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Balu couldn’t suppress his appallment the minute he heard.
“The whole apartment building?” He barks, brows inching towards his hairline. It’s a little too loud, and passersby that straddle the line between sidewalk and outdoor seating start making wide berths around them both. Whoops.
Rubens groans, making another spiteful dig at his ice cream, “The whole thing.” He says, “They said the landlord should’ve called in the issue months ago. The entire place is infested with bugs. The entire place !”
“ Jeez. ” Balu murmurs. Rubens shovels another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
At least he’s more at ease than when Balu first saw him, all wound up and twitchy with nerves.
He’d made Balu’s back hurt just looking at how Rubens coiled into himself, and so he’d brought them back to their baseline comfort; Ice cream.
It’d weeded the truth out of him in no time, all the prattling– I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s nothing– forgotten.
“How long?”
“24 to 48 hours. They gassed it this morning on my way out.” Rubens mumbles around his spoon, “It’s not that bad.” He studies the table so intensely Balu wonders if he plans on burning holes through it with his eyes alone, “--But it’s our apartment, you know?”
He tsks, silencing his thought with another swift mouthful of ice cream.
There’s no need to clarify who our implies. Rubens rarely ever couples himself in a collective us unless it’s with Johnny.
“ Ah, I’m sure it’ll be fine, Rubinho.” Balu pauses, lips pressed together in thought, “Where are you gonna stay for the next couple days?”
“ Rubens and– I don’t know.” He admits. He kicks his slumped backpack, “I might just get a hotel room.”
Balu chuffs, “Well! I’ve got good news for you Rubinho, I know a place in town– Cheap as free, good views, excellent service– You’ll want for nothing!” He spans a view with his palms, a grin cocked on his face.
Rubens’ smile is small, private, and Balu isn’t even certain he knows he’s doing it. He picks up on the set up to Balu’s grand joke, eyes glittering with interest, “Yeah?” And it’s Rubens, he tacks on under his breath.
“A professional chef, an entertainer– A 24 hour movie theater– Did I mention the chef? Handsome guy.”
“ Balu . Where?” Rubens chuckles.
Balu spreads his hands, “It’s Casa de Balu!” And after Rubens’ expression remains unchanged, he explains; “You can come sleep over at my place! I’ve got a couch no one's sleeping on.”
That makes Rubens’ eyes blow out wide. He stammers over his words, once, twice, before choking out; “Are you serious?”
“Of course!” Balu balks, almost a twinge offended by the prospect of him exaggerating an invite like this, “What kind of friend am I to not help a friend in need?”
Rubens slumps back into his seat with a woosh of breath , shoulders slouching, “ True, but.. .” He says, picking his spoon back up, “Thank you. It should only be a night, I think. Hotels are… weird. And expensive .” His face twists with a grimace.
“Hey, consider it home, Rubinho. You’re always allowed to stop by.” In truth, Balu had meant to extend this very invitation out much earlier. Somewhere between Italy and Brazil, in the moments where they weren’t fighting for their lives or against the end of the world.
Balu has the extra space, after all. Besides, he hasn’t been spending much time at home between visits with Arthur and Ivete and picking up the pieces of Kian and Veríssimo’s quick exit from the order. There’s just never enough time for anything, it seems.
“That’s… That’s nice of you.” Rubens teases his lip between his teeth, ambivalent to the curling droplet of ice cream that slips over his finger. Balu can’t shake the feeling that this is an offer Rubens won’t be taking more than once.
Balu slides a napkin across the table and that seems to awaken him– Rubens takes it and wipes up the small puddle growing on his pinkie through a string of soft muttered curses.
“Johnny, I’m going to Balu’s tonight.” Rubens’ grip on his phone shifts, “The apartment is being fumigated, so… and I told them not to touch our stuff.”
Rubens never told Balu he could listen to these… moments. He just started talking into his phone while Balu was in proximity. Balu was curious, of course, to know what he was doing it for, but Rubens thrives in the implicit understanding of less is more.
So Balu ignored it in favor of changing the topic. And Rubens still gives Johnny messages where Balu can hear him. It feels a little like relief and a lot like trust.
“Can I ask you something, Rubinho?” He says, parked in front of his door, keys still in hand.
Rubens comes to a sudden stop behind him, wavering as he near-collides with the wide berth of Balu’s back and shoulder blades. He taps away at his phone and swiftly pockets it, “Of course.”
“Can you… bathe? With–” He gestures with a waggled finger towards the hidden scar on Rubens chest. It’s wires, for one. For another, it’s an open wound. Mostly open. Semi -open. Balu didn’t get a good look at it.
Rubens’ face scrunches up, “ Why would you need to–?”
