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It’s been a long time since Veritas Ratio has been on his home planet. With all his travels for work, and otherwise having the majority of his belongings on his ship, he just hadn’t put aside the time to go home for years now. Not to mention the stress that comes with many people actually recognizing his face since he’s been renowned there since he was still in grade school.
But Kakavasha had time off for once, and Veritas had thought it as good a time as any to finally show him his hometown. It would be nice to be back after all, wouldn’t it? And who knows, maybe he would take him to meet his parents sometime during their week-long visit.
That’s to say, the two of them were looking forward to having some time together without the weight of some life-or-death mission on their shoulders—not that Kakavasha seemed to care much about death—and Veritas was especially looking forward to having some time alone with him.
They’d arrived just last night, and went to bed quite soon after checking into their hotel. Veritas had gotten a steep discount with his status and whatnot, so their room was one of the best as well. He’s sure even if he hadn’t felt like it, Kakavasha would’ve paid the full price for any luxury suite without so much as a glance, but he was silently insistent on making sure his partner would take a real vacation. Which, to him, meant no menial chores such as dealing with finances. Veritas had it under control, he knew this city like the back of his hand.
…Or, well, he did, but he’s sure not much could’ve changed in his absence. Still, he’d woken up earlier than Kakavasha to take a stroll around the area and see what was new. Perhaps there were some shops Kakavasha would like to check out, or a new restaurant or two. He would just walk the route he used to as a child and keep an eye out.
It was still dark when he left, and he dressed in clothes fairly simple compared to his usual attire in hopes he wouldn’t be stopped by any strange admirers. Though he knew there was no avoiding it later on, it was far too early to deal with that kind of thing right now, and he knew he’d be easily irritated if he were to be asked for a photo, or…something of that nature.
The stone-brick streets were quiet and empty, with only sparse streetlights allowing him to see. The weather was humid, but not uncomfortably so, and he suspected there would be a light rain soon. It felt calm, familiar, nostalgic. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it. He supposed he must’ve been too preoccupied lately to care.
He observed the words on the windows and doors of buildings he passed, all of which were still closed this time in the morning, and silently noted which ones he didn’t recognize. A few places he knew had since seemed to have gone out of business, or maybe switched locations. A shame for some, and honestly deserved for others. A bakery with all stale pastries shouldn’t have any customers.
A couple times, he thought he may have heard footsteps, but it was clear to him there was no one around. This city has always been a relatively safe one, as far as cities go. People tended to treat each other well, and there had hardly ever been cases of any serious crimes, so there was truly no reason to be worried. It could be his ears playing tricks on him, or another sound he mistook for a quiet step.
If he’d learned anything, it was that the human senses were incredibly unreliable. If he was listening for something—which, out of habit, he certainly was—he would hear it.
So with an unbothered glance, he continued his walk. The rain began to drizzle down, dampening his hair. It felt nice, and smelled of the approaching summer. He stopped in place, allowing himself to enjoy the moment. He should’ve taken Kakavasha along. He’d had to have woken him, but he’s sure he would’ve enjoyed this.
Later, he told himself. It rained often this time of year. The warm, comforting kind. The kind that made him miss enjoying a moment that wasn’t in his typical routine. That wasn’t bathing after a long day, or re-reading his codex over again. He loved to, truly, but such monotony tended to take a toll on the mind.
Precisely why they’d needed to take a vacation. He breathed deeply, then contemplated if he should return to the hotel. It was a warm rain, but it was also still cold season. If he stayed out too long, he’d be more susceptible to getting sick, and there was absolutely nothing he detested more than the sensation of being ill.
So he brushed his hair out of his face, and turned around as he decided to head back. He’d been a bit worried on the way here, however uncharacteristic of him, but the familiarity of this morning had canned his nerves.
He’d let his guard down, which he felt he could hardly ever do outside these days, and it felt good. He hoped Kakavasha would be able to enjoy this just as much. He might not act the part, but that man was too stressed for his own good. He was thankful his hometown was somewhere they’d be able to finally relax without worry of being harmed. The worst that could happen being a nagging fan or an old classmate he didn’t care to talk to was truly a relief compared to what they’d—though Kakavasha especially—had had to face since they’d met.
