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There are times when Gyro wanted to wish the morning star away to bring the night back for just a little longer. For just a little longer, so he might lay here and ignore the rest of the temperess that was the world's chattering voices. He was warm, love flooring him and wrapping his body in bubble wrap. It was fun, and protective, and something he didn't want to let go. Especially with a head of ginger hair spilling locks across his chest, subsequently creating waves of auburn in the patchy sun that sifted down through the windowpane above his desk. His desk where dozens upon dozens of files and papers sat discarded in favor of last night's rendezvous in the sheets. Lazy green eyes moved so he could follow the fell curve of Johnny's cheek as it was squished to pectoralis muscle, over his nose and lips. Rosy blushes highlighted both areas, clear for the moment of such bold cobalt blue lipsticks and feathery silvering highlights. Gyro's head rolls back to the pillows, sighs escaping his own mouth and nostrils in short huffs. He could hear the combination of Johnny's breath and rumbling cars outside, humming and honking in the early air. He could also hear the radio in the living room click on, playing soft Garth Brooks with the daily top 5 replay (a radio show he had found recently). Now he has to get up, if he wants to make breakfast and get dressed and find two socks that match, and get his makeup on. Gyro pushes tendrils of ginger red hair off his chest, hands curling under Johnny's head to lift it up and shift out from beneath. He hated to leave the gentle embrace of the mattress, sheets, and Johnny, but he had a job to do and patients to take care of. One that always got excited to see him too - poor boy did have dementia, so it was like meeting a new friend again and again. The others were a little groggy by the time he arrived since medication was just wearing off and lifting sleep, but that wasn't important. He whisked the thought away, snatching up his phone from the nightstand just as the blanket bundled babe made a noise as the removal of his human space heater. Johnny woke so easily, baby blue eyes slippery with sleep and drooping with the want for more rest. "Gyro," there was a distinct slur in his Southern accent, the sleep lingering long, "come back to bed darlin'." There was a distinct skip of the way Gyro's heart beat in the moment he heard that little word spill so unintended from such usually guarded lips. God how could he refuse now? He really couldn't, but he had to. Work was calling at his door. "You know the earliest bird gets the worm." There's sunshine in his blended Italian and Southern style accent, light strands of blonde framing his face as Gyro leaned down to press an awakening kiss to tired lips in an attempt to release the bind sleep had. "I like my worms still tired so they don't fight." He threw a fake punch to sock Johnny in the shoulder, who merely combated that by swatting Gyro straight in the face with a discarded pillow before sinking down once more in the comforter. A laugh bubbled from Gyro's throat and he stood up to pull all his hair back into a ponytail. "You should get up babe, I'll make us breakfast." A displeased groan resonated from the pile of patchy quilt, and there fell sadness to the lips of the thick smile on his lips. He worried a lot about Johnny, not just as a doctor but as a lover, partner. "No if's, ands, or buts about it." He scolded with sarcasm dripping from his lips, a hair tie twisting his hair into a high pony so he could do a face scrub and all his skin care. "You promised me." Gyro's pout got another pillow thrown his way and that was enough for him to just skirt into the bathroom for the beginning of his routine. "Promise blah blah blah." Johnny mocked to himself, sleep finally leaving him curled up in the sheets that smelled of Gyro's fancy wooded cologne and their shampoo/conditioners from last night's shower. He peeled them back when the bathroom door shut, sitting up so all the bedding pooled in his lap. Star patterned red pants hung loose at his waist, the strings coming untied in his deep comatosed state that night. He forced curly hair back from his forehead and eyes, ginger brightening the blue that swirled to form his vision. It was his turn to feed the fish was all he could recall, ignoring the biting feeling in his stomach from the brief conversation. Johnny didn't like to talk about it, and often kept it tucked as far back as he could. It wasn't something he could always ignore, yeah, but he tried hard to. Using his weight to