jiaoqiu is home, by now. it's late, almost something you'd consider early morning instead of night, and he's puttering around trying to decide what he wants. he's a little tired. he's full - that's nice, he made something from the spices and produce and ate his fill, and still had leftovers. he leaves those in the fridge, because he hopes somehow the siren call of good food will bring him his nighttime visitor. but besides that, he thinks he might just go to sleep. he doesn't have much else to do.
or so he thinks. he's in the kitchen when he hears the fire escape creak, and he looks into his living room just in time to see his window get slammed open. it startles him enough to make his ears stand up, his tail poof -- and then he registers. he sees a small thief drop down to the ground against his wall, and his blood freezes. ]
-- Therion.
[ sharp, snapped, and... maybe a bit frightened. the jolt of terror that runs through him comes out strongly enough to end up in his voice as he drops whatever was in his hands - a bowl or something, it doesn't matter. he races across the living room in about four paces and drops down next to him, ears pinned back. ]
[ that comes out of his mouth immediately, because, well, he is. it's not that bad in terms of injuries, it's just annoying and bleeding in a spot he can't get to, and maybe he should think about the fact that he's bleeding at all but unfortunately, it's just another weeknight for therion. this was really his own goddamn fault, anyway, and that irritates him more than being hurt does. he looks at jiaoqiu - clearly worried, if those ears are any indication, if the fear in his voice is any indication, and then just gives a quick shake of his head. whatever happened didn't matter, or therion's refusing to talk about it, or both.
alas. he is an idiot. he grunts as he pushes himself up a little more solidly, digging a heel into the floor to push himself up and resting his other hand on his shoulder. ]
This - pop this back in. [ sound a little more concerned about it? therion? ] Street shit. Don't worry about it.
[ jiaoqiu snaps, putting a hand on therion's chest and pressing him to the wall. just to keep him still for a second. he takes a preliminary look - notes the bruises, cuts, scrapes, and then more specifically the shoulder wound. there's a pause. and for a moment, therion might notice something distant in jiaoqiu's expression, something empty and not there, as he gets a look at the bite. just for a moment. and then he brings a hand up to dig his claws into his upper arm abruptly, and it knocks him out of it.
jiaoqiu sucks in a breath, and pulls himself to his feet. ]
Street shit. [ he repeats, going back to the bathroom to get his kit. he's back very, very quickly, easing down next to therion and starting to tug at his clothes. off, right now. ]
This is a borisin bite? Don't lie to me. It's important.
[ this reaction kind of startles him - he's been nagged at by jiaoqiu like a hundred times, told what to do a hundred times, but there's something about this that feels way different, particularly watching him dig his hand in like that.
thrown for a loop and mostly disgruntled, it takes a second before the question registers, and he gives him a weird look. ]
Yeah? God - quit it, [ yeah. why is he freaking out about it. as he's fussed at over his clothes, too, he makes a noise and tries to get out of the hoodie he's wearing without any help - however, with his arm in a weird place, it's not happening, which puts him out even further, but the shirt eventually comes up and over his head, leaving him completely bare. the bite looks nasty. as always, when it comes to therion, it's way worse than it originally looks.
in the meantime, distantly, therion remembers the heart pounding sensation of fear that had come when he was first bitten, but he'd managed to tear himself out of it fast enough - maybe that's what jiaoqiu's weirded out about. ]
Because there is a lot to know about borisin and their biology, and I doubt you know as much as I do.
[ he ignores the quit it. instead, he settles in and helps therion get the shirt off, tossing it impatiently to the side. he pulls out disinfectant, first, and then hisses quietly at the way the bite looks. it's deep, and nasty, and he thinks it's going to take stitches. not to mention the dislocation, which he also has to fix. still - even with the clear disapproval, his hands are firm and gentle, and steady. he gets to work cleaning the wound, ears still pressed back. ]
Their mouths are disgusting. [ he says, voice tense. ] Rife with infection. You are lucky I have experience with this, or you would be in danger of contracting some sort of blood disease.
Did you experience the Lupitoxin? It may still be in your system. Unreasonable terror, anxiety, or difficulty breathing?
No, I thought he brushed his teeth and flossed twice daily.
[ is this the time for sass? probably not! but it's probably a good sign that he's okay, that he's able to just grouse and grumble. he doesn't say much else at first, silent as the wound is disinfected, teeth gritted in the place that it stings. it's wrapped around his shoulder, front to back - clearly the bite was what caused the dislocation, if not perhaps therion dislocating his shoulder on purpose to escape it, but he's still otherwise, staring at jiaoqiu like a hawk as he fixes him up.
any unreasonable anxiety. well. he's in this apartment as opposed to halfway down the highway by now, which maybe means he isn't having a reaction? or maybe it means that's why he came here. maybe the sense of safety overpowered the sense of get away - because ultimately, jiaoqiu is right, that he is lucky he has experience with it, that he's kind of even lucky to just be here, to have a place to drag his wounded body and know it'll be safe. it's more than he's ever had before.
that causes some anxiety, actually. a gnarled, twisty feeling - he turns his head and looks over jiaoqiu's shoulder and says, tightly: ] I said I'm fine.