This would be good for their relationship. Especially as such a private person himself. It was…admittedly difficult at times, being unable to spend their days together if not when work called for it. Hardly private when Kakavasha would have to report on it later, and when they couldn’t do anything too obvious to others.
Veritas had been lost in thought, and even the sound of light rain and the morning birdsongs had begun to blur in the back of his mind. He could walk these streets on autopilot, even after all these years.
He hadn’t heard the real footsteps. He only felt the impact.
It was across his upper back. Sharp, excruciating pain. One moment he’d been considering how well this trip could go, the next he was falling. He’d meant to turn, to counterattack, or at least to break his fall, but he’d been able to do nothing.
He didn’t have time to berate himself for that before another hit came. He was still too shocked to scream, too confused. The pain jolted through his shoulder, melding with the pain still coursing through his back. It was hot, and wet, and it took him a second to realize he was bleeding.
Obviously. He was being attacked, how did he not process that sooner? It’d just been so sudden, and it was difficult to admit he just hadn’t been aware of his surroundings.
Still, he was able to twist himself to at least face the perpetrator, though he had to wait for the agonizing sensation of the movement to lessen before he could get up.
A heavily clothed figure, an axe. It blurred—why couldn’t he move quicker? Why couldn’t he defend himself? He was stronger than this, faster—but his body just wouldn’t obey him.
Another hit.
This time, he did scream. The shock was wearing off, and he could hear the snap of his own bones as the blade collided with his chest.
Weapons weren’t legal to carry in this city, but an axe was hardly considered a weapon.
The rain was coming down harder now, and the water hitting his face blurred his vision further than the pain. Still, he needed to fight back. For Aeons sake, he couldn’t go down like this. He was a renowned scholar, and just as strong as he was intelligent. He knew how to defend himself. But his dominant hand wouldn’t cooperate, not with his wounded shoulder, and his left hand had missed entirely when he attempted to catch the handle of the weapon.
In truth, Veritas was used to fighting on fair grounds. He always knew what he was getting himself into on a mission, and he was always able to calculate exactly what the best course of action would be. And he was prepared. And he had weapons.
It was just plain bad luck that he’d been hit from behind, and so badly injured that he had no chance to run once he realized what was happening. Bad luck, but it wouldn’t stop him from feeling so…stupid. He should’ve never been unprepared outside, even for a moment.
After the fourth hit, he was completely lost in the pain. He was unable to move, unable to think while it was still happening, and fully aware that screaming would do nothing when nobody was around the shopping district hours before the stores opened on a weekday. He was only able to process that, at some point, it had stopped, and he wasn’t dead yet.
No, but he could feel his shirt soaked in liquid far too hot to be rainwater, and he was in agony. Even a small breath sent fire throughout his veins, and he felt he couldn’t get enough air in, and he was so tired.
Even with his body surely beginning to fail on him, he could recognize his symptoms. He knew the severity of the situation, and he knew that he wasn’t going to make it long enough for help to arrive. He could hardly breathe, and he wasn’t sure he could even manage to get out a coherent street address if he managed to remember the emergency line number for this district. And that’s if he could manage to take out his phone at all.
He did try to move. He tried as best as he could, but the pain was too much, and the sight of blood gushing from gaping wounds when he lifted his head nauseated him. He was dying. The gravity of it hit him hard, and he felt the breath he didn’t even have knocked out of him.
This was supposed to be a vacation. A trip home, a week for him and Kakavasha. Not this. Not here. He couldn’t leave him alone, unsure of why he left the hotel in the first place, thinking about what he could’ve done, blaming himself.
He choked out a breath, blood bubbling up his throat. It would destroy him. It wouldn’t just be the death of him, even with Kakavasha’s luck, he was already so self destructive as it was—
He still had his phone. He had his phone, and he’s sure his left arm is intact enough to move, if he just tries hard enough.
It’s in his pocket. It’s cracked, and water damaged, but it must work. It does—it’s—what is he doing..? No, just find Aventurine’s contact. No, the message app first, he just has to type.
He can’t type, his fingers are numb and he can barely make out the words on the keys. Voice recording. He can do that, can’t he? He pressed his thumb to the button, barely enough pressure for it to register. It’s on, he thinks, it has to be.
