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.]
[In a way, Asher's right. But it isn't shame or scorn that Jin looks upon him with. Quite the opposite. Asher's soldiered on with Audentes for months, so far out of his depth that it'd nearly drowned him. How long had he kept going, even feeling like this? How far had he-- untrained, a civilian, just a student who'd never known the vastness of worlds beyond his own-- pushed himself? To the bone, nearly. It's incredible that he's still standing tall, or was, before he'd found Jin to lean on.
Asher has never deserved to be given ALASTAIR's burden. But Jin knows now, more than ever: he's more than strong enough to bear it.]
You can tell me if you need, though? It's okay. You're not a wuss. [A coward would never have put Jin's safety before his own. He wouldn't have done it twice, risking death.
Asher's been brave.
Before he can think twice, he's wrapping his arms around Asher, drawing him in close.] It's okay.
[They are cheek to cheek now, although Asher's is still damp. If he wasn't so tired or hungry he'd have the mind to pull back, but instead the sensation of another person's skin against his own placates him so much that he instinctively nuzzles against what he can feel.
As far back as Asher can remember, simple acts of affirmation like this one have quelled even the worst of his fears. He may not have received them from the people who mattered most, but that's what makes him so eager for anything of the sort, as he's desperate for some kind of silly sign that his life is worth something.]
I'm sorry...
[He mutters, slipping and sliding further into Jin's embrace.
Asher has no clue what Jin is really thinking, because at present he is most bothered by a notion that has plagued him night and day for the past ten years.
[Jin's no mindreader, either. The way that Asher slumps against him, however, speaks louder than words: he blinks back his surprise, expression framed with worry. Whatever had pushed him to this breaking point must've been serious, enough that Asher doesn't really look like he can articulate it right now.
He barely knows what he's doing himself. He's not much of a nurturer. All Jin can do is what feels right-- what he himself would've wanted, or needed to hear in a spot like this. His hand rubs small, slow circles on Asher's back, and he keeps his voice low and reassuring.]
You're gonna be fine.
[This... feels right, though.
Somehow, this feels like a step forward. A blind one, but a step.]
[After what feels like far too long, the dregs of sleep finally tug at Asher's eyelids.
"I'm here."
That's the last he hears of the other's voice before everything starts getting hazy and his body finally begins to shut down. Asher has spent the week flipping back and forth between anger, sadness, and fear, but in the arms of someone he trusts, he's finally able to experience peace.
Safety is something he'd taken for granted back home, because he's had the privilege of being protected by not just his father, but society and the law. Space and time travel are far less forgiving, more merit-based in their selection, which seems to solely rely on survival of the fittest. Take away his race and social status, and what is he really fit to do?
[Asher's erratic breaths slow; his body goes limp; when Jin whispers quietly to him, there's no answer, although his heart beats on steadily, pressed against Jin's in the embrace.
He's... asleep. Makes sense, suddenness aside. He looked completely exhausted, in the end-- he won't try to wake him, if he needs the rest that badly. Jin's face flickers with concern as he begins to shift Asher's weight, moving him onto his back. He's sure not gonna walk himself to a bed in this state.
---
Which is how they've arrived here: Asher passed out in a dead sleep on Jin's bed, Jin keeping an altogether unnecessary watch nearby on an uncomfortable spindly chair. (He hadn't bothered to go through Asher's pockets for his own room key. Not worth the explanation.) The stillness in his friend, the peace, is foreign. Jin's seen Asher asleep before, but not like this-- Asher might've mumbled in protest at being moved, once or twice, but had never truly awoken, not even when Jin had finished properly bandaging his wounds. He sleeps like a child, free from worry... or like a man who's never slept a minute in his life. Either way, it's rest that, as far as Jin is concerned, Asher truly deserves.
And it's the first time in a long while that Jin's really gotten to look at him. His dark hair's tousled, the locks curling against Jin's pillow; every once in a while, he sighs, and it seems like he'll wake, the way his eyelashes move. (Jin moves forward in his seat, prepared to lull him back to sleep.) But he never does. He simply murmurs, lips moving slightly, cheek pressing closer to his own arm.
Asher, in his moments of silence, is something to see.
Jin cradles his chin in his hand, watching Asher's chest move up and down with his breaths. At last, he breaks the silence.] This is so stupid. [But gods, it'd felt good, to be there, hadn't it? Asher had needed him, and he'd relished in it, the ability to give him that. To be that safety. Friend, or... no matter how hard he tries to shake it, the possibility of a more than that, far flung though it may be. The implications, now that the immediate worries have eased themselves, are at last laid bare.
His brows knit together, and his heart and stomach tie themselves into impossible knots.
Holding your best friend 'till he cries himself to sleep? Carrying him to your bed, mending his wounds? Kung Jin, he thinks, you're not fooling anybody. Least of all yourself.]
I'm an idiot.
[Jin stands and crosses the gap between them. Asher hasn't budged in the last few minutes, which is exactly what he needs. He hovers, hesitating; his hand reaches for the man's hair, brushing it away from his forehead. (His heart picks up like drumbeats, he could swear it's loud enough to hear.) He bends low. Before he's got the chance to think twice, Jin presses a kiss to Asher's temple, barely taking a moment to linger.
He's in his chair again right away. He wills himself not to contemplate it too deeply. They're just friends, after all.
