Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Luis’s grandfather made him tomato soup was when he was three years old, and had just come down with a bad cold. Luis’s grandfather had spent most of the day wandering the village for any kind of medication he could find, but nothing seemed to work. Luis’s cough and fever only grew worse. Luis remembered shivering in his grandfather’s bed, wrapped in several blankets and sweating profusely. 

His grandfather returned a few hours later, sweat upon his own brow, though his was from exertion. In one hand he held a basket of tomatoes and various herbs that little Luis couldn’t name.

“I’ve got some ingredients for a miracle soup,” his grandfather told him excitedly, as he stoked a fire. “Something that will take away your fever, and make you healthy again.”

Luis had carried himself and all of his blankets into the living room, settling in front of the fire as his grandfather cooked over it. He felt in a haze, but the heat of the fire, and the smooth, low tones of his grandfather’s voice comforted him. His grandfather told him the story of his journey to find the ingredients to this ‘miracle’ soup, and all the barriers he faced to get back.

“There was a great beast that guarded the tomatoes,” his grandfather told him. “It roared and stomped its big feet. It had teeth big enough to eat me whole! And claws that could tear a man in half.”

Luis listened raptly, his eyes following his grandfather’s hands as they gesticulated along with his story. 

“To get these spices,” his grandfather continued, holding a few of them up and shaking them in front of Luis’s face who smiled, “I had to ask the village fairy very nicely. She told me my manners were very good, and that I could take all the spices I wanted. That is why you must always have good manners, mi niñito.”

The fever and chills had become all but forgotten, as Luis’s mind filled with images of his grandfather’s journey that could rival that of a knight. He pictured his grandfather as the mighty Don Quixote, from the book he’d read to Luis every night, riding his noble steed to uncharted lands and fighting tomato monsters. Luis wanted to be as brave and daring as his grandfather some day. 

Once he’d finished making the soup - and telling the story - he dished a big bowl for Luis. Luis ate it so quickly he burned his tongue, but he didn’t care, because it had tasted heavenly. 

Soon the chills had dissolved into mere shivers, then the cold sweat of a fever broken. Luis’s grandfather read him the next chapter of Don Quixote that night before bed, and Luis fell asleep dreaming of knights and tomato beasts. 

~

The second time Luis’s grandfather made him tomato soup was when he’d fallen out of the large tree outside their house. 

There was a nest on one of the branches, in which a few bird eggs had hatched. One such little bird fell out of the nest, and Luis had watched it flap its wings helplessly on the ground for about ten seconds before deciding he wanted to help. He gingerly lifted the poor bird in his tiny hands, and put it inside the breast pocket on the front of his shirt. The small bird chirped, most likely scared of him, but Luis was determined.

“I am helping you,” he told it quietly. “It’s okay. I won’t eat you.”

Luis had climbed the tree several times in his life, and so he got up to the nest easily. Two other baby birds chirped up at him from within, and Luis grinned toothily as he gently set the third one back besides its siblings. They seemed to expect food from him, but he didn’t have any on him. Glancing around, however, Luis spotted a beetle crawling up a branch across from him. Thinking that might do, Luis reached out, trying to grab the bug. But he lost his footing, and slipped out of the tree, landing on his back in the dirt beneath. With the wind knocked out of him, he could only lay there as tears sprung to his eyes.

“Luis!” his grandfather called from the front porch of the house.

He heard his grandfather’s quickly approaching footsteps, and the tears fell harder as he was slowly able to breathe again. 

“¿Estás herido, hijo?” his grandfather asked as he loomed over Luis’s fallen form, reaching for his arms to help him up.

Luis shook his head, not feeling any pain, but still he couldn’t seem to stop crying.

“Sh, sh,” his grandfather soothed, lifting Luis into his arms. “Está bien, Luis.”

Luis couldn’t speak as his grandfather carried him back into the house, the tears drenching his grandfather’s shirt as he smoothed a gentle hand over Luis’s shoulders. His grandfather placed him gently on the floor in front of the fire, the chilly winds of the coming winter demanding the fire’s presence more often during the day. He still couldn’t talk, but the tears had slowed to a stop as he watched the flames curl around the wood within. The fire mesmerised him long enough for his grandfather to prepare a pot of water without his notice.