“K—vasha, I—gh,” his mouth tastes like metal. His throat feels full of water. Warm. Is he drowning..? Did he swallow wrong? “I’m..” what? What is he saying? He coughed, wet, red splattered on the pavement. No, no…it’s already red. Everything around him is red. Why is he lying down? “I—I—” why is it so hard to breathe? To speak? He’s talking to Kakavasha. His lover. What was he saying? “I…love you,” surely it’s an appropriate response. He’s so tired, it must be what he meant to say. He would’ve remembered if it were anything else.
His thumb slipped across the screen slowly, ending the message and smearing the cracks with blood. Is he bleeding? Why is he bleeding? Why does his body feel so numb?
A sudden panic overtook him, and he tried to think, he tried, but everything seemed to slip from his mind as soon as he thought he had a grasp on it. His eyelids are heavy, and it’s so hard to breathe. To move, to stay awake. He thinks he needs rest, he must…he must be sick, or maybe experiencing sleep paralysis. Does sleep paralysis inhibit your breathing?
It’s raining. It takes him a moment to register the water dripping onto his face. He’s outside.
Oh.
And then it clicks, and the panic dissipates into a sorrowful acceptance. He’s done all he can.
But he’s done well in the world, hasn’t he? He’s obtained more knowledge than most can fathom, and he’s worked to spread it to those who remain ignorant, and to…and to help. Until he didn’t. Until he realized what the ICP was truly using his abilities for in their partnership. Until Kakavasha told him and he learned that in the end, he was the ignorant one.
Was it for nothing? Was he for nothing? What good is all he’s learned if it just ends like this?
But he’s tired, and he’s tried, and he…he can’t remember his train of thought. Only the taste of blood in his mouth, and the fate that awaits him. That can’t wait much longer. He can’t wait longer. It would be so much easier to just let go, to let himself sleep, however eternal, as the reason why he tried so hard to stay awake begins to slip away from him.
Just for a little while longer. Kakavasha will wake him up before they have to go.
———
Kakavasha has always been a light sleeper. It comes with growing up in a war-torn world, and then being thrown into a life where sleep was hardly something he could afford at all. So, it was no stranger than usual when he woke up to a notification.
Veritas’s ringer, he recognized after a moment of blinking awake. But wasn’t he right…?
Oh, he was no longer next to him, he realized after reaching an arm beside him over the empty sheets. How late had he slept in?
He sat up, rubbing his eyes before he plucked his phone off the charger and watched the time flash onscreen. 4:15. What the hell was Veritas doing up so early? He knows the guy takes time to get rest, Aeons know he does too, but certainly not that much time. Besides, he was sure Veritas enjoyed his beauty sleep just as much as himself.
In an attempt to ease his confusion, he looked around the room. Maybe he’d run out of toilet paper, or shampoo, or…oh, the bathroom light was off. In fact, all of the lights were, and the only thing amiss was his boyfriend’s open suitcase.
He must’ve already gotten ready, then, but why? Something uneasy was beginning to settle in his stomach. It made him nauseous. Surely Veritas would know not to worry him like this. Maybe when they’d first gotten together, but not after they’d known each other so long.
But Veritas just messaged him, he remembered, meaning he was alright. He’d probably just gone downstairs for early breakfast or something, and he was asking what Kakavasha wanted.
Beginning to let himself relax, he opened his phone to read the message.
A voice message. Why? It’s uncharacteristic of him, Veritas hates his business being known to strangers. In fact, he doesn’t think Veritas has ever sent him a voice message in their six months of dating. It’s just…not something he does.
The anxiety returned, but he reminded himself that it was almost certainly fine. He was only being paranoid, especially after whatever nightmare he’s certain he had last night—though he can’t remember his dream—and it must just be one anomaly. Maybe Veritas wanted to record something in the background of his message, or was simply feeling like doing something a little different. Kakavasha knows he tends to use voice messages when he has a lot to say. He tried not to think about how brief the message was as he clicked the play button.
