#hlfmooncookie

"Hello," you greet aiming for enthusiastic and a little sorry.

"Hi there, gorgeous," he answers, seemingly unperturbed. "Were you sleeping in?"

"Something like that," you attempt a chuckle but wind up wincing instead. You curl in on yourself struggling to find a comfortable position, to no avail. "I'm sorry I only just saw your texts," you say too softly.

You swear you can hear him consider your tone over the line. "That's okay, baby. I just wanted to check on you; make sure we're still on for today?" he says to you, expectant.

There's a part of you that's delusional because you want nothing more than to say yes, and you can't stand the thought of letting him down and destroying your plans. Maybe you can suck it up and mercifully, it will go away on its own. The realistic part of you knows you can hardly walk across your apartment let alone Pittsburgh. You don't think you can muster an answer, and you must have hesitated for longer than you realized because Brendon cuts through your train of thoughts.

"Hey, are you doing okay?" he asks you point blank, and sounds genuinely worried. You can almost see the wrinkle between his strong brows as they furrow. You can't tell if it would be a worse sight than if you tell him the truth and watch his face fall in disappointment.

"Yeah," you reply too quickly. You weren't necessarily planning on lying to him but the response left your lips before you could even think. You can't really think about much other than the pain wreaking havoc on your lower abdomen that's radiating throughout your body.

"Yeah, I'm not buying that," he says matter-of- factly. He has a way of being stern in the gentlest way possible when the situation demands it. It's clear something is going on, so he's not giving up until you admit it and he knows how to help. "You sound like you're in pain," he says, pointedly tender. "What's wrong?"

You don't have the fortitude to resist anymore, another wave hitting you in stride that makes you want to grit your teeth. "Cramps," you hiss, voice strained. Yeah, you're not forming full sentences.

He croons sympathetically as you reveal the source of your pain. "Baby, I'm so sorry," he says and means it. He mentions nothing of the lunch date as he continues, "Can you give me like ten minutes?" he asks. You're confused.

"Huh?" you ask.

"I was already on my way when I called you. I'm ten minutes from yours," he replies.

You should panic, wanting to tidy the place and yourself a bit, but something like relief swells in your chest instead. "Brendon, you don't have to…"

"The hell I don't, baby," he says offended. "No way I'm leaving you alone like this."

"I'm disgusting," you whine miserably. Brendon swears he can hear rustling on your end of the line. Like you're gonna get up and try to get ready before he arrives.

"I promise you're not," he says. "And don't you dare think about moving."

"Fine…"

…

Five minutes later, there's a soft knock on your front door and quickly the sound of a key fitting into the lock.

"Hey baby, it's me!" He announces himself as he enters your apartment. "You alive in here?" He asks roaming around after leaving his shoes by the door. He expects to find you buried in bed, but his eyes lock with yours once he rounds the other side of your living room couch. You had barely let out a peep.

"Hi," you say weakly, and still with your lips pulled at the corners. Even under tremendously sucky circumstances, it's wonderful to see him. His presence already somewhat of a balm soothing your distress.

Brendon wastes no time rushing forward, crouching next to where your head is sinking into the worn, pliable cushion. His hand goes straight to your hair, stroking your head with a gentleness that makes your face feel hot. Your sinuses pulse with stinging pressure. "I didn't know it was this bad, Angel," he says, somewhat pained, and to his horror, your brows pinch sharply; your lip beginning to tremble.

"I'm sorry," you croak on a shaky exhale. Your cheeks are painted with wetness not for the first time today.

"Hey. No," he insists in the most soothing tone he has. "What are you sorry for?"

"I…" you begin but shudder as you speak around another soft sob. "I….I really wanted to go out." He sighs, pained at your upset and softly thumbs the new tears away from your face. "My stupid period ruined our day," you cry.

"Whoa, hey," he says somewhat alarmed, searching for the best way to deescalate this spiral and get you into his arms. It doesn't take long for him to make up his mind. "Are you in too much pain to move?"

You sniffle. "It's okay right now." You barely finish responding before his arms slide beneath you and scoop you up. It's startling how easy it is for him to do, and you almost laugh. You could be feeling your absolute worst, and Brendon will still find a way to sweep you off your feet (sometimes literally), helping you forget a little bit what had you so upset in the first place. He looks pleased to see you smile. You're limp with love.

…

He left you in your bedroom after tucking you beneath the blankets and making sure you were comfortable. You can hear him tinkering in the kitchen, his footfalls crossing between there and the bathroom. There's a soft knock at your doorway before too long.

Your smile returns. "Brendon, you don't have to do all that."

"Yeah? Well what if I want to?" he asks rhetorically as he enters. You notice he brought a tray of goodies, including a steaming mug of tea which he sets carefully on your nightstand. He's wearing a black tee that's ever so slightly rumpled, and it compliments his biceps in a way that makes you all warm and fuzzy. You think of how soft it felt on your cheek, and how it makes his pecs look insane. "What?" he asks as he notices your stare.

