The States

and you smiled because you knew

1. 1894

There are lots of reasons Tyler likes Kit, but probably one of the more selfish reasons is that Kit didn't know him before.

Knowing it's selfish doesn't change the fact that on days like these, when his chest feels too tight and nothing is enough and he's hyperaware of the star in the back of his closet with a girl's name on it, he's grateful that Kit has never known him as anything but Tyler.

He can't even get out of bed today, but here's Kit, laying beside him, stumbling over the French words in Tyler's battered copy of Little Women.

Kit's dyslexic. It's hard for him to read English, let alone French, but he's reading one of Tyler's comfort books in Tyler's native language, just to make him feel better.

"Je t'aime," Tyler tells him.

Kit smiles, soft and small enough that his dimples don't even show. "I know," he answers back, but Tyler hears it for what it is anyway. 

2. 1921

Tyler frowns- he does not pout- when Kit breaks the kiss to look at him. "What?"

"You're really out of breath," Kit says. "Should you- take your binder off it something? You've had it on all day."

"Oh." Honestly, that's the last thing he wants to do. Especially since he brought he didn't bring his usual no-binder sweater, the one that was big enough to conceal everything. "No, I'll be fine-"

"Tyler, just because your ribs will heal doesn't mean you should risk breaking them."

Tyler bites the inside of his cheek.

Broken ribs would heal, but they'd probably have to be wrapped and taped. Even taking off the binder is better than having to ask Kit to wrap his ribs.

"Fine," Tyler says, and hears the fragile note in his own voice. "Just-"

Kit's hands are already over his eyes, like a child playing peekaboo.

Tyler takes off the binder and gets his shirt back on as fast as he can anyway.

"Hey," Kit says, hands still covering his eyes. "You know I love you, right?"

Tyler inhales shakily. "Yeah, I know."

3. 1947

"Helena told me you were sick."

Kit hums in understanding, since he doesn't have the energy to talk right now. The first time he'd coughed, Helena had looked at him with worried eyes. By the time the fever started, she'd left, though with the promise to get Tyler before she went home, which was nice of her.

Helena doesn't do sick people. After the Spanish flu killed her, no one can really blame her for it either. Being sick is scarier than getting shot or stabbed or losing body parts. If they get hurt, they either heal or they die and come back, and it's over. Dying doesn't make illnesses go away. They just stay sick until they stop dying and recover from it.

"How do you feel?" Tyler asks as he brushes Kit's sweaty bangs off his forehead. His hands are still winter-weather cool and Kit presses closer.

It takes a moment for Kit to remember he was asked a question. "Bad."

Tyler laughs, and Kit hears the crinkle of a paper bag before Tyler hands him some medicine and a bottle of apple juice.

Obediently, Kit struggles into a sitting position against his headboard and takes the pills, watching as Tyler kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed beside him.