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Not good. Really not good.
That’s all that was running through Stede’s mind as he fell onto the pavement. Great. Somehow managing to topple over in the most dramatic fashion possible. Absolutely great. He could feel his ankle giving in beneath him as it and he collided with the ground. Really fucking not good.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Fuck!”
Okay.
Okay, he’ll be okay. Just a little fall, it’s fine, he’s fine, it’s all fine.
Stop being a baby and stand up.
He tries to push himself up off the ground but the pain keeps him grounded.
Breathe.
And then his old friend, the cough, reappears his ugly head. Fuck, he almost forgot about that. Great. He coughs and chokes and sniffles away, and he wants to scream out in frustration at everything. It’s the whole damn reason he's actually out of the house today instead of tucked up on the sofa with a large mug of tea and terrible TV quiz shows. It's just a cold but his painkiller stash is depleting, and it’s not like he’s dying or anything, but he’s not exactly feeling too great. So, a top up mission was required, unfortunately meaning having to leave the house.
As Stede sits on the pavement unable to get up, trying not to cough a fit, he thinks it could be worse. Someone could have seen him. The street is eerily quiet on this Monday afternoon. Embarrassment averted at least.
There is blood on his sleeve, and he's sure how that got there. Well, isn’t that just great.
As Stede’s senses all came back to him at once, he only just realised he was holding his phone as he fell. Screen smashed but still usable, hopefully. Ah, and there is the mysterious blood source, a tiny cut on his thumb that won’t stop gushing. Great. He wraps a tissue around it and applies pressure as he unlocks his phone. His lock screen of him and Ed, their smiling faces fractured by the fall. One new message, “How you feeling babe?”. If his brain was currently functioning fully, he would think there was something metaphoric happening here but instead he just wants to cry.
Fucking pathetic, he thinks as he sniffles.
Everything aches, but he can't stay here all day.
He manages to stand up, somehow, something is wrong with his ankle, he can feel it, probably swollen but that’s not important right now, he needs to get to the shops, he’s on a mission after all. He can stand. He can walk. It's not broken, probably. Just go to remember now to add some frozen peas on his mental shopping list.
He did it. He made it to the shop. Somehow. Hobbling along. Bread and painkillers. The two items he set off to buy. He only forgot the bread. But came back with a full shopping bag which was a mistake given he can't put weight on one foot. He debated for far too long as he stood in front of the frozen vegetables about whether or not it was worth buying peas for this. He's overacting surely. It’s nothing. He just needs to stop being weak. He can hear his dad’s voice rattling though his mind, still belittling him. Yep, not over that apparently. Fuck.
He reluctantly got the peas. But it's fine. He fucking did, he made it. He’s not weak. He's fine. Pain isn't real after all, it’s all in the head or something like that, he’s been through worse and didn’t make any fuss, he’s fine. Really.
It’s the moment of truth when he arrives home, he takes off his shoes and socks to inspect the damage. Yep, that’s proper swollen alright and a lovely range of unnatural colours. He touches it despite knowing better. Ouch. He needs to get his recently acquired peas on it. But first thing first, he needs to finish making the cup of tea, get another couple of painkillers down him and plate up his recently purchased supermarket macarons, which he knows will be disappointing but a man can live in hope.
Stede’s on the sofa, bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel placed on his ankle, cold half drunk cup of tea and macaron-less plate on the coffee table, used tissues scattered everywhere. He wants to cry at how pathetic the scene looks, how pathetic he is, but he holds it together. He’s not going to cry over something so minor. It’s his own stupid fault he’s in this situation anyway.
“Stede!”
The sound of Ed’s voice from their hallway made Stede sit up in a panic, he wasn't due home from work till a few hours.
“Ed? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You weren’t answering my calls or replying to my messages. I thought someth… fuck.” he says as he entered the living room, catching sight of the Stede’s weakness.
Fuck. He never did reply to that message. Fuck.
“Sorry,” Stede says, sounding so small, so weak, “My phone is in the kitchen, I didn’t hear it, there is no need to worry about me.”
“The fuck happened?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” he says, followed by a wheezing cough, “nothing to worry about here.”
“What happened?”
“I fell. It’s fine, seriously."
“Where? How? Did you feel dizzy? Faint?”
“No, my ankle just gave way, you know, it happens, you know me, clumsy, nothing major.”
“Stede…”
“I said it’s fine! No one saw, and I picked myself up and continued on my way. It’s fine. Nothing to fuss over.”
“You… wait, you went out?”
“I was running out of drugs.”
“I asked if you needed anything. I told you to call me if you needed anything. I could have got them. Why didn’t you ask?”
“You were at work.”
“You could have died!”
“It’s just a cold!” he croaks out, he can hear how pathetic his own voice sounds as he tries to hold back tears.
“And this? Just a… what? Broken foot? Could have happened in the middle of the road, got knocked down. Anything could have happened.”
“I‘m sorry”, Stede sniffles, barely audible.
Weak. Patience. Soft. Lily-livered little rich boy. Fucking patience.
