So I'm writing this whilst doing mathematics... therefore, if there's any errors it's because my brain has finally given up. Tedious doesn't begin to describe it. D:
I think even Armin is probably having more fun... stuck in a bed for days... doing nothing...

You've probably gathered that this is MxM by now...

-The Goodnight Kiss-

Rafael returned later that night, shaking him awake gently with a quiet call of "Armin?". Eventually the pilot came round; groggy and blinking till his eyes adjusted to the light of the candles dotted around the loft. Again, it took a while to realise where he was, but eventually he settled back opened his eyes fully. Despite the hour, it felt a lot warmer than it had earlier. Maybe it was due to the extra blanket that -at some point- had been pulled over him fully as he slept. The throbbing in his joints, he new soreness in his throat, though. It was a fever. Mild, but the Spaniard still looked concerned as he pressed a cool hand to the Armin's forehead. For a few moments he held it there, before he pulled it away and shook his head a bit.

It couldn't be that bad, though. As he watched Rafael's face he saw most of the concern melt away. The other even offered a light smile as when he caught him looking, then went to serving food. Porridge-like stuff, again, but this time with berries scattered in it; leaving pink and purple trails behind themselves when he stirred it slowly. There were biscuits as well, sugared almond things that Armin was grateful for even if swallowing them was a little harder. He at least didn't feel so week any more. With the bowl balanced carefully in his lap, he could use his left arm to feed himself and drink. And there didn't seem to be a shortage of the sweet and gloopy mix, either. Enjoying the food in silence, he only glanced up through the matted mess of his hair to watch as the other eat. And it was only when he certain that trying to eat any more would leave him sick that he sat back with a content sigh; eyes shutting for a moment before the farmer stacked the bowls again.

As always, he wrote for a while till the candles burnt down and the moon shone in through the window. Bats flitted back and forth outside; the shapes quickly darting across the night sky as their faint calls pierced the air. He'd been watching them whilst listening to the scratching of pen on paper, but as the sound vanished he looked back to watch the other stand. Leaving again, obviously. He was a little sad to see the Spaniard go. Regardless of whether they spoke or not, having another human being with him calmed his thoughts. His mind flickered to home and the war when he wasn't there, but when Rafael was sat in silence Armin could distract himself. Why did the man help him? Did he have a family? From the sounds of the animals outside, the man's appearance, and from the small view of fields he could glimpse when sat up in the bed, he'd already guessed his profession. But there were still a hundred and more questions he could ponder on silently to keep himself from getting homesick.

He was brought out of his daze as the other set a glass of water on the table beside the bed lest he need it later. A gesture to the bucket on the other side followed it, and it didn't take the pilot long to guess what that was for. There wasn't anywhere else he could relieve himself, and getting up was completely out of the question. Just eating was enough to tire him. Nodding to show he understood, though, he fidgeted till he could lie down as the other made to leave. Unlike the night before, though, he was given a quick wave and nod.
"Buenas Noches, Armin".
Smiling from where he lay, the pilot nodded back. "Beunas Noches" he returned.

The fever did get worse over the next few days, but both silently put it down to the healing process.

During the time, Armin wasn't exactly lucid enough to worry anyway. Several times he woke screaming, writhing or crying after a nightmare, leaving the Spaniard to calm him before he quickly fell back to sleep. Other times, Rafael coaxed him gently from sleep just long enough to give him liquids and -if he could- food. By the middle of the following week, though, the fever had not only lessened, but had vanished.

The urge to sleep like a stone seemed to have fled with it as well, and though that was good and Rafael found himself not having to worry, there was one major problem with it. He'd changed most of the bandages whilst the German had been unconscious, but with the other awake it proved to be a harder task.

He could just smile apologetically as he helped him shuffle to the edge of the bed and sit; left hand resting on the edge of the desk so he didn't topple back or forwards whilst the blankets were pulled over his lap. The bandages on his legs were fresh and white, the pain of the burns already fading. There'd been patches of raw skin in places, and the rest was still red and tender and sore, but the ointment the over smoothed over carefully with clean hands both numbed and seemed to speed up the healing. Even as Rafael began to carefully unwind the bandages from around his chest and arm, there wasn't a single sign of infection or anything fatal. Even as he hissed and bit his tongue and grit his teeth to keep from crying out, he found himself counting his blessings. It was a miracle.

A miracle he was still alive, and a miracle the plane just hadn't exploded upon impact with the ground. He'd seen collisions and crashed before... never were they pretty. He'd gotten off light, and he knew it.

A faint "Shhh..." caught his attention and he realised he'd been whining a touch. The burn as the ointment was spread across his skin was sudden after all, but it lasted only a few moments before the cooling began to take effect and he let his breath out slowly and shakily. The other redressed the wounds afterwards; the fresh linen pinned neatly in place afterwards. The neatness of the dressings would put those of any doctor to shame. Even though his mind was a little fogged from the pain, the pilot had to admire the skill. Untill a cup of steaming tea was pressed into his good hand and his attention was turned to that instead. Like everything else Rafael was feeding him, it certainly wasn't lacking in berries or honey. The sweet taste was accompanied by the heady aroma of spices, however, and even as he waited for the brew to cool just sitting over the cup let the tension disappear and he slouched. Eventually he sipped at it slowly, and by the time the other returned from taking the soiled bandages away, he'd drained whole lot. Another serving replaced it quickly before the farmer pulled the chair up to the desk and went to his usual writing. It was becoming a familiar thing, it seemed. Even when he'd been in and out of conciousness, he'd been aware of the other scribbling away beside him.

Now he was well, he could watch him again. And he had strength enough to scoot sideways a touch till he could slouch against the desk and watch him lazily through the curtain of blonde that had, at some point, been washed and combed without his knowing. The blankets he tugged a little further around his waist before he rest his head on his arm and watched the words form. A journal, story, account... he still didn't know what it was. He didn't really care. He just let himself be lulled to sleep by the peaceful sound.

He didn't notice Rafael stop writing shortly after. Didn't notice the other carefully lye him back down and pull the covers over him.
Didn't notice the faint brush against his forehead or the 'goodnight'.

R&R. ♥

Thank you for reading!

Buenas Noches = Goodnight.