aires | oh n

They did not.

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

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.

[ 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. ]

There is color, when you're around.

[ there's your answer. ]

Ngh-!

[ 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. ]

Mm.

[ 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.

silence, for a moment. ]

... Keep coming back.

[ 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.

I want to give. I want you to have.

[ this is too good to be true.

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?

Edited 2024-10-08 02:16 (UTC)

[ 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?

[ that's what it has to be. a chance to try. he can't promise he won't disappear, but he can try and find his way back. he found his way in here today - to jiaoqiu's shaking hands, and the memory makes the injury in his shoulder sting again, bracingly so. somehow, it helped. somehow, he was able to smooth over something he nearly wrecked, and it makes those tentative steps forward feel that tiniest bit more possible.

he finally lifts his head to fix jiaoqiu with a dry look - he looks tired, but manages unimpressed, the look pointed. ]

You have some. [ plans. he doesn't exactly know what, but here he is. and... here he's staying, is what that really means. at least... for the first time, maybe he'll stay the night. they can do whatever. fuck around, is usually the default - he does have jiaoqiu practically koala'd into his lap - but whatever else happens is fine, too. it's a grab back at normalcy in what is a very, very abnormal situation. ]

[ this tracks, actually, not getting immediately what therion means. it calls him back a bit to the second time they met, when therion had to actually undo his belt to get him to understand what he was getting at, and that out of all things makes jiaoqiu wheeze out another little laugh, because christ.

here he is. jiaoqiu has plans. okay. ]

My apologies. I do have a guest, don't I. [ he murmurs, head resting on therion's shoulder. he peeks up at therion when he's gazed at, eat flicking. ] You should eat.

There is enough for you. I'll even allow you to eat on the chair, if you want. Just this once. [ a beat. there's a bit of a half smile he's hiding. ] Painkillers. And then I take you to bed.

[ because if there's one way to knock a guy out, it's to get an orgasm out of him, clearly ]

Oh, wow. Permission. Let me celebrate to show my joy.

[ sarcastic as usual. he's still got this arm full of foxian, all fluff and the occasional bony angle, and jiaoqiu peeking up at him like that gives him all kinds of really unfortunate Feelings tied to the offer, and that's just a lot. the stupid flick of his stupid ears makes him want to shove him out of his lap because he doesn't know how to react to anything like a normal person.

but with a perfunctory roll of his eyes, he lolls his head to look back at him and make proper eye contact. even his usual grump is sanded of all of its edges. ]

You gonna get off of me?

[ bites him

this is not a joke, therion is sarcastic at him and jiaoqiu just lightly bites his shoulder. not enough to break skin and barely even hard enough to be felt, but he bites him. it's fine, neither of them know how to react to things like normal people. his tail swish-swishes against the floor. ]

I suppose.

[ he kind of doesn't want to get up because this is the most he's been held in years, but... he'll get up. carefully, he dislodges himself, and then stands. his bones creak and crack when he stands up. oof. but jiaoqiu offers out his hands, ready to help him stand. ]

[ well this is wildly different than the last time a half animal bit him! this time it is much less harmful. or, maybe more harmful, if the thunder of his heart in his chest is any indication. thankfully, he just makes a noise, grossed out, and tries to push his face away like a brat. it's also the most therion has been held in years, but that's part of the reason why he pushes from it.

so, when the hand comes, there's a long minute where he just kind of stares at them, caught before he's able to make fun of him acting like a little old man. it feels like some kind of weird metaphor.

but... after a second, he takes his hands and hoists himself up. he's still tired - his body hurts, and he needs to sleep off the adrenaline and the aches and pains of the fight, so that's the only reason why. definitely. that's it. ]

[ yeah, that's definitely it. also he bit him on the shoulder that wasn't bitten!! to be clear!!

anyway. carefully, jiaoqiu helps him up. he hesitates, like he's going to keep holding therion's hand, and then seems to decide against it. instead, he lets go, and very gently ushers therion to the chair. ]

Sit, sit. [ and he'll go get them food. it's something easy to eat - dumplings, with spicy meat and that produce that therion stole for him inside. he'll just bring them both a whole plate of them. ]

[ imagine he just bit on top to show his dominance. no, the other one

anyway this is cute behavior, but therion is lame and does not think this as he is ushered into the chair. he sits down unceremoniously, and barely has time to open his mouth before he's being presented with food. embarrassingly, his stomach growls - his cheeks flush. ]

Alright, alright, what are you going to do, feed it to me?

[ pointless flustered blustering!!! embarrassing. he takes a dumpling before jiaoqiu gets any idea and pops it into his mouth. and it's... really good, but that doesn't surprise him at all. tasty. it shuts him up long enough to chew on it. ]

[ he is really, really considering climbing into the chair with therion... he thinks about sitting in his lap and that probably shows on his face, but. again, he doesn't. maybe it's nerves, or maybe he just doesn't think he's allowed, or deserves it - instead, he sits on the floor next to the chair, setting the plate in therion's lap. he'll lean against the chair as he does. ]

I could. [ he says, tail swishing again. ] Would you like me to?

[ don't tease him ]

[ he gives him the most flat look in the world!!!! ha ha very funny. it's softened considerably by the dumplings, because they are fucking delicious - he really likes spicy food, likes the way it lingers on his mouth, and another plucked up dumpling disappears a second later. he's been hungry his entire life, and some things don't fade. it's a silent appreciation, and he looks down at jiaoqiu for a second where he's on the floor, feeling - some kind of way about it, but letting it go for a second.

instead, mimicking his softer tone (and actually doing a like, freakishly good job at it, he sounds WAY too much like jiaoqiu), he says: ] "Germs, germs."

[ i don't want your yucky germs! or maybe he does. he has had his fingers in his mouth before. that's besides the point. ]

[ oh my god brat

jiaoqiu makes a FACE. ]

Maybe I should call you a -- a parrot instead. [ a beat. avoids... calling him a crow. he clears his throat, and then reaches to pick a dumpling off the plate and munch on it. ]

My hands are clean.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject