[ when nikolai grabs him, he doesn’t fight it. kaz knows where he is, and what he has to do. survive. all the drowning, the rotting, it still fucking rattles him, chest heaving and hands shaking, but he fights to temper the panic from engulfing his mind. nikolai’s hands on him, flesh unwrapping to muscle, pulsating blood vessels melting to reveal organs, then gleaming bones.
no, they’re just hands, calloused beneath his jaw.
nikolai’s words would vex, as close as they sound to coddling (sweet lies), if not for the smile, genuine and warm, like sunlight dappling the waves. are they alright? no, but they’re not dead. no funerals, not yet. kaz rests his hand on nikolai’s arm, alleviating the pain in his shoulder slightly. he should look at it, assess the damage, yet he can’t tear his eyes from nikolai, tilting into the cup of his hand when he ought to be drawing back. this time, he knows what it looks like, when someone is about to kiss him, and tips forward to meet nikolai, soft but sure. exposed though he is to the elements, he feels sheltered — until he tastes copper.
unease slithers down his spine. his gaze narrows on the blood at nikolai’s mouth, spat into the water to mingle with his own. the gears in his mind turn, filling in the gaps in his understanding of the last — half hour, maybe? it feels longer. he had landed a blow on the demon and damaged it enough to carry over into nikolai. an internal wound. you did that. his twitchy heart threatens to exhaust itself. brekker, no, kaz again. remember your name. the one thing that has survived every fall. i need one more thing from you. that brings him to his senses. he forces himself to breathe deeply in the face of nikolai wavering. in their push and pull, kaz owes it to him to counterbalance his worries and keep him afloat. everything in him snaps back into alignment. ]
I’m not afraid. [ not of nikolai or the demon, the depths or the dark. must he make me say it? his features pull taut, brows drawn together and jaw set. pained. ] And I don’t trust anyone but myself. [ the answer comes easily, thrown like a dagger. once, that was true. ] My crows. [ inej, always inej. the rest of that singular crew, too. ] You. [ he loops the arm on his good side through nikolai’s, hooked at his elbow before the same hand settles at his own collar. ]
Hold on a moment longer, Nikolai. [ what is he afraid of? breathing the water in or wanting to? briefly, his tone gentles. ] For me.
[ then kaz will seize him. won’t let go, won’t stop until they’re safe. that was the key to survival anywhere: never stopping.
but first, he needs to staunch his wound. he unbuttons his shirt until he can fit his hand into the v of exposed skin and retrieve an oyster knife from an interior pocket. from there, he slices down the length of the fabric until he has a large enough piece free from his front to loop at his shoulder. this, he passes to nikolai to use as a makeshift, waterlogged bandage after untangling their arms. the knife slips into a loop in his trousers. they may need it later, if their blood draws visitors. ]
Tie it tight, closer to my shoulder than my neck. [ it won’t cover every puncture, but it’ll clot the deepest holes until they reach a healer. he carries on while nikolai bandages him, wincing at the pressure. ] I know you can’t carry me all the way to shore. [ blunt and unerring, as ever. ] So spit out any blood, princeling. [ still maintaining appearances, choking on his own pain. a click of his tongue. ] Better it fills the sea than your lungs.
[ the more he talks, the stronger he sounds. he winds his arm back through nikolai’s and catches his wrist, thumb soothing over where the shackles have marked him. red like pox, red like skin. ]
Show me the way, [ to swim, to float. ] and I’ll keep hold. [ i’ll keep you. ] There isn't enough kruge in Kerch to send me back to Fjerda alone.
no subject
no, they’re just hands, calloused beneath his jaw.
nikolai’s words would vex, as close as they sound to coddling (sweet lies), if not for the smile, genuine and warm, like sunlight dappling the waves. are they alright? no, but they’re not dead. no funerals, not yet. kaz rests his hand on nikolai’s arm, alleviating the pain in his shoulder slightly. he should look at it, assess the damage, yet he can’t tear his eyes from nikolai, tilting into the cup of his hand when he ought to be drawing back. this time, he knows what it looks like, when someone is about to kiss him, and tips forward to meet nikolai, soft but sure. exposed though he is to the elements, he feels sheltered — until he tastes copper.
unease slithers down his spine. his gaze narrows on the blood at nikolai’s mouth, spat into the water to mingle with his own. the gears in his mind turn, filling in the gaps in his understanding of the last — half hour, maybe? it feels longer. he had landed a blow on the demon and damaged it enough to carry over into nikolai. an internal wound. you did that. his twitchy heart threatens to exhaust itself. brekker, no, kaz again. remember your name. the one thing that has survived every fall. i need one more thing from you. that brings him to his senses. he forces himself to breathe deeply in the face of nikolai wavering. in their push and pull, kaz owes it to him to counterbalance his worries and keep him afloat. everything in him snaps back into alignment. ]
I’m not afraid. [ not of nikolai or the demon, the depths or the dark. must he make me say it? his features pull taut, brows drawn together and jaw set. pained. ] And I don’t trust anyone but myself. [ the answer comes easily, thrown like a dagger. once, that was true. ] My crows. [ inej, always inej. the rest of that singular crew, too. ] You. [ he loops the arm on his good side through nikolai’s, hooked at his elbow before the same hand settles at his own collar. ]
Hold on a moment longer, Nikolai. [ what is he afraid of? breathing the water in or wanting to? briefly, his tone gentles. ] For me.
[ then kaz will seize him. won’t let go, won’t stop until they’re safe. that was the key to survival anywhere: never stopping.
but first, he needs to staunch his wound. he unbuttons his shirt until he can fit his hand into the v of exposed skin and retrieve an oyster knife from an interior pocket. from there, he slices down the length of the fabric until he has a large enough piece free from his front to loop at his shoulder. this, he passes to nikolai to use as a makeshift, waterlogged bandage after untangling their arms. the knife slips into a loop in his trousers. they may need it later, if their blood draws visitors. ]
Tie it tight, closer to my shoulder than my neck. [ it won’t cover every puncture, but it’ll clot the deepest holes until they reach a healer. he carries on while nikolai bandages him, wincing at the pressure. ] I know you can’t carry me all the way to shore. [ blunt and unerring, as ever. ] So spit out any blood, princeling. [ still maintaining appearances, choking on his own pain. a click of his tongue. ] Better it fills the sea than your lungs.
[ the more he talks, the stronger he sounds. he winds his arm back through nikolai’s and catches his wrist, thumb soothing over where the shackles have marked him. red like pox, red like skin. ]
Show me the way, [ to swim, to float. ] and I’ll keep hold. [ i’ll keep you. ] There isn't enough kruge in Kerch to send me back to Fjerda alone.
[ the deal is the deal. ]