[Either Asher's not especially good at selling it, or Jin's been around him long enough to pick up on when he's faking. Or both, really. Jin raises a quizzical eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his head to regard his motions, read what is going unsaid here.]
Drunk messaging the network level of dumb shit, or something else?
[Good luck, Asher. He's not gonna let the subject change so easily.]
[He rubs his temples with a sore hand, closing his eyes for a moment, suddenly losing focus. Even Jin's words blur together momentarily, and he needs a moment to stop and properly process them before responding.]
...If you're game, so am I. Let's get to it-- try not to fall asleep on me.
[He's not entirely swayed to leave it at that, if his friend's dispirited tone is anything to go by. The symptom, at least, is obvious enough.
They're off either way, though, walking side-by-side en route to the training room. Jin waits a polite-by-Jin-standards space of a monute or two before asking, bluntly:]
I'm pretty sure whatever's up with you isn't just you being half-asleep and or hungover. C'mon, spill.
[Asher nose wrinkles in irritation, as if he's trying to keep himself from addressing a minor annoyance, like an itch he can't quite scratch.
His stance as he folds his arms over his chest may seem somewhat threatening to an onlooker, but in reality he's protecting himself, physically containing the storm that's brewing inside.]
It's not a big deal.
[Jin won't buy that, he knows.]
I didn't sleep all that much. I'm just tired, okay?
You wouldn't be so pissy about it if that were the only issue here.
[It digs at Jin, that Asher's so guarded about this. The irony, humorless, strikes him: how is it that somebody as pent up as himself would be more forthcoming about their feelings than somebody like Asher-- so much more open to his own sadness, to his own anger, to his own joy? Seemingly, in any case. His brows furrow tight, and he opens his mouth to snap back at him.
Jin stops, noticing Asher's hands.
The frustration ebbs, somewhat, giving way to concern. He's acting so weird about all of this.]
Asher is usually so open about his grief, and he was, even when he didn't want to be. He was a crying mess when Miles found him and took care to wash his bloody hands, and he broke down in front of Nami so easily, without even truly confessing to his crimes. He's no stranger to tears, as they've helped him get by throughout the years, even though he's shed most of them behind closed doors, alone.
But he's doing his best to steel himself.
His eyes dart to his gloves, a glaring hindsight. Remaining as nonchalant as he can, he answers back.]
[Jin casts a scrutinizing eye on Asher-- for all the other man knows, he's about to accuse, or pass judgment-- but instead he suddenly scoffs, shaking his head.]
Well, that innuendo just proved it. At least now I know you aren't an alien.
[It'll keep gnawing at him until he figures it out, of course. But that's one obscure Taraxa-themed fear over and done with.]
I don't know what this weird mood is, but if you're sick or something, we can always wait a few days? The next mission's not for awhile. You should rest while you still can.
[Jin's joke gets him to crack a smile even though his body aches after all the abuse he's put it through, and he shakes his head after laughter bubbles in his throat.
One gloved hand gingerly rubs the back of his neck as he hides a cringe with a bright grin, breathless from both the sudden uptick in mood and the physical agony.]
My knuckles, man! I meant my knuckles.
[Jin's offer is so rational, he really should take it.]
Nah, I'm good. Losing a lil' beauty sleep won't keep this guy from bein' supa fly.
[The feeling of his friend's hesitation-- that something isn't quite right-- hasn't been lost on Jin, but cheering Asher up was at least a start. Amused, faintly bemused, Jin gently prods his arm with his elbow.]
Okay, fly guy. Try not to bite off more than you can chew.
[It's a few more minutes before they reach the training area, and another few for them to set the simulation up: fortunately, Jin's been in here enough times to know how to properly operate the high-tech console. (Also, that it follows voice commands. #thefuture) For the sake of simplicity, their setup resembles nothing more than the average gym, save for the fact that no one else is around.
Jin is working on binding his hands up, too, slowly pacing back and forth as he wraps the cloth over his knuckles and the back of his hands.]