"Nothing."

"Yeah right," he chuffs.

"Just a sight for sore eyes is all," you admit shamelessly. You think you can see a glimmer of flustered energy cross his face at the blatant remark. He chuckles softly, clearly pleased.

"You seem to be feeling better," he remarks, taking a seat next to your hip and stroking your thigh over the covers. "But I still wanna get some pain killers in you to be safe. Have you taken anything?"

"A couple Advil earlier, but they didn't really do anything," you say.

"When?"

"9:30," you reply.

"Okay. Should be good then. I think you should take some even if we think it might not help," he says, taking the bottle from the tray and unscrewing the cap. He shakes out two pills and offers them to you with the glass of water he also brought.

You take both from him gratefully, handing him back the glass when you're finished. "I'm sorry about today," you say looking a bit guilty.

He levels you with a look that says 'are you fucking serious?', disapproval and fondness written on his strong features. "Baby," he stresses, "you have zero to be sorry for, okay?" He raises his hand so he can hold your face while he reassures you. "We still get to spend time together. That's what matters."

You hear his reasoning. You really do. You sigh and sink into the touch some, relinquishing some control. "I just wish it didn't have to be like this," you say somewhat wistful. Brendon's happy to hear the tone of self-blame start seeping away from your voice.

"I know," he says, understanding, "I wish you weren't in any pain, sweetheart." He squeezes your cheek in his palm, affection pouring. "We don't always get to choose how we spend time with each other, regardless of the plans we make."

"I know…" you agree, "but I'm glad you're here. I mostly just missed you," you admit, fingers drifting to hold his wrist below your face.

"Oh, Angel," Brendon croons. He takes the confession as an opportunity to bring you into his chest, arms snug around you. You can't tell if the embrace is more for you, or for him. His hand shushes the fabric between your shoulder blades. "I missed you too, and I'm so glad I can be here to take care of you, alright?"

"Yeah," you smile into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. You feel like pressing a kiss there, and he shivers almost imperceptibly as you do. He returns it with warm kisses to your forehead. You're probably more jelly than girl at this point.

"What can I do for you now?" he says interrupting the comfortable silence.

"Keep holding me?" you ask, almost a whisper.

"My pleasure." He pulls back from your hug to which you almost whimper at the loss, but he swiftly climbs over your lap to the spot beside you, peeling back the covers. He settles half against the pillows, and opens his arms to you. You oblige quickly, and back into his chest so that you can spoon. He gets the message. His big, warm hand drifts over your hip, rubbing a few passes over your stomach until he nestles it into that sweet spot below your bellybutton, applying light pressure.

The sound you make is nearly pornographic.

"That good, huh?" he asks, cheeky and utterly pleased.

"Mhmm." You don't even have the wherewithal to be annoyed. This is the most relief you've felt all day, and you're gonna enjoy it for all its worth. Your eyes aren't closed just yet, but they're relaxed, and you notice the tea still sitting an arms length from your spot. It's your favorite mug. The one Brendon got you on the road trip you took together last summer. "My tea…", you say.

"Yes?"

"It's gonna get cold."

"You want me to get up and give it to you?" he asks. One of his brows quirks in disbelief. You can't see it from behind you.

"Don't you dare fucking move," you threaten, changing your tune. Brendon's thoughts are confirmed. He laughs.

"That's what I thought, babe," he says partly smug. He redoubles his efforts on your abdomen. He can feel you growing more lax, and he wants to keep it that way.

"What kind is it anyway?"

"Raspberry leaf," he says proudly, "with honey."

You melt some more. "How did you know?"

"It's kind of my job to know," he answers.

"As a doctor?"

"As your boyfriend," he says frankly. He plants a kiss behind your ear. "I have an idea, want to hear it?" he begins.

"Please," you smile.

"How about we stay here for a while and in a little bit I order us some take out?"

You nod delightedly.

"And in the mean time, we watch whatever you want on the TV?" he adds, sweetening the deal. Though there's no transaction in it in the slightest.

"Have I told you how madly I'm in love with you?" you say as a response. It's reassuring to see some boldness returning to your words. His care must really be helping you.

"Not today, but I could've guessed." He gives you a squeeze.

"Well, I'm gonna marry you," you say, casual and assured.

Brendon chuckles amorously and says it under his breath so you almost miss it. "Soon."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I swear falling hurts so much more now than when you're a kid, " you say, somewhat seriously.