His stomach twisted itself into knots almost instantaneously. The first thing out of place was the static, or what sounded like it. The audio had a constant pitter-pitter in the background, and some strange sort of muffled buzzing. The second was Veritas himself. His tone was soft, but not in the loving way, it was soft in the way it sounded weak. As if he was sick, or…
Kakavasha pressed the speaker close to his ear to make out the words. A wave of nausea hit him as he heard wet, harsh coughs. He was stuttering, and sounded confused, and hoarse, and oh, Aeons, something was terribly wrong. Why did he say that? Why had he not explained?
He felt dizzy and disoriented as he stood up out of bed, navigating to the map to check the location of Veritas’s phone. Please be there, please be there—he nearly sighed in relief, but didn’t allow himself to take a breath yet. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong and he didn’t even know what—Veritas wouldn’t worry him so much for no reason, Veritas wouldn’t speak in that way for no reason.
He zoomed into the street address. Practically stumbling into his shoes, and then thought. He should call paramedics. He doesn't know what’s wrong, hell, he hasn’t even seen himself if Veritas is injured or just strangely upset. Aeons know Veritas never speaks his feelings, for all he know he could’ve had a mental break and was about to—
It’s better to be safe than sorry. He’s lost too many people, he can’t—he can’t risk losing Veritas if this is as serious as he’s terrified it is. If it isn’t, he’ll deal with Veritas saying he should’ve checked in, or being upset with him or whatever later. He’ll deal with it later. He didn’t let himself think again before dialing the emergency number and bursting out the room’s door.
Down the stairs, no time for the elevator—“I think—I think my partner, V-Veritas Ratio, is injured—” they’ll hurry more if they hear his name. No time to say bye to the receptionist. “Yes—I have an address, it’s, it’s—” they don’t have a rental car yet. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s not far.
He didn’t reply when he was told to stay on the line until help arrives, and didn’t respond to being told he should stay away from the scene in case there was danger nearby. Even without his luck, he couldn’t have been less worried about what could happen to him. He needs to know Veritas is okay. He needs to know it’s just a coincidence oh Aeons please be just a coincidence that his phone hasn’t moved even a few feet away since he first opened the message, nor has he been sent anything else.
He was running. He felt frenzied and confused and scared and the rain was pelting down on him, but he was so close—and—and he sees a figure—and he has purple hair and he’s—
He’s on the ground. And there’s liquid much darker than rainwater pooled around him. And suddenly the adrenaline wears off and Kakavasha thinks he would be sick if he’d eaten anything last night.
And as he stumbles over, still processing the scene he’s come across, he feels just like a kid again. A kid who just wanted his mother to wake up. Who just wanted his sister back. And he dry heaves, but nothing comes up.
Once the clarity finally comes, so do the tears.
Veritas is ruined. He laid there a bloody mess, one arm mangled so badly he could hardly tell it was still attached, the other still resting on his phone screen. His hair covered his face—so, so pale—blood running down his lips. Kakavasha forced his eyes away from the gaping wound in his chest, feeling frozen in place.
No, no, no, not again—not like this. Why him? Why now?
He whimpered, he felt pathetic, useless, standing here instead of doing something, anything to help. But how could he help this? How could Veritas possibly even still be alive?
He dropped to his knees. Aeons, please, please be alive. Let his luck not fail him now.
He shifted Veritas’s upper body gently onto his lap. He made a choked sound when his hand grazed the torn flesh of his back. He pressed a finger to his neck, then two, then harder. His own heart beat faster and faster in his chest, and he held his breath and waited.
A pulse. Barely there. Barely enough to feel, and so slow. He was wide-eyed, tears mixing with the rain, and leaned down to press his forehead to his lover’s.
“Please," he begged, “please, stay with me. I can’t—” he can’t lose him too. He can’t handle it. He can’t handle this.
Futilely, he pressed one hand over the wounds in his chest. He tried to keep pressure, but no matter how hard he pushed his shaky hand down, the blood gushed between his fingers like it was hardly a barrier. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t even feel Veritas’s breath on his cheek this close. He was going to lose him. There was nothing he could do. He’s too late—too helpless, even after all these years—to save even the one person he has left who loves him. Who he loves.
Oh, oh no, no no—Veritas wasn’t breathing. His chest wasn’t rising and falling under his hand. The blood came out in spurts with his slowing pulse. He wasn’t dead, but he was dying, and Kakavasha was watching it happen.
