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[thebloodyglue]

Everything hurts, but in a good way - in a way that tells him that his body is digging back, finding ways to heal. He's been taking a lot of baths, drinking almost constant tea. He doesn't wear his own clothes, preferring to be swaddled in Al's jumpers, Kav's sweats. He curls on the sofa, watching another movie.

"Hey, Joe?" He calls, knowing the other boy is in the apartment somewhere.

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[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky emerged out of the kitchen, a bit shuffling, but came bearing sandwiches and soup for the both of them. He didn't really want to eat, still feeling a bit chewed up inside, but he knew that doing it would avoid questions about his well-being and worry, and keep some of the worries better contained.

He squeezed onto the couch, lifting Newt's feet and depositing them onto his lap before he put the tray of food down on the coffee table so they could both reach it.

[thebloodyglue]

Newt isn't especially hungry but there are other things he craves. He shifts, squirming, until he can fit himself against Kavinsky's side, tucked under his arm.

"Better."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky wrapped an arm around him, gentle like, as he'd been managing so much since Newt'd had come back from the hospital and he'd extracted himself from the warehouse and the couches he'd managed to bribe his way on to. It wasn't that he thought Newt needed gentling; far from it. But things were hard.

"You should eat. It's grilled cheese and tomato soup?"

[thebloodyglue]

"I'll eat it in a minute," says Newt, stubborn, staying exactly where he is with his head pillowed on Kavinsky's shoulder and one arm wrapped tight around him. They're still whole but Newt can feel the bruises from here. He's not sure how to put them back together.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky sighed, a soft, affectionate noise that ruffled Newt's hair a little bit. His fingers glanced over Newt's back. He could feel the contour of Newt's spine, even through the sweater, though it was hard to tell if that was a feature of illness or natural thinness or residual malnutrition. After all, Kavinsky knew, there was some of the later two contributing to his own knobbly spine and concave ribcage as well.

He pressed a brief, fleeting kiss to Newt's hair.

[thebloodyglue]

They've barely touched, skin to skin, since Newt got out of the hospital. Kavinsky's withdrawn, a little bit, and Newt understands that. He's trying to mend what happened with kind touches, with closeness. Trying to show Kavinsky in every way possible that he wants him around. Kavinsky kisses his hair and Newt raises his hand, fingers brushing along his stubbled jaw.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky breathed out a soft sigh, wrapping his arms around Newt comfortably now. It was still a bit slow and cautious, but he curled his body comfortably around Newt's and let himself soak in the other boy's warmth.

The smell of Newt's shampoo and detergent was a comfortable familiarity, filling his nose, and he relaxed into it slowly, tangling up with him a bit.

[thebloodyglue]

He fits so comfortably against Kavinsky, their bodies curving in ways that fit and Newt makes a content sound, a hum in the back of his throat as he snuggles back against his boyfriend, barely paying attention to the movie at all.

"I missed you," he says, quietly.

[mitsubishievo]

"I missed you too," he murmured, still against Newt's hair. It was comfortable, the most easy, when he could just press his face in against the warmth and easy smell of familiarity.

He gave a soft laugh, kissing Newt's ear. "Eat your food before it gets cold."

[thebloodyglue]

Smiling, Newt leans forward and retrieves the bowl of soup from the tray, cradling it against his chest for a moment as he pulls his legs up to cross them in front of him, getting into a comfortable position.

"Are you going to eat yours? You're going to be skinnier than me at this rate."

[mitsubishievo]

"Yeah," Kavinsky said, nodding and grabbing his soup and curling up neatly with his whole side pressed against Newt's. He took a hearty bite of the soup, proving he was, in fact, going to eat and not just pick at the food.

[thebloodyglue]

Newt smiles a little as Kavinsky starts eating and then he takes another huge bite of his own food, chewing enthusiastically before he swallows.

"This is really good," he says, flashing Kavinsky a grin. "Thanks, L..." He hesitates over the pet-name for a moment, stumbling.

[mitsubishievo]

The stumble hurt a little, more than all the awkwardness of this refiguring of what all this was. He shifted his legs to support his bowl, shifted his spoon to his other hand, and lifted his fingers to touch Newt's hair gently.

[thebloodyglue]

He blushes a little, looking down at his hands for a moment before he glances at his boyfriend.

"Is it weird that I don't know what I'm allowed to call you?"

[mitsubishievo]

"We didn't make any big bones about it." The before hung in the air, a little thick and painful. Kavinsky had one of those thoughts, like he ought to drop a few careful apologies in there.

Instead, he pressed another soft kiss to Newt's hair. "Call me whatever you want."

[thebloodyglue]

"Alright, love," he says, quietly, warmth blooming against his ribcage when he says it. He carefully sets down his soup and then turns, pressing a kiss to the corner of Kavinsky's mouth.

"I think it suits you."

[mitsubishievo]

Warmth spread into Kavinsky as well, and he smiled. He turned his head, just a little, to kiss Newt very gently on the mouth. It felt like a cautious thing, asking for something he'd never asked for before. Now, he needed to ask in ways he didn't know how to.

Slowly, he pulled back from the kiss, giving Newt a cautious but adoring sort of look.

[thebloodyglue]

On Tuesday, 5 January 2016, mitsubishievo - DW Comment < dw_null@dreamwidth.org> wrote:

[thebloodyglue]

He leans in, soup all but forgotten and gives Kavinsky another, warmer kiss, his fingers coming up to graze against the side of his neck, thumb brushing the curve of his ear.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky sighed into the kiss, slow and deep, starved for the contact. It had been a week, just over, and he felt like he'd been drifting for months. Newt's mouth was soft and pliant; loamy like home. Kavinsky let out a soft noise like desperation, his fingers curling softly around Newt's shoulders to try and ground himself.

[thebloodyglue]

That noise goes right to Newt's roots and he lets out his own, an echo, leaning into Kavinsky a little bit, pushing him back against the back of the sofa as his fingers slip into his hair.

He's missed this. He's missed it so so much.

[mitsubishievo]

The noise, the gentle press, didn't surprise him--Newt had been close since he'd gotten a clean bill of health and they'd come back from the hospital, tactile as always even if they were both quiet and hesitant and uncertain of things. But where Newt was unsure what words to call Kavinsky by, Kavinsky was floundering on their boundaries, on where their limits were.

Kavinsky didn't deserve this, didn't warrant this easy forgiveness, even if he was starving for it. He scraped his fingers so gently down Newt's arms, up to his hands in his hair, and held on, trying to keep the kiss gentle and chaste even as he yearned with every fiber of his soul.

[thebloodyglue]

It's so confusing. The warmth rolling off Kavinsky's skin, high, almost hectic, is the same as it's always been. He smells the sound, cigarettes and the muddled, warm scent of his skin. It's the way that he's touching Newt that's changed. It's almost like he's scared and it's never been like that, not even on the day he met.

"K," says Newt, gently. "Joe. Love. I need..." He stumbles. "I need you."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky swallowed tightly, taking in the way Newt said that, all the ways that could mean, all the implications of it. He kept his hands on Newt's, like their touch could impart just how much just this touch meant to him, how grateful he was just to have this.

"I'm here," he said softly, though he knew it wasn't quite the same thing. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

[thebloodyglue]

Newt figures that he's never going to get bored of hearing that, ever again. He smiles, leans in for another kiss, stays close, pressed against Kavinsky everywhere that he can.

"I love you," he says. It feels good to say it, like light finding its way out through the cage of his ribs.