Calling Him By My Name [Armie Hammer + Timothée Chalamet | Charmie | mxb]

30 | Timothée

"I'm okay, Timmy. You can go." Armie's eyes are downcast as he tries to sit up on the bed, barely suppressing a groan of discomfort. The warm gold of the bedside lamp makes the sheen of sweat covering his skin gleam in the otherwise dark room.

"Sit the fuck back down right now," I exclaim, appalled. "If you think I'm letting you get up and strain yourself, we'll need to get your head checked for any permanent damage to your reasoning."

Armie scowls but lets me lower him carefully back against the pillows. Gingerly, he reaches up to touch his busted lip, but I swat his hand away.

"I just cleaned that," I mutter, gently setting his wrist down and leaning over to grab another baby wipe. They're the ultra-gentle, fragrance-free kind that always came in handy with Ford, and I'm using them now to clean Armie's cuts with water and soap before applying an antibiotic cream.

"Thanks for doing this," Armie mutters tiredly, the eye bags and disheveled hair and the injuries he's sustained giving him a haggard, pitiful look.

I shake my head, capping the Neosporin and setting it back on the nightstand.

"Don't thank me for anything." I open a pack of sterile gauze and snip off a square piece. I could only find a few gauze pads left of the self-adhesive kind, but luckily there's medical tape that I can use for the remaining cuts.

"Won't they heal faster if I let them air out?"

"That's only partly true," I mutter, intently focused on adhering the bandaging to Armie's chest while avoiding the hair as much as possible. "Right now it's critical to prevent the onset of infection. That's why I'm dressing and bandaging the cuts - and, by the way, you'll need these changed regularly. You'll have to get Liz to do it when I'm gone."

"You were with a doctor at some point, right?"

I don't look up from my careful application of the bandage.

"I googled some of this stuff while you were out. And yes."

Armie nods, looking down at where my hands are working on his chest.

"Did he treat you right?"

I huff a miffed little laugh, shaking my head ruefully before refocusing on the task at hand. Carefully, I press my thumb on the edge of the last bandage and use the other hand to adjust the tape, fastening the gauze against his skin.

"You didn't answer my question," Armie presses warily.

"He did," I snap, instantly regretting my frustrated tone. "He treated me just fine. Sometimes, when it was allowed, he brought me to the hospital with him. He's nice and smart and hard-working, and he cares about his patients. His name's Roman."

Armie nods once, looking away, and I sigh.

"None of the cuts on your face are very deep. I've applied the antibiotic cream, and I'll put on some bandaids, but those you can air out. Just keep them clean."

He nods and lifts the good corner of his lip in a small smile of thanks. "I've put your clothes in the washing machine. There was some blood on your jeans but it should wash out."

He nods and thanks me again, which I wave away dismissively. "Don't get up from this bed for anything. Text me if you need something-"