"The bigger they are…" he trails off looking at you with enough care to knock your other shoe off. It's warm where he strokes your shin, quietly soothing you. His hand drifts until it softly grips the underside of your knee. "How's this doing?" he asks rhetorically as he peels the corner of the gauze back to check. You haven't had the guts to look, following his previous order, but also a bit squeamish at the sight of your own blood. You definitely weren't cut out for the same type of work Jack was. If it was a grizzly mess and your bones were sticking out, you wouldn't be able to tell from Jack's composed, reassuring face. "Good. Looks like the bleeding's stopped for now," he says carefully, inspecting and removing the bloody gauze, quickly discarding it.

The skin there looks angry, torn, no longer actively bleeding and certainly not very serious, but it gives you pause anyway. "You know, I really thought I was gonna bleed out back there," you say on an exhale, a little embarrassed that it scared you more than it actually hurt.

"Not on my watch, you're not," Jack replies easily. He taps the thigh of your injured leg, indicating you to rest it atop the counter and underneath the hanging lights where he can see it better. When you look at him again, his eyes are on yours. "How're you feeling?" he asks as his warm hand rests on your shoulder.

"I'm fine," you lie.

"Yeah?" says Jack, though you can tell he's not buying it. Damn the man you love who is literally an expert in observation. "Any dizziness? Do you feel queasy at all?"

You move your gaze elsewhere. Your thumb. You wring it through your other hand, smoothing over your nails only to realize you chipped the polish in your harsh descent. Your teeth worry your lip. Meanwhile, Jack is watching; waiting for your answer. "I guess maybe a little lightheaded?" you finally respond.

He hums and rubs his hand over your shoulder, assuaging. "Thought so," he says, voice mellow with his suspicion confirmed. He surprises you when he tenderly kisses you on the cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetie," he says and the consolation nearly hollows you out. As much as Jack likes to joke and tease, there's something undeniable and intense about what his sincerity does to you. It can honestly be stunning at times. It flushes your cheeks with blush, a fond heat, despite making you want to squirm. You couldn't move if you wanted to right now, with your injured leg propped up. You find though, that you don't want to move. You're exactly where you want to be.

"Always a flirt," you quip, deflecting yet again. "I'll be okay."

"I know, but I know you're scared of blood, and," his other hand comes up so that his thumb can trace the fading redness beneath your eye, "this," he points out knowingly. "I don't like when you get hurt." You smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond to such a declaration. You've been caught, as if you could ever hide your feelings from him, and being seen with such clarity renders you wordless. As your reservation dissolves, you allow yourself to lean into the hand that still holds your face, bringing yours up to brush it as a silent thank you. Pleased once more, Jack's eyes are warm and crinkling at the contact, as if to say 'I wouldn't have it any other way.'

A comfortable silence settles between the both of you as Jack diligently cleans and sterilizes your knee. He's repaired much worse millions of times you must think, but watching him drift through all the steps, administer antiseptic and bandages with precision, is mesmerizing. And impressive. You are flooded with the sense that you're in good hands, and it relaxes you more than you care to admit. A few bandaids later, he presses a string of featherlight kisses to the area, tickling you pleasurably.

You giggle. "Is that part of the procedure?" you ask softly.

"Absolutely," he says deadpan, "can't have your boo-boos going unkissed. I would betray my oath."

"Literally, don't say that," you groan trying to suppress your grin.

"What? Boo-boos?" he asks, exasperated. "I'm a doctor and I can't say boo-boos? I can't kiss my baby's boo-boos better?"

"God, no!" You're cracking a grin. "Please stop!" you laugh now, fullheartedly.

"Hey!" Jack says wounded. He pretends to be disappointed, but his hands stay planted on you. Is he seriously pouting? you ask yourself, amused.

"I didn't say anything about the kissing. In fact," you look at him through your eyelashes, enjoying your little dance once more, "I think I have one here," you finish, pointing at your lips.

Your indignation turns sourly into shame in an instant. You can't believe you made him feel like that—so nervous. You could hear it in his voice. He was just trying to be sweet to you and you ruined it for him.

Before your welling eyes can spill and your voice begins to quiver, you manage a weak,"Okay," and quickly hang up, lest you make Remus feel any worse. It's like your throat is closing in on itself as you continue dwelling on your outburst. The stinging pressure behind your eyes is close to unbearable. Reluctantly, you pick up the wooden spoon you were using to stir the sauce and resume your shoddy attempt at a romantic gesture.

No sooner than you shed the first tear and dissolve into self-pity does Sirius burst through the front door of your flat.

"Darling!" he sings, hanging on the last syllable with affection. You hear him hang his coat up, his bag, kick off his shoes. "Where oh where is my angel girl?"

That does it. Now your shoulders shake and the next inhale is intense and you cannot help but gasp as you cry. Crying and keeping your sobs as silent as possible. How could he say that? You feel like everything but an angel and rather undeserving of such gentle affection. But, you wouldn't expect anything less from Sirius—not from Remus either. Another salty tear shoots down your cheek. Maybe if you stay still, keep dragging the spoon across the pan, your boyfriend won't notice.

