Diego were actively bleeding out or exhibiting much clearer signs of distress, but Gyro was being serious. It was odd to see Diego so out of it, so uncomposed, so unlike himself.

“Maybe you’ll be spared, seeing as you’re his doctor, keeping him alive.” Johnny continued, very clearly joking despite his monotone voice.

“And you’ll be obliterated instantly for the way you’ve bullied him all these years.”

To that, Johnny simply grabbed a pillow and thumped it against Gyro’s face, ultimately starting a feud that Gyro hoped would not wake Diego in his room just a few feet away.

—

That weekend, Johnny boarded a flight for a gaming convention a few states away. It was a world Gyro knew little about, and even if he wanted to go he’d have had a difficult time getting out of work for an entire week to attend as well. So, he stayed back, eager to enjoy some alone time despite also missing his partner.

After work on the first day of Johnny’s absence, Gyro ran to the store to grab a few things, returning to their shared apartment with a case of beer and a couple bags of groceries. He neglected to announce his arrival, seeing as one of the three residents was gone and he could already hear the shower running in the hall bathroom. Diego’s shoes were next to the front door, just as they always were, leaving Gyro no reason to revisit his concern from the other night.

That relief, however, was short-lived. Diego’s showers were always fifteen minutes max. Sure, his skincare routine meant he’d be in the bathroom with the door shut for much longer, but the shower itself never exceeded fifteen minutes. So as Gyro retreated to his room to change out of his scrubs, returned to the living room to watch some TV for the evening, and quickly noticed the water had been running for nearly thirty minutes… slight panic set in.

Diego was solitary, preferred to be left alone, and Gyro knew this very well, which was why bringing himself to stand up and head for the bathroom door felt a tiny bit impolite. He prepared himself to be yelled at, but gave the wood a couple of small knocks, waiting for a response.

Nothing came, so he assumed Diego simply didn’t hear him over the rushing water. “Diego? You alright?” He called out, pressing his ear to the door to try and listen for any responsive sound.

Suddenly, the water shut off. Gyro could hear the shower door slide open, footsteps approaching the door, and then when it opened a crack he was met with a cloud of steam and Diego’s reddened face staring back at him, brows furrowed and mouth pouting.

“Sorry.” Gyro immediately threw both hands up, studying Diego’s face and eyes, noticing how flush they looked. He quickly chalked it up to hot water, though something in the back of his mind told him it was something else. Something was off in those sharp eyes of his.

“Did you need the bathroom?” Diego asked, keeping his tone low and level. He didn’t sound angry, his face just sort of always looked like he was.

“No. No! I just –” Gyro cut himself off, realizing how strange it would be to tell his roommate that he paid attention enough to know exactly how long his showers usually were. “Nevermind.” He attempted to laugh it off, rushing back to the couch.

Before his ass even hit the seat, the bathroom door had closed again, but the water didn’t turn back on. Gyro hoped he hadn’t embarrassed Diego, or shamed him in any way to cut off his shower. Who was he kidding… Diego wasn’t the type to feel things like that! If the man wanted a long shower, he would take it, regardless of anyone else’s opinion or feeling. As Gyro’s eyes locked back on to the television, he willed the concern to dissipate. Yes, he was Diego’s doctor, but unless his patient was actively seeking his assistance, he didn’t need to worry… right?

—

The next red flag popped up on Sunday evening, Gyro’s usual night to cook the household a classically Italian meal to prepare them all for the week ahead. While Gyro wasn’t as obsessive about his habits as Diego was, he still certainly put importance in larger traditions, including his cooking sessions.

Like clockwork, Gyro would begin preparing the kitchen around the middle of the day, taking his sweet time and playing some tracks on his phone that Johnny always weirdly described as “tequila and OJ uncle” music. The aforementioned would hang out at the kitchen table while Gyro cooked, tending to the emails he’d let pile up all week, keeping his boyfriend company in only a way he could make enjoyable. Subtle jabs at Gyro’s music taste intermixed with comments about how good dinner was smelling and occasional requests for a beverage from the fridge.

