[ brekker, brekker, brekker. nikolai’s voice loops in his head — searching in vain for the end of the string that pulls him back to the surface — but it does that most nights. kaz's vision blurs, and the air feels viscous on his skin. thick. except it shouldn’t feel that way, crisp and biting this far north. it’s as if he took one of nikolai’s tonics (which he hadn’t, not since they docked). why did he — what had he done? hood tipped back, the cold seeps into his skull. all the more reason to change your haircut, lilts the voice that sounds like zenik. a grunt of pain or acknowledgment, maybe both. kaz doesn’t think all his problems would be solved by letting his hair grow into something unruly on all sides, but he can accept it might be beneficial in the frozen wilderness.
wait. there’s warmth at the back of his head and dusting his cheek. the slick fever lies dormant, mind too sluggish to recognise the threat of skin-on-skin. no fear response. when his eyes crack open to follow the sound of nikolai’s voice, still unfocused, the now-familiar pain in his shoulder flares. a wince before he tips his cheek into nikolai’s hand and closes his eyes again for a second. two. three. nikolai's hand feels far away, no, closer than it’s ever been, the touch free of rushing water and decaying flesh. look at me. he forces himself to focus, opening his eyes first to peer left of nikolai’s golden head, at a wall sparkling with light from the hole they tumbled through, now far above them.
let me see you registers belatedly, everything on a time delay. the red on white. blood on his glove. what did he do again? his blues flicker to find nikolai’s hazel, brightening at the sight of their match. oh. an answering quirk of his mouth. that’s what he’d done. something without logic or reason, at least for a common thief, and it had worked if nikolai was bent over him instead of the reverse. because you hit your head, you dolt. yes, that seems about right. in the last year, he’s been playing for the jackpot. snap each limb and bruise every bone to win the grand prize.
his leg aches, too, a more distant concern. ]
Ordering me around. [ mumbled to himself. he lets his eyes falter, half-lidded, but resists the urge to close them. get it together, brekker. his face scrunches, nose wrinkling, expression made elastic by a lack of control and a desire to wrench it back. ] If you can’t see me, check your head. [ not his. an unhurried, hoarse thing, like his mouth is full of cotton. pretty cocky coming from the man whose vision has only just begun the unsmudging process. ]
[ speaking of which, his breath catches. there he is: the crooked line of nikolai’s nose and its constellation of freckles. before kaz knows what he means to do, he reaches out, two gloved fingers smoothing the crease in between nikolai’s brows and dropping back to fold over his chest. he wanted to do that ages ago, but he’d been paralysed under nikolai’s blinding attention and steady hands. the gesture startles his eyes wider. helpless to do anything but keep looking at nikolai for a long moment.
fortunately, his sharpness returns to him in increments, lining his face and honing his gaze. as the reality of his situation slowly returns to him, his skin prickles. a swooping sensation in his stomach. he moves his hand to the side in search of purchase on the ice and snow. gruffer, then. ] Did you — are you hurt?
no subject
wait. there’s warmth at the back of his head and dusting his cheek. the slick fever lies dormant, mind too sluggish to recognise the threat of skin-on-skin. no fear response. when his eyes crack open to follow the sound of nikolai’s voice, still unfocused, the now-familiar pain in his shoulder flares. a wince before he tips his cheek into nikolai’s hand and closes his eyes again for a second. two. three. nikolai's hand feels far away, no, closer than it’s ever been, the touch free of rushing water and decaying flesh. look at me. he forces himself to focus, opening his eyes first to peer left of nikolai’s golden head, at a wall sparkling with light from the hole they tumbled through, now far above them.
let me see you registers belatedly, everything on a time delay. the red on white. blood on his glove. what did he do again? his blues flicker to find nikolai’s hazel, brightening at the sight of their match. oh. an answering quirk of his mouth. that’s what he’d done. something without logic or reason, at least for a common thief, and it had worked if nikolai was bent over him instead of the reverse. because you hit your head, you dolt. yes, that seems about right. in the last year, he’s been playing for the jackpot. snap each limb and bruise every bone to win the grand prize.
his leg aches, too, a more distant concern. ]
Ordering me around. [ mumbled to himself. he lets his eyes falter, half-lidded, but resists the urge to close them. get it together, brekker. his face scrunches, nose wrinkling, expression made elastic by a lack of control and a desire to wrench it back. ] If you can’t see me, check your head. [ not his. an unhurried, hoarse thing, like his mouth is full of cotton. pretty cocky coming from the man whose vision has only just begun the unsmudging process. ]
[ speaking of which, his breath catches. there he is: the crooked line of nikolai’s nose and its constellation of freckles. before kaz knows what he means to do, he reaches out, two gloved fingers smoothing the crease in between nikolai’s brows and dropping back to fold over his chest. he wanted to do that ages ago, but he’d been paralysed under nikolai’s blinding attention and steady hands. the gesture startles his eyes wider. helpless to do anything but keep looking at nikolai for a long moment.
fortunately, his sharpness returns to him in increments, lining his face and honing his gaze. as the reality of his situation slowly returns to him, his skin prickles. a swooping sensation in his stomach. he moves his hand to the side in search of purchase on the ice and snow. gruffer, then. ] Did you — are you hurt?