He’s gone and fucked everything up. Again. Same as usual. Same situation all his life. It’s simple, you don’t show weakness, it’s not fucking difficult. He can’t even do that right. He was always a clumsy child. Always doing something stupid. Falling. Losing balance. Being bullied. Generally making a fool of himself. Whatever. His own fault. His dad shouted at him constantly. For causing a fuss. For showing weakness. He is weak. Pathetic. He’s trying not to be but…
As Stede spirals in his own mind, a panic-stricken, “fuck” escapes Ed’s mouth.
Ed is right. Of course he’s right. What if something happened? He could have asked. But no. He had to be such a baby about the whole thing. Just fucking man up for fuck sake. It’s a bloody cold for fuck sake. He should be able to handle this without any of this bullshit. Ed must hate him. He’s ruined his day, leaving work for him. Ruin his life. Fucking burden. A fucking liability. Ed is finally going to realise he’s ruined everything. He’s going to leave…
A warm hand gently touches Stede’s shaking one, anchoring him to the present. He didn’t realise he had his eyes closed, not wanting to see the disappointment on Ed’s face, till he opened them again.
“...It’s okay, babe, you’re okay…” Ed’s voice soft and gentle as he crouches on the floor beside the sofa, visible concern showing on his face.
“Sorry,” they both say in unison.
Ed’s eyes are wet. He made Ed cry. Fuck.
“Can I take a look at your foot?”
Stede nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Ed carefully removes the peas from Stede’s ankle.
“Fuck.”
Stede peaks down to his elevated foot resting on a stack of cushions and the damage. Still not great.
“Oh, that’s an improvement.”
“That’s not actually reassuring, you know,” Ed says, trying to keep his tone light for Stede’s benefit.
It still looked pretty bad. The swelling has gone down a bit thanks to the peas, but it’s now a lovely shade of purple covering his whole ankle and trailing along the side of his foot.
“It’s fine. It’s not broken. It’s just a strain. I’m resting, I have my ice, it’s elevated. It’s fine. I’ve got this. I managed to make it to the shops so it’s not that bad. Really, Ed, there is no need to fuss.”
“Like you wouldn't fuss if I was in your situation?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Ed’s right. Of course he’s right. If this was Ed he would be fussing over him. Probably to an unbearable degree. But this is different. This is him. He doesn’t deserve him.
“I…”
“Exactly. Now, let me help. How long have the peas been on it?”
“Like 40 minutes?”
“Right, ice break time for you.”
As Stede adjusts himself on the sofa, getting his now pea-less foot in a better position, he begins to cough again. Fuck sake.
Ed gives him a sympathetic look which he really doesn’t deserve.
“You are going to sit there with your foot up and I’m going to make us some tea, okay?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Stede jokes as he tries to convince himself that everything is fine.
He should have phoned Ed. Even afterwards. He should have let Ed know he’s alright. Send a photo of his pea covered foot with a jokey comment. Laugh it off. He should have listened to him. He probably shouldn’t have gone out in the first place. He only has stupid ideas. He…
“Stede, I can hear you overthinking from here. Wanna talk?”
Ed knows him. Knows he won’t be honest if he can see him. The kettle is boiling, Ed’s in the kitchen. Stede immobilised on the sofa. Ed knows him, he cares for him, he knows Stede better than Stede knows Stede sometimes. It’s an open invitation to talk, no pressure, no judgement.
“Sorry. I’ve fucked everything up.”
“You haven’t fucked anything up. I mean, your ankle is fucked, I’ll give you that, but that wasn’t your fault.”
“I should have listened to you.”
“I would probably have done the same thing. I knew you wouldn't ask if you needed anything, you’re far too stubborn for that but I wish you would accept help sometimes.”
“I know. Me too.”
The silence between them isn’t awkward as the conversation comes to a natural lull.
“Do you wanna share the rest of these macarons?” Ed shouts though clearly spotting them in the fridge and never one to bypass a sweet treat.
“Yeah, take them through but I’ll give you a warning, they ain’t that great.”
Stede is still on the sofa. This time with his feet resting on a stack of cushions placed on Ed’s lap, tea in hand, macarons demolished, used tissues placed in a small bin beside him.
“You were right about the macarons.”
“It’s not even the taste, the taste is fine, I mean it’s not fine, it's far too artificial, but the texture is all wrong. They are too soft but also too hard. Why were they so cold in the centre? I guess that’s what you get for buying supermarket macarons. Honestly, the most disappointing thing that’s happened today.”
Ed smiles all wide eyed, stupidly and warm at Stede’s rant. Or as Stede sees it, the most beautiful sight he has ever laid his eyes on.
“I love you.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Stede.”
“I know, I know, I’m working on it, alright. I did buy the peas. See, self-care,” Ed gives a questioning look, “Fuck, what I’m meaning to say here is, I love you too. I mean that.”
“I know. I’m proud of you. Don’t make that face, I am. You rest and I’ll order us some actual decent maracons for tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”