(Kung Jin presses his lips together, remembering the way Asher felt in his arms.)]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
He must learn to be more careful.]
I'm done.
[He plops down on the ground abruptly, a very silent sort of collapse.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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."]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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!
no subject
[In a way, Asher's right. But it isn't shame or scorn that Jin looks upon him with. Quite the opposite. Asher's soldiered on with Audentes for months, so far out of his depth that it'd nearly drowned him. How long had he kept going, even feeling like this? How far had he-- untrained, a civilian, just a student who'd never known the vastness of worlds beyond his own-- pushed himself? To the bone, nearly. It's incredible that he's still standing tall, or was, before he'd found Jin to lean on.
Asher has never deserved to be given ALASTAIR's burden. But Jin knows now, more than ever: he's more than strong enough to bear it.]
You can tell me if you need, though? It's okay. You're not a wuss. [A coward would never have put Jin's safety before his own. He wouldn't have done it twice, risking death.
Asher's been brave.
Before he can think twice, he's wrapping his arms around Asher, drawing him in close.] It's okay.
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As far back as Asher can remember, simple acts of affirmation like this one have quelled even the worst of his fears. He may not have received them from the people who mattered most, but that's what makes him so eager for anything of the sort, as he's desperate for some kind of silly sign that his life is worth something.]
I'm sorry...
[He mutters, slipping and sliding further into Jin's embrace.
Asher has no clue what Jin is really thinking, because at present he is most bothered by a notion that has plagued him night and day for the past ten years.
The notion that he is not enough.]
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[Jin's no mindreader, either. The way that Asher slumps against him, however, speaks louder than words: he blinks back his surprise, expression framed with worry. Whatever had pushed him to this breaking point must've been serious, enough that Asher doesn't really look like he can articulate it right now.
He barely knows what he's doing himself. He's not much of a nurturer. All Jin can do is what feels right-- what he himself would've wanted, or needed to hear in a spot like this. His hand rubs small, slow circles on Asher's back, and he keeps his voice low and reassuring.]
You're gonna be fine.
[This... feels right, though.
Somehow, this feels like a step forward. A blind one, but a step.]
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"I'm here."
That's the last he hears of the other's voice before everything starts getting hazy and his body finally begins to shut down. Asher has spent the week flipping back and forth between anger, sadness, and fear, but in the arms of someone he trusts, he's finally able to experience peace.
Safety is something he'd taken for granted back home, because he's had the privilege of being protected by not just his father, but society and the law. Space and time travel are far less forgiving, more merit-based in their selection, which seems to solely rely on survival of the fittest. Take away his race and social status, and what is he really fit to do?
Knock out in a hot monk's embrace, apparently.]
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He's... asleep. Makes sense, suddenness aside. He looked completely exhausted, in the end-- he won't try to wake him, if he needs the rest that badly. Jin's face flickers with concern as he begins to shift Asher's weight, moving him onto his back. He's sure not gonna walk himself to a bed in this state.
---
Which is how they've arrived here: Asher passed out in a dead sleep on Jin's bed, Jin keeping an altogether unnecessary watch nearby on an uncomfortable spindly chair. (He hadn't bothered to go through Asher's pockets for his own room key. Not worth the explanation.) The stillness in his friend, the peace, is foreign. Jin's seen Asher asleep before, but not like this-- Asher might've mumbled in protest at being moved, once or twice, but had never truly awoken, not even when Jin had finished properly bandaging his wounds. He sleeps like a child, free from worry... or like a man who's never slept a minute in his life. Either way, it's rest that, as far as Jin is concerned, Asher truly deserves.
And it's the first time in a long while that Jin's really gotten to look at him. His dark hair's tousled, the locks curling against Jin's pillow; every once in a while, he sighs, and it seems like he'll wake, the way his eyelashes move. (Jin moves forward in his seat, prepared to lull him back to sleep.) But he never does. He simply murmurs, lips moving slightly, cheek pressing closer to his own arm.
Asher, in his moments of silence, is something to see.
Jin cradles his chin in his hand, watching Asher's chest move up and down with his breaths. At last, he breaks the silence.] This is so stupid. [But gods, it'd felt good, to be there, hadn't it? Asher had needed him, and he'd relished in it, the ability to give him that. To be that safety. Friend, or... no matter how hard he tries to shake it, the possibility of a more than that, far flung though it may be. The implications, now that the immediate worries have eased themselves, are at last laid bare.
His brows knit together, and his heart and stomach tie themselves into impossible knots.
Holding your best friend 'till he cries himself to sleep? Carrying him to your bed, mending his wounds? Kung Jin, he thinks, you're not fooling anybody. Least of all yourself.]
I'm an idiot.
[Jin stands and crosses the gap between them. Asher hasn't budged in the last few minutes, which is exactly what he needs. He hovers, hesitating; his hand reaches for the man's hair, brushing it away from his forehead. (His heart picks up like drumbeats, he could swear it's loud enough to hear.) He bends low. Before he's got the chance to think twice, Jin presses a kiss to Asher's temple, barely taking a moment to linger.
He's in his chair again right away. He wills himself not to contemplate it too deeply. They're just friends, after all.
(Kung Jin presses his lips together, remembering the way Asher felt in his arms.)]
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