“I will make you my special tomato soup, eh?” his grandfather said, snapping Luis out of his thoughts. “That will help.”

Luis tried to say that he was okay, but no words came out. His grandfather smiled at him graciously, and nodded to himself.

“It will help.”

Once the soup had finished, the smell of tomatoes, garlic, and basil filled the room. Luis could smell it all this time, with no cold to block up his nose, and he inhaled shakily as the scents overwhelmed him. He liked it, though, and his joy manifested in an involuntary grin on his face. Luis’s grandfather chuckled at him, giving his head a pat as he handed Luis a steaming bowl. Luis had the sense to wait a bit this time before eating it, and his tongue thanked him for it. 

“I thought this was for colds,” Luis said, finally finding his words after a few sips of the soup.

His grandfather grinned.

“It’s for any bad feeling,” his grandfather said. “It’s a miracle soup, remember? It helps with anything.” 

Luis beamed back at him.

“Did you have to fight anymore tomato beasts?” he asked.

“No,” his grandfather shook his head. “No, this time, the tomato beasts saw me coming, and they recognised me. They knew I was too strong for them, so they ran away in fear.”

Luis giggled and finished his soup, all thoughts of the baby birds and his fall from the tree gone from his mind. 

~

The third time Luis’s grandfather made him tomato soup was after Luis had gotten into a scrape with some older kids in the village. They called him rude names, things that Luis, only five years old now, had no understanding of. Then they had pushed him, shoved him around until he fell to his knees, tears pricking his eyes. He couldn’t speak again, couldn’t even tell them to stop, and so they kept going, kicking him on the ground, and pushing him down when he tried to stand back up.

They thought he was weird. He’d understood that much. They thought he was weird, and different, and that meant that something was wrong with him. He didn’t know what, though. He couldn’t think of anything wrong with himself. His grandfather certainly had never said such a thing before. But clearly something must be wrong, because why else would the other kids want to hurt him?

A leg came up near his face, and he bit it, hard. The little boy to whom the leg was attached howled in pain, hopping away from Luis. The two other kids followed suit, the eldest leading the trio and calling for some adult to ‘put down Luis like the dog he was’. Luis didn’t understand what that meant either, and he stood shakily, wiping his face of tears and dirt and brushing off his hands and knees. He noticed his knees were bloodied, and then the crying began again. 

He limped halfway home before another villager, a nice younger woman he’d seen around a few times, noticed him and rushed to his aid. She cooed at him and carried him to his house, Luis sniffling in her arms and trying not to cling to her shoulders too tightly. 

When his grandfather opened the door, he took one look at Luis before pulling him from the woman’s arms and holding Luis tightly to his chest. Luis heard his grandfather exchange words of gratitude, and the woman answered any of his questions that she could before she left and they went inside. 

Luis felt suddenly embarrassed even as his grandfather rubbed his shoulders and soothed him in Spanish, the familiarity of the words still not enough to ease Luis’s pain. This wasn’t the first time the village kids had picked on him, and he mostly avoided them, staying away from the village square as often as he could. But today he’d followed a small pig that had gotten lost, and led it back to where he assumed it lived in one of the smaller farms near the church. He didn’t know if he’d been successful, as the other children had waylaid him along the way. He wished he’d gotten to check if the pig made it home safe. 

When his grandfather noticed his still faraway look, he sighed, and gave Luis’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Sopa de tomate, eh?” he asked. “How about that?”

Luis sniffed and gave a small nod, the thought of the soup making his mouth water prematurely. His grandfather smiled warmly at him, and went to start the fire.

This time, they ate their soup in silence. Luis slurped loudly, but his grandfather had never minded. His grandfather watched him curiously, but didn’t say anything. Luis was worried he wasn’t able to talk again, so he opened his mouth and made a chirping sound. Content, he went back to eating his soup, and his grandfather shook his head fondly at him, used to such behaviour. 

His grandfather took their bowls to clean, and when he returned he patted Luis’s head gently.

“Was it those boys again?” his grandfather asked.

Luis nodded.

“Do you know what they said?”

Luis shook his head.

“That’s okay.”

