Neither Shira nor Stich has any time to answer that, disappearing in a flurry of tiny paws as soon as they’re set free, sprinting into the house and leaving wet tracks after them.

Marc stands and starts stripping off his outer layer, until he’s left in a knitted long sleeve and a pair of sweatpants, a smudged stain from their lunch on them. Tomato of some sort. It’ll disappear with a wash, he hopes.

He nudges Dovi lightly with his elbow.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” Dovi smiles. A warm, kind expression that makes his whole face light up, deepening the crinkles at his eyes and the lines around his mouth. He’s beautiful.

Still smiling, he throws a pointed look in the direction the dogs ran in, raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we have dried their paws off before letting them loose in here?”

Marc looks pensive for a moment, then makes a noise that’s difficult to interpret. “It’s probably fine.” He takes Dovi’s hand and steers their steps towards the living room. “And I’ll clean up after them, anyways. Later.” The last word added after Dovi gives him a pointed look. Later can mean a lot of things.

It’s completely white outside the windows, large, gorgeous snowflakes glittering in the air, falling in what seems like slow-motion and gently landing on the ground, covering up their footprints from when they’d played with the dogs earlier in the day. Marc pushes Dovi down onto the sofa and throws the tv controller to him, already on his way out of the room again. “Pick a movie while I go fix some snacks for us.”

He steps in small puddles of melted snow, one, two, three times, on the way to the kitchen, Shira and Stich having very diligently left traces of their snowy paws and fur from rolling around outside all over the floor. His favourite little menaces. Marc shakes his head but huffs out a laugh. Guess I’ll just have to get a pair of socks as well, he thinks, amused.

Rummaging around in the cupboards Marc finds an opened box of chocolate and some other candy, bringing it all back to Dovi along with a thick pair of socks for himself and a gigantic blanket for the both of them.

“Did you settle on anything yet?” Handing the retrieved snacks to Dovi, Marc curls up next to him and tucks the blanket around them, making sure to dig his cold toes under Dovi’s thigh and stubbornly keeping them there when he attempts to push them away.

“You’re cold, you know that right?”

“Oh yes,” Marc says, a delighted grin painted across his lips. “You’re my portable heater. Very convenient.” He nods along with his words, then has to duck to avoid the pillow Dovi throws at him. “Hey, that’s rude! I brought you sweets!”

“You brought us sweets, you mean.”

“That’s what I said!”

Dovi sighs. “Just put the dry socks on, please,” he says, picking them up from where they landed on the floor in the scuffle and handing them to Marc. “I picked a Christmas movie. That time of the year and all. You don’t have anything against romcoms, I hope?”

“Nope,” Marc answers, putting emphasis on the p, really making it pop, to be annoying. The grin seems almost stuck to his mouth. Dovi can’t resist pressing a kiss against it. It tastes like chocolate.

“Can you turn the lights off?” Marc breathes out as he hears Dovi entering the living room. He hadn’t had the energy to do it himself before laying down, exhaustion clinging to his very bones when he realized that this ache wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

“Fuck,” Dovi curses. Spotting the lump that is Marc between all the pillows, probably. “Yeah, of course.”

A click, and the room dims. Without the stinging brightness it immediately becomes a bit easier to think.

Dovi helps Marc into a sitting position, propping him up with pillows and an arm around his ribs. He’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell much, not bad, only – of Dovi. The run must’ve been more of a jog.

“You should’ve called me,” he says, brushing back a few unruly curls from Marc’s forehead and carefully moving his fingers away. Letting his own thumb rub tiny circles on the spot between his brows instead.

“Didn’t want to disturb your workout,” Marc mumbles. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, choosing to float in the darkness for a little longer. And avoiding the sliver of disappointment he knows he’ll find looking at Dovi’s face. This isn’t the first time they’re having this discussion. Far from it.

“You know I want you to, whenever you feel like this.” The words are quiet, tired. Tender. “Did you at least take your meds?”

Marc sighs. An echoing sound escapes Dovi’s lips. The silence says it all.

Dovi stands up with a final stroke of his thumb, says: “I’ll go get you some,” and adds, “don’t move” when Marc attempts to bring his feet off the sofa and join him.

He’s back within the minute, placing a cold glass in Marc’s hands, a pill on the table, and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his cheekbone.

“You need to open your eyes for this part, love.”

“What, don’t want a repeat of last time?” Marc lets his eyes flutter open. It’s – painful, a stabbing sensation behind his eye. But manageable. He’s lived through worse. The joke doesn’t land, the last time he’d been laid out and hurting a memory both of them would rather forget. He doesn’t know why he brought it up.

Dovi’s mouth is a concerned pinch, worry swimming in his eyes. He helps Marc with his meds, leaving any lingering questions for later, his firm grip on Marc’s wrist a solid rock to lean against as he swallows, then raises the water to his lips.

Marc puts the glass away, a barely audible clink on the table, and tugs at Dovi, needing him closer. Breathes out when he feels Dovi’s forehead touch his own. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Really. Taking care of you is never a burden, Marc.” Sat like this, they’re sharing the same air. “I’ll close the curtains before I head to the shower. You should try to sleep a little.”

“Okay,” Marc whispers.