…CPR, Veritas wasn’t breathing, he needed CPR. Would it even help? What if his lungs were damaged? He doesn’t know, but he has to try. Surely it’s better than nothing.
He carefully lowered Veritas back onto the ground, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He felt sick, and staring directly over his form only made it worse. It was so bad, so bad, even with all he’s been through he hasn’t ever seen a scene so violent. It sickened him even more to think that the person who did this just left after, like nothing had happened. Just a normal morning.
He placed his hands on Veritas’s chest, fingers interlocked. He willed himself to just focus on this, getting him to breathe. If he didn’t, he could suffer brain damage. Aeons, he might’ve already. What if there was no chance of bringing him back at all—
He blocked the thought out of his head, forced everything out except his task, and began compressions. He didn’t think twice about pressing his lips to his, bloodied as they were, for rescue breaths. Just keep going. Please, please breathe.
He hadn’t even recognized it’d worked until the sound of wet, hacking coughs cut through the rain. In an instant, he stopped, watching for a moment, as if he was worried he was hearing things.
Veritas jolted, more coughs, more blood—there was so much, could he survive after losing this much?
His eyes darted around, pupils blown wide. He was struggling, and it sounded like he was choking when he tried to take a stuttering breath in. Kakavasha moved his head gently back onto his lap, hoping the elevation would make it easier, but he only continued coughing, then making nauseating gurgling sounds when he’d run out of air.
Kakavasha wanted to speak, but all he did was let out a whimper. He wasn’t the one bleeding out and choking as his body failed, what was wrong with him?
He leaned down close, giving Veritas as best a hug he could in his current state, and just whisper “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
This time, when Veritas stopped making sound, stopped breathing, his eyes hadn’t shut. The bleeding began to slow.
Kakavasha nearly gagged again, the panic made him feel so, so sick, but he couldn’t even bring himself to move from where he held Veritas as he—as he—
Veritas was dead. He hadn’t gotten here soon enough. If only he’d been awake when he’d decided to leave—
Then he could hear the sirens, and he could hear someone speak to him, asking, and then pleading for him to move. To let go. He almost bit back that no, he can’t let go of this, not of him—and then he realized what was happening. They’re here to help, here to help him, and all he could do was maneuver Veritas’s limp form off his knees and watch as he was moved onto a stretcher, silently praying to every Aeon he could name that he wouldn’t end up in a body bag instead.
There was too much commotion for him to see much, and too much running through his head for him to think straight. He couldn’t move, and every breath was caught in his throat, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off the stretcher as it was loaded into the ambulance.
He thinks he heard someone say the word shock amidst it all, somewhere close to him, and he was gently led up and into the back of a police car. He wasn’t placed in restraints. He wasn’t sure what was happening, or what he did wrong, until he was told they were heading to the hospital as well.
Blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, staining his clothes, too much to be washed away by rainwater, enough to stain a river red—
…Of course there would be no room in the back of the ambulance for him, not with everyone scrambling to help Veritas. He would only get in the way. There was still time, there had to be.
He stared at the back of the seat the entire ride there, only able to register in the back of his mind that the colors of emergency lights here were yellow and blue. He pondered briefly what other observations he’d have made if this didn’t go so horribly wrong.
———
Sun reflected onto the table, and Veritas covered his eyes with a cupped hand to shield himself from it as he stared at the paper in front of him. Homework, so easy it bored him. He didn’t understand why all his other classmates found it so difficult to complete.
His mother was proud of him, always giving him a kiss on the head and an “I’m so proud of you, dear,” while his father made a remark about how he was following in his footsteps. Because of course he was, it just seemed to come naturally to him.
More work on his schooldesk. More papers slid to the side as he finished them. And it was always more, more, more, and he never minded. He was always different, and being given more work meant less reason to interact with children he just didn’t understand. They didn’t know as much as him, and he always ran out of patience trying to help them catch up.
A diploma of the highest honor, a feat of extreme magnitude for a child too young to be past sixth grade under normal circumstances. He remembers the attention, the noise. His father had said he did good, that he would have a great career and could do so much with his life, but all he could focus on was noise noise noise and all eyes on him. An entire crowd for him. Veritas Ratio, the child prodigy.
