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[ Down Silco goes. Stephen hovers over him, tender under gentle touch and the trust inherent in seeing him like this, letting the moment stretch for as long as it can after Silco utters the sentence that ushers him off to duty. He could deny it. State the local clinic staff have the situation under control, that this kind of medical practice has never been his wheelhouse anyway. But he did accept a responsibility. And he knows full well that at least one of his residents will be down there running themselves ragged before long.

A deep breath goes followed by a sigh. Stephen, rendered too fond to stop himself, ducks down to press his forehead to Silco's before drawing back entirely. Leaning to collect the tray, sit back for one last long look at him. ]

Rest. And if you feel anything going too far sideways, call.

[ Reluctant, he stands. Tray in one hand, he draws pinched thumb and finger down the midline of his body with the other, and in a second is dressed in easy basic layers, ready to get covered in whatever his self-ascribed rounds have in store for him. A smirk, a wink, and he turns to let himself out the way most people come and go: the door. Abandoned robes still hanging over the back of Silco's chair an unspoken guarantee that he'll be back. ]

🎀

[sink]

[ (And if Silco flops across a bed that suddenly feels too big to smile into the pillow like a flustered teenage girl, what of it? And if he perhaps, once he's made it out of bed, takes a moment to gather up Stephen's robes and breathe in the scent of him around the collar, what of it? He's fine. This is normal. This was a normal thread with normal men.) ]