Chapter Text
ankle [ ang-kuh l ]
noun
(in humans) the joint between the foot and the leg, in which movement occurs in two planes.
Aman tenses up during the few seconds it takes for Kartik to open their front door. Despite his arm being around Kartik’s shoulders, he somehow manages to open the door wide enough for both of them to enter. Aman hobbles in, with Kartik’s support. Their sofa seems so far away. After the door is locked, Kartik’s arm encircles his waist. He half carries Aman to the sofa, setting him down gently. Twin sighs escape from both their lips.
The entire ordeal has left Aman extremely exhausted and it's not even 10 in the morning. He doesn’t want to move from his spot anytime soon. He burrows further into the sofa, taking care not to put any pressure on his freshly acquired injury, and closes his eyes. Kartik had disappeared after making sure Aman is all settled down. He has no idea what Kartik is up to. He cracks opens one eye to check and sees him hovering around the bathroom door.
Of course, Aman does not expect Kartik to linger. He still has work to go to, after all. He’s already done enough for him. He closes his eyes again, trying to divert his attention from the throbbing pain in his right ankle. He doesn't want to look at it more than he has to. Right now the entire foot resembles a large misshapen blue potato rather than actual human anatomy.
Being halfway in between the land of sleep and wakefulness, Aman misses it completely when Kartik reenters the room. He jolts when there is a light touch to his knee. He almost kicks Kartik in the face, because honestly, he didn't expect him to be kneeling on the floor by his feet.
“Oye baby, calm down! Don’t injure your other leg now!” Kartik exclaims, steadying Aman. “Abbey, what are you doing on the floor? How would I know you’d be down there?” Aman asks. Kartik quirks his eyebrows at him and counters with a “Why? Never seen me down on my knees in front of you?”
Aman has no response to that.
He throws a hand across his now flaming face, groaning. He totally walked into that one. He can almost see his boyfriend’s smirk in his mind’s eye. Trust Kartik to deflect from the situation at hand with a well-timed innuendo. Aman looks down and sure enough, he is greeted by the sight of a very smug Kartik Singh.
“You know that’s not what I meant. What are you doing?” he asks, as Kartik changes position and sits cross-legged on the floor.
“Going to unstrap your sandal. The injured area needs to be washed and bandaged. Doctor’s orders. You have seen the X-ray report right?” Kartik says. Aman shakes his head no. Kartik frowns at this. “Why?”, he questions, “Not knowing will help heal faster or what?”
Aman says nothing. He wants to live in Denial City for a little bit longer. Kartik seems to catch that.
“I’m just trying to make this easier for you. Don’t be so difficult, love”, he says, resting his cheek against Aman’s left knee.
Aman is touched by his concern, truly, but there’s no need to make such a fuss. “Arey but I’m fine. This is nothing to worry about, okay?!”
If Kartik raises his eyebrows any further, Aman thinks distractedly, they’ll leave his forehead altogether.
“It’s just a sprain”, he tries.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed” Kartik retorts.
“It doesn’t hurt that much right now.”
Kartik doesn’t say anything at first. Without breaking eye contact, he simply taps on Aman’s clenched fist and asks, “Are you sure?”
Aman looks down at his clenched fists clutching at the sofa cover.
Oh.
Aman doesn’t remember doing that. His pain tolerance is nothing compared to Kartik’s, he knows this. But now it feels like he hasn’t been all that successful in hiding this fact from his concerned boyfriend. Kartik places his hands over his balled-up fists, gently caressing his knuckles.
“It’s okay, Aman. It’s supposed to hurt. You don’t have to pretend otherwise. The doctor said you’ll be more or less fine within three weeks. If you get proper rest, that is. So, let me help, baby, please?” Kartik says earnestly.
Aman can’t say no to that face. Tears well up in his eyes, but not from the pain of his injury. He loosens his fists and intertwines this fingers with Kartik’s, hoping to gain some strength from his infallible boyfriend.
“Alright”, Aman concedes, “but when will you go to work, won’t you be late?”
“Hain? Who’s going to work? Are you mad? I’m not leaving you like this.”
“But–”
“Nope, not gonna hear it,” Kartik cuts him off, reaching out to undo his sandal strap, “I’m not leaving my poor boyfriend who’s torn three of his ankle ligaments in an unfortunate incident all alone in the house.”
Aman’s eyes soften at Kartik’s declaration, then widen the very next second.
“I have torn my WHAT now?”