[ if he feels any fear, he's sure as hell not going to admit to it. ]
[ the doctor senses are overpowering, right now. it's the only thing that's keeping him from flicking therion directly on the nose.
as it is, his tail is swishing angrily behind him as he cleans. he moves therion forward just a bit so that he can get at the fang marks on his back, making therion lean on him a little as he does. he wipes the blood away, he gently rubs a cream over the wounds - something that'll dull the pain, something that will make the skin mend itself over time. he rests therion against the wall, and looks at the blood on the wall of his apartment. fine, he says. i'm fine, like that wasn't what every single person he's ever lost has said before they collapsed in his arms. ]
Borisin eat their victims. [ jiaoqiu says stiffly. he can't quite meet therion's eye when he says it, and his hands falter - just briefly.
he tries to say more, but the words won't come. a beat, as he struggles with memories trying to crawl up his spine, as he pushes them back and down, and then he just takes a second to hang his head and mutters a very vicious, hissy fuck. ]
well. he lets jiaoqiu manhandle him, more or less - forced to lean against him, he stares over his shoulder for a second, reminded of the warm body just pressed against his just barely the night before. what is he doing here? this is the moment where that other shoe finally drops? because ultimately, this is what therion is really good for. parasitic nothingness, for causing distress. selfishly, taking and taking - taking now, taking jiaoqiu's abilities as a doctor and giving nothing in return. leaving bloodstains on a good thing. it's different than darius, but it's what he deserves.
therion falls silent, at the explanation, and looks away, again. the hissed swear - that is the first time he's ever heard that, and the anxiety and fear of the remaining lupitoxin are getting cloying, now, desperately telling him to run, to get the hell away from jiaoqiu, not because he's a predator, but because therion's the wolf.
he shifts, a little when he hangs his head. a normal person should help, should take his hands that shake and hold them. he doesn't. he presses himself further to the wall, eye darting past jiaoqiu to the door, to the window above his head, seeking escape. ]
Well, I'm not in its stomach. [ he says, sharp, this time - putting up spines and barbs, like he so often does. a feral little creature, a little beast. ] Like I said. [ enunciating: ] I'm. Fine.
deep breath. just take a second, and then get back to it. swallow the panic, feel nothing. therion is fine. he's bleeding, but he won't be. he is not ripped in half, he is fine. you didn't lose him.
hm. that last thought is, again, dangerous.
silence, and then he looks up at therion. he watches therion look for an exit, and he thinks about the effects of the toxin, and how much hell it is to go through it alone. he thinks about how he made enough food for two people, intentionally. he thinks about how life doesn't feel like it's in two-times speed when therion is in his apartment, leaving him food and spices and warmth in his bed. he thinks about the ease of banter and a shitty grin, his ass on his clean counter, the quick and talented fingers on a knife. he sees those spines and barbs, and he is not afraid of getting bit.
jiaoqiu reaches, and takes therion's chin in hand. gently. firmly. look at him. ]
If you try to bolt after I set your shoulder, I will chase you. You are in no shape. You are not fine. And you don't need to be.
[ this makes it even worse, though a large chunk of that is from the remains of the toxin. his chin is grabbed and he looks because he's forced to, but the cord of muscles on his neck are as tense as anything, and his other hand presses back against the wall like he might push himself forward, past jiaoqiu, out the window, out of his life forever. a cornered, trapped, feral animal once again. ]
For all you know, they followed me here. [ as if he would ever, ever, ever let that happen, for so many reasons, as if he would ever let his shitty, awful life drip all over this place any more than it already has. he saw that quake in his hands, saw the emotion, and the awful part of therion grips onto it, spiked armor and snarling teeth in his own right, wielding it like a weapon.
it's better that way. it's better this way. ] You don't know shit.
[ he does not believe that for a second. first of all, therion is an incredibly skilled thief. jiaoqiu does not think he'd even let them follow him down the street, let alone to his apartment. second of all, borisin are stupid, and sure, maybe they could follow his scent, but jiaoqiu is more inclined to believe they lost interest the second he left their view. he has experience, after all.
and jiaoqiu knows that grabbing makes it worse. sometimes, he thinks, it has to get worse before it gets better. sweating a fever out. ]
I know plenty. I know that you can't hurt me.
[ or... well, he could. it'd probably be easier than either of them think. but he is very good at pretending, and he's very good at keeping the void up front and present. whatever therion says to him, it won't hurt until later, when he has to pry the barbs out from under his skin. he can make himself believe that therion can't do anything to break him. ]
[ he's not even reacting, and that's frustrating, too, frustrating in the way that therion is a ball of human emotions poorly hidden, and that this is what fear looks like to him. it looks like lashing out - no wonder he didn't run from the borisin who attacked him. too prideful. too ready to throw himself into danger. always ready for the stick and never the carrot.
i know you can't hurt me stings, even though it shouldn't. it stings because this isn't working, and it stings because it's humiliating and true, that jiaoqiu has seen his softness, has seen how much of this is an act. a touchy feely fool, a sentimental berk, an abused street dog, that snaps his teeth but never bites, that never learns his stupid lesson of what it means to trust other people. even now, he could grab a knife and end it, and he goes to his words, instead. he scowls harder, still held like a bowstring by the hand on his chin.
he knows exactly why he came here first. he can't admit it, and so he doesn't, instead just scoffing. ]
Because you'd fix it up for free. [ is what therion spits out - it's not untrue, but it is a gross understatement, because there's a lot of trust involved in therion clambering through that window. ] Already did it before.