“I’m curious!” Balu says with a shrug, “I’ve been meaning to ask, you know– But it’s never a good time.”
Rubens gestures to the empty apartment hallway, the two of them, the flickering fluorescent lights– “And now? Now is a good time?”
Balu presses his lips into a thin line.
“I– Yes. Kind of.” Rubens puffs out in a sigh, “I haven’t tried to… go fully under the water. Seems… dangerous. Don’t like it. I shower.”
“And that works?”
Rubens shrugs. Well . He’s not dead yet, so Balu assumes it’s fine.
“Okay, good! I spent a lot of money on this showerhead, Rubinho, I need someone other than me to appreciate it.” Balu says, swiftly unlocking and pushing open the door. The two of them shuffle inside, trapezing past the lined up shoes and gleeful Welcome! Doormat, “ And you smell like chemicals.”
Rubens pauses to sniff his shirt with a wrinkled nose.
The setting sky runs slats of orange and pinkish hues across his more meager furniture. Balu goes straight to the kitchen, eyeing the sink and counters for any nasty unwashed dishes.
“I have a spare set of clothes.” Rubens decides, slinging his bag off his shoulder, “Thanks again.”
Balu pushes an unwashed pot into the bottom of the sink, turning to cover it with his back and a broad smile, “No problem. If you want, you can leave your clothes outside the bathroom and I’ll run them through the wash.”
Rubens gives another nod, rubbing tiredly at his face. Calling the Order busy recently wouldn’t be an understatement, but it wouldn’t be untrue either. Both Rubens and Samuel are clocking hours upon hours of research, all a part of the Order’s dedication to containment and assistance against the paranormal.
Balu points him to the bathroom, and watches him disappear inside and his clothes come out from the briefly cracked potion of the door. They fall flat on the hardwood floors, and Balu sweeps them up before they gather dust.
“Rubinho, where’s your flannel?” He’s seen it hanging from his hip every day since they met, how it’s collected dirt and scars the same as him. It definitely needs to go in the washer.
The door creaks open again, the flannel tightly gripped between Rubens fingers, “Rubens. It’s here. Don’t wash it.”
Balu balks, “Don’t wash it? Are you sure?”
“Very.” He says, voice firm.
The flannel hangs between them. Balu shuffles Rubens dirty clothes into one arm and collects the flannel with his free one; “Alright. I’ll put it with your things.”
“ Don’t wash it.” Rubens repeats, a rarity in its own right.
“I won’t.”
Steam curls out from the crack in the door, the shower’s spray of now-hot water hitting the tile.
“Okay.” Rubens shuts the door and Balu hears him slide open the shower curtain to step in.
With utmost care, Balu sets the flannel down on Rubens things by the couch, folded. Tossing the rest in the washer is a quick job, and Balu finds himself gravitating to the kitchen to start cooking before the cycle’s even finished.
The movements of caretaking feel like working an fissured away muscle. Cook, clean, prepare, anticipate– All things he’d spent so long doing as second nature turned over to the Order’s life of rapid response violence.
He sways on his heels with a low hum, clicking on the burner.
The clothes are still running in the dryer when Rubens comes back out, looking drowsy with heat and flushed. He grabs the flannel first, sparing Balu a grateful smile.
“Did you fall asleep in there?” Balu asks, tossing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He pushes a plate of food his way, veggies and rice swallowing most of the plate and it’s steak counterpart.
Rubens yawns, “Almost.” He slings the flannel around his waist and meanders over to the kitchen island, “Did you… cook dinner?”
“I promised a professional chef, Rubinho.” Balu chirps back with a wink.
Rubens saddles up to the barstool, fixated on the meal. “ Rubens. ”
Balu awakens to a scream. His body jolts, a film of sweat growing on his skin. Nightmare, his mind rationalizes quickly, You hear things after nightmares.
He grows still, listening intently. His heart thuds, loud in his chest, and he waits with a held breath. The dark walls and impressions of furniture around his room give no reply. Balu doubles back on his memory, furrowing his brow.
He could’ve sworn–
Another scream, less loud yet still pained as it strikes his ears like a pick of ice, chilling him to the core.
Balu throws off the blankets before he even recognizes the voice, it only hits him once he’s flung himself into the hallway.
His shoulder collides with the wall, and he uses it to propel himself forward into the living room; “ Rubinho! Rubinho, are you okay—?”
His eyes flick the most striking point of interest; A glow of vibrant purple emanating from Rubens’ quick-moving chest. He’s heaving with breath, sweat beaded on his brow alight with flickers of violet.
Balu tears his eyes away and does a sweep of the room. He grips the axe tight, the handle straining. His mind reels through memories; Dinner, chatting, movies, sleep–
He’d seen Rubens settle under the mountain of blankets he’d given him for the couch. No danger. No threat.