You wanna go first? [Jin gestures with a tilt of his head at the heavy bag stationed in a corner of the room.] I want to see how you're keeping up with your form.
[Any other day, this would be fine. He'd take a swing and knock that shit right out of the park no problem, because he's eager to show his friend just how much he's improved.
Instead he stares ahead with a relatively blank face, slow to react.]
Totally.
[A fist rises gradually and he steadies his feet, a difficult task when you've been standing for six hours straight. He aims once and hurls a hefty blow, but it softens immediately as he hits his mark. Skin and bone crumple from the pressure as pain sears through his right hand.
Anger wells up inside of him. It's basic instinct at this point, something he's been taught to feel at the precipice of humiliation, like so many young men before him. His left follows suit, dealing more damage than the first strike, and the cycle repeats itself.
He hurts so much, but this is easier.
He's not sure how to fix what's actually broken, so he'll settle for this instead.]
[He's improved. The way his arm arcs is well-timed and well-aimed, but it makes contact with the mass of the bag... wrong. It shouldn't, if Asher'd swung a punch correctly like that. Asher only gets a few hits on the bag before Jin fully senses that something is amiss. His eyes are well-attuned to the flow of combat; he knows, very well, the proper rhythm of these motions; he knows that the certain flinch that Asher lets slip, the hesitation on the very tail of the punch, signals not poor form but pain.
Since when does Asher bind up his hands before they get to the training room?
Jin's mind races (stupid, stupid; should've known better, should've gone after him for whatever was bugging him harder) and he steps forward, footsteps quick, crisp.]
Stop, stop--
[Jin's hand is on Asher's arm, moving him backward and away from the bag.]
What the hell. Show me your hands.
[In case Asher didn't hear him, he repeats it, incredulous and pissed and worried half to death all at once:] Show me your hands.
[Jin's hand curls around his wrist, which straightens immediately. The same can't be said for the rest of him; he's fucked his fingers up so badly now that he can't quite bend them properly.
Asher tears his right arm away almost violently, pulling it close to his own body and gingerly touching it with his left. He's never shot the other a look quite this hostile before, because the anger that Asher feels for other people is incomparable to the kind he directs towards himself. The lawyer-to-be's self loathing is at it's peak this morning.]
[The reaction's so off-putting that Jin hops to the defensive-offensive immediately as well.]
Bullshit.
[He nearly snarls the word. He's had enough of this runaround-- if Asher refuses to tell him what's wrong, he'll get it out of him one way or another.]
You know who pulls punches like that? On the end? Novices who don't know how to land a hit at the right angle yet. Because they've hurt themselves on the impact. And you and I both know that you're past making those kinds of rookie mistakes.
[So he wouldn't talk about the black eye the last time. Fine: everyone gets into a scuffle they can't win every once in a while, he'll let Asher have it. Twice in a row, however, is cause for concern. (He remembers his own bruised knuckles; his own bleeding scrapes; his own silence.)]
[Asher isn't going to budge. He's been threatened now, and after months of being the weakling, the civilian, he isn't going to take this without a (laughable) attempt at a fight.
Stepping backwards, his shoulders square up and his arms fold over his chest.]
[Asher can't possibly know how he feels for him. He's kept his heart shut up tight, locked quietly away-- yet the momentary fear that still strikes him twists his mouth with what if he's guessed, what if he's repelled at the thought of another man thinking about him in that way? left painfully unspoken.
Jin considers just leaving. It'd be easy to take the barb to heart, turn, and walk away. It's what Asher deserves: he's got every right to it, even if he know that that's not the point of the verbal jab. Asher's not like that. He trusts that he is decent enough to never stoop so low for an insult.
What Asher is, however... is afraid. Jin's seen it before, but only now does that sharp pull inward, the pushing stubbornly away, truly begin to make sense: he's afraid, so he struggles against the things that push him, if only to hurt before he's hurt any worse. And gods, do those well-worn patterns of behavior ring familiar, because it's what he fights back against the world with himself.
They're pulling the same exact shit on each other, aren't they?]
[So it was more than just the same reckless wounds they shared. It was this, too.
