Anthony pursed his lips to conceal a smile when Don and Samuel came running up to him, tentatively stroking the dog's head and lightly patting his brother's cheek. It felt wrong to treat the latter like a complete animal, even when others were watching. As soon as they were in private, he'd embrace the hell out of him. He just had to be patient.
Winnie watched Remedy come out of the bathroom, hoping the shower had been able to relax him a bit. “Are y’all alright on your own for ten minutes? I wanna take a quick shower so none of the rubble gets into the pizza.”
Anthony gave a small shrug, crouching in front of Samuel. "It's your house, Winston, you can do whatever you like. And I was wondering—Where on the floor would you rather I slept?"
Winston stopped in his tracks, looking horrified. “Why? What—“ He shook his head completely baffled. “That’s crazy talk, Remedy. I was gonna give you my bed if that’s alright with you. Should suit you just fine.”
Anthony recoiled, shock flickering briefly across his face. "You can have your bed. It's fine. But, ah, how….. how is that crazy talk?" He looked genuinely confused, staring up at Winston like he'd never seen him before.
“You’re my guest!” Winston stared back at Remedy with equal amounts of confusion. “Y’all are gonna be livin’ here. It’s just as much your house as mine now.” He gestured to the room. “That couch, the fridge, the bed, the shower…” He listed, trying to wrap his head around Remedy’s mentality. “S’all yours too now.”
Anthony blinked. "I'm…. a mercenary who's served the Phantom Alliance many more times than the World Guard. I'm a murderer, which I don't regret, and I'm dangerous. I'm not really your guest."
Winston looked unimpressed for the first time since he’d met Anthony. “Did I invite you here, Remedy?”
"….Yes?" he responded, baffled. "Doesn't that mean I should sleep on the floor? I'm not going to take your bed, so where else would I sleep?"
“It means your my guest.” Winnie huffed. “If you’re not gonna take my bed right now then you can sleep on the couch. Don’t even think ‘bout sleepin’ on the floor.” He threatened, shoving his hands into his pockets. “There’s a blanket on the couch for you already. Go relax while I shower, an’ then I’ll get to makin’ dinner.”
Anthony blinked in bewilderment. He nodded after a few moments and rose to his feet, suddenly quite sheepish. "Do you want me to do anything? Clean up?"
“All I want you to do is rest.” Winnie replied, waving him off. “Go get warm, I’ll be out soon. Maybe I’ll let you help with dinner.” He was a bit surprised that he was… well in control of the situation. But he wasn’t about to let it go to waste.
Anthony, realizing suddenly how ridiculously open he was being, pulled a blank expression over his face and nodded curtly, though his heart wasn't in the act. He turned to approach the couch, hesitantly at first, but relaxing fairly quickly once he'd sat down.
Winston waited a minute, satisfied once Anthony was sitting down. He grabbed a change of clothes from his room and quickly got into the shower, not wanting to take too long sopince his guests were likely starving.
Samuel bounded up onto the couch beside his brother and practically curled up in his lap, sighing in contentment. Anthony’s heart squeezed painfully, but he didn’t push the younger boy away. Instead, he combed his fingers through his hair, humming quietly:
Winston’s shower was relatively fast. He scrubbed off all the dust he could, singing softly to himself all the while. But skin enough the ten minutes passed and he was back out, changing into flannel green pajama pants along with a white t-shirt that carried an abundance of stains from acrylic paint.
Samuel let another sigh slip, determined to take advantage of his brother’s newfound softness. Maybe staying with Winston really would do him some good, and he’d come out changed. Less cold, hopefully.
Winston stepped out of the bathroom, his damp hair flopping down on his forehead. He strolled lazily into the middle of the room before shaking like a dog to get some excess water out of his hair, humming to himself as he entered the kitchen. He faced away from Remedy, hiding a smile as he saw the mercenary cuddled up with Sam.
Anthony was yanked sharply from his reverie by the sound of the bathroom door opening. He jerked away from Samuel, fear flooding his system—what if Winston had seen? He couldn’t afford to show any weakness, and he’d already shown plenty. Consequences would come, and soon.
“Do you want to help? Or would you rather get some more rest?” Winston asked, pulling out a lump of pizza dough from the fridge.
Anthony stood quickly, shaking his head with the barest hint of a scowl. “I’m not a baby,” he muttered and approached the kitchen. “You don’t have to coddle me.”
Winston almost laughed, but managed to stifle it. Determination flashed in his soft blue eyes. “If I were coddlin’ you, you’d be asleep in my bed right now. Fact I’m givin’ you a choice at all means I ain’t.” The teen responded, yawning widely. He wiped down the counter before scattering flour all over it.
“You’re coddling me,” Anthony insisted, clearly not understanding that there was such a thing as people wanting to be polite towards him. He slipped his hands in his pockets. “What do you need help with?”
“C’mere, don’t be shy.” Winston waved him over, ignoring his remark about being coddled. “You gotta knead the dough for me. Can you do that?”
Anthony hesitated. His experience with cooking was limited, to sag the least. “I just.. roll it? Like play-doh?”