Diego would always show up at some point too, usually making a rare appearance from his bedroom to inquire about what was for dinner. Gyro would always tell him, and Diego’s response would always be the same: seemingly neutral acceptance. For as hard as Diego tried to maintain his stoicism, Gyro could see right through it these days. Diego loved Gyro’s cooking, but he didn’t need to hold Gyro’s hand and say it while staring him in the face for him to know that. In fact, if he did, Gyro would’ve been gravely concerned about his health.

Being Diego’s doctor meant Gyro was aware of all his dietary restrictions and what was easiest on his fussy stomach, and he knew Diego was silently grateful for that. Hell, it was complimentary enough for the Brit to empty his plate and politely thank Gyro for the food every night the trio had dinner together. In Diego's particular and quiet language, that was high praise.

Tonight, however, Gyro cooked dinner in near silence minus the music playing from his phone. It was quite odd, though still relaxing in a way, to prepare the meal completely by himself, and he found himself continually glancing up towards Diego’s door to check if it had opened even just a crack. But it hadn’t. Even as Gyro put the finishing touches on his spaghetti aglio e olio – a favorite of Diego’s – he weighed his options as far as pestering his roommate.

If Diego was asleep, he didn’t want to disturb him. He also didn’t want the man to miss a meal, though he highly doubted Diego would allow something like that to happen when he was so damn particular about everything.

Why was he so concerned? Gyro was mulling it over in his mind, unable to even dig into his own portion, not satisfied at all in enjoying a meal entirely by himself when he’d specifically made it for one of his roommates. Finally, he steeled himself, grabbed his plate in one hand, and made his way towards Diego’s bedroom door.

Again, his fist hovered over the wooden frame, hesitant to bother Diego even with entirely good intentions. He knocked anyway, twice, then waited for a response.

“S’open,” Diego replied, his version of ‘come on in’.

Even with the welcome invitation, Gyro eased the door open carefully and slowly, just enough for Diego to get a good view of his grin and the plate in his hand. His roommate was seated at his desk in the corner of his room, fixated on the laptop in front of him and typing up a storm. Diego did not look at Gyro, simply waited for an explanation.

“Hey, dinner’s ready,” Gyro explained, “want me to bring you a plate?”

Diego briefly paused in his typing, swiveled in his chair to face the door with a speculative look on his face as if this wasn’t a routine every damn week. He was wearing his blue light glasses, shielding Gyro from checking if they appeared as red as they had the other night.

“Not hungry,” Diego finally concluded. He didn’t offer Gyro anything else, just turned back around and got back to work. On a Sunday, Gyro noted.

Gyro standing there with confusion plastered on his face certainly wouldn’t change Diego’s mind, so he carefully shut the door again and quietly retreated to the kitchen. The dining table felt impossibly large with just himself at it, but he took a seat and started eating anyway.

Not hungry? Gyro found that incredibly hard to believe, but if it were true, was something else wrong? No, Diego did not overeat, but his appetite was consistent. If anything, Sunday night’s dinner was when he would eat the most during the week.

Something was certainly off. Gyro didn’t yet have all the pieces to put it together, and he definitely couldn’t focus on it when his stomach was practically screaming at him to dig in, but he was keenly aware that something was wrong. For now, he got up to pluck a beer from the fridge, sat back down, and enjoyed his lovingly prepared meal.

—

The entire situation came to a head on Tuesday night. Well, technically, Tuesday morning. The previous evening had been mostly devoid of odd behavior coming from Diego, though he didn’t show much of himself beyond coming home from work and immediately closing himself in his room. Gyro ate his leftovers from Sunday on the couch, focusing on local news as opposed to getting too hung up on his roommate’s wellbeing. He’d just spent all day with patients, and in Johnny’s words, “he wasn’t on the clock”, so there was no reason to care so much.

