#loveseries

“I’m gonna go get you some water, and then I’ll be right back,” he says, which results in Will immediately grabbing for Connor’s arm and gripping it tightly. “Hey, I’m coming right back.”

He ducks down to kiss Will’s forehead and pulls away carefully to jog to his kitchen in lieu of walking. If he’s honest, this is the fastest glass of water he’s ever gotten, he thinks to himself as he presses the cup against the silver button on his fridge. Cold water instead of lukewarm from the hospital cooler will do him some good. On a whim, Connor adds a straw as well. Just in case. 

As he quickly goes back to the bedroom, his eyes land on the grocery bags leaning up against the couch. Blankets, a stuffed animal, some of Will’s favorite candy, a cheesy mug, a new box of the only tea Will drinks. He wants to bring them back right away, but instead hurries to give Will water and find the TV remote before he decides to get up and look for it himself. 

When Connor reenters the room, Will is lying just as he left him, but has found the television remote and started flipping through the channels in search of something good. Made for television movies, sitcom reruns, politics, children’s shows. There’s not much good on in the middle of the day, but Will seems determined as Connor sits beside him and offers him a drink of water.

“If I put anything in my body, I’ll throw up,” Will says in a stiff voice. 

“Just a sip.”

Will looks at Connor out of the corner of his eye, then the bright pink straw, then Connor again. He’s got his face screwed up in concentration, trying to decide if he should hold his ground or do what Connor wants. Usually, the latter wins because Will’s eager to please and self-indulgent when offered something he wants.

“Maybe later.”

He shifts slightly, then, to rest his head against Connor’s shoulder and be close like he hasn’t been since surgery. They wouldn’t let Connor lay in the hospital bed with him, which is understandable, but also pretty irritating when all either of them have wanted is to cuddle and sleep together. 

“If you get dehydrated, they’ll give you fluids at your check-up tomorrow.”

That makes Will groan, but at least he doesn’t argue that the one sip of water wouldn’t make or break his hydration levels. And he opens his mouth and waits for Connor to guide the straw in because he’s always been petulant and a bit childish when he doesn’t feel well. When he got the stomach flu last year, it was like taking care of a five year old. But that’s the way Will is sometimes, and Connor knows he’s far from pleasant when he’s sick, too. 

After Connor puts the water down on the nightstand, Will goes back to flipping channels until they land on a movie from the eighties Connor vaguely remembers watching with his sister once, but has no details in his mind to pull at. Will, on the other hand, seems able to recite every single line, or most of them, even though he’s so out of it. It’s some great feat of neurology, one which he’ll probably talk to Dr. Abrams about when he goes back to work. He’s taken vacation time with Will, that way he can make sure he’s alright.

“Do we have any bread left?”

Connor almost laughs, definitely smiles as he looks down at Will’s hands fidgeting aimlessly with the remote. “I thought you were too nauseous.”

“I dunno. I’m just craving grilled cheese. Hospital food isn’t good.”

“Poor baby,” he teases, but moves to get up because he’ll make one, maybe two, anyways. 

Will thanks him and manages to brush a kiss across Connor’s arm as he gets up to go cook for the two of them. There’s gonna be about five weeks of this, but he doesn’t mind. When he has nightmares, Will always holds him until he stops crying. When he has bad days, Will always tucks the blankets around him and sings to him while the sun journeys across the sky. When he has a migraine, Will always puts damp towels across his brow and talks him into drinking water. Will takes care of him. And Connor would do the same even if he didn’t. 

He spreads the butter thin and smooth, cuts slices of the nice cheese for the bread so it tastes good. Only the best for someone Connor loves with more of his heart than he thought was left after everything he’s been through. He makes grilled cheese with the same concentration he has during heart surgery. The same precision and care and intent, to make something perfect and to make everything okay. That’s what he does. He makes things better. And to make Will better, right now, the most he can do is make grilled cheese. Later today, there will be other things. Emptying a bag because Will’s not allowed to go to the bathroom normally for two weeks post-op. Check on the dressings and make sure he’s okay. Hold him during the night because Will moves around a lot in his sleep and he could hurt himself. Not all of this is easy, or pleasant. But he loves Will. He loves him so, so, so much. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him.

When he returns with the grilled cheese and, on a whim, one of those little containers of applesauce, Will is holding a pillow to his chest and half-hiding his face while he watches the movie. It’s on commercial. Connor puts the food down and kneels on the bed immediately, reaches for Will slowly so he has the chance to react if he wants to.

“Baby? You okay?”

Will nods.

“Tell me the truth.”

He shakes his head. 

“Please? Pretty please?”

Although he doesn’t answer, Will pulls away from the pillow a little bit and reaches for the grilled cheese, which Connor hands him without hesitation. He picks one up, peels the crust off, and tears a corner to pop the smallest bite possible in his mouth. Then another bite. But then he sets down the plate and looks at the television again without really seeing it. It’s a heart-breaking kind of look. The kind Connor wants to fix, but doesn’t know how because Will won’t tell him what the problem is. 

He looks back to the screen and sees it’s in the middle of one of those cheesy yet creepy eighties scenes, where the young boys are spying on the girl next door, trying to satiate their prepubescent libido and doing what all media tells them that young boys should do. Usually, it would have Connor changing the channel. He glances back at Will, and he wonders if this is what upset him. Before he can ask, Will is clearing his throat and looking at the sheets now, where the blankets pool around his waist.

“What if it’s not…”

“Not what?”

Will’s shoulders rise and fall. “What if it’s not right? Or they made a mistake, or I don’t like it? I shouldn’t have done this, I-”

Connor turns to look him head on, cups Will’s face and holds him still where they have to be face to face. “Remember when you had top surgery?”

“I- yes?”

“Remember how you said the same exact thing? And I told you about how I did too, and so do a lot of people?” He waits for Will to nod before continuing. “It happens sometimes. Your body is different, and you’re on a lot of medication, and you’re tired. But when you’re all done healing, you’re going to love this. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. You’re working yourself up over nothing.”

He knows the feeling. When Will got top surgery, for the first few days he said these things. Connor did to himself when he was much younger. But after a couple days, both of them were so happy, so comfortable, so- so at ease with their bodies. It’s an adjustment period, and recovery isn’t always a smooth road. It would be weird if Will didn’t think about this.

“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Will nods slowly, lets his head fall to the side and rest more heavily on Connor’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of me. I know I can be…”

“Stubborn? Clingy? Cranky?” Connor asks, following his words with a kiss to each of Will’s cheeks to promise he’s only kidding. “I’ll always take care of you, sunshine. Even if it means dumping out your piss bag.”

“CONNOR!”