But to no avail, Sirius's excited footsteps bound from the entryway to the kitchen, drawn to the sound of sizzling and the smell.

"There you are baby! Why didn't you say?" he rambles, taking everything in. Your back remains to him. "Is something burning?" he asks as he approaches you from behind. He sidles up with a smile and a hand to your back but quickly his disposition fades as he finally sees your distress. "Hey…Hey hey. What's the matter, lovebug?"

You're finding it quite hard to speak for the moment, that much is clear. Sirius, eager to soothe you pulls you smoothly into his embrace while flicking off the burners. "Let's turn these off for now." You let your head sink against his chest until you're holding your face in your hands. His sweetness almost makes it worse and you hate that you can hear the heart break in his voice. "Come here, babydoll. Why don't we go have a cuddle?"

…

It isn't much later when another set of keys jingles in the door. The door opens cautiosly and you can hear Remus's gentle footfalls as he puts his outside things away and shuffles elsewhere, bags rustling.

Your breaths come in slower strides, echoing their previous hiccups, and all you feel is warm and the warming pass of slender hands. Up and down your spine. Over your hair. Then something cool and soft presses to the top of your forehead as Sirius adjusts you both on the couch. Lips. Your chest clenches at its tenderness and when you hear Remus's voice in the distance.

"Was someone making something?," he projects from what you can tell is the kitchen.

"Yeah," you shudder. Your face is hot and wet again. That familiar shame echoes, swirling in your gut despite Sirius's coaxing.

"Darling?" You feel Sirius shift beside you as he presses a new kiss to your hair. "I'm gonna go clean up the kitchen and fix you a cuppa, and then we can all settle in. How does that sound?"

You nod, not trusting the strength of your voice at the moment. You wouldn't dare stop him and reveal just how much you need him—them, right now. The last thing you want is to be left alone. Its hard not to wonder whether you deserve the warmth you're craving.

As if he can sense your honest reluctance at letting him up, the space between his dark brows pinches with sympathy. He gives your shoulder one last rub before shifting to go find Remus. You hear his steps trail off and faint clinking as well as hushed voices. They don't sound heated, despondent like you think they should.

You curl in on yourself with nobody to hold onto. You can't believe how much you've fucked this up. You try and try to keep up with them, to let them know you care and want to show up for them as much as they do for you. And like everything else this week it was a total letdown. You feel profoundly embarrassed, and before the new tide of tears can break past your waterline, you hide your face with your hands.

The distant voices quiet, and the shuffling grows nearer. The room is warm with presence. Next to you, the cushions sink and a tentative hand comes to rest on your back. "Dove?", you hear Remus say, gentler than anything. When you don't respond, don't unhide, he begins stroking your spine. It's firm, and despite feeling undeserving, it already floods you with enough reassurance to respond.

"I'm sorry," you croak, particularly to Remus. Instead of revealing your face you rub harshly at your wet eyes with your fists.

"Don't, love," Sirius tuts concernedly as he returns to the living room. He abandons your tea on the side table and gently replaces your hands with his kinder ones. Again, the coolness relieves your upset skin. Sirius shoots a worried, sympathetic look to his boyfriend.

"Darling ,"croons Remus sympathetically, "what are you sorry for?"

You meet his eye and force yourself to hold the gaze. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I…I feel horrible. It's just..just…"

"Just what, dove?"

"I can't do anything right, and—," you inhale shakily, and Remus redoubles his efforts to console you with his hand. "I just wanted to be romantic and make dinner for us, but I ruined it." A fresh tear tips over your cheek. "And I wanted to surprise you, but then I…I just snapped. I'm so sorry Remus."

Your boyfriends' hearts fracture at your confession and the one sat beside you wastes no time in moving you onto his lap and into his arms. Sirius rises to sandwich you between them on the sofa. "Oh my love, " Remus sighs, petting the back of your head, "that is so sweet of you—"

"And really thoughtful!" Sirius interrupts. "No wonder you were so cross, Angel."

"It makes sense," Remus agrees, "but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you."

"Not that you need it," Sirius adds with a wink. He leans over to kiss your shoulder. It makes you smile and for that he's relieved.

You pull back from the crook of Remus's shoulder, calmer. "I feel like you both love me so well," you say gratefully," but I don't know how I can keep up."

It stuns your boyfriends into silence for a moment, brows pinched and their eyes having a conversation you can't hear.

"That's not fair," Sirius muttered offendedly. "You're more than romantic."

Remus nods then adds, measuredly, "I don't expect it would be so apparent to you, considering how overwhelmed you are, but you are the perfect partner to us, and you should never feel guilty for letting us take care of you."

"I second that!" Sirius exclaims.

"Really?" you ask tenderly, still calming but beginning to believe them.

"You, my love," Remus says gazing intently, "do not need to prove your worth to us."