First Steps [Ivan and Matthew]

Matt coughed, rolling over restlessly in his cot. Ugh. He did not like this place very much. His condition hadn't improved as much as he would have liked, even in care of a doctor. He wasn't as frail as before, meaning, his constant nausea had shrunk, but he still felt (and looked) ill. He was in a late stage of diagnosis. And as much as Matthew tried to deny it, he wondered if it was too late for him. If he'd die, or worse, be stuck in a hospital for the remained of his life. Or a caring home. He wasn't even an adult yet!

The boy rocked back, placing two hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling through his spectacles. He had spent the past few hours dwelling on this, a bad habit of his. If it was how things would be, then he couldn't change that. He could however, fuss and make it worse. So he tried to relax back, but found it difficult.

What if he went to visit Aimee, if she hadn't already darted from her IV again? She wasn't as smart, as to leave her room with cuts and a leaky bag of nutrients. Matt was wired to blood, something he could waste, but he had an idea if he needed to escape. Something he'd keep to himself and perhaps save for a special occasion. Meaning, if he was scared or being forced something that he didn't want, he'd make a break for it.

And if he were to do that, he'd need to be able to walk at least. He'd practice now. Groaning as he pushed himself up, the blond struggled the small action. In fact, he was tired and tempted to lay back down. Oh no. Matthew Williams was stubborn. Biting his chapped lip, he grabbed the chrome rail and swung his feet over the edge. He paused, recollecting himself and battling the nausea back.

Slowly, the boy slid forward, weight now pressed onto his legs. He gripped the bar tight, his pale hands white with the iron grip that he had. Gritting his teeth, he took one wavering step alongside the bed.

And...

Nearly fell. Nealy. He was still on two feet, but most of his weight was supported by his arms as he panted. This was ridiculous! He was running laps before being taken here! Now he couldn't even walk?! Matt's defiance rose as he battled his illness. He took a step. Then another. Then an- a jerk stopped him. He looked down, to his arm where the IV cord was pulled tight. The needle, jarred from its original location, stung, but it was nothing that the boy couldn't handle. He turned, arms still secure on the bed as he gingerly walked back. Sitting back down, Matt smiled.

From just walking down the length of his bed, he was exhausted. Sweat lingered around his blond hairline as he gently panted. It was pathetic, but Matt was proud that he was able to walk, at least a little bit. However, when Matt felt eyes on him, he snapped his violet gaze up, terrified of a doctor catching him in the act.

[Just a note... Matt never left his room. He took a few steps beside his bed ^ ^U ]

Before Matt knew it, he was carried like a girl by this man, easily flipped sideways in his arms. Matt's face went red, a sharp contrast to his chronic pale skin. The action was a sudden shift in Mattie's environment, and thus, ensued nausea. Severe nausea. Matt clenched his teeth together, hard as he swallowed the sickness back to stare at his doctor. Was this the one Kiku was talking...about....

This was no doctor.

The Russian man had soft white hair, sweeping across the cotton white bandages that enveloped his head. His eyes were a lavender violet, much lighter than his own. A scarf, even though the climate was hot in Florida, was wrapped around his neck, concealing his chin and lower face. Matt blinked behind his glasses, alarmed. This. Was. No. Doctor.

Matt had to hold himself back from jerking out of this man's grip. Matt was scared. Why was he being carried? Touched? Complimented?! The boy stared with wide eyes as this man escorted him back to his 'prison', also known as his hospital bed. This was not a common occurrence in Canada, or America for that matter. The boy tensed, squeezing his small frame even smaller.

But he did notice the heavy limp in the man's stride. Wha.. Why was he carrying him if he was so injured! Matt's eyes sprung open in alarm as he was finally put down. To be honest, he didn't mind this bed anymore. That was, until this man flopped down beside him. Red colored the edges of Matt's cheeks, but the spooked nausea kept most of the color from lighting up his ashen skin. Matt shifted back slightly, pushing his glasses up on his nose with his index and middle fingers. "Um..."