His grandfather put out the fire, and Luis watched him.

“Did the soup help?”

Luis nodded, smiling. 

“I like it,” Luis said. “I wish we ate it all the time.”

His grandfather chuckled. 

“If we did, it wouldn’t be a miracle soup, no?”

Luis nodded his understanding, albeit reluctantly. 

“Will you read me Don Quixote tonight?” Luis asked.

“Just like every night,” his grandfather promised.

~

That very winter was a particularly rough one, and the fourth time Luis had his grandfather’s tomato soup. His grandfather had been struggling to find food recently, as most of the crops were out of season and many animals had begun hibernating. What little wood he could collect was used almost as quickly as he collected it, and little Luis seemed to be in a constant state of shivering. 

One afternoon, his grandfather bundled Luis in their thickest blankets and set him in front of the fire, promising he’d bring home a beast for dinner. He left the house with his rifle and a worried look, donning his heavy fur coat and wool snow cap as he set out to hunt. 

Luis normally tried to follow his grandfather when he went out to hunt, but this time, it was too cold. Instead, Luis stared into the fire, watching the flames dance as they ate the precious wood. He imagined the flames were monsters, and the wood was a poor village. The fire crackled with the roars of dragons and curled into claws and teeth, as the wood simmered and crumbled beneath the attack. The whining of the wood in the heat morphed into the screams of the villagers, cries from children and their families as they tried to escape the fiery serpents that tore apart their homes. Luis’s mind frightened him, but he was captivated by the stories it created. This tale was no different. 

The fire began to die out, after a while. Luis started to picture himself as Don Quixote, the valiant knight riding to the rescue, his noble steed carrying him at great speeds and his trusty squire, Sancho, following close behind. Luis saw himself raise his lance against the flames, fighting back the beasts of fire that tormented the villagers. Their cries became cheers as Luis and Sancho defended their homes. 

Luis couldn’t picture who Sancho might be; certainly not his grandfather, who was too old and too wise to be a simple squire. If Luis had a friend his age, they could be Sancho, but he had no friends in the village. So Luis invented a friend in his mind who would play such a role, picturing a kind boy his age with a nice smile. Together, he and his friend finally vanquished the flames, the wood settling amongst its fallen embers, smoking and glowing within. Luis grinned. It was just enough to ignore the chill that had gotten worse over time.

When his grandfather returned, Luis was laying on the floor beside the fireplace, cocooned in blankets as his fingers toyed with the now cold chunks of charred wood. His grandfather sighed, stepping around Luis to hang up his coat on the fireplace mantel to dry. Luis watched his grandfather, his small hand still absentmindedly sifting through the ashes, collecting black dust on his skin. He watched his grandfather’s face at it contorted in pain, the old man wincing as a hand grasped his side. 

Luis sat up in an instant, wiping his hand on his blanket.

“What’s wrong, abuelo?” he asked worriedly, his tiny voice echoing through the empty fireplace.

His grandfather shook his head, waving his free arm.

“It is nothing,” he said, his throat sounding rough. “Your abuelo was stupid.”

Luis frowned, rising to stand as his grandfather walked over to the table in the middle of the room. He slumped down into one of the wooden chairs, sighing heavily. Luis came to stand next to him, putting a small hand on his grandfather’s broad shoulder, the one he’d always seen his grandfather rest his gun against. That shoulder slumped a bit, compared to the other one, and his grandfather had explained that it was messed up from the recoil of his rifle after decades of using it. But with his grandfather sitting down now, his shoulder was the perfect height for Luis to lean on, so he did, resting his head gently so he wouldn’t hurt his grandfather. 

His grandfather sighed again, though it was much lighter, and he patted Luis’s head affectionately. 

“You didn’t bring back a beast,” Luis whispered, picking at the loose threads of his grandfather’s shirt absentmindedly. 

His grandfather laughed quietly. 

“We wouldn’t have been able to eat it,” he said. “I failed to kill it painlessly. It was not an honourable death.”

Luis nodded into his grandfather’s shoulder. 

“Why are you bleeding?” he asked, the sight of red staining his grandfather’s shirt causing his heart to speed up.