[ jiaoqiu can tell that he's angry, that he's frustrated that he can't get a reaction, but this, unfortunately, is the one thing that he's good at. something is wrong with him, that he can shut himself off so easily. therion is too soft, and jiaoqiu is too dull. maybe that works.
a beat. he lets go of therion's chin, and boops him on the nose. ]
[ the boop on the nose - startles him? it almost takes the wind out of his sails because it's such a strange gesture compared to the fight he was trying to incite, and for a moment he just stares at jiaoqiu, lit up by the halo of his apartment lighting, with his stupid fucking tail waving behind him.
from the confusing little nose boop to the lack of reactions to the phrase, like one punch after another after another, it all builds. and the first thing therion says is strained, impassioned. his visible eye is wide - he's still angry but the heat's directed differently, now, spiraled out into the reality that he is just lost. and the word comes out of his mouth as raw as a livewire. ]
Why?
[ beyond everything, it's absolutely fucking baffling, that jiaoqiu cares whether he lives or dies. because therion is a parasite, because he is a skittering creature on the underbelly who does nothing but take, who is unlovable, unworthy, awful, because nothing about jiaoqiu caring about his life makes any fucking sense. why should he? why should anyone? it's written all over therion's face in the desperation in his visible eye.
the question is genuine. he can't even begin to imagine why. ]
[ it's awfully disarming, to be booped. that's why he did it.
the question is one he's expecting, and the funny thing is that he isn't really sure he has an answer. there's a lot of things he could say. there's a lot of things he likes about therion, and he could just list them out, but that doesn't seem like the right answer. people like therion - people like jiaoqiu - don't believe that sort of thing. there is nothing worth caring about. a parasite, an empty jar. not worth keeping. you exterminate those, you get rid of them. you throw them in the trash and you don't look twice when they shatter.
the desperation on therion's face hurts, though. he thinks he cares because of that. and because...
sounds are louder, around therion. there's color in the world. he can hear the rain and the wind, he can smell his shampoo and the roses that he passes by as he walks to work, he can remember his days. he knows what day it is, when this little bastard is in his home. ]
I just do. I won't elaborate, because you'll try to contest it. Or twist it.
[ ... ]
Is there an answer that would convince you, anyway?
[ he's silent with that answer for a long moment, searching his face. therion's not a very expressive person - his default is a resting annoyed, and short of an eyebrow raise and a scowl, he rarely wears a single emotion on his face. this is different, and it lasts for a second more, his eye darting over jiaoqiu's face, like he could find the answer there, before therion becomes acutely aware and shuts it down, too, wrangling it all down.
he sucks in a breath, sharp, and then scoffs, turning his head away. he's not wearing a shirt, and there's nowhere for him to hide, but he lets his bangs fall a little further over his eye and keeps his gaze on the ground. ]
Can't ever just give an answer, can you. [ dry, maybe even a little rueful, but utterly lacking heat. he's not wrong, is the thing, but therion can't just admit to that, either. he's got his vulnerability ripped wide open, all of a sudden, and he doesn't know how to feel except tired. ]
What sort of fox would I be if I answered you plainly?
[ he asks, soft, almost in a derogatory way, even. he falls silent, and brings his hands up. quickly, efficiently, he pushes therion's shoulder back into place with a crack. while therion is not expecting it, while he's looser, not anticipating the pain. and as an apology, almost, for the pain of it, jiaoqiu leans close, and presses a kiss to therion's cheek. chaste, brief.
he reaches for his sewing kit. those fang marks are nasty. ]
[ not expecting it means jiaoqiu gets a noise - a surprised grunt of pain as his shoulder cracks back into the correct position. therion hisses through his teeth and thunks his head back against the wall, and it's from there that the kiss gets pressed to his cheek. the sensation is less familiar than the pain, and it sticks out - he closes his eyes and exhales out.
and...he doesn't try to bolt. the affectionate gesture lingers, leaves the side of his face hot, the pain radiating outwards from his shoulder as it settles and so does he, at least a little.
but as jiaoqiu speaks, his eyes open again behind the curtain of his bangs, and he glances to the side at him, regarding him and that final answer and the flippant words before it, the different faces of truth and lies. color reminds him of a brushstroke of bright pink in a gray and miserable cemetery, of bright red, eye-wateringly spicy stew on a cold night. the dullness, and the light coming back to someone's eyes.
therion huffs. ]
... There's definitely something wrong with you. [ he mutters, but this time, it sounds on the edge of affectionate. he readjusts slightly and holds still, to let him stitch him without any further complaint. ]
[ he agrees, casually enough. he knows. and the affection makes it even easier to hear.
the stitching doesn't take long, to an experienced doctor. especially the kind he is, used to combat, to a battlefield. he works with a steady hand, methodical, wiping down the cuts when he needs to, snipping thread. bandaging the wounds with gauze and tape. that mindless sort of movement is present, the kind that he needs when he can't afford to be upset about something. he will not think of borisin, or half-eaten corpses, he will not think of the battlefield, or of finding therion's name in a newspaper, on a graveyard marker.
and when he's finished, there's a pause. he breathes in. he breathes out. it shakes, a little.
jiaoqiu slides forward, slips his arms around therion's waist, and hugs him. presses his face against the uninjured side of therion's neck, and breathes him in. he's not moving. therion can just suffer this. ]
[ as always, therion is still and quiet as his injury is stitched up. it gives him a few minutes to live in his own head, to let the sting of the needle sliding through his flesh keep him grounded to reality as he considers the maelstrom of his own emotions and the events of the day, of the past few weeks, months. when did it get to be months? he's been coming in and out of this apartment, out of jiaoqiu's life, more than he comes in and out of almost anywhere, out of anything. concepts of safety and warmth and color, things that don't normally ever apply to him, things he only ever steals.
how did he get here? and how awful - how fucking terrifying it's going to be, if it all goes wrong. the lupitoxin is starting to wear off, but that thread of fear is wrapped around his heart like a barbed wire, and just like yesterday, he reached out to prick his fingers instead of running away. jiaoqiu is the only person in this entire city, in anywhere (save for, of course, an old acquaintance called a partner) who knows therion, not as a legend, but just as a man.
(because it's funny, in a way. if he were to die away from this place - it's not like there'd ever actually be a grave marker to be read. he's no one, and here might be the only place where he's a person all the same.)
as it turns out, the hug is less suffering than jiaoqiu might think. his eyes widen as they open again, and then, slowly, achingly slowly, he turns his forehead and drops it with a plunk against jiaoqiu's shoulder, mussing up his too long bangs, and closing his eyes tight. the tenseness is gone.
for the first time, therion lets himself have it - his good hand comes up to curl in the back of his clothes. loose, at first, and then tight, like if he lets go it might fade away. ]
[ he can't steal what is given, really. everything that jiaoqiu has, he just wants to hand over. warmth, comfort, awareness, a life that matters. something that matters, anything at all. he's so cold all the time, but therion touches him and it feels like an oil splatter. too hot, too much, but something. he's a little addicted to feeling. and he thinks that, in his healer's heart, the fact that it seems to do something for therion is why he likes it so much. it's nice to feel good and useful. scraped out.
it's maybe a little unfair to make therion responsible for his feeling alive. but for right now, he clings to it. an umbrella in the rain.
he also isn't expecting therion to hug him back - but when he does, jiaoqiu makes a noise that is probably embarrassing. it's a little shivery sigh of sound that he hides against therion's skin, and his ears go a bit red, but he doesn't try to brush it off or explain it. instead, carefully, he moves closer and wraps himself around therion entirely, hugging just as tightly. his tail wraps around him too, just really koala clinging. maybe he presses a kiss or two to therion's neck.
[ thankfully, the noise doesn't get to be too embarrassing, mostly because it barely registers over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. what does register is jiaoqiu curling up around him - he stiffens a little at first, predictably, reactively, and then exhales out, letting the tiny gestures of affection come. each one makes him jolt, makes it feel like he's going to crumble apart even if he keeps the physical reactions aside, and his hand tightens to the point of white knuckles in the back of his shirt.
for once, he has no snarky quip, no stupid remark. he just takes a breath, an inhale and an exhale, slow, and asks - raw, stripped bare: ]
... What?
[ 'keep coming back'. what a request, to ask of therion of all people. the fact that he's come back more than once was a testament to the kind of person jiaoqiu is, whether it was for reasons of chasing thrills and pleasure or for this, for this sentiment of safety that he's terrified to face with open hands. and he needs - he needs to know what that means. what jiaoqiu is asking from him, what he means by keep coming back. ]
[ jiaoqiu's fingers come up to stroke up and down therion's back. up his spine, gentle. and then back down again. he doesn't mind that therion's got him tangled. it's okay. it's grounding.
the rawness in therion's voice means that jiaoqiu should be careful, he knows. he thinks. he really does, he thinks so hard for a good minute on how to get across what he wants to, and for all his smarts and cunning, comes up with nothing. he's just as raw. he's shaky, from putting therion together, fixing wounds that he's seen a thousand times, wounds that have killed the people he's loved in his life so often.
he can't think. so he just says what comes to mind. ]
Don't vanish. Keep coming back to see me. [ exhaustedly. ] If you are injured, let me fix it. If you're hungry, let me feed you. If you're cold, come share my bed.
that's his immediate thought, fierce and sharp across his subconscious - no flickers of lupitoxin to influence it, either. it takes him back to years and years ago, to darius swearing he and therion would take care of each other, that they were partners. sharing stolen meals, patching each other's injuries, sharing laughter and cheap drinks, cigarettes and beds. and it was perfect - or at least he thought so, at the time - right up until it wasn't.
jiaoqiu is not darius. they really couldn't be more different, actually, but the fright of it remains, the burn of betrayal that became subcutaneous and changed his every interaction from then forward. he's stepped forward, step by tentative step.
he wants to ask it again - why, but he won't get an answer, and therion swallows, hard. his voice is gravel, barely loud enough to be heard. ]
I can't make any promises. [ he can't, he won't, but god does i want you to have hang sticky in his lungs, and it's all he can do not to choke on it. good intentions, kindness, and... actions that have proven it, bit by bit, over time.