Tuesday had been mostly the same, leaving Gyro to slip into sleep with relative ease even with half his bed still being empty. It was just after the clock had hit 2:30 AM when a noise from the kitchen startled him awake, making him sit up and immediately try to get his bearings.

First, he checked the time, his eyes briefly squeezing shut against the brightness of his phone’s screen before slowly adjusting. With a scrunched up expression, he slipped out from bed and tip-toed towards his door, pressing his ear to it. He wasn’t sure what the loud noise that woke him was, but there were still shuffling sounds coming from what he assumed was the kitchen.

Diego? In Gyro’s half-awake state it was the only other explanation he could come up with, though it was incredibly out of character for his roommate to be awake so late. It was yet another wave of concern that ultimately brought him to slowly ease his door open and stick his head out into the hallway.

Shuffling continued in the kitchen, followed by a whispered curse that confirmed Gyro’s suspicion. It was definitely Diego, and he sounded quite upset about something. Fully leaving his room, Gyro padded through the short hall and out into the living space that sat next to the small kitchen. There, the refrigerator sat open, bathing part of the otherwise dark room in a washed out hue that made Gyro feel like he was back at work. Diego’s head was barely visible over the top of the door, but his usually carefully styled hair was clearly mussed as he fiddled with something on the other side.

“Everything alright?” Gyro carefully called out, his voice still heavy with sleep.

Diego’s reaction reminded Gyro of a cat being caught doing something naughty. The man jumped, likely from the initial unexpected sound, then quickly dropped what he’d been holding in his hands. One of Gyro’s beers slipped onto the floor, instantly shattering and leaving a mess to coat Diego’s slipper-clad feet.

Gyro flew into action, dashing over to the kitchen and placing a hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Careful, back up,” he urged him, guiding Diego back until the smaller man’s body bumped up against one of the kitchen counters. “Did you get cut?”

“No.” Diego quietly answered, folding his arms across his chest and tucking his hands away as if he’d been caught doing something horrible.

“Hang on.” Gyro watched his step as he crossed to the light switch, opting to only flip the switch for the singular yellow kitchen light. It was just enough for him to be able to better see the mess on the floor, after which he carefully shut the refrigerator door and heaved a sigh. His eyes were still trying to adjust to the light after having been experiencing such a relaxing bout of sleep.

“I’ll clean it.” Diego’s voice cut through the silence just as Gyro had moved to grab cleaning supplies from a nearby closet. “Go back to bed.”

“No,” the man quickly refused, shaking his head as he located a dust pan and returned to the spill. He crouched down and began tenderly picking up the larger shards of glass. “Hang tight, man.”

Now, Gyro half expected Diego to refuse and simply return to his room for the night, likely never bringing up the experience ever again or pretending it had never happened in the first place. However, something kept him rooted in the kitchen, silently watching Gyro clean with a muted look on his face. Not his typical resting bitch face, no, this was something much different. Something much more sad, exhausted. For now, Gyro focused on cleaning up the mess that posed slight danger. Tonight would be the night he’d get to the bottom of all of this, though.

After a few minutes, Gyro had successfully collected all the glass, tossed it into an old plastic container, and safely disposed of it in the trash. The wasted beer was quickly soaked up by a wad of paper towels and thrown away as well, leaving Gyro to finally focus on a much larger concern. Before that, however, he shut the kitchen light off and instead opted for the much softer one above the stove, leaving the room feeling less like a fluorescent-bathed waiting room and more like a welcoming office.

“Kinda late for a beer,” Gyro opened by lightly teasing, maintaining friendly distance from Diego but still studying his physical features, “especially on a weeknight.”

“I –” Diego started, his mouth staying open despite his throat clearly cutting him off. He would not make eye contact, instead leaving his gaze fixed on the kitchen wall to his left.

“Do you want one?” Gyro offered regardless, gesturing towards the fridge with raised eyebrows. “I thought you hated beer, but I don’t mind sharing.”