“It bit me,” his grandfather said. “But I’ll be alright. It’s nothing a little stitch can’t fix.” 

Luis nodded again, comforted by the confidence in his grandfather’s voice. A shiver ran up Luis’s entire body, and he pulled his blanket tighter around his chest. His grandfather turned to him, a worried frown on his face. 

“I collected more wood,” his grandfather said, standing slowly as Luis stepped back to give him space. “I’ll get a fire going, and you’ll be warm again in no time.”

Luis nodded gratefully. He watched his grandfather exit the room, most likely having left the wood by the front door. But when he returned, in his arms he held more than just wood. 

“What’s that?” Luis asked, pointing to the cloth-wrapped bundle in his grandfather’s hand.

His grandfather grinned, eyes tired but bright as he set the bundle on the table. The cloth unravelled to reveal some spices that Luis recognised, as well as several tomatoes. He glanced up at his grandfather excitedly. 

“Sopa de tomate,” his grandfather said, and Luis beamed. “For dinner.”

Luis bounced lightly on his feet as his grandfather began preparing the meal. Once he got the pot of water over the fire, he paused to replace the makeshift bandage wrapped around his abdomen, but he wouldn’t let Luis see the wound. That worried Luis more, but all thoughts of his grandfather’s injury vanished as the smell of the soup filled the small room. 

Luis’s grandfather always insisted that if he ate the soup too often, he might not like it as much; but Luis thought he could eat it every day, for the rest of his life, and still love it. It was his favourite dish, and now that he was a bit older he could watch his grandfather make the soup and understand the words he used to describe the process, and the ingredients. And sure enough, once the steaming bowl of tomato soup was in front of him, his shivering had disappeared, and the warmth of the soup flooded his body as he sipped it greedily. 

~

The wound at his grandfather’s side worsened over the next few days. It had stopped bleeding, but had turned a nasty shade of green and purple; clear signs of infection tearing at the edges. His grandfather had also begun to smell, and more and more frequently, Luis would hear his grandfather mumble to himself unintelligibly. Luis was sick with worry, and refused to leave his grandfather’s side, even when the new village chief - a kind, albeit awkward man - asked if he might like to live somewhere else while his grandfather recovered.

Luis heard everyone’s whispers, their talks of “madness”. His grandfather wasn’t going mad, and Luis wouldn’t let them take him away.

One morning, over a week later, his grandfather couldn’t get out of bed. He stared listlessly at the wall, eyes unfocused and glazed over, his breathing heavy and rattling in his chest. He wouldn’t speak, either, and when Luis grasped his face, his skin was clammy, and cold. Scared out of his mind, Luis tried everything he could to get his grandfather’s attention, but it appeared he could no longer hear, nor see. Or, at least, he couldn’t hear nor see Luis, so focused on something else that Luis couldn’t identify. 

When his grandfather refused to eat anything, Luis got an idea. He rummaged through their cabinets for ingredients, going off of sight and scent alone to identify them, and managed to gather a handful of tomatoes too. He started a fire with what little wood they had left, and dragged the pot of water up, lifting it onto the hook with all his might, his little arms shaking with the effort. When the bubbles began popping up, Luis put in the ingredients in the order his grandfather had shown him, and stirred it with the big wooden spoon. The steam from the boiling water burned against his nose and cheeks, but he refused to stop, mixing and stirring and adding ingredients until the rich red colour of the soup had overtaken the pot, the savoury smell strong enough to cause his own stomach to rumble. 

The fire had died down considerably, but it’d been enough, and Luis used a blanket to pull the pot off of the hook, balancing on a wooden chair so he didn’t spill. His grandfather would scold him, if he could see what Luis was doing; if he was in the right mind.

Luis dished their portions, giving his favourite bowl and spoon to his grandfather instead of himself. Luis set his own bowl onto the chair he’d pulled up beside his grandfather’s bed, and held his grandfather’s bowl before him. His grandfather made no move to grab it, and gave no sign he even knew Luis was there. Luis’s eyes stung as he stepped closer, leaning into his grandfather’s space, his small hands clutching the bowl of soup tightly to his chest. 

“Grandfather?” he said, a tear sliding down his face as his voice shook. “Abuelito?”