but "i can't make any promises", as jiaoqiu must know by now, is therion for i can try. he doesn't like to be tied down. but maybe he can find his way here more often than he already does. maybe... maybe twice in a row doesn't have to be because he's suffered a grievous injury.
the truth is that he does like it here. that he keeps finding himself here, that he thinks about jiaoqiu when he's three cities over, that he picks up groceries that he likes and slips them into his cabinets and his fridge when he's not paying attention, or not around. he likes his stupid, shitty spicy food, he likes being fussed over, he likes having a spot to curl up in that's out of the rain and the snow.
there's a long moment of silence, and then when therion speaks up again, it's even quieter - muffled, like he can't bear to look up, because he can't. ]
[ foxians live for a long time. jiaoqiu has lived for a long time, and he's seen most everybody fall apart and die before his eyes. he watched his closest friend rip his other closest friend apart, and then herself, and somehow is still here to remember it. he did not think he had more to give.
and he thinks, when therion says he can't make any promises, jiaoqiu feels the same way. he can't promise he will be patient and he can't promise he will always be able to get out of bed, he can't promise he will always be present. but he can try, and that's something, right? they can both take slow steps in the right direction. therion can come visit once, twice in a row. jiaoqiu can remember that it is thursday, and he can cook enough for two, and that can be a start.
he wonders if he'll regret this. maybe. he is not always very good at living without regrets. but the feeling of having therion warm and patched up here outweighs all of that. so he just stays, and nods. continues to stroke therion's back with one hand.
and then when therion finally speaks: ]
My plans were to go to bed. So no. I don't have plans tonight. [ he mumbles, with a little half-hearted laugh. ] Why?
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no subject
jiaoqiu is home, by now. it's late, almost something you'd consider early morning instead of night, and he's puttering around trying to decide what he wants. he's a little tired. he's full - that's nice, he made something from the spices and produce and ate his fill, and still had leftovers. he leaves those in the fridge, because he hopes somehow the siren call of good food will bring him his nighttime visitor. but besides that, he thinks he might just go to sleep. he doesn't have much else to do.
or so he thinks. he's in the kitchen when he hears the fire escape creak, and he looks into his living room just in time to see his window get slammed open. it startles him enough to make his ears stand up, his tail poof -- and then he registers. he sees a small thief drop down to the ground against his wall, and his blood freezes. ]
-- Therion.
[ sharp, snapped, and... maybe a bit frightened. the jolt of terror that runs through him comes out strongly enough to end up in his voice as he drops whatever was in his hands - a bowl or something, it doesn't matter. he races across the living room in about four paces and drops down next to him, ears pinned back. ]
What - what happened?
no subject
[ that comes out of his mouth immediately, because, well, he is. it's not that bad in terms of injuries, it's just annoying and bleeding in a spot he can't get to, and maybe he should think about the fact that he's bleeding at all but unfortunately, it's just another weeknight for therion. this was really his own goddamn fault, anyway, and that irritates him more than being hurt does. he looks at jiaoqiu - clearly worried, if those ears are any indication, if the fear in his voice is any indication, and then just gives a quick shake of his head. whatever happened didn't matter, or therion's refusing to talk about it, or both.
alas. he is an idiot. he grunts as he pushes himself up a little more solidly, digging a heel into the floor to push himself up and resting his other hand on his shoulder. ]
This - pop this back in. [ sound a little more concerned about it? therion? ] Street shit. Don't worry about it.
no subject
[ jiaoqiu snaps, putting a hand on therion's chest and pressing him to the wall. just to keep him still for a second. he takes a preliminary look - notes the bruises, cuts, scrapes, and then more specifically the shoulder wound. there's a pause. and for a moment, therion might notice something distant in jiaoqiu's expression, something empty and not there, as he gets a look at the bite. just for a moment. and then he brings a hand up to dig his claws into his upper arm abruptly, and it knocks him out of it.
jiaoqiu sucks in a breath, and pulls himself to his feet. ]
Street shit. [ he repeats, going back to the bathroom to get his kit. he's back very, very quickly, easing down next to therion and starting to tug at his clothes. off, right now. ]
This is a borisin bite? Don't lie to me. It's important.
no subject
thrown for a loop and mostly disgruntled, it takes a second before the question registers, and he gives him a weird look. ]
Yeah? God - quit it, [ yeah. why is he freaking out about it. as he's fussed at over his clothes, too, he makes a noise and tries to get out of the hoodie he's wearing without any help - however, with his arm in a weird place, it's not happening, which puts him out even further, but the shirt eventually comes up and over his head, leaving him completely bare. the bite looks nasty. as always, when it comes to therion, it's way worse than it originally looks.
in the meantime, distantly, therion remembers the heart pounding sensation of fear that had come when he was first bitten, but he'd managed to tear himself out of it fast enough - maybe that's what jiaoqiu's weirded out about. ]
no subject
[ he ignores the quit it. instead, he settles in and helps therion get the shirt off, tossing it impatiently to the side. he pulls out disinfectant, first, and then hisses quietly at the way the bite looks. it's deep, and nasty, and he thinks it's going to take stitches. not to mention the dislocation, which he also has to fix. still - even with the clear disapproval, his hands are firm and gentle, and steady. he gets to work cleaning the wound, ears still pressed back. ]
Their mouths are disgusting. [ he says, voice tense. ] Rife with infection. You are lucky I have experience with this, or you would be in danger of contracting some sort of blood disease.