This was true. Diego was usually quite vocal about how much he disliked the taste of beer, how his preference for alcohol lied in things like scotch or gin. It was yet another odd exhibition of behavior that left Gyro wondering if someone else entirely had stolen Diego’s body and decided to live in it. Johnny’s ridiculous alien theory, though still obviously not true, was starting to feel more realistic than ever.

“No, I was just – ” Diego declined, adjusting his posture and then glancing down at his feet. He paused, then as matter-of-fact as ever, observed, “I’m bleeding.”

Gyro looked down as well, quickly noting the small trail of blood rolling down Diego’s ankle. As rapidly as he had moved before, Gyro told Diego to stay put and made for the bathroom, locating the household’s well-kept first aid kit. It was a minor cut, likely from a piece of glass bouncing up from the impact and grazing Diego’s skin, but Gyro felt stupid for not thoroughly checking the man in the first place.

“I’m fine –” Diego insisted as soon as Gyro returned with first aid kit in hand, shrugging off the small injury as he normally would.

“You’re not,” Gyro observed, and it was a declaration based on much more than this simple cut. He got to his knees in front of Diego, leaning closer to carefully clean the spot.

Diego stayed still and allowed this, and Gyro noted that it was quite possibly one of the most intimate moments the two had ever shared. Sure, they had fooled around sexually, and yes, Gyro had seen every nook and cranny of Diego’s body in a way that made sense as his doctor, but this was much more… tender. As soon as Gyro placed a dinosaur-printed band aid on Diego’s leg, he took a moment to check the rest of his lower legs, making certain there were no other wounds.

“Hands,” he requested once he stood back up, holding out his own, palm-up and wiggling his fingers, “can’t have you bleeding everywhere.”

Hesitantly, Diego peeled his arms away from his chest and extended his hands out just short of Gyro’s. His roommate closed the distance, softly taking Diego’s right hand in his own and thoroughly checking each digit. For longer than was necessary, Gyro’s fingertips glided across alabaster skin devoid of any cuts or marks. Diego’s hands were remarkably soft, always had been, though it did look as if his nails needed a trim. Still, clean as ever. The left was exactly the same, and at some point Gyro realized his actions were less about checking Diego’s skin for any injuries and more about holding some part of his body in his own in a way that said ‘it’s okay’.

“You’re clear,” Gyro mumbled, his thumb brushing across Diego’s left palm, “that’s good.”

Diego said nothing, not even as Gyro held the man’s hands in each of his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze before releasing. If applying the band aid had been intimate, this was damn near sexual.

Awkward silence settled in the room, nasal breaths and the hum of the refrigerator were the white noise to a moment that felt crucial. Gyro didn’t want to let Diego go back to his room without figuring out what was going on, even though it was late and both men had to work in the morning.

“So what’s up?” Gyro carefully asked, leaning one hip against the counter to his left.

Diego blinked at him, still mostly avoiding eye contact. His hands slipped into the pockets of his pajama shorts.

“It’s almost three in the morning and you’re asking me ‘what’s up’?” He finally replied, some of his usual umbrage returning to his tone.

“What’s wrong?” Gyro corrected himself, drawing out the vowel a bit to further his point.

With eyebrows gradually knitting together in typical defense, Diego gave Gyro a once-over and then countered with no new information, as to be expected.

“Well, there’s a rather large oaf standing in front of me preventing me from going back to bed, for one.”

“Ma dai,” Gyro tried to keep his voice level, as exasperated as he was. “When was the last time you were awake at three in the morning? For beer, no less?”

He only felt a little bad, seeing as Diego probably felt as if he was being interrogated. Even the smaller man’s body language continued to read as defensive and closed off, but the exhaustion and look of despondence in his eyes were impossible to cover up with any of that. No matter how good Diego was at masking how he was feeling, his eyes always told a more honest story, and that was one thing Gyro had learned after knowing him for so long.