The hurt in his face fades. His expression softens; Jin debates with himself for a beat of silence and finally gives Asher his even, yet sarcastic answer.]
Ask me again after I bandage these.
[He shoots Asher a pointed look-- he already knows those knuckles will be a mess-- and moves past him, headed for the room's first aid kit.]
[As soon as Asher realizes what he just said, before Jin even has the chance to speak, he shuts his eyes tight.
He can hear his father screaming again from that horrible night four or five years ago, and remember the way he was balled up on the floor and weeping miserably. That was not the first time his father's words reduced him to tears, but it may have been one of the many instances in which he truly did deserve it.
How could he not have understood what that would sound like to a friend who had trusted him so carefully with his heart?]
I didn't mean it like that.
[Jin is going to leave and Asher will be alone again, just like always.
Because this is what he does, he ruins things by being stupid. Relationships, friendships, everything-]
I'm so sorry, I-
[When he opens his eyes again, the shaolin is still standing there.
Asher doesn't get it. Jin's reaction fills with that peculiar sense of warmth again, one that the rich brat isn't sure just how to describe, because it almost feels like-]
I said I'm bandaging your hands. [Jin's already back and motioning for Asher to sit on the ground with him. The remorse in Asher's voice is indication enough that Jin's assumptions are on base.]
Are you done taking your foot out of your mouth yet, or do I have to say it again?
[Gauze, alcohol, ointment. He rifles through the kit with the awareness of someone who's done this many, many times-- a marked difference from the clueless boy who'd gone to Asher for help last time.]
[Asher opens his mouth halfway. He wants to reassure the other that his words were simply the result of an instinctive ill-mannered jab, but would he really have directed something like that at a man who was straight? Maybe, although he can't say for sure.
He must learn to be more careful.]
I'm done.
[He plops down on the ground abruptly, a very silent sort of collapse.]
Good. [Because if he'd been a little more careless with his words, Jin probably would've just clocked him.
And then he falls silent, too. Seeing as Asher's not willing to take his gloves off himself, Jin, playing medic, reaches forward to take his hands. He pulls his gloves off with care, discarding them to the side without much ceremony, then holds each hand he works on steady. For a few moments, there's only the sound of Jin slowly unraveling the wraps that bind Asher's knuckles, the soft hush of fabric unfurling and coming to rest on the training room floor.
He speaks at last, barely more than a murmur.]
Jeez. You really did a number on yourself, didn't you.
[The raw mess of unhealed scab and congealing blood he holds is what he expects. Doesn't make it any prettier, though.]
[His hands could be a terrible work of art, with all the colors that mar them so. He's been out and about the training circuit all week, working tirelessly to "perfect his technique," or at least, that's what he's been telling himself. The smell of blood and flesh that's been wrapped for far too long enters his nostrils, and his chest draws sharply inward as he hisses from the pain.
Asher should say sorry, and he wishes he could, but his throat is dry and any other intelligible noise that could escape him is vanquished by a burning desire to stay.]
You can go, if you want.
[He utters this softly as shame curls its bony fingers around his neck again, silencing him for a few more seconds.
Jin's quiet kindness shouldn't make him so damn happy.]
[Asher should know by now to take care of himself better than this, but for some reason, he isn't, and what does that tell Jin? What of Asher has he hidden away, wrapped tighter than these bruises? He knows that he doesn't need to sit here and bandage his ruined hands, but he wants to do it. Because Asher wouldn't himself; because who knows how long it'll be before somebody else guesses that he's done this to himself for gods know what reason.
(He's no healer. He's not the medbay, somewhere on the other side of Oska. But there's still a selfish piece of him that wanted to be the one mending these wounds and more.)]
Just warning you. It's going to sting when I clean the open cuts... a lot.
[The fingers that hold Asher's hand trace his palm lightly; with his other hand, he begins dabbing away with a pad of alcohol.]
[He can't find the strength within himself to reply.
Try as he might to keep it from happening, this storm has been brewing for months on end, and this is the tipping point.