swing his legs around and off the bed, Johnny reached over and pulled closer the backless wheelchair that had been crafted for him. It was much more comfy that way, and he hated the idea of being pushed around in the thing when he was capable of moving on his own. Hell, if he can climb on a horse he can do anything. His arms do the most work as he lifts himself from the bed to the chair, nearly falling since he forgot to lock the wheels in his daze. Whatever. The 19 year old moved around a little bit more then fitted his feet in the slots they belonged in before finally wheeling himself to the fishtank. Two kissing gourami were locked together right now, amongst the colorful blue tangs and guppy schools and silver dollars. A few newer Buenos Aires were still unsure as they flitted around the tank, hanging near the bottom with the lethargic octopus sculpture and coral that resided there. Johnathan picked up the can of fish food and shook a guesstimate amount of it into the water after removing the lid, replacing it while the fishy children went crazy for cocoa puffs. Johnny now had a mission of finding a shirt that he could ruin - today was his day to help clip hooves and nail shoes in, remove rocks, and all that nice jazz. He needed a shirt that was plain and could take the damage. He spun his wheels over to the dresser stand he owned, opening the middle drawer to scavenge around through neat folds of fabric. No, no... not that one. He heard the sound of the bathroom door open again followed by the shutting off of the sink. Gyro must have gotten finished in the time he fooled around looking for the shirt. "I see you got up." There was gentle teasing on his tongue, Gyro circling around to try and kiss the top of Johnny's head just to be swatted away with hands. Another laugh falls from his mouth and he wipes the rest of the water from his face. He hadn't put on much more than a muted lime lipstick, sealed with chapstick for moisture. "Come on, let's get some food going." One could almost see the crackle of tension in the room, the twitch of Johnny's eye as a dozen conversations came back and left in the same moment. He wasn't there anymore. He was here. With someone who just cared about his health. Wrenching a shirt from the drawer quietly, johnny didn't speak again and just fumbled it over his head. Gyro sighed, tsking softly. "So much pent up rage, thought you had that out last night with the way you were beggi-." Another thing was thrown his way - a chapstick - and Gyro ducked to avoid it hitting him in the face. "I'm just teasing~." He coos, blowing a kiss before exiting the room and going to what Johnny presumed was the kitchen. Teenage angst still flooded his veins, so he huffed to himself and crossed his arms over his chest in the silence pause. Clinking of pots and pans resounded and he knew the other was probably making scrambled eggs or something. An easy online recipe. He couldn't say crap though. He couldn't cook much better. He was a horse jockey for fuck's sake, not a chef. And Gyro modeled on instagram while also being a doctor. Neither had time for learning anything about food besides the most basic things that took a short time to make. Scrambled eggs tended to be the menu option of choice over cereal or peanut butter toast. Peanut butter did sound good right now though... But the nagging voice of his boss came back, high pitched and buzzing like mosquitos in his ear. You have to remain thin to be a jockey, Joestar. You know that. How many damn times do I gotta tell you that? He shuttered and hiccupped with muscle spasms, the recollection causing his eyes to tightly squeeze shut. Hot tears ran marathons on his face anyway, and he couldn't stop how much it hurt his chest. He wanted to be normal, more normal than ever before. He wanted to sit down without having to worry about what he consumed, and no one could apparently let him live like that. It felt like he was forcing himself to open his eyes underwater when he heard the bedroom door swing and hit habitually against the corner of a too-close desk. "Johnny..." There was a subtle twinge of sadness in Gyro's voice as he came over and knelt down in front of his love to take both his hands. "What's wrong? Does something hurt?" Sobs pop from the bubbles between them, Johnny finally just throwing his arms around Gyro's shoulders to cry on him. Behind his tough exterior, he really was just someone who cried it out and needed to be held. That's exactly what Gyro did too, just holding him in a strong, warm embrace and letting it happen. No questions asked anymore. Small circles were rubbed up and