His grandfather didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even as Luis leaned into his line of sight. His grandfather’s eyes had turned yellow, and Luis might’ve thought he was dead if he wasn’t breathing so laboriously. Luis’s vision blurred as he wept, and shakily brought a spoonful of the soup to his grandfather’s lips.

“Please,” he whispered, sniffling, “please eat.”

His grandfather didn’t move a muscle. Luis tried placing the spoon against his lips, but the precious soup simply dribbled down his chin. Luis set the bowl down on the bed beside him and sobbed, placing his head on his grandfather’s chest.

“Please,” he cried, his small frame shaking. “Please don’t leave me.”

His sobs died down after a few minutes, but he kept his head on his grandfather’s chest, listening to his wheezing breaths and his heart that still beat. Luis sniffled and wiped his nose, eventually sitting up and looking at his grandfather’s face. He seemed to no longer be blinking. Luis’s bottom lip trembled as he tried again with the soup, this time pulling his grandfather’s mouth open with one hand and spooning in the soup with the other. He pushed his grandfather’s mouth closed, but Luis couldn’t tell if he swallowed. 

By now, the soup had lost its warmth. Luis gazed longingly at his own bowl, not wanting to waste it but not wanting to give up on feeding his grandfather. Though Luis knew his grandfather would want him to eat too. 

He set his grandfather’s bowl on the old man’s lap, balancing it so it wouldn’t topple when he breathed. Luis took his own bowl and sat in his chair, scooching it as close to his grandfather’s bed as it could go. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, brushing the tears off his cheek.

“Sopa de tomate,” he croaked. “It’s your miracle soup, abuelito. It’ll heal you. You have to eat it.”

Luis inhaled shakily, bringing his own spoon to his lips and drinking down the soup. He almost immediately spat it out; it tasted nothing like his grandfather’s soup did. But… he didn’t know what other foods they had, as his grandfather hadn’t gone hunting. Luis began to tremble, tears no longer enough to express the heartbreak he felt. He knew his grandfather was dying, but he didn’t want to accept it. Instead, he forced himself to eat the bitter soup that tasted nothing like the way his grandfather made it, and held his grandfather’s hand even after he’d finished. 

This was the fifth, and final time Luis had his grandfather’s tomato soup.

Chapter Text

Leon crept through the old, dilapidated lake house, squinting in the few sun-rays that escaped through the roof that looked as if it had been burned away. He spotted a box with a picture of tomato soup on it, and looked closer. It was some minute-made mixture, usually for microwaves, though Leon assumed from a cursory glance that whoever owned the box used the fireplace to cook instead. He couldn’t imagine anyone living here, but the box looked relatively new, and clean. As he explored further, he found some more canned or boxed food items, nothing perishable, as well as preserved books laying around, and even a chemistry set on the table. 

He heard banging from another room down the hall, and upon investigating, found a villager - one of the Ganados - slamming the butt of his axe on a trapdoor in the wood floor. Leon shot him down. Maybe the villager had been the one living here; though Leon couldn’t imagine such a man eating tomato soup, if he even could still eat. 

Then Leon descended the ladder beneath the trapdoor, and discovered Luis.

Chapter Text

“I’m fine, cariño,” Luis insisted, shoving Leon’s hand away from his face. “It is just… allergies.”

“You’re not fine,” Leon argued, “you’re running a fever. I’m gonna get some medicine.”

Leon ignored any further protests as he grabbed the keys to his new motorbike and set off for the nearest pharmacy. 

He returned half an hour later with a bottle of ibuprofen and generic cough syrup, hurrying back up to their apartment. He knew it was just a simple cold; Luis wasn’t showing any extreme symptoms, and his fever hadn’t breached 101°F. That didn’t stop his anxiety from spiralling, however. He hadn’t dealt with another sick person in years, and especially not a sick person he happened to be in love with. 

His worry increased when he got to their room and Luis was staring unseeing at the wall. He stirred when Leon approached, but he looked absolutely miserable. Leon’s chest panged in sympathy; he wished he could do more, but other than medicine, he didn’t know of anything that would help.

Luis grimaced as he sat up to take the medicine and glass of water from Leon.

