APH - May Our Frozen Hearts Heal, Beloved

"H-help…" Berwald looked up, the muffled words echoing in his mind, laced with panic.

"Tino?" His stoic expression cracked and he left the couch, the TV still running the news, for the bathroom.

The door hung open, fluorescent light pouring into the dim hallway. Ten PM was edging on, Tino shouldn't have been up at this time—he always slept early.

Berwald entered the bathroom, kneeling down and pressing his hand to Tino's curled spine.

Tino looked at him, his eyes bloodshot and teary, "I think I'm si—" he vomited into the toilet, coughing and sputtering. Tears of pain rolled down his cheeks. One of his hands clutched Berwald, the other his abdomen.

"Shh, calm down, let it all out." He glanced at Tino's hand. It quivered violently as he retched again. No blood came out. That's good, Berwald thought. He rubbed Tino's back soothingly, holding him close between episodes of sickness.

When Tino had finally come to a halt, he shakily rose, flushing the toilet, and shuffled to the living room. He slumped down on the love seat and pulled the blanket on it around him.

Berwald entered the kitchen, still with a clear view of Tino. "I'll make you some tea, Tino," he said and set the kettle. As it began to heat up, he glanced out the window. The sky was heavily dark, without a star and only a slim fragment of the moon perched just out of his sight. Their small backyard was illuminated a watery yellow by the porch light. A crimson leaf spiraled down from their single tree, signaling the end of summer.

The kettle began to screech and Berwald poured the green liquid into a mug, handing it over to Tino, who thanked him quietly and held the warm cup to his chest.

"Did you eat something you don't usually? It could be food poisoning." Berwald suggested, settling beside Tino.

The demure man, his eyes closed so the moth-colored lashes stood out against fair skin, shrugged. Berwald brushed away a few strands of pale blonde hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Tino eventually sipped the lukewarm tea, resting his head on Berwald's wide shoulders. "My body hurts," he muttered, "my hips, my stomach, my chest, my heart…"

Berwald looked down at him, words catching in his mouth; Tino had fallen asleep. The Swede lounged back, joining him.

The sharp morning sun prickling their skin woke Tino the next morning. He yawned, still sore. A dull throb now pulsed through his body. Berwald lay dormant still at his left, and Tino wondered if he should kiss him awake.

He decided that his breath was most likely sour and repugnant, but he did it anyway. Berwald's soft lips twitched in response, but Berwald didn't wake. Tino sighed and shed the blanket, leaving to make breakfast.

When Tino stood, something within his belly shifted. He touched it, lifting his shirt to see. A small sign below his naval pinged, like a light burn. He pressed his finger to it. It appeared star-shaped. Tino bit his lip in confusion, looking away and opening the refrigerator. With each step, bend, and movement his belly felt more and more odd. As though he were keeping a little flame within him.

With it, he felt warmer in the chest, he felt a sort of pureness. It was utterly delightful and horrifying. He felt motherly, and had a sudden surge of emotion: as though he wanted to pick up a duckling and care for it immediately.

Confused, still, Tino cracked two eggs and dropped them onto a pan. His thoughts trailed back to the star and the new emotions. It was as though he was newly hatched and now was a new self.

He wondered if Berwald would still love the New Tino, as much as he did the Old one.

Berwald stirred awake to the smell of pancakes, a recipe Tino had newly improved upon, and sluggishly pulled up a chair. "How are you feeling?" He asked gruffly.