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People who tolerate machines

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   The first thing Ryan felt in the morning was something heavy and warm that pressed him to the bed, besides a headache and thirst. He was also facing something soft but hard at the same time. When he opened his eyes and squeezed a little, he realized that he was resting on Dallon's chest, and Dallon wrapped him around it like an ivy. One hand hugged him, pressing him against itself, the other hand was placed under Ry's head and embraced him, also pressing him against itself, and one leg was thrown on the drummer's legs. The latter, in turn, first smiled and pulled out his arms to hug him back, but halfway through he pulled them over and closed his eyes. There were wet traces in the corners.
   All he wanted now was for this moment to continue and for him not to feel guilty before Dallon. But neither the first nor the second was possible for Ryan.
   He didn't want to wake Dall, even though he knew he shouldn't wake up until he turned himself on. And yet... Okay, thirst and the need to take the headache pills played a part and Ryan tried to get out of captivity carefully, but it wasn't there. Shaten immediately opened his eyes and stared at Seaman without moving.
   "How do you feel?" Silently asked Dall, continuing to devour the guy's eyes. He shuddered and slowly looked up at Weekes' face.
   "Are you awake?" He sounded suddenly hoarse and too quiet. Dallon was still not moving.
   "You know I don't like it when people answer a question with a question. But basically, I could tell by the sound of your voice. Pills and water on the table. But before you take the pills, you have to eat and it's non-negotiable. So drink the water and go to breakfast." With a strict but caring voice, Weekes finally let Seaman out of his clinging paws. He, in turn, decided not to argue and turned away and sat down on the bed to get a glass of water, but Dallon moved towards him and intercepted the glass. Ry looked at him with a strange and nervous look.
   "With such trembling hands you will spill all the water, or even drop it altogether." The bass player answered an unanswered question.
   "Thank you, Dall, but no n-"
   "You're not giving up my help anymore, okay? You've said no a few times, and the result is - you're in this condition" Dallon interrupted him. "Now drink and let's go eat."
   Shaten brought a glass to Ryan's lips and gently rubbed him on the head. The drummer took his eyes away, but opened his mouth. Dall immediately tilted the glass and the reviving fluid finally wet Seamon's dried-up throat. Weekes glanced involuntarily at the budding Adam's apple and lips, on which water was flowing slightly. He gently ran the end of the sleeve and removed the drop and the moist mark water had left. Ryan squeezed himself in and tried to drink the water faster. Ten seconds later, the contents of the glass were drunk and the drummer exhaled noisily, hanging his legs from the bed. Dallon stood up in front of Ryan and put his hands to Seamon's bedside table.
   "Dallon, what got into you, really? I can take care of myself, too..."
   "Seriously?! What's gotten into me? You're in a terrible weakness right now, and that's okay, because you had a breakdown. It's okay to accept help, just like asking for it. You couldn't take care of yourself and, you know, in this situation it's totally normal and understandable, so I'll take care of you. So either you take my hands now and I lift you up, or I take you and I carry you in my arms."
   "Dall, I-"
   Ryan hadn't had time to argue because Weekes had reduced the distance between them in one step and put one hand under his knees and the other under his back. The drummer may have been heavy for an ordinary people, but not for Dallon.
   After Seaman was seated at the table, a glass of water immediately appeared in front of him, and a little later a plate with fresh pancakes. And a little later, the same plate appeared on the table opposite the next chair. Immediately shaten sat down, poking a pancake at the fork. There was a silence hanging in the air. It was pressureful, unpleasant and very tense. Ryan looked at the plate, thoughtfully absorbing breakfast, his gaze was blurred with tears coming up again. And Dallon was looking at Ryan now and then on his plate. They sighed a heavy sigh and looked at each other. Everyone was looking for a solution in the eyes of the other, answers... but they both couldn't admit that one was drowning in molten bronze, voluntarily sinking into a hazel maelstrom, and the other choking in the pre-threatening clouds, finding comfort in the rain.
   The first to interrupt this pleasant torture was Seaman, who took his eyes away, whipped his tears and headed for the sink to wash his plate and go to the room. Weekes just pressed his lips and stared at his plate. Without the drummer, it was unbearably cold and empty in the kitchen, but the bass player wasn't sure he had the right to follow him now.