He’d panicked, and began to cry, and the small smile his father had displayed disintegrated into his usual stern expression. His mother had tried to comfort him, once he was escorted away from the crowd, but he hadn’t wanted to be touched. He hadn’t wanted to listen to her talk, or his father, and it only ended with everyone upset. But a child so smart couldn’t possibly be so sensitive. He would have to get used to the attention soon, or his success would be so short lived.
He’d learned to suppress it, eventually.
At age fifteen, he was convinced the reason he never fit in was partially because he’d just worked harder than others, and partially because he wasn’t who he was born as, who he’d been seen as. He wasn’t a girl, and that realization felt like it was the thing he’d been missing. It was the reason he felt so estranged from everyone despite the adoration they displayed towards him, and it was why he’d hated being stared at so badly. Surely, that was why.
Of course, it didn’t go over well with his father. Wasn’t he supposed to be the smartest child on this planet? How could he possibly be confused about something as simple as his birth sex? But it wasn’t that, and he wasn’t confused, and his father was too stubborn and too ignorant to ever listen to a word he said that wasn’t perceived, in his mind, as fact.
His mother had been supportive of him when they were alone, but as always, she seemed to fall into place once his father was around. He began to wonder how someone so sweet ended up with someone so cold.
No matter, because he didn’t need support. Veritas Ratio only needed himself and his studies. He’d never needed friends to help him, and he was certainly old enough to not need the approval of his parents. He knew more than them by now, anyways, and he would be achieving his first degree soon for solving an issue an entire population hadn’t been able to in decades. He was a genius, after all.
Veritas Ratio had eight doctoral degrees, a ship of his own, and more than enough money to be entirely comfortable, and yet he still felt like something was missing.
For a long time, he thought he was seeking the recognition of Nous, but after so many large-scale projects and solving issues previously thought to be unsolveable, he had begun to lose hope it would ever happen. He had done more than half the people in the Genius Society in half the time, so why was it that he remained unnoticed?
He grew angrier, and eventually, he’d decided that it didn’t matter at all. If he wasn’t wanted by them, then he didn’t want a spot in their ignorant organization. He had done, and was doing so much with his life, he had helped so many people, and he would continue to do so without the help of anyone himself. His assistants never stayed long anyways, as they’d always pried far too much, and he had a feeling they were just looking to get insider information on him to sell to the public.
No, Veritas Ratio didn’t need anyone, and he hadn’t for a long time now.
When Veritas met Aventurine, he was terrified he would watch a man commit suicide while he held the gun, and then he was terrified of his recklessness when he survived. He was certain that there was no chance he could ever get along with someone who so blatantly disregarded the statistical odds for the outcomes of his actions, and yet they had to work together time and time again after.
Eventually, he found himself growing quite fond of the gambler. He wouldn’t admit it, but there was something inherently exhilarating about being near someone with luck that defied all logic he knew, and though he was sure for a long time that his charm must be fake, he began to find it endearing nonetheless.
Then came Penacony, and though Veritas Ratio knew of Aventurine’s plan, he also knew nothing could be done to change his mind. All he could do was tell him, as best he could, to be careful. Even if death in the dreamscape wasn’t real, it could still have lasting effects on the psyche.
And Veritas had been so glad to see him make it out okay, even if he dreaded to admit he truly cared for the gambler out loud. They’d had to part ways soon after once more, but something had changed between them, and he thinks they could both sense that.
It was strange, being so close to someone. Not only emotionally, but physically. Despite all his experience in nearly every field imagineable, he had never once kissed someone until Kakavasha. It was warm and unfamiliar and lovely. And he wanted more, he wanted to stay with him and hold him and make sure he wouldn’t risk his life so recklessly again. But Kakavasha couldn’t be changed, he found, and he would keep doing it over and over.
Their arguments had never been serious until Veritas finally broke. Kakavasha was the first person he’d ever cared for this much, the first person he’d loved, and he couldn’t handle knowing the likelihood that, one day, he’d disappear without a word, and Veritas would have to learn from the ICP’s news outlet that Aventurine had died horrifically.