He hurries to the kitchen, to the doorway— Nothing. He sees nothing. No eyes, no blood, just the normal amount of shadow in his apartment. Balu flicks on a light anyhow, bathing the space in a warm glow.
Rubens lets out another aborted cry and Balu jolts forward, tossing the weapon to his side as he kneels by the bedside.
Balu can see the way his eyes roll and twist under the lid, lips parted to let out weak cries of agonized fear that twist Balu to his core. The sweat has only increased in two-fold, gray strands of coiled hair now lain slick to his forehead.
“Hey, hey—“ He grabs his shoulders, shaking him gently, trying to recall the memories of waking up his niece from nightmares— But they were never this bad — “Rubinho, wake up. Wake up.”
It occurs to him, too late now, that he’d once been told not to wake up someone having a nightmare before. At least, not within striking range.
Lithe fingers coil around one of his wrists, and it’s the only warning Balu gets before Rubens throws a deceptively strong punch that strikes him across the jaw.
Balu wheels back away from him, trailing a hiss of pain from his clenched teeth.
“ Puta merda, Rubinho–” He rubs his aching cheek, throwing up an arm as Rubens makes three–four– less effortful attacks towards him. They bounce uselessly off his forearm, more slaps than punches, “ Rubinho!”
Rubens’ whole body flinches away. His breath hitches.
“It’s me,” Balu assures, searching his distant gaze for… something. Someone. “Bad dream?”
Rubens wordlessly presses a hand to his chest. The technicolor lights under his palm dance to a rapid beat.
“Talk to me.” Balu presses, “You alright?”
“Yeah.” Rubens starts, slow, dragging his eyes with what seems like a great force to Balu’s own, “…Yeah. It’s fine.”
“ Jesus , Rubens, you scared the shit out of me.” Balu sighs, slumping back against the coffee table. He rubs his injured jaw, “You’ve got a good swing.”
Rubens grimaces, “Ah. I…” His words fall flat, short, and his fingers curl around the cushions. They land, instead, fisted in the flannel under his hands.
By the time Balu can even see the tightness in his brow, Rubens is sprung out of the couch and halfway to the door.
He staggers to his feet, “Where are you going?”
Rubens tugs out his sneakers, still heaving with breath, “Out.”
Okay. Sure. Balu eyes him for a moment longer before muscling past him to the front door. Both of them are dressed for sleep, Balu’s flannel pajama pants and tanktop a surely ridiculous sight to be seen at night, but he’ll chance it.
He’s toeing on his left shoe onto his right when Rubens croaks out, “What are you doing?”
That’s what I should be asking you.
“You’re not walking out there alone, are you crazy, Rubinho?” Balu gruffs, swapping the sneakers around with his foot, “I’m going with you.”
Balu tugs his coat off the hanger, patting down the pockets as he checks for his keys, wallet, phone– “I’ll be back.” Rubens says uneasily.
“I know you will,” Balu says, “Because I’ll be there to unlock the door for you.” He leaves no room for argument.
Rubens, softly lit in the low light by the pulsing shades of violet, stands so still that Balu wonders if he’s breathing.
”…Okay.” He says, then all at once bustling out into the chilled night air. He leaves the door open behind him. Balu makes sure to lock it on their way out.
Balu knows where they’re going before they even turn the street corner. “Rubinho,” He begins, trying to soften out his words with caution and care to offset the warning, “It’s late, they won’t let visitors in. They have visitation hours.” Balu knows all too well.
“I know.” Rubens puffs back, hands deep in the pockets of his flannel. Balu only noticed it when they’d started passing street lights— It’s the flannel he usually wears around his waist, only this time it’s actually being worn, resting a few inches off his knuckles and too wide in the shoulders.
“We can go in the morning.” He offers.
Rubens shakes his head.
Balu watches him for a moment longer. He runs a hand down his face– Fuck , he’s really not prepared to get into an argument with a doctor right now, much less a nurse, but Rubens… He’s determined. There’s a set to his brow that nags familiarity in Balu’s mind to his own actions a long time ago.
Fuck it.
Balu keeps pace behind him through the parking lot, to the lobby, towards the elevators and busied halls of an active and buzzing hospital.
No one stops them. Rubens and him appear on one of their top floors, the halls darkened and full of distant snores. It looks different with many of the lights down, the windows no longer aglow with afternoon sun.
Balu reaches an arm out to Rubens shoulder, a last minute grasp for reason, but he’s already b-lining without a second glance.
As expected, A nurse cooped up in a center desk suddenly stands, alarm already edging her tone,
“Hey—!”
Rubens twists. Shoves his hands into his pockets. Balu waits with baited breath at his heel.