He had started out with the hope that he would someday become a good person, or at least someone better. Things were going okay, they were going just fine save for a few setbacks, but then it happened. He pulled the trigger and it was all gone, that man's life and the last of Asher's own innocence. Watching a life leave a body is the kind of horrifying experience one can never forget, much less so when the hands of the dead were once around your own neck, and you could have been the one on the ground if things hadn't gone so smoothly.
Now all he has is survivor's guilt, but at the very least, he survived.
The ground becomes harder to see as his lashes grow wet.]
[There's no reaction from Asher, barely even a noise of pain. Jin looks up from his work, finally done cleaning the last of the cuts on this hand.]
Asher? [...Wait. Is he going to--] Asher? Hey... [The alcohol pad slips from his fingers as his hand moves to Asher's arm. He leans in and squeezes his friend's shoulder, gently shaking it to get his attention.
This definitely isn't the alcohol stinging his injuries.]
Come on. What's wrong?
[A innocent question, even if Jin has no idea of the scope of what's wrong.]
[The paper thin veneer that he's done so poor a job of holding together shatters shortly after Jin provides him with that reassuring gesture. He sniffles first, the last of his defenses crumpling, and tears finally slide down his cheeks.
He's felt emasculated so often in this place, but never more than just now, because a very old part of him is sure that Jin never look at him the same way again.]
I can't tell you.
[Asher petulantly rubs an eye with one hand like a toddler, yelling at himself.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Drunk messaging the network level of dumb shit, or something else?
[Good luck, Asher. He's not gonna let the subject change so easily.]
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Yeah, somethin' like that.
[The reply is low, dull.
Surprisingly out of character.]
You wanna get started or what?
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[He's not entirely swayed to leave it at that, if his friend's dispirited tone is anything to go by. The symptom, at least, is obvious enough.
They're off either way, though, walking side-by-side en route to the training room. Jin waits a polite-by-Jin-standards space of a monute or two before asking, bluntly:]
I'm pretty sure whatever's up with you isn't just you being half-asleep and or hungover. C'mon, spill.
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His stance as he folds his arms over his chest may seem somewhat threatening to an onlooker, but in reality he's protecting himself, physically containing the storm that's brewing inside.]
It's not a big deal.
[Jin won't buy that, he knows.]
I didn't sleep all that much. I'm just tired, okay?
That's it.
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You wouldn't be so pissy about it if that were the only issue here.
[It digs at Jin, that Asher's so guarded about this. The irony, humorless, strikes him: how is it that somebody as pent up as himself would be more forthcoming about their feelings than somebody like Asher-- so much more open to his own sadness, to his own anger, to his own joy? Seemingly, in any case. His brows furrow tight, and he opens his mouth to snap back at him.
Jin stops, noticing Asher's hands.
The frustration ebbs, somewhat, giving way to concern. He's acting so weird about all of this.]
Why're you wearing gloves?
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Asher is usually so open about his grief, and he was, even when he didn't want to be. He was a crying mess when Miles found him and took care to wash his bloody hands, and he broke down in front of Nami so easily, without even truly confessing to his crimes. He's no stranger to tears, as they've helped him get by throughout the years, even though he's shed most of them behind closed doors, alone.
But he's doing his best to steel himself.
His eyes dart to his gloves, a glaring hindsight. Remaining as nonchalant as he can, he answers back.]
I wrapped up beforehand.
[A jaw wriggle.]
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Well, that innuendo just proved it. At least now I know you aren't an alien.
[It'll keep gnawing at him until he figures it out, of course. But that's one obscure Taraxa-themed fear over and done with.]
I don't know what this weird mood is, but if you're sick or something, we can always wait a few days? The next mission's not for awhile. You should rest while you still can.
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One gloved hand gingerly rubs the back of his neck as he hides a cringe with a bright grin, breathless from both the sudden uptick in mood and the physical agony.]
My knuckles, man! I meant my knuckles.
[Jin's offer is so rational, he really should take it.]
Nah, I'm good. Losing a lil' beauty sleep won't keep this guy from bein' supa fly.
