Homesick (a That's Not My Neighbour fic)

Milk in your Coffee?

"Come on through" Henry invited, and like an obedient pet, Francis followed.
The poor fellow was still lost in the fog of his memories with no way out, but Henry's voice seemed like just the right light to guide him back to a clear view. It just took some time.

Some time, and some coffee.

Henry switched the coffee pot on to boil, its promising scent filling the air of the small back office while it percolated, and escorted the still shaken milkman into the room and sat him down on the squishy red sofa.
The man was still staring, shell-shocked, at the wounds on his hands, not responding to any outside stimuli, but Henry was not deterred.

Wasting no time, the doorman slid the first aid kit out from under the desk and scooped it up, standing straight up soon after. The box was small and made of tin, white with a red cross emblazoned on it. It was hard to tell what was in it from the muffled rattling as the doorman made a beeline for Francis, but hopefully it had what was needed to treat the wounds that had slowly begun to ooze and scab over, despite having been bleeding just mere seconds ago.

"Good thing the DDD keeps this stocked up" Henry said, as he undid the fastenings and swung open the lid of the box with an audible creak.

"Well, I say they keep it stocked, usually it's us or the higher ups, but to be fair we can order things we need..." he mused. He shook his head to refocus, looking down at Francis' bloodied hands and unscrewed a bottle of antiseptic.
He picked out a cotton ball from the pack and placed it over the mouth of the bottle, tipping it vertically before setting it upright once more, soaking the cotton in the strong-smelling fluid. The hospital-like sterile scent knocked both men for six, though Henry pushed through the brief stunned stupor and carefully took one of Francis' hands into his own.

"This will sting, Francis. But it'll do you good" Henry warned, and Francis gave a slight nod in response.

The silent milkman then let out a hiss as soon as the antiseptic made contact with the cuts, and he tried to pull away, though Henry had a good grip on him. Gentle but firm, his arm secured so he couldn't fall back and hurt himself by mistake.

He couldn't help but grind his teeth in pain, a frown on his face; a stark contrast to his usual calm and tired look.
For some reason that he couldn't quite fathom, seeing that frown send shivers down Henry's spine.

"I gotcha, I gotcha. Just hold still" Henry told the other man calmly, cleaning each wound with care, a few more cotton balls being used.

Francis growled -the sound made Henry shiver again, though he wasn't sure if it was entirely out of fear- and writhed painfully, shifting in his seat as he tried to pull his hands away. To get the wounds out of reach from the stinging antiseptic. It felt like Henry was pushing white hot needles into the marks, and it made Francis' skin prickle uncomfortably while electric shocks of agony were sent shooting from his palms straight through his nervous system.

"Make it stop!" he growled through gritted teeth. His dark eyes were ablaze with anger and pain, body tense and mind on edge.

Henry sighed, biting his tongue in an attempt to stay quiet and not spit out a sarcastic remark.
That, for sure, wasn't going to help things. Especially since Francis was in enough turmoil as it is.
Instead, he swapped out the used cotton balls for clean ones, tipping antiseptic on them for a second so they were damp with it, and moving on to the other hand.

Francis tried to pull away again like a startled cat, and Henry reached out and got the other arm.

"Will you hold still?" Henry asked firmly.

"But it hurts!" Francis snarled back, scowling at the doorman.

"I know, I know it hurts" Henry replied sympathetically.
"But this'll be over in a moment, it's just to make sure no nasties can infect those marks, my friend. Just hold on, I'm nearly done."

Francis pouted, looking away, before his nerves were shot with pain once more as the wounds were cleaned and the blood was washed away, making his body twitch and flinch in response. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the pain out of his mind, before it was all done.

He could feel the doorman wrap the clean, soft bandages around his hands; living alone, he wasn't used to being taken care of. He was more used to taking care of himself or others, not putting himself first.

Opening his eyes, Francis saw Henry wrap up the wounds with the expertise of a doctor that had done this a million times over.

He was about to say something, but couldn't bring himself to. He just wasn't used to this.
This sensation was alien to him, and he didn't know whether to protest and keep his pride, or just embrace it.
Would he even get used to it, if the latter was the case?

"There now..." Henry hummed nonchalantly, tying up the loose ends and tucking them in, closing the box up.

"Said it wouldn't take long, didn't I?" he added with a small, awkward chuckle that Francis barely reciprocated.
The laughter fell flat, and Henry awkwardly stowed the box away for a later date.

"Thanks...." Francis murmured sheepishly in Henry's general direction.

"Huh?" Henry turned around to face the milkman, not sure if he heard that right.

"Uh..." Francis started awkwardly.
"I said thanks, Henry. Y'see, not many people would do that for me or the others, what with the whole fearmongering of dopples and all. Many are just so paranoid they just shut the door on me. Sometimes it makes me glad I live alone, but....that was kind of ya.." he continued.

"Heeey, ain't no thing, Francis. You're one of the residents here. Gotta keep you all safe, right?" Henry replied with an awkward smile that made Francis' heart race.
Although the stoic milkman wouldn't be caught dead admitting this, it was sweet.

Francis couldn't help but allow a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips.

He looked up, only to see Henry turn to the small kitchen area of the back office, hearing the percolator bubble and gurgle, signalling the end of the cycle.

"Ah, perfect timing!" Henry declared, as he raced to the kitchen area, turning off the tiny stove and -with a folded tea towel on his palm- took it off the heat.
He took out two clean cups, setting them up on the side, and pouring the dark fluid into each of them.

Francis remained on the sofa, still as a statue, looking at his bandaged hands.
His thoughts began to flood his mind with static, his eyes glazed as he couldn't hear much of the outside world, almost like it was muffled and playing from a radio, or he was forced underwater.

He hated the sensation.
He hated feeling like this.
He hated that he could remember the sounds of their screams, and-

"Your coffee?" came Henry's voice, cutting through the blur of chaos.

Francis raised his head up.

"Come again?" he called back.

"Do you take milk in your coffee?" Henry asked, poking his head out from the kitchen area.

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Please. Just a splash, though" Francis replied.

"What about sugar?" Henry asked.

"No thank you. I'm sweet enough already" Francis said with a coy wink, making Henry laugh a bit as he disappeared back into the kitchen, re-emerging with two steaming mugs of coffee.
The grounds had been emptied into the bin -a process that grossed Henry out but it had to be done- and the pot still half-full with coffee in case they wanted another lot of it.

"Still hot, so mind out" Henry warned, setting Francis' mug on the table while he held his own mug and took a seat beside him.
The dreaded question soon left Henry's mouth, though the two knew it had to be asked sometime.

"Now, Francis...what's eating ya?"