And Kakavasha tried to reassure him, but luck could never outweigh statistics in his mind, and he wasn’t sure he could trust his words. So they’d begun working together more, and Veritas had begun, slowly, to chip away at those self-destructive habits he’d learned over so long. Kakavasha could heal with time, he believed, because there’s nothing that can’t be repaired with enough knowledge and effort.
They’d take a break, when they finally had the time, and Veritas would show him how much he could still live, even if his childhood had been stripped away. He would have the patience, and he would put in the effort, even if he wasn’t sure he had all the knowledge to help him yet.
A warm bed, a kiss goodnight, a sun not risen yet.
A city, the familiarity of home, the slow settling worry of things to come.
Then pain, and blood, and shouting.
What had gone wrong, when everything had been going so right?
———
Veritas opened his eyes to a bright room. Light blue ceiling, white fluorescent lights. He tried to breath, then gagged on the feeling of something in his throat. He tried to move his hand to take it out, but he couldn’t. He tried his other, but he felt a tug under his skin and stopped.
Where was he? Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hotel with Kakavasha? He’d had the strangest dream…
He tried to pull his arm away from whatever tugged at it, and tried once more, fruitlessly, to move his other arm to assist. His body was heavy and numb and tingly, and barely managed to shift his head to the side to see Kakavasha in the chair beside him.
Why wasn’t he in bed with him? What was wrong? Was he sick..?
Suddenly, Kakavasha was reaching over to gently push his arm back onto the bed, and he was speaking to him. “Don’t move—you’ll pull out your IV. Just—just stay here, okay? I’ll be right back, I-I’ll just get a nurse. You’re okay, you’ll be okay.”
The words blurred together in his mind, and he watched as his partner stood, finding himself unable to make a sound. As Kakavasha hurried away, His exhaustion consumed him, and he closed his eyes once more. He could sleep just a little longer, Kakavasha would get him up if it was important.
The next time he woke up, he was far more lucid. He could recognize that the first time he could remember waking up here, he was intubated. Why, though, he couldn’t seem to bring to mind. What was wrong with him? Clearly he hadn’t been able to breathe on his own, but why? He was healthy, and fit, and…maybe he didn’t always eat well, but he shouldn’t be sick. Certainly not enough to warrant this. Injured, then..? But he can’t remember anything that would’ve put him in danger.
The tube was also gone now, he realized, meaning it was taken out while he was asleep. Was he in a coma? No, that wouldn’t make any sense…
He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He was in a hospital, and he was clearly in need of extreme medical intervention, and his entire body pulsed with a dull aching. Except for the majority of his right arm. It was all tingling, tiny pins and needles. He could hardly feel it.
Oh no.
He turned his head as swiftly as he could, still far too tired to lift it, to see his arm. Oh, good, it was still attached to his body. He had been worried it was amputated, considering his symptoms, but it was only bandaged from his upper arm to under the gown he was dressed in. The pain didn’t seem so bad now, but he was sure he must be on a heavy dose of painkillers.
Based on the strange tightness around his upper body, it felt like all his ribs and chest were bandaged as well. However he’d gotten injured, it was bad.
He turned his head to the other side, slowly, to see Kakavasha once more. He breathed a sigh or relief though his scratchy throat, then tried to get his attention.
He was looking out the window one hand resting on Veritas’s, even if he could hardly feel the pressure.
“K—kh,” he tried to say his name, but his throat was hoarse and the noise just wouldn’t come out. All he got was the pain from trying, and it dully frustrated his foggy mind.
It got Kakavasha’s attention nonetheless. His head snapped over, hand tightening a bit on Veritas’s. He couldn’t help but notice it looked like he’d been crying. How long was he out?
“Veritas, oh Aeons, I was so—” he swallowed, “Can you..do you need something? Water?”
It would be nice, but Veritas wanted answers, and he wasn’t sure how well he could swallow. He had an IV line, so his sore throat was only from intubation. He managed a small shake of his head, though it was more like lifting it a few centimeters and dropping it.
“…Okay, okay, should I get a nurse? They lowered the dose you’ve been on after you woke up so you’d be more lucid, and—and you’ve been stable, you’ll be okay, just…” Kakavasha was stumbling over his words, and he just looked so sick himself. His charm and smooth tone were all gone, replaced with a clear worry that made Veritas realize just how bad things must’ve been.