Matt creased his brow, trying his best to be as assertive as he could. "I... I uh... I could ask you the same thing..." he replied, clamping his teeth down on his lip. That didn't come out as... challenging as he wanted, but still.

Matt's eyes went wide as the Russian glared at him. The boy pressed back, intimidated by the man's overall annoyance. Matt let out his breath as the glare dissipated. The man soon sat up. Matthew subtly moved backwards. His heart rate skyrocketed. Not for feelings, but for stress. He had to breathe slower. Force calmness upon himself. The man imposed a new question upon the Canadian. A name and an inquiry of his. Matt blinked.

The man held his hand out, a gesture of greeting and meeting another. Matt hesitated, but slowly allowed his hand to drop into the other's. It was warm in comparison to Matt's cold touch. After a firm shake, Matthew reclaimed his hand and tentatively opened his mouth. "M..Matthew."

The man then spoke of his woos and woes. Matt blinked out of sympathy. Something awful must have happened to the man to do so much injury. Matt didn't mind that the man would be staying in his room for a while, but what if he grew tired of Matt's presense? Matt's meek and quiet personality usually got on other people's nerves. Matt didn't want this man to be trapped here...

But he asked on Matt's condition. It was too complicated to explain. The boy shook his head in denial as he said, "I'm fine." Matt lied. But it was the only lie that he could occasionally pull off. He felt sick from the motion. But a new thought popped into the Canadian's head. And due to his uncanny stubbornness, he would accomplish his said task.

Matt moved too quick for the Russian to keep up. The boy, so slow and tentative, sprung from the bed and latched onto the nearest thing, barely keeping his weight up. He breathed, holding back vomit as he struggled to the door. The IV cord proved to be this long before. He saw the crutch, propped up by the door. Furrowing his brow, he stubbled clumsily, supporting his weight against the wall until he reached it. Grasping the walking device firmly in his hands, the boy turned. His face, defining the shade of white, was strained beyond his knowledge. He struggled to hobble back to the bed, faltering on his last step as he crashed onto the sheets. The crutch clunked on the floor, Matt not having the strength to hold onto it. Heck, he didn't have the strength to roll onto his back. So he laid with his ashen face against the ashen sheets, willing himself to stay conscious. Dear god, if his condition was that bad, he'd never be able to dash from this hospital.

Matt watched as Ivan's eyes shrank and his hand moved from Matt's head to his mouth. Matt went still. Oh mon Dieu, he was going to get puked on! Matt snapped both eyes shut, not wanted to see whatever was fated to be upchucked on him, but cracked an eye open after a long moment. Ivan had paled and begun to look extremely ill. Matt struggled to sit up, out of Ivan's clutches.

"I...Ivan, are you ok?" Matt asked quietly, staring at him with large violet tinted eyes. The man didn't respond, and soon, he toppled backwards and nearly rolled off of the bed. "Ivan!" Matt exclaimed, but his voice still remained at a low volume. He panicked, not knowing what to do! He had never been in this sort of situation before! He was always the one that fainted! "Nurse! Help!" Matt called, but no response immediately answered. Perhaps it was because Matt was not loud enough. Matt began to tremble. Help... help... help...

Until he saw Ivan twitch. The boy, near tears, looked back to see the man slowly coming to. Matt pulled his glasses off and wiped his eyes. He hadn't cried, but the overbearing stress made his eyes sting. Yeah... eyes sting. He watched uselessly as Ivan returned to consciousness, loudly at that.

Matt opened his mouth to answer Ivan's first question, but the Russian answered it himself seconds after. Oh, he was confused. He was speaking his thoughts in order to organize them. Big sister? The van? What had happened to the man? Matt didn't want to ask, but suddenly his injuries seemed to pop out more. Bandages around his head, broken leg, crutch, ribs... Something to do with numerous people and a van. Car accident?

Ivan gazed dully at Matt, making the boy shrink back slightly. Ivan paused, but easily remembered Matt's full name. The blond boy blinked, unsure of what to do here. And then, Ivan had the guts to tell him to lie down because he was 'ill'. And that, was Matt's breaking point.