“You didn’t have dinner on Sunday, you always eat my pasta,” Gyro didn’t mean to sound so disappointed when he said it, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been a tiny bit hurt by it. “Plus there was that weirdly long shower you took –”

“I wasn’t aware that I was being studied like an animal,” Diego cut him off, a hint of embarrassment slipping past his otherwise wary voice.

“It’s not like that,” Gyro sighed, briefly throwing his head back with frustration, trying to find the right words to use without scaring Diego away. In many ways, he really was like a timid animal sometimes, prone to fleeing when approached.

“I’m just tired –”

“I’m worried about you –”

The two cut each other off, both of them immediately replying with soft ‘huh?’s. It was quite out of the ordinary for Diego to admit he was tired, especially while sounding so defeated. And for Gyro, it was difficult to look someone like Diego Brando in the eye and express such a genuine statement. And yet, as soon as he’d said those four words, he’d noted the way Diego’s eyelashes had immediately fluttered as if to combat the way moisture had collected at their corners.

“You’re tired?” Gyro repeated Diego’s words, taking on a more concerned tone. He was aware he was slipping into his professional role a bit, but perhaps that would make Diego feel more comfortable with sharing. “Not getting enough sleep?”

Diego looked as if he wished Gyro hadn’t heard what he’d said, and that he was actively trying to forget what he’d been told. His arms returned to his chest, shielding himself.

“S’pose not. Can’t.” The man offered, chewing at his inner cheek.

“Mannaggia… Why not?” Gyro inquired, taking a singular step closer.

“Well, if I knew that I’d sort it out, wouldn’t I?” There was that attitude again, but Gyro couldn’t fault him. Diego was just always like this.

Instead of trying to pry more out of his roommate, Gyro allowed his mind to work. Lack of sleep would certainly explain some of Diego’s odd behavior, but not all of it. And what was the underlying cause of it in the first place? Diego had always had a healthy relationship with sleep, it had never been a concern in the past. Something much bigger was at play here.

“Stay still,” Gyro finally cut through the silence, not giving Diego an opportunity to refuse before he placed a hand against his chest, right above his heart.

“What are you –” Diego started, but was quickly cut off as Gyro’s other hand gently pulled at his folded arms.

“Relax.” Gyro eased his arms away from him, then placed the hand against Diego’s shoulder and gave his tense muscles a squeeze. “Breathe.”

The way Diego’s body briefly trembled was not lost on Gyro, and the shaky manner with which the first real deep breath Diego had taken all night raked through his small body was plainly obvious. Gyro avoided looking Diego in the eye, focusing instead on the rather irregular way his heartbeat was playing against his fingertips.

“Any headaches?” Gyro continued down a mental list of symptoms.

“What?” Diego replied, voice almost timid as he refrained from slapping Gyro’s hands away.

“Have you had any headaches lately?” Gyro repeated, risking looking Diego in the eye now. His patient – no, friend – appeared to think for a moment before briefly shaking his head and then retracting the motion with a nod.

“A few. Chalked it up as caffeine headaches.”

“With the way you ingest coffee? No way, no withdrawals here.” Gyro lightly teased, then moved the hand he’d used to check Diego’s heartbeat to instead palpate his jaw. He slightly jumped at the contact, but eventually eased into it. Even so, he was very tense.

“Why all the questions?” Diego eventually asked just as Gyro’s fingers rested over the pulse point in his neck. Just as he asked, his heartbeat picked up again.

“Can’t have you falling apart,” Gyro joked, but there was a hint of honesty to it, “I think stress is getting to you.”

“Stress?” Diego countered, saying the word as if he had no relationship with it at all.

“Look.” Gyro sighed again, stepping closer still and all-but caging Diego between himself and the counter behind him. He made firm eye contact with the smaller man, studying the way Diego’s eyelashes fluttered. “You’re over-working yourself.”