[don't point to urself
u can barely bend that finger]
I'm ready to kick some ass.
[His own, apparently.]
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Okay, fly guy. Try not to bite off more than you can chew.
[It's a few more minutes before they reach the training area, and another few for them to set the simulation up: fortunately, Jin's been in here enough times to know how to properly operate the high-tech console. (Also, that it follows voice commands. #thefuture) For the sake of simplicity, their setup resembles nothing more than the average gym, save for the fact that no one else is around.
Jin is working on binding his hands up, too, slowly pacing back and forth as he wraps the cloth over his knuckles and the back of his hands.]
You wanna go first? [Jin gestures with a tilt of his head at the heavy bag stationed in a corner of the room.] I want to see how you're keeping up with your form.
cw: mentions of self harm
He didn't think this through.]
Sure.
[Any other day, this would be fine. He'd take a swing and knock that shit right out of the park no problem, because he's eager to show his friend just how much he's improved.
Instead he stares ahead with a relatively blank face, slow to react.]
Totally.
[A fist rises gradually and he steadies his feet, a difficult task when you've been standing for six hours straight. He aims once and hurls a hefty blow, but it softens immediately as he hits his mark. Skin and bone crumple from the pressure as pain sears through his right hand.
Anger wells up inside of him. It's basic instinct at this point, something he's been taught to feel at the precipice of humiliation, like so many young men before him. His left follows suit, dealing more damage than the first strike, and the cycle repeats itself.
He hurts so much, but this is easier.
He's not sure how to fix what's actually broken, so he'll settle for this instead.]
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Since when does Asher bind up his hands before they get to the training room?
Jin's mind races (stupid, stupid; should've known better, should've gone after him for whatever was bugging him harder) and he steps forward, footsteps quick, crisp.]
Stop, stop--
[Jin's hand is on Asher's arm, moving him backward and away from the bag.]
What the hell. Show me your hands.
[In case Asher didn't hear him, he repeats it, incredulous and pissed and worried half to death all at once:] Show me your hands.
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Asher tears his right arm away almost violently, pulling it close to his own body and gingerly touching it with his left. He's never shot the other a look quite this hostile before, because the anger that Asher feels for other people is incomparable to the kind he directs towards himself. The lawyer-to-be's self loathing is at it's peak this morning.]
Nothing's wrong with them, bro.
[He's lying again.]
I'm fine.
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Bullshit.
[He nearly snarls the word. He's had enough of this runaround-- if Asher refuses to tell him what's wrong, he'll get it out of him one way or another.]
You know who pulls punches like that? On the end? Novices who don't know how to land a hit at the right angle yet. Because they've hurt themselves on the impact. And you and I both know that you're past making those kinds of rookie mistakes.
[So he wouldn't talk about the black eye the last time. Fine: everyone gets into a scuffle they can't win every once in a while, he'll let Asher have it. Twice in a row, however, is cause for concern. (He remembers his own bruised knuckles; his own bleeding scrapes; his own silence.)]
Show me your hands.
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Stepping backwards, his shoulders square up and his arms fold over his chest.]
What are you gonna do about it?
[Sneering:]
You gonna kiss 'em for me?
1/2
Jin considers just leaving. It'd be easy to take the barb to heart, turn, and walk away. It's what Asher deserves: he's got every right to it, even if he know that that's not the point of the verbal jab. Asher's not like that. He trusts that he is decent enough to never stoop so low for an insult.
What Asher is, however... is afraid. Jin's seen it before, but only now does that sharp pull inward, the pushing stubbornly away, truly begin to make sense: he's afraid, so he struggles against the things that push him, if only to hurt before he's hurt any worse. And gods, do those well-worn patterns of behavior ring familiar, because it's what he fights back against the world with himself.
They're pulling the same exact shit on each other, aren't they?]
2/2 screams
The hurt in his face fades. His expression softens; Jin debates with himself for a beat of silence and finally gives Asher his even, yet sarcastic answer.]
Ask me again after I bandage these.
[He shoots Asher a pointed look-- he already knows those knuckles will be a mess-- and moves past him, headed for the room's first aid kit.]