"Excuse me?" Matt said, a little edge in his normally passive voice. "You nearly vomited and then you just passed out and your now telling me to lie down?" Matt's voice held warning, a fire that was normally tame but could suddenly bite back at any time. "I don't think so. You lie down." Matt said, brow creasing with his words as his unusual anger bubbled from an unknown source.

Matt’s bubbling anger soon vanished, as quickly as it came. The stiffness vanished and Matt found himself at a loss for words. In fact, he felt like he needed to apologize. Ivan turned the conversation back on him, redirecting the word lingo to make it sound bad for Ivan to rest. Mattie even flinched back as Ivan’s voice broke, reaching a new level of loud.

Wait.

Both lie down?

They’d never… fit…. Oh Dieu. L…Lie on him?! Matt’s face went red. Matt put up his hands shyly, as if to erect a wall between the two but Ivan only proceeded in grabbing Matthew’s ‘offered’ hand. Matt’s cheeks burned as Ivan tugged him towards him. The Canadian was involuntarily pulled alongside the man as he laid back down.

Matt was tugged beside the man, which wasn’t so bad. Well, it could have been worse. He could have been on him. And for once, Matt was thankful for his slender frame and build. He was on his side, pressed against the bar. Ivan was much larger than he, but with Matt off to the side, the bed held enough space. However, the two males were still in contact with one another. Matt stayed sitting up to avoid any more awkward moments.

Ivan continued in conversation, stating how far away his original dorm was and how doctors might find this surprising. Oh, this would do more than simply perplex a passing nurse. Matt’s face sparked red with embarrassment of just thinking about what could happen. Ivan tugged again on Matt’s hand, gently tugging him down so he laid down, his shoulder brushing against Ivan’s. The tension was gradually released as Ivan retold old stories of his sister. At least he had good memories of her. Matt couldn’t say that he had many with his younger brother.

Ivan then proceeded to stare at Matt’s stray curl. Matt shifted uneasily. Ivan’s hand moved forward and actually flicked his ahoge. Matt instantly squirmed, face deepening in his scarlet hue. “D-Don’t touch it!!” he stammered quickly, tripping over his tongue as he wanted to pull back, but was against iron bars.

Matt would have darted away if he could. But pressed against a rock and a hard place, ignoring the fact that any sort of jerk made spells of nausea immobilize him, he wasn't exactly in the right mind to leap up and get away. And he wanted to, ever so badly. Ivan didn't stop at just flicking the surly extension on Matt's head. No, he developed some fascination and felt the need to touch it again.

"B-Bec-" Ivan looped the curl round his fingers and Matt cut himself off as his breath hitched in his throat. Red exploded onto his pale face as Ivan spoke. However, Matt didn't listen. He was distracted and trying to clear the scattered thoughts that clouded his mind. This was the reason that Matt wanted to cut said curl off. It was... er.. sensitive. He did not know why, but it was.

The blond tried to ignore the Russian as he continued to fiddle with his ahoge. Matt's jaw was clamped shut as he forced his eyes closed. It would pass, it would pass, it would pass. Ivan would grow bored eventually and leave it alone. This moment wasn't coming soon though, as Ivan wet his fingers and ran them along the hair. Matt jerked, but with no where to go, he was held in place. Ivan did not grow bored. He tried to continue with his actions.

Matt's movement was lightning quick, despite his feeble appearance. The backbone, seemingly nonexistent, was being exposed. Matt hand was gripped around Ivan's wrist, knuckles white with tension. The soft violet eyes had hardened behind his spectacles, his passive nature gone. His grip, for a small boy, was unusually strong as he pried Ivan's hand back from his hair.

"I said, do not touch it." Each word was punctuated with warning, only emphasized by the assertive change in approach. Red still decorated his cheeks, but the contrasting emotion lessoned the heat. Matt was still uncomfortable, as he always was when forced to take the situation by the horns, but he could not stand that...that... touching any longer.