Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east

[plaguedrat]

The seventh day has come and gone. Despite others' reassurances that these things end, Rat's starting to despair he'll ever look his own age again. He'd gone to bed that night, still in the shape of his five-year-old self. The burns had still ached and sleep had been hard.

Drifting out of uneasy dreams, the first thing he notices is the lack of pain. Blinking his eyes open, Rat sees the hand that's half under the pillow. It's not a pudgy toddler's hand but that of an eighteen-year-old man. His own hands, his real body.

Rat sits up quickly, pleased that he doesn't have to stand gingerly. He swings long legs over the edge and stands up, hurrying to dress.

Comments

[silenttrainbaby]

Grey hadn't meant to fall asleep there, but he had anyway with a book on Rat's couch. He's on his back, one foot on the floor, his cast on his stomach, the book on his chest.

[plaguedrat]

"Hey sleepyhead..." Rat says, voice low. Waiting for Grey to wake up, he goes into the kitchen, looking for something to feed his surprise houseguest.

[silenttrainbaby]

Blinking awake, Grey is instantly alert - he always is. He looks around and sees the grown up Rat.

Rat! No longer small! Something lurches in Grey's chest and he gets to his feet, padding over.

[plaguedrat]

Rat pauses, halfway in the fridge. Something about Grey's expression catches him, though he's not sure what. "You didn't have to stay again." He softens, adding, "You've done a lot more for me than most people would."

[silenttrainbaby]

Stopping short, Grey shrugs. He hadn't minded; he'd liked being almost needed.

All the small touches he'd given when Rat was small seem out of place now, perhaps even unwelcome, he doesn't know. He takes a step back.

[plaguedrat]

The surprise flickers across Rat's face when Grey steps back and he tries not to ponder why, exactly, he feels disappointed.

"Hungry?"

[silenttrainbaby]

A nod. Grey points, then disappears for a second, using the bathroom (the water, running, taking things away, still intrigues him). He comes back, wiping his fingers on his scrubs pants.

When Rat's back is turned, he just barely touches it, the material of his shirt. The scars - they no longer hurt?

[plaguedrat]

"No, they healed a long time ago," Rat says, doing his best to seem indifferent. The truth is that he hard those scars, hates the way they pucker on his skin and remind him of the ways he's weak. The day his whole world died is inscribed in his skin in ways he'll never remove.

"I have the scars. I'll have them the rest of my life." Grey's already seen the worst of him, what difference does it make? Rat pulls his shirt off, exposing the keloids that mar his skin.

[silenttrainbaby]

It looks different from when he was little, of course, and Grey touches the scars. As long as they don't hurt; they both wear their lives on their skin in different ways.

He isn't sure why, really, that he does it, but he pulls off his shirt, too, the grungy scrubs top and lets Rat see all of his tattoos, even those on his back.

[plaguedrat]

The ruined skin barely perceives Grey's touch, though the knowledge that it's there makes his healthy skin rise up in goosebumps. All those marks tell him of pain and failure, exposing him to Grey.

When he turns, Rat can't help but be drawn to the words on Grey's skin. Why tattoo his back, Rat wonders. So much of Grey's communication is through pointing and facial expression that these seem superfluous. "How long did these take?"

[silenttrainbaby]

None of them took too long. Grey shrugs a little. He points to the smaller words on his arm, squinching his first finger and thumb together, an inch or so between them - not long. They took longer to heal, though, always at risk for infection. The line along his spine, though; he points to it. Much longer. And it hurt so much.

Rat isn't a failure. He was a little one: what could he have done?

[plaguedrat]

To that he would have no answer, though he will always blame himself. What right had he to make it when capable adults had perished? He doesn't say that, too caught up in the urge to run his fingers over the words that frame Grey's spine and shoulders. Entranced, it doesn't occur to him not to.

[silenttrainbaby]

A shiver runs down, chasing Rat's fingers on Grey's back and Grey's eyelids flutter. He's so missed being touched that just this little bit has his head tilting to the side.

Perhaps that's why he loves the cat so: he can pet it wherever he wants.

[plaguedrat]

Rat pauses, certain he should stop but fingers staying right on Grey's back. What they're doing now, he knows, isn't remotely platonic no matter how simple the gestures.

Hand flat against Grey's back, he tilts his head as well. "Thank you."

[silenttrainbaby]

Not wanting to lose that touch, the warmth square in the middle of his back, Grey turns his head, question in the furrow of his brow. For what?

[plaguedrat]

"You didn't have to help me, when I was small," he says. "Most people wouldn't have." When it had happened the first time, many people hadn't. The first real kindness he ever experienced hadn't come until years later.

[silenttrainbaby]

Grey turns around, head cocked to see Rat's face. Why wouldn't he do that? It's then that he touches Rat's face. He'd wanted to. He would do it again.

[plaguedrat]

Because it's a rare few people that ever have in Rat's experience. For a second, he can't help closing his eyes, leaning into Grey's hand. The silence has a strange weight to it, blanketing around them and pushing everything else out.

"There aren't a lot of people as kind as you."

[silenttrainbaby]

There aren't many people as deadly as Grey. You are strong, Grey. You are so good, Grey. His thumb traces the apple of Rat's cheek and he steps closer again. It's easy, from there, to kiss Rat's forehead.

[plaguedrat]

It's not enough, he realizes. The hand cupped around his face, the kiss on his forehead. It's not enough.

He looks up at Grey, suddenly uncertain of how to ask.

[silenttrainbaby]

He doesn't have to ask, not when his face says something that Grey can read clearly. His face says the same thing, perhaps. His rough thumb traces over the plush of Rat's mouth and he searches the other's face to be sure before he leans in, kissing him, lip to lip, a brush, nothing more.

[plaguedrat]

It's not a surprise exactly, but Rat still tenses for a moment as if he's not sure it's real. When it doesn't fade, he presses back against Grey, one arm looping around his waist.

[silenttrainbaby]

There's a sound somewhere in the kiss; a glottal whimper, and Grey raises his casted wrist to cup Rat's face and he cocks his head, deepening the kiss now, letting the tip of his tongue trace the seam of Rat's mouth.

[plaguedrat]

He sighs out, opening up to Grey and just enjoying the warmth of the kiss and the contact. Somewhere old instinct flares up, warning bells that try and tell him it's only been a few weeks since they met. That he's not supposed to form attachments in this place.

Rat ignores them all.

[silenttrainbaby]

Another sound and Grey likes how Rat's mouth feels against his, how he feels alive and warm in a way he hasn't for so long. Something comes back to life in the pit of his stomach.