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If there was hair on his head, he felt like he would've ripped it all out by now. Hand on hip, head on his shoulder, feeling the burning of his scalp right in his neck. Giulio never wanted to curse God more in his life.
"Are you feeling better, amore?" Giulio mumbled, reaching up to brush Ray's sweaty strands from his forehead. The man was breathing heavily from his mouth, barely getting out a 'no' as he used his other hand to squeeze Giulio's.
He had gotten back from a synod after visiting Rome for a couple of days, having to hold himself back from ripping Tedesco, or whoever he had a problem with that day, apart. But when he came back, he noticed he hadn't seen Ray since that morning. Which was odd, since they sometimes met to have coffee before they did anything else. Even though his husband drank tea with a dash of cream and sugar, not the espresso Giulio usually had.
Apparently, while his phone was off, Raymond sent him an apology text saying that he couldn't meet up. He also asked to put it off for a few more days. Giulio immediately texted if he was okay, to wit, he received a thumbs up reaction to his text and nothing more. Since then, he knew something was off.
Ray liked to suffer in silence, like a dying cat who hid from its owners, as Sabbadin keenly observed over the years. He never told him what was wrong, and most of the time, he wouldn't even realize. From how loaded his schedule was, to worrying about the Holy Father, and Thomas fucking Lawrence. He had a lot on his mind. Of course he would put off a cold as if it was nothing.
So, here Giulio was, taking his temperature and smearing Vicks all over his torso like his mother used to do to him. Ray was sick with a fever of 39°, nose stuffy with a face red from the heat, and from blowing out his nose often. He complained about his eyes being hot, and Giulio took it upon himself to find the ice mask he kept in the freezer for his migraines.
"Here, let's get up. C'mon." He stood up, reaching his hands out for the man to take. Ray looked up at him blearily, starting to cough once again.
"Where are we going?" He held his palms, getting led up to his feet by his lover.
"The terrace. You need clean air." He dragged him to the double doors that led outside, turning the lock over. Ray shivered, wrapping thick blankets tighter around his body. Giulio bit back a snort at the sight of a taller, bigger man shuddering like a child in the cold.
"I think the air is clean inside too…" Ray pouted, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs lined with a cushion. It wasn't too hot outside, but it didn't stop the chills from wracking his body. Giulio must've noticed, reaching a hand down to cup his cheek.
It was odd, having their dynamics switched. Usually, Ray was the one caring for Giulio, taking time off to check on his mental state, using his breaks to try to find him if he was visiting. If he wasn't, they could talk for so long, until his duties needed him elsewhere. He'd come back to their shared apartment with Ray already setting aside food, knowing the Franciscan barely ate throughout the day, with a movie ready to watch on the couch. Or a card game if they were getting drunk that night.
Now, he held his burning face in calloused hands, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Stay. I'll make you tea." He mustered in a soft voice, thumb brushing the moles on his cheekbone. Ray's eyes fluttered, laying his head on his open palm. He savored moments like this; when he was soft and didn't care about intercuria politics, or how the world perceived them.
"Okay." Ray wheezed, feeling himself doze off when Giulio withdrew his hands. He didn't look behind as the man circled to go back inside.
"Did you hear what happened to Father Castelli?" Giulio tilted his head back, wrapped in another woolen blanket he stole from the same pile Ray wore. "That he got assigned back to Trento?"
"That's the man who's dating…?" Ray paused, wracking his foggy brain to remember. Giulio knew so many people, it was hard to keep up.
"My brother, Vanya." He scooted around. "The adopted one."
Ray made an 'ohhh' sound, turning his head to cough. It came out congested, like his lungs were full of mucus. Giulio wanted to ask himself how he managed to get either pneumonia or bronchitis – he didn't know the difference – when it should've been obvious with how many elderly people they were around daily. How many of them coughed in his face.
"Ah yes, the one that got arrested." He scrunched his nose. "Why is he being assigned to Trento?"
"No idea. I think they miss him over there."
"That's odd. I thought the locals thought he was a…" He said in a lower tone of voice, as if they were around people. "I thought they said he talked to the dead."
"You don't seriously believe that, do you?" Giulio asked incredulously, "But in case you forgot, we talk to the dead daily."
Ray rolled his eyes, letting another cough escape. "That's right. I think his name is the Holy Spirit."
Giulio chuckled. He was so cute when he was ailing. "Either way. I'm glad he's gone. The thing is, he'll take my brother with him."
"Let them be." Ray shrugged. "Some would say the same thing about us."
Giulio paused, scooting his chair closer to Ray. They could hear the cars passing by under, with the sound of a bird cooing next to them. A pigeon made their nest beside the balcony, in a small nook that had been there when they moved in. They never bothered to get them out, why would they? It needed shelter, like everyone without a home.
That was their relationship, as a sort. Ray came into his life in seminary, when he was reeling with the death of his sister, a big crack splitting his life into two. She passed one night in a car accident, drunk behind the wheel with her husband. The idiot let her drive, with her visibly intoxicated. He still hasn't forgiven him.
Giulio was grieving one night, sitting outside and blowing through a second pack of cigarettes that Aldo somehow let him have, when Ray appeared. He sought a place to study, but all the other areas were taken. So, Giulio allowed it. He was supposed to have been working on his thesis when Ray ended up rambling about nuclear physics, specifically thermal hydraulics and coolant systems. He even passed the book he was studying over for him to look at. Giulio might as well have been reading Chinese.
But it broke the monotony of his day. He almost dropped out of seminary, and there he was sitting with a man who was severely in the wrong profession, in his opinion. It took years for Giulio to understand, no. This was his path. Only he could have the empathy to be a priest, and he did notice that he was in distress in their next meeting, in the same exact place. Ray asked if he could accompany Giulio to his shared apartment with Aldo, and he did. They talked for hours, about his family, about Ray arriving there from Ireland, about their faith. It's like they knew each other for years.
And he kept coming, bringing more branches, setting up his nest in Giulio's aching heart until finally, one night, they had too much to drink. He landed on Ray by 'accident,' and before either of them knew it, they were making out sloppily on the couch. Giulio tried apologizing the next morning, thinking he shouldn't have. That he pushed a man of God into homosexuality, and his soul would be damned. But Ray, in his hangover, pulled him into another kiss. They had been together ever since.
At the memory of them on Aldo's worn out couch, Giulio stood up, making his way to Ray. The man looked up in surprise as he settled in his lap, facing him. "Huh-"
"Promise me something, amore." Giulio cupped his cheeks. There was a hint of tears in his eyes. "Promise you'll live longer than me."
Ray tightened his lips. They've had this conversation many times, particularly about Giulio's smoking, and his mental health. It was a topic they both hated. "I don't think this is the right conversation when I'm ill, Giu-"
"Then fight." He tightened his hold on his cheeks. "Do your best to fight it. I can't watch you die." There's tears clouding his vision, and it's his turn to sniffle, head already starting to ache. The thought of Ray dying before him wretches something inside, and he can't take it. It sends him into hysterics everytime.
There's a moment where Ray doesn't say anything, but he reaches up to wipe his tears with his thumb. Then, he nods. "I'll stay alive." He said raspily. "For both of us, mo chuisle."
Giulio sniffles once more, leaning down to kiss him. If there was a surefire way he'd be getting sick after, it's this. And yet, he didn't care. It would be well worth it, if he ended up dying tomorrow. At least they’d go together.