Work Text:
It started with an unfortunate incident with Zombie and a bunch of very cute animals.
“Bees hardly count as animals,” Shiro hissed. “And you shouldn’t bother wildlife unless you're gonna eat it.”
“But worms are ok! How was I supposed to know bees weren’t?”
“By coming to me before you messed with a beehive.”
The zombie hmph-ed and looked away. Shiro steered him to the outside-wall of the train car and made for his bag.
“I’m gonna heal you up. Hang on.”
Heal him? But he’s a zombie.
Shiro actually began looking through his bag, so Zombie interjected, “Shiro, I’ll heal just fine. It doesn’t hurt because I’m a zombie.” He began picking at the slight bumps. Shiro had even acknowledged that they weren’t anything compared to the reaction a bee sting would’ve given a human.
Shiro glanced over. “Stop that!” He growled. “Let me get the ointment.”
He protested vehemently because he was a zombie! He will heal just fine! Shiro needed that ointment more than him!
“Its fine. I’ve got plenty of ointment— because of the same contact who got us rations that one time, remember? Besides, this way I can test how well your body responds to treatment.”
Was he being experimented on?! He made a fearful expression so Shiro could feel the guilt of the atrocity he was about to commit.
Shiro glanced up as he was trying to unscrew the container and huffed. “Don’t worry. It won’t kill you.” Cheekily, he added, “Unless you have a mass allergic reaction and break out in hives.”
He shivered. “Can that happen?!”
Shiro laughed. “Zombies don’t get allergies. They told me at the…ah.”
With a cool clack, the container opened. The salve shimmered slightly in the blushing dusk, an ivory color like he’d seen on rocks along streams. Shiro grunted approvingly at it.
“Hold still.”
Then the first slick of it hit the middle of his cheek with surprising chill. He hissed and jumped away.
Shiro wagged his two coated fingers disapprovingly.
“Hold. Still.” Slowly, he moved his fingers back to his cheek. He braced, and shivered slightly when it made contact again. So cold! Ack!
The salve moved from his cheek to his cheekbone, from his cheekbone to his forehead, rubbed in small circles. Shiro sat on his bent knee, proposal-position, right next to him, and often leaned in at random intervals, pressing his thigh into the zombie’s. He was trying very hard not to react.
“Give me your arm.” He held it out obediently, avoiding eye contact. Shiro’s warm hands grabbed it, his bandages rough. The warmth filled the salve as he rubbed it in. Occasionally, he brought the zombie’s arm to his face to observe how flexible the skin was.
Up his arm, to his other arm, the ministrations went on for forever. The zombie was slowly losing his mind; his breaths sped up uncontrollably, and it was very difficult to manage. When his breath hitched too much, Shiro took it slower, pausing to lean away and returning with softer strokes.
It was torture. Utter torture. He wanted to thank whatever god there might or might not be (Shiro had told him no one could agree on specifics) for this blessing. Maybe he was a saint before he became a zombie.
Though his eyes were screwed shut, he could feel it when Shiro suddenly paused. After a tense moment, he felt fingers back on his forehead.
“Your face is red…is it somehow an allergic reaction?”
His fingers slid to cradle his cheek. Then the back of his hand pressed against his throat, and the zombie was sure Shiro could feel it when he swallowed hard.
“M…Maybe we could take a break?”
Uncertainly, he opened his eyes. Shiro was backing away.
“Of course. I covered all of the afflicted skin, anyway. Do you want to sleep tonight?”
He swallowed again. A shiver creeped up his spine. Why did Shiro have to be like that?
He shook his head.
Eyes shining with concern, Shiro acquiesced, “alright. Just make sure to tell me if anything feels even slightly worse, or if you gain new symptoms,” he grabbed the zombie’s arm in a show of comfort. It was a shame he could not interpret the action normally.
“…Well, I’ll head to bed now. From what I know, you should be fine in the morning.”
Unexpectedly, one hand still on his arm, Shiro swiped through his bangs to feel his forehead, getting exceedingly close. In a no-way-that’s-normal distance. Shiro’s breaths just barely ghosted his face.
“See, it’s already…hm. Your face looked cooler just a moment ago…”
“Mm.” The zombie nodded, inadvertently rubbing into Shiro’s hand.
For the first time that night, Shiro looked like the surprised one. He took his hand off and cleared his throat.
“Well. Good night, then.”
“Good night,” he mumbled.
As Shiro laid down on the grass, Zombie gripped all his limbs very tightly and sat very stiffly, an overly respectable distance away from Shiro. Light snoring lit up the night not long after.
He pressed his hands to his face and exhaled deeply through his nose.
Just him and his thoughts. And Shiro.
He felt his face heat again.
God or gods, please grant him mercy, or he won't make it through tonight.