“I’m not.” Diego couldn’t even pretend to sound confident when he said those two words.

“You are. And it has to stop. I saw you working on Sunday. Your day off.”

“There’s a huge deadline coming up,” Diego explained, remaining firm in his stance but failing to fight the way his lips trembled. “I have no choice.”

“If you keep this up, you won’t even be able to work anymore.” That was the simple truth, as much as Diego probably didn’t want to hear it. “And as your doctor, your friend, I don’t want to see that happen.”

Something in Diego’s gaze faltered for a second once he heard the word ‘friend’. The same way it had fallen when Gyro had said he was worried about him. Was he really that put off by being cared about? What a shame. Though he was certain Johnny would probably roll his eyes about it, Gyro felt nothing but a desire to curl his arms around Diego and simply hold him.

“Hey.” Gyro mumbled as soon as Diego’s eyes left his. When they returned, moist and glassy, Gyro felt something stir in his body. “You need to be gentle with yourself. Doctor’s orders.”

Diego’s lips parted, just barely, but nothing slipped out from them. Instead they just trembled, making that feeling in Gyro’s gut warm again. It was so late, he probably didn’t have the strength or words to argue anymore, and maybe he could hear some truth in Gyro’s observations. Could he really argue with his doctor, after all? Either way, that solicitous ache within Gyro was impossible to ignore, and though he noted with slight bewilderment that it seemed to arise from his groin, he ignored the source and instead acted on it.

Without any warning, Gyro’s large arms wrapped around Diego’s frame and held him tight to his chest. A moment of fight came from Diego’s body, though it was weak and mostly due to his unfamiliarity with affectionate gestures. He clawed briefly at Gyro’s sides, whining in denial before the sound quickly shifted to something much more lackluster. One final smack against Gyro’s thigh, and then Diego’s body went limp in his arms as a quiet sob pushed its way through the man’s well-trained defenses. All the while, Gyro stayed firm in his grasp, refusing to allow Diego to slip out no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Go ahead,” Gyro whispered, squeezing Diego and closing his eyes. He focused on the hushed sound of Diego crying, something he had never heard before in his life, and felt the way it warmed his body and made his skin bristle with goosebumps. “Let it out.”

Though Diego still seemed careful to not allow himself to completely fall apart, he did in fact cry. Gyro did not ask him to explain, or to express how he felt in words, but instead just held him in his arms for the duration of it, wanting Diego to know he was safe to be vulnerable with him. However long it took for the feelings to leave Diego’s body, Gyro was willing to stand there and wait it out.

Once the soft buzz of the refrigerator was louder than any sounds coming from Diego, Gyro finally loosened his grip, allowing Diego to lean back against the counter again, red-eyed and flushed. Diego was a pouter, but typically this came from his inherent attitude, not from crying in a man’s arms for several minutes. The sight of Diego’s tear-stained cheeks and his sulking lips sent a wave of something blissful through Gyro’s body, and he clenched his thighs together in an effort to stop it from landing between his legs. The fact was that Diego looked quite pretty when he cried, but the man was basically always pretty. The truly alluring part of it was just how utterly vulnerable he looked. And not in the sense that he’d be easily overpowered, no, Gyro’s fascination came from the fact that he’d been the one to ease such emotion out of Diego through sheer compassion. Diego seemed emotionally naked, without borders, and Gyro was finding it hard to tamp down the way it made blood rush to his lower half.

“I’d like to go to bed now,” Diego finally mumbled, still avoiding a conversation.

“Two more things.” Gyro held up two fingers, then pressed his other hand to Diego’s chest again, once more checking for his heartbeat. This time, it was much calmer, slower, clearly signaling a significant loss of stress and tension in Diego’s body. He flashed a smile, gave Diego’s chest a little pat, and then crossed to the pantry.

Still obeying, Diego remained in place as he watched Gyro rummage through the Brit’s tea collection. Typically this would be met with some indignance, but Diego only watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Gyro plucked a bag of sleepytime tea out of one of the boxes.