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He can hear his father screaming again from that horrible night four or five years ago, and remember the way he was balled up on the floor and weeping miserably. That was not the first time his father's words reduced him to tears, but it may have been one of the many instances in which he truly did deserve it.
How could he not have understood what that would sound like to a friend who had trusted him so carefully with his heart?]
I didn't mean it like that.
[Jin is going to leave and Asher will be alone again, just like always.
Because this is what he does, he ruins things by being stupid. Relationships, friendships, everything-]
I'm so sorry, I-
[When he opens his eyes again, the shaolin is still standing there.
Asher doesn't get it. Jin's reaction fills with that peculiar sense of warmth again, one that the rich brat isn't sure just how to describe, because it almost feels like-]
What?
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Are you done taking your foot out of your mouth yet, or do I have to say it again?
[Gauze, alcohol, ointment. He rifles through the kit with the awareness of someone who's done this many, many times-- a marked difference from the clueless boy who'd gone to Asher for help last time.]
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He must learn to be more careful.]
I'm done.
[He plops down on the ground abruptly, a very silent sort of collapse.]
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And then he falls silent, too. Seeing as Asher's not willing to take his gloves off himself, Jin, playing medic, reaches forward to take his hands. He pulls his gloves off with care, discarding them to the side without much ceremony, then holds each hand he works on steady. For a few moments, there's only the sound of Jin slowly unraveling the wraps that bind Asher's knuckles, the soft hush of fabric unfurling and coming to rest on the training room floor.
He speaks at last, barely more than a murmur.]
Jeez. You really did a number on yourself, didn't you.
[The raw mess of unhealed scab and congealing blood he holds is what he expects. Doesn't make it any prettier, though.]
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Asher should say sorry, and he wishes he could, but his throat is dry and any other intelligible noise that could escape him is vanquished by a burning desire to stay.]
You can go, if you want.
[He utters this softly as shame curls its bony fingers around his neck again, silencing him for a few more seconds.
Jin's quiet kindness shouldn't make him so damn happy.]
You don't have to do this for me.
["I'm the worst."]
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[Asher should know by now to take care of himself better than this, but for some reason, he isn't, and what does that tell Jin? What of Asher has he hidden away, wrapped tighter than these bruises? He knows that he doesn't need to sit here and bandage his ruined hands, but he wants to do it. Because Asher wouldn't himself; because who knows how long it'll be before somebody else guesses that he's done this to himself for gods know what reason.
(He's no healer. He's not the medbay, somewhere on the other side of Oska. But there's still a selfish piece of him that wanted to be the one mending these wounds and more.)]
Just warning you. It's going to sting when I clean the open cuts... a lot.
[The fingers that hold Asher's hand trace his palm lightly; with his other hand, he begins dabbing away with a pad of alcohol.]
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Try as he might to keep it from happening, this storm has been brewing for months on end, and this is the tipping point.
He had started out with the hope that he would someday become a good person, or at least someone better. Things were going okay, they were going just fine save for a few setbacks, but then it happened. He pulled the trigger and it was all gone, that man's life and the last of Asher's own innocence. Watching a life leave a body is the kind of horrifying experience one can never forget, much less so when the hands of the dead were once around your own neck, and you could have been the one on the ground if things hadn't gone so smoothly.
Now all he has is survivor's guilt, but at the very least, he survived.
The ground becomes harder to see as his lashes grow wet.]
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Asher? [...Wait. Is he going to--] Asher? Hey... [The alcohol pad slips from his fingers as his hand moves to Asher's arm. He leans in and squeezes his friend's shoulder, gently shaking it to get his attention.
This definitely isn't the alcohol stinging his injuries.]
Come on. What's wrong?
[A innocent question, even if Jin has no idea of the scope of what's wrong.]
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He's felt emasculated so often in this place, but never more than just now, because a very old part of him is sure that Jin never look at him the same way again.]
I can't tell you.
[Asher petulantly rubs an eye with one hand like a toddler, yelling at himself.]
God, I'm such a wuss!
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