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Peter tossed another piece of nicotine gum into his mouth, chewing loudly and stickily. Aro knew it wasn’t good for him to be eating more than one piece at a time but, given the circumstance, he decided not to chastise.
Peter’s knee bounced insistently as he stared at the clock behind the receptionist’s desk.
Gently, he place his hand on Peter’s thigh with a soft, “Peter,” stopping the action.
Peter flopped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair with a mumbled, “sorry.”
“It’s quite alright. Nosferatu will be fine.”
Peter side eyed him, the bags under his bloodshot eyes all the more deep, his complexion ashen, “you don’t know that.”
With a tilt of his head and no where stare as he concentrated on listening, Aro looked like a pup, perking their ears up as their owner’s car pulled into the drive way.
“Actually,” he blinked and turned his attention back to Peter, “I do.”
“Oh really?” Peter crossed his arms tightly over his chest and glanced back at the clock and then the swinging door behind which his cat had disappeared.
“I can hear the staff.”
Peter’s arms dropped into his lap along with his jaw, “you can what?”
Aro gave a small nod, glancing passed Peter at the door, “mmm, yes. They’ve just completed the surgery. It went very well. They are saying that Nosferatu is young and strong and,” Aro’s lips twitched, “such a handsome boy, and will make a full recovery.”
Peter didn’t say anything at first, just stared, wide eyed and mouthed at Aro, before suddenly letting his head fall onto Aro’s chest, wrapping his arms around the other, holding him tight.
“Goodness,” Aro smiled, returning the embrace, kissing the top of Peter’s head, “always so dramatic.”
A sniffling followed by a watery, “fuck off,” retorted, but Peter clung to him until a rather awkward vet came in to tell them the news and run over the steps necessary for recovery.
As it was all in Italian, Aro said, “I’ll translate it for you later,” as he accepted the packets of paper and followed the vet to the receptionist’s desk to sign paper work and receive medication.
When Aro returned to him, Peter stood up, running his sweaty palms up and down his thighs, “so…do we get to take him home or what?”
“Not quite yet dear. He’s going to be here for another few days for observation and rest.” At Peter’s clear pout, “don’t fret love,” Aro kissed his nose and took his hand, “that just means your poor feet will get a break.”
Despite himself, Peter laughed, a small, tired, relieved sound, “well my feet wouldn’t be so poor if you didn’t teach him to attack them.”
Aro grinned as he opened the door and let Peter out first.
“Do remember to spit your gum out into a wrapper and not into the street darling,” he said as they left.
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, do you think we could pop in and say good bye to him?” Peter glanced over his shoulder as they walked back home.
“He’s asleep right now. Besides, cats are proud, he wouldn’t want us seeing him in so much pain and I’m sure you don’t want to see him attached to machines and such.”
“Fair,” Peter slid his hand down and caught Aro’s, twining their fingers together. “Thanks for helping me today.”
“Of course darling,” Aro gave a small squeeze to Peter’s hand, “you were such a wreck that, even if they could have spoken English or you Italian, you could scarcely get a word out to get help.” He teased, and giggled at Peter’s little growl and nudge to his shoulder.
“Shut up,” he said, nothing but affection there.
When they got home, they promptly threw out every one of Nosferatu’s cheap toys and ordered vet recommended versions instead. Not wanting a repeat of today.