“First, you’re going to drink this tea,” Gyro instructed as he prepared the kettle on the stove. He pulled one of Diego’s mugs out of the cabinet and placed it carefully on the countertop. “Then, you’re going to go straight to bed, without setting your alarm.”

“I can’t skip work,” Diego quickly countered, though there was little fight in his voice at this point.

“Sure you can. With a doctor’s note, that is.” Gyro’s toothy grin stomped out any argument Diego could possibly come up with. “Then, you’re going to avoid work all day tomorrow. Laptop? Off. Phone? Do not disturb.”

Diego cocked his head to the side, his reddened eyes regarding Gyro with uncertainty.

“You’re going to write me a doctor’s note even though I haven’t requested one,” Diego dead-panned amidst a light sniffle that briefly reawakened Gyro’s groin.

“Correct. I’m diagnosing you with burnout, and prescribing you plenty of rest.” The kettle whistled and Gyro poured hot water into the mug. “And no, you have no choice.”

Diego sighed from behind him. Still no argument. Gyro smiled again.

Once the tea had cooled enough, Gyro carefully handed it to Diego with a whispered ‘attento’, and placed a hand on the middle of his back, guiding him back towards his room. Diego allowed himself to be led, gingerly sipping his tea in a way that Gyro found quite adorable.

Typically, Gyro would avoid fully stepping foot into Diego’s room, seeing as the man was quite private and valued his personal space. This time, however, he walked Diego to his bed and took the mug from him so he could slip under the covers. Perhaps it was ridiculous, seeing as Diego was perfectly capable of tucking himself into bed, but Gyro felt a strong desire to do it himself. When he flipped the lamp on Diego’s nightstand on, soft light brought Diego’s tear-stained visage back to life and Gyro’s skin bristled again.

“Tissues?” Gyro quietly asked, remembering he had some in his bedroom.

Diego pointed to his nightstand. “In the drawer.”

Hoping he wasn’t crossing any personal boundaries, Gyro quickly opened the drawer and plucked a package of tissues out, tugging one out before placing them on the nightstand. Still praying he wasn’t pushing his luck, he sat on the edge of the bed and dabbed lightly at Diego’s cheeks. Again, that heat began pooling in his groin, and he tried to hide the truth of it on his face. He had no intention of fucking Diego tonight, absolutely not, but there was something bubbling inside him that he certainly needed to revisit later.

“I’m serious, by the way,” he stated once he’d wiped all the residual tears from Diego’s face. “If I find out you’re at work tomorrow I’ll be pissed.”

“I won’t.” Diego grumbled, sounding a bit more annoyed. More like himself, which was probably a good thing. “I’ll stay home.”

“Good. Enjoy an empty apartment.” Gyro tossed the tissue into the trash near Diego’s door. “I’ll have that official doctor’s note for you in writing when I get home tomorrow.”

There was a brief urge for Gyro to lean forward and kiss Diego’s forehead, but that felt like overkill. Instead, he stood, making his way to the door and pausing there again.

“Dinner tomorrow?” He offered, leaning against the doorframe with a hopeful smile.

“S’fine,” Diego mumbled, his eyelids looking heavy. Gyro took that as a ‘yes’.

Miraculously, Diego’s eyes seemed to shut before Gyro even got the door fully closed. In one last sweeping motion, he grabbed Diego’s phone off the nightstand and quickly pocketed it. As soon as Diego’s bedroom door was shut, he tip-toed back to the kitchen and placed the device on the counter. Easily located, but still far enough away from Diego’s sleeping form that he wouldn’t be disturbed by it while resting.

What a strange night. Gyro took one last heaving sigh as he stood in the quiet kitchen for a moment, trying to ignore the still heavy arousal between his legs. Something about it felt inappropriate, even though it was born from something so kind and doting. Perhaps it was best to just go take care of it and then get as much sleep as possible before work in the morning.