down a thinly, sharp-boned back, and the inner doctor of him had to wince. Too thin... Much too thin. And yes, he knew well how much Johnny struggled with food. It was one thing they trusted each other to know. He hadn't always pushed it like he should, and Gyro felt a tad responsible sometimes since his work was so demanding. But... he had no surgeries scheduled today, and would probably sit and do paperwork most of the time. He could stay home just this once. Be less neglectful. "It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you." That only made the crying worse, fists balled into the loose tank top that accompanied Gyro into the bathroom before when he was scrubbing his face. Fingers tangled amongst auburn hair, giving timed head scratches to help soothe the spell of emotions. Slowly, but surely, it worked, and Johnny let the last few sniffles dry his tear ducts. He'd lost all ability to breathe through his nose and felt like throwing up from how much sobbing he did, but he didn't need to. Large hands came up to cradle his face and swipe away trails of moisture, hazelling green eyes shining through the cloudy storm of his vision and mind. "I've got you." Gyro repeated again, pressing a kiss to reddened nose and foreheads knocking soft together. "You're alright now, lovely." He murmured, letting his eyes slip shut for a hair's breath. Blue oceans relax with the passing thunder, the sunshine outside shifting with the clouds and coming in bright with the awakening of the rest of the world. "I hate cryin'." Johnny sniffled loudly, leaning back in the wheelchair and rubbing his hands up and down his face. Gyro dropped his own back to his lap, still kneeling on the flooring. "I'm such an ugly crier." He had more reasons to hate crying, but that was the one he went with for now. He rubbed harsher at his skin before flopping his hands down, futilely trying to inhale through his nose. "I've never seen anyone cry pretty that meant it." Gyro comforted him in his own way, moving the red hair out of the way and back behind soft shelled ears. "Don't be afraid of crying, love. I'm not going to make fun of you for it." Soft lips met and the smell of vanilla and frost covered trees mingled in Johnny's senses, removing the last stray bits of emotions that shadowed over him. "Get back in bed, I'm going to call the stables and hospital, and we're staying home today." "But, I have horses to tend. Shoes to apply and hooves to trim." The argument was weak and fruitless, especially when Johnny found himself being scooped up in heated arms. Gyro wouldn't take anything except yes as an answer. "I should go to work." He added in a pointless attempt to get any sort of swing. He wasn't taken to bed though, rather out to the living room where he was nestled on the couch and covered in inviting comfort from the blankets piled on top of him. "One day never hurt anybody." Another kiss was shared and Gyro went to call their places of work while Johnny grabbed the old tv remote and switched the electronic on. Idle background chatter from Gyro was all he heard as he scrolled quick through the channels, pausing on one that played a very old Clint Eastwood movie. High Plains Drifter from '73. Didn't know anyone still bothered to aire these old reruns. He recalled watching it a lot on his own, and tried keeping his face placid as Gyro returned once more to lean over the back of the couch. He had gotten rid of the ponytail and it was now swooshed up in a bun, a few pieces of blonde left to frame his face handsomely. "You're watching Clint. Thought you didn't like these oldies?" At least, that's how Johnny always acted. Like he hated watching them. Gyro seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Johnny tried to supply the best one he could."I just stopped because I felt the urge to sneeze and would rather not cover the remote in mucus. That's disgusting." He switched the channels again as his hair was all pulled back in a ponytail, knowing it was going to be braided. It was comforting, despite how much he tried to express hate towards it. He thumbed the channels, pausing on old Kentucky Derby reruns. It immediately caught his attention, excitement shining honest in his eyes. He loved watching Justify run, especially with the Good Magic coming in so close. He was enraptured enough that he didn't even notice the french twist pulled through his hair, sleek ginger like fire in the sunlight that came through the living room windows. These were just so beautiful, these horses ran so well. Who wouldn't be engulfed in such displays? A soft tug had his head pulled back just a