“Get out of here, Leon,” he croaked, waving a hand, “I’ll get you sick.”

“Wow, I got you medicine and now you want to get rid of me?” Leon teased. 

Luis gave a half-smile, but it was obviously forced. Leon’s grin fell at the sight. Luis took the medicine slowly, his face pinching with the effort it took him. When he finished, Leon set the glass of water on the bedside table next to Luis’s copy of Don Quixote, and sat next to Luis, keeping a hand on his shoulder. 

“I mean it,” Luis grumbled, “go. If we both get sick, how will I take care of you?”

Leon shook his head fondly. He kissed Luis’s forehead gently, both for affection and to check his temperature. Luis sighed, settling against his pillow as Leon pulled away.

“Just call me if you need anything,” Leon said, standing. 

“Sí, señor,” Luis replied, nodding weakly. 

Leon left the door open behind him just in case. 

He felt useless in situations like this, where things were out of his control to such a degree. It was stupid to fret over a cold, and yet he was restless and anxious, wishing he could just cure Luis instantly. He heard Luis coughing and winced; it sounded painful. Leon sighed heavily, and decided to look to something he was actually good at for help. 

Luis had picked out a cookbook when they’d first moved into the apartment three months ago, and had said it was the best one he could find. Leon had used it a few times since, and was fairly pleased with it. He knew he’d seen soup recipes in the book somewhere, and he opened it on the kitchen counter, flipping through it. Sure enough, there was an entire section dedicated to soups; he just had to pick one. That task was more difficult than he’d expected, however. How was he supposed to know which, if any, of these soups Luis would like best? He could just ask, but that would ruin the surprise. And he had a suspicion that Luis would wave off any of Leon’s attempts to do something nice for him, which aggravated Leon at times. 

Leon stopped on one of the pages, pausing at a familiar looking recipe. The cover image was a steaming bowl of tomato soup, and at the sight of it, Leon recalled the boxes of minute-maid tomato soup he’d found in Luis’s house when they’d first met. He grinned softly at the memory; it felt like ages ago, now, even though it’d only been half a year since. He didn’t know if Luis necessarily enjoyed tomato soup, but it was a better sign than nothing. Nodding to himself, Leon began preparing the dish, still keeping a keen ear out in case Luis needed him. 

When Leon finished, he waited for it to cool a bit before pouring a bowl of soup for Luis. He brought it to their room quietly, in case Luis had fallen asleep. Instead, Leon found him reading, though he definitely looked tired. 

“What is that amazing smell, amor?” Luis asked without looking up as Leon entered their room.

“I, uh,” he paused, suddenly feeling awkward. He realised it was the first time he’d made a meal for Luis that was spontaneous and outside of their routine. “I made you soup.”

Luis looked up at that, dog-earing the page of his book and setting it aside. 

“What kind of soup?” he asked. 

“Tomato.”

Luis raised a brow at that, something stirring in his eyes, but he said nothing. In fact, he went almost completely still. It concerned Leon a little, but he didn’t comment on it, setting the warm bowl in Luis’s lap carefully. He handed Luis a spoon - the man’s favourite one, because of course he had a favourite spoon - and placed a napkin beside him. Luis watched him curiously, his brow furrowed slightly. Leon felt scrutinised beneath Luis’s intense gaze. 

“Sorry if it’s bad,” Leon said preemptively. “It’s my first time making soup.”

Luis smiled at him, but it was stiff. Leon wondered where the mood change had come from, and why the mention of tomato soup seemed to have caused it. He had to remind himself it was just soup; if Luis didn’t like it, he didn’t have to eat it. It wasn’t a big deal. Still, Leon found himself apprehensive as Luis brought a spoonful of the soup to his mouth. 

Luis swallowed the first bite easily, but then he paused, his eyes losing focus again as he stared at a point behind Leon. Leon shifted anxiously from his seat on the bed as he scanned Luis’s face for any sign of what the hell was wrong. Leon felt awful, the soup must taste terrible. He should’ve tried it before he gave Luis some.

Before Leon’s thoughts could spiral further, Luis’s bottom lip quivered slightly, and suddenly he was crying, tears falling silently down his cheeks as his face crumpled and he leaned over his bowl of soup. Leon’s heart picked up speed, his hands moving to Luis’s shoulders as if to shake him out of whatever was going on. 

