Shohei finally exhausted himself, leaning against Pyotr, still shaking. His rational mind was gone, he couldn’t think, and if he tried, spikes of pain flew up from the back of his head and burned his eyes. He contented himself to hold still and try not to move, less he make himself feel worse, and hold on to the other mans shirt like a child.
The Russian could tell that the other man was in pain, and tried what he could to ease it. Though his expression was always unreadable or rather lacking of expression, there was true concern and worry in his eyes as he looked Shohei over. Finally, the train in the subway arrived and Pyotr carried Shohei into one of the less crowded cars, taking a seat and holding him in his arms tightly, so he wouldn't get jostled to much as the subway started on the rout home.
The painter whimpered quietly and hid his face into Pyotrs’ shoulder against the harsh florescent lights, tensing after a minute. That smell, that smell was so familiar, so comforting. He couldn’t remember what it was, but it felt so good.
Pyotr gently put his hand over Shoheis’, hoping that the ride home wouldn't be too long. More people got out of the cars with each stop until it was finally empty with just the two of them in it. Most people weren't out quite this late at night. It would only be about three more stops now.
That smell. Shohei couldn’t get over it… How good it was, how the shirt felt soft against his cheek. Earlier, he hadn’t felt safe, but now, he was just drowsy, his eyelids floating halfway between open and shut as he looked up at the man holding him, barely recognizing his features through drugged eyes.
After three more stops, Pyotr got out of the train car with him, carrying him carefully up the steps and walked quickly in the direction of the apartment that they now shared. Once he had gotten there, he unlocked the door to the front entrance and went up the flights of stairs with Shohei in his arms.
The limp Shohei stiffened as they reached his apartment door, coughing and shaking his head fiercely. He clenched his eyes shut, then forced them open, looking at Pyotr with recognition if not complete coherence. “Pyo…? What’s going on?” His speech was slurred and slow.
Pyotr was slightly relieved when he had recognized him. "You were drugged. I took you home." he said, keeping things simple as he unlocked the door. Once he had done that, he took him to Shoheis’ bedroom and lay him down on the bed. Once he had done that, he got up and got a large glass of water for him. "Drink this."
Shohei had trouble swallowing the liquid, his throat felt tight, and his head still hurt. “Drugged? What… Last thing I remember is talking to Daisetsu and….” He blinked for a moment as he realized that he didn’t remember anything after that. He looked up at Pyotr, afraid. “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?
Pyotr shook his head. "No. You didn't do anything stupid. The only thing stupid done was the person who decided to drug you." Again, despite his lack of expression, he was obviously angry about whoever did that. He moved to help Shohei finish the drink.
He choked a little, but swallowed, and leaned back. He was relieved, and at the same time, a little disappointed.
Pyotr lay next to Shohei and wrapped a protective arm around him. "I promise to keep a better eye on you next time. It was extremely foolish of me to let my guard down." He was indescribably angry at himself for letting someone close and dear to him get so badly hurt.
Shohei blushed. “You don’t need to look out for me, Pyo, I’m an adult, I should be looking out for myself…” He felt very ashamed, for being stupid enough to pick up a drink he’d already put down, but he felt even worse for causing his beautiful Russian to worry.
"I don't doubt that you can take care of yourself, but it is important to have people look out for you in a setting such as the one we were just in. Places like that can get dangerous." He then wrapped his other arm around him and pulled him closer, moving his lips to his ear. "I'm just relieved that you are safe... I don't know what I'd do if--" he stopped whispering and just cut himself off. He didn't want to think about the worst-case scenario.
The painter sank into the embrace, his arms coming up to hold the thin man, pulling him closer and back down to the bed, enjoying the feeling of just holding him close. “I’m glad that I have you looking out for me, Pyotr.” He whispered, his mouth against the other mans hair. “I’m glad I have you here.”
Pyotr smiled a bit. "You should get some rest. I'll stay here with you incase you need anything. You'll probably feel better by tomorrow." He stroked his hair gently.
Shohei smiled. “Thank you.” He relaxed into the pillows and kissed Pyotrs’ cheek, swallowing the words that were trying to force their way out of his mouth. They felt so false when he said them; he didn’t want them to sound false to Pyotr. And so, he didn’t say them, eyelids rapidly growing heavy.