Chapter Text
Fenrir is quietly googling asthma when he hears it —
“God damn it I hate being so fucking short!”
He jolts up in his seat and stares in the direction of the voice. It’s not that he hasn’t heard Steve curse, but the power of the frustration and anger in that tone is one he rarely ever hears from the man.
He hesitates for a moment. Well, longer than a moment. He’s been walking on egg shells ever since Steve got de-serumed, because he is freaking out with concern because holy fucking shit this kid has a laundry list of illnesses and allergies Fenrir has never even heard of and he’s trying to hard to be so careful so he doesn’t hurt the other man, and Steve is clearly tired of it. It set them both on edge, so he’s hesitant to interfere now.
Some clattering gets him moving though, and he finds Steve — skin and bones, at least a foot shorter than the man he was used to — clenching his jaw in the kitchen, glaring up at a cabinet, face red with annoyance. Off to the side of the counter is milk and a bowl and a spoon and Fenrir makes a noise of understanding that draw’s the other man’s attention.
"Fen," Steve wilts. Fenrir isn’t sure why, though he has some ideas, but decides not to comment, instead comes closer and offers a smile as Steve rubs at his face.
"Cereal?" Fenrir offers instead, still trying to tread lightly. Steve nods, not looking at him. The wolf grabs a cereal box from a shelf neither had ever struggled with before and set it on the counter, fiddling with the top as he tries to decide if he should pour it in the bowl himself. Steve makes no move to, however, instead seeming to focus on breathing, so Fenrir goes ahead an makes up the bowl. By the time he puts the milk jug back, Steve is leaning against the counter, stirring his cereal with a frown.
Fenrir takes a breath and moves over to him. “Hey…” Steve glances his direction, looking tired, so Fenrir offers another smile. “We’ll figure this out. It’s gonna be okay.”
Steve breaths in slow. Let’s it out just as slow. “I know.”
"And look—" he waits until Steve starts turning around so his back is against the counter, and then he grabs the cereal box and moves right in front of Steve, grinning down at him.
"Fen—" he has that scrunched up look on his face like he’s not sure if he wants to be amused or annoyed, but grabs his hip anyway. Fenrir hums and leans forwards, right in Steve’s space, setting the box back.
He’s not exactly sure what he’s expecting, but Steve biting his nipple through his shirt definitely comes as a surprise. “—Ouch." He pouts, more for the principle than actual pain, and huffs, but Steve’s lips are quirked a bit, so it’s all okay.
"And you know," Fenrir continues, like nothing happened, and gets down on his knees, a hand bypassing Steve’s leg to consider a bottom cabinet. "I was thinking we should make pasta. Need a pot for that, yeah?" And this time when he leans in close to reach for a pot, his face meets Steve’s crotch. Steve huffs a laugh as Fenrir nuzzles against him, hands moving to his hair.
"Goober," Steve snorts, but makes to move to push him away, so Fenrir makes himself comfortable, lets his hand curl around the back of one of the oddly thin legs.
"Your goober," he agrees, nosing into the crease of his thigh. Resting his chin against his hip, Fenrir looks up at him. "It’s gonna be okay."
This time, Steve offers a smile, even if it’s weaker than his normal ones. “I know.”