“Luis?” He tilted his head to try and meet Luis’s eyes. “Luis, what’s wrong?” 

Luis just shook his head, the tears collecting in his beard. He brought another spoonful to his lips shakily and sipped it eagerly, closing his eyes as he swallowed. Luis dropped his spoon into his bowl and slumped against Leon’s chest. Leon immediately wrapped an arm around Luis’s shoulders, rubbing his hand over Luis’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated.

“Nothing,” Luis sniffed, clutching his bowl tighter. “It… It tastes like his.”

Leon frowned, even more worried that Luis was perhaps seeing people in his sickness.

“Whose?” Leon asked.

Luis just shook his head again, leaning further into Leon’s embrace as he cried. Leon held him through it, once more feeling overwhelmed and out of his element having to comfort someone who was crying, especially when it was Luis. Whatever was going on must’ve been bad to get this reaction from the man. 

Leon pressed a kiss to Luis’s hair, unsure of what else to do. 

It took about ten minutes for Luis to calm down, and in that time Leon had left once to grab a tissue box before returning to Luis’s side, holding him as he had before. Luis blew his nose soundly, and Leon finally pulled away, giving him some space. 

“The soup is probably cold by now,” Luis noted, smiling wryly. “I’ve wasted it.”

“I can just heat it up,” Leon offered. 

Luis scoffed. 

“Right, microwaves.”

Leon grinned, watching Luis worriedly as he took steadying breaths. 

“What was that about?” Leon asked. 

Luis rolled his eyes. 

“I was… being emotional,” he said. “Sorry.”

“What?” Leon shook his head. “You don’t- you don’t have to apologise for that, Luis.”

Luis just shrugged. Leon glanced around the room incredulously. He was worried about Luis, but Luis was choosing to be elusive. It drove him crazy. At a loss for what else to do, Leon held the sides of Luis’s face gently and tilted his head up for a kiss. Luis returned it for a second, melting against his lips for a moment before pushing him away.

“Do you want to get sick?” Luis snapped. 

“Why not?” Leon retorted. “Then I’d get to do nothing but stay here with you all day.” 

He’d hoped his earnestness would catch Luis off guard, and he was happy to see it had. Luis closed his mouth, blinking. 

“Luis,” Leon pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Luis closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in and out. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled up at Leon.

“Nothing is wrong, Leon,” he answered finally, sounding a bit breathless. “I just never thought I’d get to taste my grandfather’s soup again.”

Leon’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“Well, lucky he used the same recipe then,” Leon said. 

Luis’s grin widened. His smile was always infectious, and Leon found his own lips twitching up, too.

“Thank you, Leon.”

Leon shrugged lamely. He offered to take the bowl to heat up the soup again, and Luis seemed almost reluctant to give it away even for a second. He must’ve really liked his grandfather’s soup, Leon thought, as he microwaved the bowl. 

He returned to find Luis wiping at his eyes again, though his bright smile reappeared when he saw Leon. 

“What’s wrong now?” Leon asked, handing him the warmed soup.

Luis scoffed at him, his smile never wavering. 

“I just-” Luis shook his head. “I love you, Leon.”

“I love you too,” Leon replied, grinning back at him. 

“Now, if you’re not going to be smart and keep your distance, at least sit here so I can steal your body heat,” Luis demanded, patting the bed next to him. 

Leon rolled his eyes but obeyed, sliding onto the bed beside Luis and pulling the blanket over the both of them. Luis immediately slumped against Leon’s side, and Leon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Luis finished the soup slowly, clearly savouring it, and only had to pause one more time as more tears fell. And Leon held him through it all.

They sat together in silence, Luis eventually swapping his empty soup bowl for his book. He resumed reading it, but Leon was content just sitting by his side, holding him and pressing his lips to Luis’s forehead while periodically reading over Luis’s shoulder. Leon’s anxiety had subsided completely, and he was surprised with how much he enjoyed the mundanity of doing nothing next to Luis. Next to the man he loved. 

Leon was done being scared of how much he wanted this. He wanted this; and he sure as hell would fight for it.