You are Real (Henpat/Henrick)

Chapter 8

"So when does your dad get back?" Patrick yelled from the kitchen after already raiding the bathroom, trying to find anything to help clean up Henry.

"I'm not sure. Morning, maybe?" Henry was calm now. Acting as if nothing had happened a few minutes ago. Almost half an hour. They didn't mean to but they got themselves stuck in a lengthy conversation about stupid things- which included their other friends. In order to move on from the conversation beforehand.

"Good." Patrick said standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. A cloth draped over his shoulder, box of plasters and rolls of bandages stuffed in his arms while still holding a bowl of warm water.

Good.
Why good?
Henry thought confused, worried almost.

"Planning on staying the night or something?" Henry remarked while resting further into the cushions. The other walked over,

"Or something" Patrick smiled putting down the medical supplies on one side of the small coffee table that sat in front of the couch. Patrick sat on the table as well, right in front of Henry.

"Take your shirt off," Patrick nodded towards Henry's green button up.

Though Henry didn't move a muscle just stared at Patrick.

What.

"For fucks sake Henry. Stop acting like a child."

Stop acting like a queer, Henry wanted to say it, wanted to joke but he couldn't. Not anymore, he couldn't ever again bring himself to call Patrick anything like that. Never again, cause now, no matter what- he was just Patrick.

Nothing more. Patrick was label enough.

Henry shrugged, sat up and took off his shirt. Patrick reached into his pocket.
"Thank you," Patrick said while pulling out a blunt and placing it into the others mouth and lit it.
"I said I'd repay you for the other night." He spoke however Henry stopped listening and focused all his attention on the taste of the green burning.

Well, before Patrick attacked one of Henry's cuts with a wet cloth.

"Fuck! That burns." Henry hissed in air as a way to counter the pain. He grabbed at Patrick's wrist trying to get it away from the cut.

Patrick stared at him, in a deep glare, a warning almost.

"I'm trying to be nice Henry and this is how act- nonstop bitching and complaining. So sit still and let me clean you up so you don't die of an infection or some shit."  At Patrick's words Henry immediately let go of the wrist and looked away no longer able to keep eye contact with Patrick's glare.

The cloth wipes over the half-scabbed cut, still plastered in dried blood. Red fluid started to smear across the arm with each wipe. Slowly cleaning away the old blood.

Patrick made his way from cut to cut. His hands sometimes rubbing against bruises which made Henry wince.

It was weird when Henry was alone with Patrick. He always had a strong, untouchable facade on when around anyone else. But when it was just them, Henry was himself. Truly himself, in every way that could possibly mean.
Henry didn't need to be strong, nor have to be scariest in the room. That was something that Patrick highly prized, he saw a side of Henry that no one else had seen and most likely never will.

It took a rather long time to finish cleaning up Henry's arms alone. Though Henry was slightly falling asleep, coming in and out of consciousness. Which was fair enough- it was late and he smoked earlier.

So Patrick carefully picked up Henry's right hand in his own. It pained Patrick to but Henry's knuckles needed to be taken care of. He started off wiping the rest of his hand clean from the rest of the blood, slowly making his way towards the still bleeding knuckles. Patrick placed Henry's hand on his knee so he could turn to rinse and wring the cloth before attempting any further.
As delicately as possible Patrick started putting pressure into the wound. Henry merely looked over at Patrick with pleading eyes begging him to stop. Patrick lifted up the cloth to see how badly his punch had injured his had.