It doesn’t seem small. The blood is still running.
Stepping over to the sink, Dawson turns on the tap and puts his finger under the thin stream.
“Let me see,” Cal demands, reaching for his hand.
“It’s fine, Cal.” He tries to pull away, but Cal holds on tighter.
“Let me see. Please.” That seems to get through to Dawson.
Once he has permission, Cal inspects the cut, wincing in sympathy when he can see how deep it is and that a bit of blood is still oozing from it. This is his fault. He made Dawson upset, then he distracted him while he had a knife in his hand.
Air gets stuck in his lungs when the world around him tilts and images flash in front of his eyes, too quick to catch any details. But as always, Dawson’s there, hurt or crying, or both. There’s blood on his lip, and a bruise on his cheek and—
“Cal?”
Dawson’s voice snaps him back. He blinks, the world coming into focus once again. The first thing he sees is Dawson’s concerned expression, his hand cradled between Cal’s.
Cal swallows, trying to make his vocal cords cooperate. “I’ll get a band-aid.” He rushes to the bathroom where they keep the first aid kit. Once he has a box of band-aids in his hand, he makes his way back. “This one should fit.” Dawson obligingly offers his finger while watching Cal with a strange expression.
“Role reversal, huh?”
“What?”
“You bandaging me for a change.”
“Yeah, well, it’s time I return the favor. Although I’d prefer it to be under different circumstances. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“It’s just a cut,” Dawson says in a small voice.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Trying to be as gentle as possible, Cal peels away the small, plastic strips and covers the cut, making sure the sticky parts adhere properly to his skin.
“What’s the diagnosis, doctor?” Dawson asks with a smirk. “Will I live?”
“You’ll be okay. I’ll just have to keep an eye on you. Starting now.”
“Huh?”
He takes Dawson’s elbow and leads him to a stool behind the island. “You sit down. I’ll finish this.”
“I can cook, Cal.” He tries to wriggle away. “I can just wrap a piece of glove around it.”
“You’d make it bleed. Sit.” He pulls a stool out and applies pressure on Dawson’s shoulders until he sits. “I’ll finish this.”
Miraculously, Dawson listens.
Under his husband’s instruction, Cal cuts up the dough into four pieces, keeping two and freezing the rest. Dawson guides him through the process and it’s not as hard as Cal feared. The pizzas are far from round, but Dawson insists it doesn’t matter because it’s going to taste the same as long as the thickness is consistent. Then he tells Cal to spread the tomato sauce on top and put it in the oven for a few minutes.
In the meantime, Cal chops the mushrooms. At first, he worries he’s going to end up in a similar predicament as Dawson, except he’ll probably cut his whole finger off, but he gets the hang of it quickly. He finishes with the mushrooms and moves on to the other things Dawson has laid out, and by the time he’s done, the oven timer goes off.
Dawson tells him which toppings he wants and laughs at Cal’s reaction when he asks for pineapples, insisting it tastes good.
Whatever. Cal will play it safe with olives instead.
“Is this okay?” Cal asks before putting both pizzas back in the oven.
Dawson smiles. “Perfect.”