But why couldn’t he remember? Had he hit his head? It isn’t sore, not enough that he’d think he has a concussion, but everything seems so fuzzy. He remembers arriving at the hotel, and going to bed, and then…and then?
He forced another shake, then tried to speak again. “W—hht, gh—hah, happ—” his weak voice cut out, and he almost felt embarrassed by how difficult it was just to speak, but he knew it was normal. Normal if he’d been unable to breathe on his own for a while, and unable to speak for a while. How long had he been out..?
Kakavasha processed the words—if they could be called that—and paled. “Oh,” he mumbled. Then he seemed to compose himself, or at least try. “The…the doctors said you might not remember, they said it might…come back, or it might not, it could be—” because his brain had been starved of oxygen. Because his heart had stopped for two full minutes before paramedics were able to resuscitate him. He would say it later.
Veritas stared, breaths short, but controlled. What had Kakavasha seen? He seemed so scared, and the only time he remembers him ever looking so haunted was when they’d finally had the conversation about his past. What he went through, in detail, from his perspective. Veritas hadn’t meant to worry him so bad, whatever had happened.
“I wasn’t there. Just…your message woke me up, and I don’t know what you were doing out so early in the first place, but—” he sniffled, then pressed the palm of his free hand to one eye as if to stop the tears. “It was really bad. F—fractured sternum, one of the arteries to your heart was severed, a lung collapsed, I think—your airway was punctured, somewhere, and they said if your back injury had been any deeper your spinal cord could’ve been damaged and—” he choked on the words, breath quickening, eyes wide.
He might have a panic attack. Veritas was still processing the information, still confused and scared himself, but he tried to squeeze his hand back to comfort him. His fingers barely twitched.
How had that happened? What had happened? How was he alive?
“Y—your arm,” he muttered through tears, determined to at least answer his question, even if he must be terrible at comfort when he couldn’t even handle his own emotions right now. “It—it was almost severed, I s-saw. They think you could have nerve damage, and it might never be usable, and—” it sounded like the breath was punched out of him. He was shaking, Veritas wished he could hug him. That they could comfort each other, at least.
He’s uncertain, besides that, if he regretted asking what happened to him. He might never be able to use his arm properly again. He would have to relearn how to write well with his other hand, and it would be so much weaker, and he would have a much harder time defending himself. Which, clearly, he’d already failed miserably at.
How had he let that happen? He was strong, and never unprepared, and yet…
Kakavasha’s hand rested on his cheek, now, and he realized he was crying as well. He shouldn’t, it wouldn’t solve anything, but he couldn’t help it.
“I’m sorry,” Kakavasha said, quietly, “I should’ve been there sooner. Why—why did you leave without me?” Why did he leave at all?
Veritas wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t know, but he couldn’t trust his own voice to obey him. He could only try, with extreme effort, to move his uninjured arm to try and wipe Kakavasha’s tears away. But his arm fell seconds after, and Kakavasha caught it to set it back beside him.
“Don’t…don’t move much, there’s a lot of stitches. I don’t want you to hurt yourself more. I wasn’t sure—” he sniffed, “I wasn’t sure you would make it at all, the…first few nights. You’re going to be okay, it’s just hard to watch, I’m sorry, I should really compose myself, I-I was just so…” he swallowed hard, willing himself to take a deep breath. “I thought I would lose you. This was supposed to be…this was our vacation.”
He paused, as if waiting for a response Veritas couldn’t give.
“So much for that, huh?” His expression softened into something unreadable, the panic he’d displayed moments ago all but dissolving. It reminded Veritas of the mask he’d often put up before they got close, but much more half-hearted.
Veritas blinked, having to force his eyelids back open, and Aventurine gave him a sad look.
“Good news is I’ll…have more time off, to help you heal.” He spoke quietly, insincerely. “You’ll need a lot of rest, even if you won’t like it. Just…”
He paused, placing his hand back on his cheek, leaning down to give him a small kiss.
“You seem tired,” he murmured, putting on a small smile. His eyes glistened with new tears.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.” A silent promise. They'll get through this.
Veritas just wishes he could’ve returned it, but his voice failed him, and sleep pulled him under again.