“...Oh!” She stops, hand falling back to her side, “Rubens! I told you to be more careful.” The woman says with a hint of a scold.
Rubens gives her a tight smile in return, jabbing a thumbs-up in her direction before scurrying away into the nearest room.
“...Thank you.” Balu fills in for him.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days.” She calls after him, eyes passing over Balu as she returns back to her filing and organized papers. Balu watches her wave off another nurse with an exasperated look.
Rubens didn’t even bother with the lights.
He doesn’t spare a second glance to the hardworking machines pumping air into his lungs and tracking his every movement and breath. Balu would worry about him tripping if it didn’t seem like Rubens could map every inch of his hospital from memory.
He takes his hand, and his two fingers press at his pulse. His eyes flick to the clock, waiting for the hand to tick past a minute before he starts counting under his breath. One and two and three and four—
Balu waits, captured by the risen tension in Rubens’ shoulders and words, until the second-hand makes its full orbit and Rubens slumps over with a heavy sigh of relief.
His knuckles pinch pale, fingers trembling as they slide up to hold Johnny’s.
“Balu.” He rasps out, edges of his voice torn to grieved shreds, “Chart?”
The order wakes him from his stupor. Balu twitches forward, sneaking past Rubens with soft footfalls, and snags the chart from it’s nook at the foot of Johnny’s bed. “Here.”
Rubens reaches across to take it, eyes scanning the lines of scrawled medicines and tests and machines they’ve typed out onto the pages, as dense as scripture. And judging by Rubens’ intense study of it, it’s measured in the same importance as a holy relic.
“No change. Same as always.” Rubens murmurs under his breath, quiet enough that Balu thinks he’s not meant to hear it, “You’re a stickler for consistency, huh?”
He shoots Johnny a weak smile. The heart monitor beeps back in slow, measured, pattern.
“I know I said I’d stop doing these late visits, but I promised I’d keep coming back; Not that I’d come back at working hours.” Rubens says, winding down into a plush seat by his bedside, “You know me. I’m a night owl.”
It’s a strangely familiar feeling. To see Rubens chat so casually with a man who cannot talk back. Who might not ever talk back again.
Their intertwined hands rest in swaths of clinical white and blue. Despite everything, despite the nauseating panic attack Rubens had not but an hour ago, he looks happier by Johnny’s side than he has in weeks.
Balu reaches over, resting a palm on his shoulder. Rubens jumps slightly, as if he’d forgotten Balu was even there.
Balu speaks first, in low tones, “You want some coffee?” Are you gonna stay up all night?
Rubens nods stiffly.
“Alright. I’ll see what I can find.”
What he manages to get is about as luxurious as a hospital can afford at such an hour. Vending machine snacks, bottles of water, a paper cup of coffee, and a blanket that a nurse folded over his arm with a quiet; “ Take care of him. This is the fourth time this month.”
It’s still warm when he drapes it over Rubens’ shoulders. He’s listing slightly, held upright only by the heavy lean he has on Johnny’s bedside. “Coffee.” Balu offers, “But only with water.”
Rubens huffs a breath, but takes both and a pack of chips from his small gathering of snacks. He piles them one by one on Johnny’s bedside table, never once releasing his hand.
“Thank you.” He murmurs, watching Balu as he eases into a seat near Johnny’s feet, “... I’m sorry. I dragged you out here.”
“You can’t drag me anywhere, Rubinho.” Balu corrects with a yawn, “I’m too big.”
“It’s Rubens .” Rubens laughs softly. His gaze stays downcast.
Balu juts his lip, “Rubinho, I’ve spent my fair share of time in hospitals doing this same thing. I had the free pass because I was family, you know, but… If I wasn’t? Ah–” He waves a hand flippantly, “Wouldn’t have stopped me either.”
He cracks open a bottle of water, taking a slow drink as Rubens sips his coffee.
“I like your place. I like hanging out. With you.” Rubens tacks on.
Balu perks up, “Yeah? Hey, give me a good rating online, ok?”
Rubens cracks a grin, “Ah, yes. 10/10. Five stars. Would stay again.” He ducks his head, “Only if it’s still okay– To– I mean–”
“Always, Rubinho.” Balu cuts that train of thought off quickly. “I told you; Consider it home, okay? You and Johnny both.” Maybe Johnny. Probably. Last he remembers of the guy, he used to have an ugly habit of leaving his things around and Balu is not a maid.
Rubens practically glows with private joy, it cracks through the dimpling smile on his face, the creases by his eyes– He’s lighter, with Johnny, and gets lighter still. He tucks the blanket closer.
“Okay.” Rubens finally says, eyes glimmering in the low light, “I will.”