“Something on your mind, Kartik?”
Aman’s question breaks the silence prevailing in their bedroom. They’ve both retired to bed early, and now Kartik is sitting by Aman’s injured ankle with an assortment of ice packs, bandages and ointments. After a lot of back and forth, almost arguments, YouTube videos and finally, a threat of “I’ll tell Devika what exactly happened to her bike helmet, I swear to you Tripathi!” from Kartik did Aman relent. So now he suffers in silence, as Kartik takes up the job as Aman’s personal masseur, his full attention on his still–resembling–a–potato swollen ankle.
“Um, why?” Kartik asks, glancing towards Aman, movements slowing.
“You're quieter than usual.”
Kartik stops massaging his foot, then gets a contemplating look for a while. After some deliberation, he says, “You lied.”
Aman is taken aback. Kartik doesn’t elaborate any further, he simply goes back to massaging the pain relief balm in between his toes.
Aman clears his throat.
“A little context would be nice.”
“You lied to the doctor, didn't you? You said you slipped on a puddle of water and fell. That’s not true.”
Aman shifts slightly against the stacked pillows, not expecting this. “Oh really? Who told you?” he asks, tone getting a tad defensive.
“No one. It's just that, you blink rapidly when you lie. Especially when you want to convince someone” Kartik says, a knowing look in his eyes.
Aman freezes. Then lets out a breath. Since he has been called out, he figures he might as well own up to it.
“Okay, you got me there. I didn't slip on water or anything.”
“Then?”
“I uh-actually fell down the stairs.”
“Hawww!!!!! And you call me the clumsy one?”
“Kartik....”
“Toh why the lie? Yaar you could’ve just said you fell–”
“What would have I told the doctor? That I was busy staring at my boyfriend playing with the neighbour’s toddler and was so transfixed by the sight that I missed a step while coming down the stairs?”
Now it is Kartik who stills. He knows his eyes are on him, but Aman is busy inspecting the cobwebs and cracks on the bedroom ceiling. He’s not going to look back, no. He will go back to making moon eyes at his boyfriend after his embarrassment passes.
But then, Kartik has never been the one for patience.
He lowers Aman’s foot carefully on an elevated pillow. In his peripheral vision, Aman can see him wipe his hand on a towel and scoot closer to him. Kartik places his fingers under Aman’s chin and directs his face towards him.
Well, so much for no eye contact.
When he finally does steel himself and looks into Kartik’s eyes, Aman forgets why he was embarrassed in the first place. Those eyes hold nothing but affection in them.
Affection for him.
An involuntary smile creeps upon his face, and Kartik immediately mirrors it.
“Silly Aman” he whispers, lightly bumping their foreheads together. Aman leans into him, so grateful for this absolute wonder of a man. Noses touching, breaths mingling, Aman soon becomes comfortable in their little bubble. The throbbing pain in his ankle gradually recedes to the back of his mind.
“I don’t blame you though,” Kartik says all of a sudden, breaking the moment.
“Huh?”
“I mean, have you seen me?” he continues, gesturing to himself, “I’m quite a catch! Understandably, you fell for me!”
This. Infuriating. Man.
“So yeah, I’ll mark today as the day Mr Tripathi finally fe–”
Aman cuts him off by snatching Kartik’s next words right from his lips.
That will teach him.
Kartik doesn't let him re-bandage his ankle before going to sleep. Aman can easily do it on his own, but Kartik wouldn't hear it. After icing his ankle and applying the prescribed pain balm, he rolls out the crepe bandage and gets to work. He is meticulous and almost methodical, his usual jittery self suddenly calm and collected. After he is done, Aman ruffles his hair in a silent thanks. He is about to ask where the hell did his hyperactive, impulsive boyfriend go when Kartik swoops down and plants a light kiss on the bandaged ankle.
Never mind, Aman thinks fondly. There he is.
When they turn off the lights and get under the covers, Aman takes some time to find a suitable position that would allow for maximum snuggling and minimum jostling of his right leg. Once they’re both cosy enough, Aman prods his sleepy boyfriend lightly on the face.
“Kartik?”
“Hmm?”
“I have a question.”
“Is it important?”
“Yes, very.”
“Toh ask na.”
“Do you have a foot fetish?”
“What the fu–”
“Or maybe just an ankle fetish?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t deny it, you do like it when I don’t wear socks.”
“Amaaan!!!”
“You love it when I roll my pant cuffs”
“Goodnight, saale.”
“Love you too.”