Did you experience the Lupitoxin? It may still be in your system. Unreasonable terror, anxiety, or difficulty breathing?
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[ is this the time for sass? probably not! but it's probably a good sign that he's okay, that he's able to just grouse and grumble. he doesn't say much else at first, silent as the wound is disinfected, teeth gritted in the place that it stings. it's wrapped around his shoulder, front to back - clearly the bite was what caused the dislocation, if not perhaps therion dislocating his shoulder on purpose to escape it, but he's still otherwise, staring at jiaoqiu like a hawk as he fixes him up.
any unreasonable anxiety. well. he's in this apartment as opposed to halfway down the highway by now, which maybe means he isn't having a reaction? or maybe it means that's why he came here. maybe the sense of safety overpowered the sense of get away - because ultimately, jiaoqiu is right, that he is lucky he has experience with it, that he's kind of even lucky to just be here, to have a place to drag his wounded body and know it'll be safe. it's more than he's ever had before.
that causes some anxiety, actually. a gnarled, twisty feeling - he turns his head and looks over jiaoqiu's shoulder and says, tightly: ] I said I'm fine.
[ if he feels any fear, he's sure as hell not going to admit to it. ]
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as it is, his tail is swishing angrily behind him as he cleans. he moves therion forward just a bit so that he can get at the fang marks on his back, making therion lean on him a little as he does. he wipes the blood away, he gently rubs a cream over the wounds - something that'll dull the pain, something that will make the skin mend itself over time. he rests therion against the wall, and looks at the blood on the wall of his apartment. fine, he says. i'm fine, like that wasn't what every single person he's ever lost has said before they collapsed in his arms. ]
Borisin eat their victims. [ jiaoqiu says stiffly. he can't quite meet therion's eye when he says it, and his hands falter - just briefly.
he tries to say more, but the words won't come. a beat, as he struggles with memories trying to crawl up his spine, as he pushes them back and down, and then he just takes a second to hang his head and mutters a very vicious, hissy fuck. ]
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well. he lets jiaoqiu manhandle him, more or less - forced to lean against him, he stares over his shoulder for a second, reminded of the warm body just pressed against his just barely the night before. what is he doing here? this is the moment where that other shoe finally drops? because ultimately, this is what therion is really good for. parasitic nothingness, for causing distress. selfishly, taking and taking - taking now, taking jiaoqiu's abilities as a doctor and giving nothing in return. leaving bloodstains on a good thing. it's different than darius, but it's what he deserves.
therion falls silent, at the explanation, and looks away, again. the hissed swear - that is the first time he's ever heard that, and the anxiety and fear of the remaining lupitoxin are getting cloying, now, desperately telling him to run, to get the hell away from jiaoqiu, not because he's a predator, but because therion's the wolf.
he shifts, a little when he hangs his head. a normal person should help, should take his hands that shake and hold them. he doesn't. he presses himself further to the wall, eye darting past jiaoqiu to the door, to the window above his head, seeking escape. ]
Well, I'm not in its stomach. [ he says, sharp, this time - putting up spines and barbs, like he so often does. a feral little creature, a little beast. ] Like I said. [ enunciating: ] I'm. Fine.
Just put my shoulder back.
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deep breath. just take a second, and then get back to it. swallow the panic, feel nothing. therion is fine. he's bleeding, but he won't be. he is not ripped in half, he is fine. you didn't lose him.
hm. that last thought is, again, dangerous.
silence, and then he looks up at therion. he watches therion look for an exit, and he thinks about the effects of the toxin, and how much hell it is to go through it alone. he thinks about how he made enough food for two people, intentionally. he thinks about how life doesn't feel like it's in two-times speed when therion is in his apartment, leaving him food and spices and warmth in his bed. he thinks about the ease of banter and a shitty grin, his ass on his clean counter, the quick and talented fingers on a knife. he sees those spines and barbs, and he is not afraid of getting bit.
jiaoqiu reaches, and takes therion's chin in hand. gently. firmly. look at him. ]
If you try to bolt after I set your shoulder, I will chase you. You are in no shape. You are not fine. And you don't need to be.
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For all you know, they followed me here. [ as if he would ever, ever, ever let that happen, for so many reasons, as if he would ever let his shitty, awful life drip all over this place any more than it already has. he saw that quake in his hands, saw the emotion, and the awful part of therion grips onto it, spiked armor and snarling teeth in his own right, wielding it like a weapon.
it's better that way. it's better this way. ] You don't know shit.
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[ he does not believe that for a second. first of all, therion is an incredibly skilled thief. jiaoqiu does not think he'd even let them follow him down the street, let alone to his apartment. second of all, borisin are stupid, and sure, maybe they could follow his scent, but jiaoqiu is more inclined to believe they lost interest the second he left their view. he has experience, after all.
and jiaoqiu knows that grabbing makes it worse. sometimes, he thinks, it has to get worse before it gets better. sweating a fever out. ]
I know plenty. I know that you can't hurt me.
