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Richard was stirred from the fitful recesses of sleep by a low, thrumming pain in the base of his skull.
“Headache.” He thought absently, shutting his eyes against the onslaught of sunlight that poured in through his useless fucking curtains and directly onto his face.
Gradually, he began to be aware of the way his body felt like it weighed a ton; of the steady ache that had nestled itself in his muscles and the tempting seduction that unattainable repose offered.
“Fuck.” He muttered to himself, pressing his hands to his face and sighing.
Slowly, he lifted himself into a sitting position, wincing as tendrils of pain reached their way down his shoulders,
over his ribs to his lower back.
It took his body several minutes to adjust to sitting upright as opposed to lying down, during which time his aching eyes allowed him merely the sight of a sunlit room and a floor strewn with various articles of clothing.
When at last he was able to muster the strength to partially rise from the bed (despite adamant protestations on the part of his sore muscles and joints), the only thought in his mind was coffee.
Slowly, he made his way to the kitchen, doing his best not to bump into any doorways or walls in this tiny jack-in-the-box of an apartment. His hands moved mechanically; opening cupboards, filling the kettle, emptying out the last of the pre-ground coffee beans he’d got from the local supermarket into a filter and filling it to the brim with steaming water.
He stood there for several collective minutes -perhaps rather longer than he should have, considering how weak he was and the manner in which his knees threatened to fold beneath him any second- but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. The warm, aromatic fog rising from the filtered coffee was pleasant against his chilled hands and aching eyes.
He shook himself from his trance, ignoring the faint, not quite physical ache in his chest as best he could, and set his coffee down on the table before him.
The burning liquid served to ease the pain throughout his body, at least to some extent, and for which he was grateful.
Unfortunately, it did little to soothe the altogether separate pain that he was finding it persistently difficult to ignore.
The linoleum tiles beneath his feet were cold, perhaps even unpleasantly so -he really couldn’t tell in his current state of being- yet still he neglected to switch on the small heater at the other end of the room.
The silence within which he found himself appeared to him a reflection, a mirror image of the chokingly-disquieting moroseness that had steadily filled him, and was now admittedly quite near the brim.
Fuck, he was tired. So thoroughly exhausted of dragging himself out of bed each morning to the same chilled, empty kitchen and the stifling absence of that one fatal thing that all human beings seem to need so illogically; interaction, care, attention- the mere triviality of another person existing in the same living space with you.
These things were to Richard a painful reminder of what he would never have, never since the beautiful, carefree days at Hampton before Bunny’s death.
‘Murder’ his mind corrected him, as it always did whenever he thought about it (which, admittedly, he tried not to do).
A steady -what was it, apprehension? Fear?- began to rise inside him at the thought of it; such a dreadful, suffocating terror, like the urge to cry.
He fought to not let it overtaken him, sat there at his kitchen table in this lonely little apartment in New York City with nothing but his own sick, disgusting soul to look at.
God, he couldn’t take this anymore.
He rose abruptly from his seat and half-ran, half-stumbled to the phone in the hall. He didn’t know who he was even going to call until his fingers took control and he was punching Francis’s number into the keypad.
The ringtone went on for only about 15 seconds before Richard heard a click on the other side and Francis’s voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Francis.” He gasped, beginning to feel tears actually sting the corners of his eyes.
“Richard? What is it? Are you okay?” Francis asked, sounding worried.
Richard couldn’t even bring himself to respond as the salty rush of tears split his throat and he dropped to his knees, still holding the phone in his hand.
“Richard? Shit, I’m coming over.” Francis said and hung up.
~
Richard sat there in the hall for what felt like hours, shaking and fighting the urge to crumple himself into a ball and sob.
When at last he heard the door open and the sound of footsteps in the entry way, he very nearly collapsed out of relief.
“Richard?” Francis’s voice broke through the muddled confusion of panic inside his head and he lifted his gaze distractedly to the red-haired man standing over him.
“Oh..” Francis murmured softly, kneeling down beside him and looking him over with a concerned expression adorning his pale, freckled face.
“What happened?” He asked gently, reaching out tentatively and stroking Richard’s cheek with the very tips of his freezing fingers.
“I…I.. I d..don’t-“ Richard choked, breath quickening further with each passing second.
“Shh, shhh..” Francis shushed him, opening his arms and pulling Richard to him without another moment’s hesitation.
At this, something inside Richard seemed to fall to pieces; all he could do was lie there against the taller man’s chest, quivering and gasping with sobs, completely oblivious to the goings on of the world beyond his stuffy apartment door.
Francis simply knelt there and held him, letting his hands administer soft, comforting caresses all over his lower back and shoulders.
“You’re alright, it’s okay.” He soothed as Richard tried desperately to get himself to breathe properly.
After a substantial amount of time spent huddled against each other there in the hall, Francis felt Richard’s body go slack against his chest, indicating that the man had fallen asleep.
“Dammit…” the redhead cursed quietly.
He’d wanted to get quite a bit more in the way of explanation out of his friend before he drifted off to sleep. But after all, he certainly must be tired out after all that had happened.
Francis sighed, slipped his arms securely around Richard’s body and lifted him carefully from the floor. He wasn’t exactly easy to carry considering his slender -if ample build compared to Francis’s- but he didn’t really mind.
He carried the sleeping man into the apartment’s tiny living room and laid him down on the couch, readjusting the pillows to fit more comfortably beneath his head.
“Oh Richard…” he whispered softly, leaning down and pressing his lips tenderly against his friend’s head of tousled brown hair.
“Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”
~
Richard woke for the second time that day to the sounds of dishing clinking and food being prepared in the kitchen.
“Francis?” He asked, sitting up and holding a hand to his still faintly-aching head.
Francis’s head popped around the doorway to the kitchen and he smiled brightly at the sight of his friend awake and talking.
“Why hello sleepyhead. Good afternoon.” He said, dipping back into the kitchen and returning with two plates of steaming egg and veggies.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, setting both plates down on the coffee table and taking a seat on the floor beside Richard.
“Meh.” The brunette replied sleepily, taking his plate of food from the table and spooning a bite into his mouth.
The eggs were delicious; warm and fluffy and tasting of onion and cheese.
“This is really good.” He mumbled through a second mouthful.
“Thanks.” Francis chuckled.
“Now, do you wanna tell me what happened this morning to upset you like that?”
Richard swallowed and shook his head vaguely.
“Not right now, I don’t think. Maybe later though. You’ll still be here, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.” The redhead promised, taking his friend’s hand and rubbing it comfortingly with his thumb. “Always.”