little, Gyro's hands securing the braid tight with a ponytail holder from his wrist. "What do you want for breakfast? We have the time to make it." He didn't know if what he said had fallen to deaf ears until Johnny responded with the commercial break a quipped request of pancakes. Chocolate chip if they had any of the morsels. "Comin' right up." There was a touch of a drawl on his tongue with the word, leaving Johnny to lean back and curl himself up under the blankets more and watch his horse races. Gyro took the time of walking to the kitchen to also side braid his own hair deftly, letting it hang over his shoulder as he fished his phone from his pocket. Time for some Cooking Channel website searching. What kind of pancake recipe would display itself, no one knows. What did pop up was this lovely little recipe that had him scavenging for flour, butter, sugar, baking powder, salt, eggs, and the hidden bag of chocolate chips he snuck in the bottom of the cookie jar. Two mixing bowls were also produced and he found a whisk, sliding over to the radio that had shut itself off and turning it on once again for some country music to play over his thoughts and the newscaster of the horse race. He knew what happened, so the need to watch with Johnny wasn't crawling all over him. Play something Country was a fond Brooks and Dunn song whistling through the radio speakers, Gyro doing a little dance to the aged music as he whips together milk, eggs, flour and sugar while the butter he needed melted in the microwave a tad. He gave a spin and avoided sloshing pancake batter to the floor, hip checking the counter on accident as he moved to the microwave. It's a minor sting, nothing dramatic. Gyro's hands move things around so he has one to pour in the melted butter, carefully folding the batter over to not splatter melted things everywhere and make a bigger mess than he'd like. He noticed how the recipe also stated just 6 ounces of chocolate, but instead indulged perhaps too much and added at least half the pound bag in. There was enough batter, but there was so much chocolate. Johnny better be prepared for this cavity-inducing chocolate fest. The skillet was wiped down with butter and oil, the sizzle of batter being poured into it like music to his ears. Gyro knew this was something Johnny would eat, and indulging him to encourage the idea that food was good was never a wrong thought. Indulgence would associate food with positive endorphins. He fished a spatula from the drawer and brought up a memory of a video he watched recently. He had to see air bubbles before he should flip the pancake. It didn't take long for that to happen, and soon he flipped the pancake to expose a golden top spotted with dark chocolate chips. His best so far.Gyro waited about half a minute before flipping the golden disk again and seeing that it had cooked itself well. Fetching a plate he would flop it onto the ceramic and start to pour more batter in, repeating until the plate was stacked 4 pancakes high with a little chocolate syrup dripped on top. Maple was also spilled down the stack, a stick and gloriously delicious mess. Gyro made himself two and a butter toasted bagel that he covered in cream cheese before finding Johnny practically bouncing in his seat over the oldest horse movie he's ever seen - The Story of Seabiscuit from 1949, a fine film but even a bit beyond Gyro's taste. He settled the pancakes down on the coffee table - well within Johnny's reach - with silverware on the side. Gyro buckled down on the couch adjacent to his boyfriend, taking a bite of his crispy bagel first. Johnny snatched up the plate of pancakes and silverware quick, so he could lean back and nestle against Gyro. The first bite was taken almost immediately, which really unlocked the flood gates that crowned Gyro's heart to release all the concern. He was eating. It was a start, since for the past week Gyro was almost sure the jockey had been skipping out. But that was in the past now. "Hey," he looked at Johnny, who had now taken half a dozen bites and was coloring his pale lips with chocolate. "I love you~." He cooed, cream cheese in the corner of his lips. Johnny flickers his eyes up just briefly to look back at the tv then to Gyro again. He licks his lips to remove the chocolate, thick and sticky, before finding his tongue. "Yeah..." a pause. "I love you too, and thanks for the pancakes." That was all he needed. "Don't say it." "You're cute when you talk like that~." Gyro had to run from the syrup Johnny tried then to put in his hair. But that's just what the morning star saw from her lofting perch in the sky.