[ or... well, he could. it'd probably be easier than either of them think. but he is very good at pretending, and he's very good at keeping the void up front and present. whatever therion says to him, it won't hurt until later, when he has to pry the barbs out from under his skin. he can make himself believe that therion can't do anything to break him. ]
Why did you come to me first?
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i know you can't hurt me stings, even though it shouldn't. it stings because this isn't working, and it stings because it's humiliating and true, that jiaoqiu has seen his softness, has seen how much of this is an act. a touchy feely fool, a sentimental berk, an abused street dog, that snaps his teeth but never bites, that never learns his stupid lesson of what it means to trust other people. even now, he could grab a knife and end it, and he goes to his words, instead. he scowls harder, still held like a bowstring by the hand on his chin.
he knows exactly why he came here first. he can't admit it, and so he doesn't, instead just scoffing. ]
Because you'd fix it up for free. [ is what therion spits out - it's not untrue, but it is a gross understatement, because there's a lot of trust involved in therion clambering through that window. ] Already did it before.
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a beat. he lets go of therion's chin, and boops him on the nose. ]
Yes. Because you know it is safe to come to me.
[ his tail swishes back and forth behind him. ]
And because I care if you live or die.
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from the confusing little nose boop to the lack of reactions to the phrase, like one punch after another after another, it all builds. and the first thing therion says is strained, impassioned. his visible eye is wide - he's still angry but the heat's directed differently, now, spiraled out into the reality that he is just lost. and the word comes out of his mouth as raw as a livewire. ]
Why?
[ beyond everything, it's absolutely fucking baffling, that jiaoqiu cares whether he lives or dies. because therion is a parasite, because he is a skittering creature on the underbelly who does nothing but take, who is unlovable, unworthy, awful, because nothing about jiaoqiu caring about his life makes any fucking sense. why should he? why should anyone? it's written all over therion's face in the desperation in his visible eye.
the question is genuine. he can't even begin to imagine why. ]
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the question is one he's expecting, and the funny thing is that he isn't really sure he has an answer. there's a lot of things he could say. there's a lot of things he likes about therion, and he could just list them out, but that doesn't seem like the right answer. people like therion - people like jiaoqiu - don't believe that sort of thing. there is nothing worth caring about. a parasite, an empty jar. not worth keeping. you exterminate those, you get rid of them. you throw them in the trash and you don't look twice when they shatter.
the desperation on therion's face hurts, though. he thinks he cares because of that. and because...
sounds are louder, around therion. there's color in the world. he can hear the rain and the wind, he can smell his shampoo and the roses that he passes by as he walks to work, he can remember his days. he knows what day it is, when this little bastard is in his home. ]
I just do. I won't elaborate, because you'll try to contest it. Or twist it.
[ ... ]
Is there an answer that would convince you, anyway?
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he sucks in a breath, sharp, and then scoffs, turning his head away. he's not wearing a shirt, and there's nowhere for him to hide, but he lets his bangs fall a little further over his eye and keeps his gaze on the ground. ]
Can't ever just give an answer, can you. [ dry, maybe even a little rueful, but utterly lacking heat. he's not wrong, is the thing, but therion can't just admit to that, either. he's got his vulnerability ripped wide open, all of a sudden, and he doesn't know how to feel except tired. ]
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[ he asks, soft, almost in a derogatory way, even. he falls silent, and brings his hands up. quickly, efficiently, he pushes therion's shoulder back into place with a crack. while therion is not expecting it, while he's looser, not anticipating the pain. and as an apology, almost, for the pain of it, jiaoqiu leans close, and presses a kiss to therion's cheek. chaste, brief.
he reaches for his sewing kit. those fang marks are nasty. ]
There is color, when you're around.
[ there's your answer. ]
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[ not expecting it means jiaoqiu gets a noise - a surprised grunt of pain as his shoulder cracks back into the correct position. therion hisses through his teeth and thunks his head back against the wall, and it's from there that the kiss gets pressed to his cheek. the sensation is less familiar than the pain, and it sticks out - he closes his eyes and exhales out.
and...he doesn't try to bolt. the affectionate gesture lingers, leaves the side of his face hot, the pain radiating outwards from his shoulder as it settles and so does he, at least a little.
but as jiaoqiu speaks, his eyes open again behind the curtain of his bangs, and he glances to the side at him, regarding him and that final answer and the flippant words before it, the different faces of truth and lies. color reminds him of a brushstroke of bright pink in a gray and miserable cemetery, of bright red, eye-wateringly spicy stew on a cold night. the dullness, and the light coming back to someone's eyes.
therion huffs. ]
... There's definitely something wrong with you. [ he mutters, but this time, it sounds on the edge of affectionate. he readjusts slightly and holds still, to let him stitch him without any further complaint. ]
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[ he agrees, casually enough. he knows. and the affection makes it even easier to hear.
the stitching doesn't take long, to an experienced doctor. especially the kind he is, used to combat, to a battlefield. he works with a steady hand, methodical, wiping down the cuts when he needs to, snipping thread. bandaging the wounds with gauze and tape. that mindless sort of movement is present, the kind that he needs when he can't afford to be upset about something. he will not think of borisin, or half-eaten corpses, he will not think of the battlefield, or of finding therion's name in a newspaper, on a graveyard marker.
and when he's finished, there's a pause. he breathes in. he breathes out. it shakes, a little.
jiaoqiu slides forward, slips his arms around therion's waist, and hugs him. presses his face against the uninjured side of therion's neck, and breathes him in. he's not moving. therion can just suffer this. ]
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how did he get here? and how awful - how fucking terrifying it's going to be, if it all goes wrong. the lupitoxin is starting to wear off, but that thread of fear is wrapped around his heart like a barbed wire, and just like yesterday, he reached out to prick his fingers instead of running away. jiaoqiu is the only person in this entire city, in anywhere (save for, of course, an old acquaintance called a partner) who knows therion, not as a legend, but just as a man.
