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

[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.

[plaguedrat]

Reluctantly, Rat pulls back for a moment, scanning Grey's face to ask him what he wants to happen. There's a strange realization that this city could offer, if they wanted, eternity. They can go as quickly or as slowly as they want...

[silenttrainbaby]

Fingers trace along Rat's cheek and over his mouth again. That heat in his belly is new and a memory all at once. He won't push - he is used to waiting, used to having snatches and bits of goodness.

[plaguedrat]

"We just met..." he says, a hint of amazement in his voice. They've just met and Grey's already crowded into his life, offered him more kindness and friendship than he's known in almost everyone that he'd encountered before this city.

They've just met. He shouldn't trust Grey. Shouldn't have allowed him into his home and heart in only a matter of weeks. He should be running, fighting, keeping this at arm's length, anything but letting the fridge swing closed so that he can press Grey against it and revel in the feel of his skin.

[silenttrainbaby]

Grey gasps and feels what's against his back; he tenses - it's instinctual - but he doesn't pull away. Rat's hands are warm, gooseflesh following their path. His scrubs pants hide little, riding low on his hips.

[plaguedrat]

When Grey gasps, Rat eases his grip on him, searching his face again as he lays his hands on Grey's hips. It's hard to tell, with the warmth across his skin but the trepidation in the back of his mind, if he's scared or concerned.

[silenttrainbaby]

No; Grey isn't scared, he isn't concerned. He's alive and Rat's alive and they're together. He takes one of Rat's hands in his bandaged hand and he kisses Rat's palm and nuzzles.

[plaguedrat]

He mimics Grey's earlier gesture, tracing his thumb over the shape of his mouth, before cupping his face again. Leaning forward, Rat's forehead touches against Grey's and he breathes in, letting the moment wash over him and into his skin.