(because it's funny, in a way. if he were to die away from this place - it's not like there'd ever actually be a grave marker to be read. he's no one, and here might be the only place where he's a person all the same.)
as it turns out, the hug is less suffering than jiaoqiu might think. his eyes widen as they open again, and then, slowly, achingly slowly, he turns his forehead and drops it with a plunk against jiaoqiu's shoulder, mussing up his too long bangs, and closing his eyes tight. the tenseness is gone.
for the first time, therion lets himself have it - his good hand comes up to curl in the back of his clothes. loose, at first, and then tight, like if he lets go it might fade away. ]
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it's maybe a little unfair to make therion responsible for his feeling alive. but for right now, he clings to it. an umbrella in the rain.
he also isn't expecting therion to hug him back - but when he does, jiaoqiu makes a noise that is probably embarrassing. it's a little shivery sigh of sound that he hides against therion's skin, and his ears go a bit red, but he doesn't try to brush it off or explain it. instead, carefully, he moves closer and wraps himself around therion entirely, hugging just as tightly. his tail wraps around him too, just really koala clinging. maybe he presses a kiss or two to therion's neck.
silence, for a moment. ]
... Keep coming back.
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for once, he has no snarky quip, no stupid remark. he just takes a breath, an inhale and an exhale, slow, and asks - raw, stripped bare: ]
... What?
[ 'keep coming back'. what a request, to ask of therion of all people. the fact that he's come back more than once was a testament to the kind of person jiaoqiu is, whether it was for reasons of chasing thrills and pleasure or for this, for this sentiment of safety that he's terrified to face with open hands. and he needs - he needs to know what that means. what jiaoqiu is asking from him, what he means by keep coming back. ]
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the rawness in therion's voice means that jiaoqiu should be careful, he knows. he thinks. he really does, he thinks so hard for a good minute on how to get across what he wants to, and for all his smarts and cunning, comes up with nothing. he's just as raw. he's shaky, from putting therion together, fixing wounds that he's seen a thousand times, wounds that have killed the people he's loved in his life so often.
he can't think. so he just says what comes to mind. ]
Don't vanish. Keep coming back to see me. [ exhaustedly. ] If you are injured, let me fix it. If you're hungry, let me feed you. If you're cold, come share my bed.
I want to give. I want you to have.
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that's his immediate thought, fierce and sharp across his subconscious - no flickers of lupitoxin to influence it, either. it takes him back to years and years ago, to darius swearing he and therion would take care of each other, that they were partners. sharing stolen meals, patching each other's injuries, sharing laughter and cheap drinks, cigarettes and beds. and it was perfect - or at least he thought so, at the time - right up until it wasn't.
jiaoqiu is not darius. they really couldn't be more different, actually, but the fright of it remains, the burn of betrayal that became subcutaneous and changed his every interaction from then forward. he's stepped forward, step by tentative step.
he wants to ask it again - why, but he won't get an answer, and therion swallows, hard. his voice is gravel, barely loud enough to be heard. ]
I can't make any promises. [ he can't, he won't, but god does i want you to have hang sticky in his lungs, and it's all he can do not to choke on it. good intentions, kindness, and... actions that have proven it, bit by bit, over time.
but "i can't make any promises", as jiaoqiu must know by now, is therion for i can try. he doesn't like to be tied down. but maybe he can find his way here more often than he already does. maybe... maybe twice in a row doesn't have to be because he's suffered a grievous injury.
the truth is that he does like it here. that he keeps finding himself here, that he thinks about jiaoqiu when he's three cities over, that he picks up groceries that he likes and slips them into his cabinets and his fridge when he's not paying attention, or not around. he likes his stupid, shitty spicy food, he likes being fussed over, he likes having a spot to curl up in that's out of the rain and the snow.
there's a long moment of silence, and then when therion speaks up again, it's even quieter - muffled, like he can't bear to look up, because he can't. ]
... You got any plans tonight?
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and he thinks, when therion says he can't make any promises, jiaoqiu feels the same way. he can't promise he will be patient and he can't promise he will always be able to get out of bed, he can't promise he will always be present. but he can try, and that's something, right? they can both take slow steps in the right direction. therion can come visit once, twice in a row. jiaoqiu can remember that it is thursday, and he can cook enough for two, and that can be a start.
he wonders if he'll regret this. maybe. he is not always very good at living without regrets. but the feeling of having therion warm and patched up here outweighs all of that. so he just stays, and nods. continues to stroke therion's back with one hand.
and then when therion finally speaks: ]
My plans were to go to bed. So no. I don't have plans tonight. [ he mumbles, with a little half-hearted laugh. ] Why?
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