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From:

hippie_ninja

"The Dom was rougher with me than I'm used to." He gestures vaguely at his face. "He couldn't get me to fight him. So the sex was about punishment, too. I'll be okay."

But he does need time to recover, and not just physically.

From:

konstant

K is still watching him as he settles, his eyes soft but steady, expression troubled.

He wants to say more. He can see that Jesus is placating him even if he does also believe what he's saying, and he doesn't want that; but he doesn't know how to ask for that either, so he stays silent and looks down at his hands in his lap where he's pushed back to bring his heels up onto the bed too.

Finally, quietly, "It would be okay if you're not."

From:

hippie_ninja

He's not sure that's true. The options are simply be okay, or you don't survive.

Except here where even if you die, you don't die. It opens up a disturbing new arena he doesn't want to think about.

He gives K a small, wavering smile that doesn't last long. "I'm not."

Right now, then. Right now he's not okay.

From:

konstant

His expression softens further, aching for his friend. He doesn't need him to talk about it, not really, not if he doesn't want to or can't. K can see everything he needs to see in a glance.

He reaches over to the blankets beside him. The bed is unmade, already slept in, so pulling the covers aside to make room isn't quite as clearcut as the gesture would be on a made bed, but he makes it all the same in invitation.

From:

hippie_ninja

He takes off his boots (he should have earlier he thinks, chiding himself; these are the boots he was brought here with) and his jacket, and even though he doesn't want to be touched he climbs in with K because he isn't going to let anything ruin this comfort for him.

From:

konstant

K doesn't want to be touched either, but he doesn't mind being close. He wants someone here, wants to not be alone.

Wants, if it at all can, for that to go both ways.

"I'd like it if you stayed tonight, at least," he murmurs. "I'm glad you came. I'm sorry you had to."

From:

hippie_ninja

"When I didn't hear from you I worried you'd disappeared. Or been taken in by SIN guards." Or worse, ever worse. "I'm still sorry I broke in."

From:

konstant

K shakes his head, slowly and shallowly but he does, until he realizes he can't guarantee any of those things. He has no idea where he was, or how he got from the Up to the bathroom here. Why he was naked, why his clothes were clean and folded on the bed, how he healed, why light burns.

Problems for later. He's here, Jesus is here, and he must admit: "I don't care about the door." There's a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand too; he pulls one, starts to offer the pack to Jesus but remembers and stops. "I'll get you a key."

From:

hippie_ninja

He sees the lighter and picks it up, offers to light K's smoke.

"Then you'll never know when I'm going to drop in."

From:

konstant

"I already don't, apparently," he points out, but there's no ire in it.

"At least with a key I'm less likely to point a loaded firearm at you."

From:

hippie_ninja

Just to be sure- "You still want to spend nights together? At both our places?"

Even though it's breaking the law, and even though...

He doesn't know where he got the idea K would change his mind. He chalks it up to some emotional bruising from the Zoo, which has nothing to do with K, but he asks for the reassurance anyway.

From:

konstant

K hasn't been sure of much since coming back to the world here, but this one is easy as long as he focuses on what he wants and not what the new laws are that they are beholden to.

He nods, craning his neck so he can peer sidelong at Jesus, so he can see his face when he asks, "Do you?" He'd understand if not, he means.

He'd understand if this one taste was enough for Jesus even though he says he'll be okay.

From:

hippie_ninja

"Yes." More than before, more than usual, he doesn't want to be alone. He wants his people.

So he leaves it at that. K can see for himself how bad it was, he can choose the risk or not.

From:

konstant

If someone or something came down hard enough on K's instinct to obedience right now he might disappoint them both. But there's no one else here, no one else demanding anything of him, so K can just do what it is he most wants.

And what he wants is this, so he nods, and takes a slow draw off the cigarette, blowing the smoke away from Jesus.

"Do you want Orla's bed? Or we can bring the pillow and blankets over here."

From:

hippie_ninja

"I don't know." He doesn't trust what he wants right now, because what he wants is to recoil and nurse his wounds. But he knows how that goes: he knows how once you start cutting yourself off, it's harder every day to come back. He won't let himself do it.

So that's his answer, he supposes. "Where do you want me?"

From:

konstant

If neither of them can trust themselves - if they both prefer to be near without being touched - if they're both asking each other, then it becomes a compromise.

"Take the bed," he decides. "I'll bring things over for the floor. We'll switch if it becomes two nights."

Near, but not sharing a bed; separate beds, but not splitting a room.

From:

hippie_ninja

"I'll bring the mattress over," he says instead, because he's not going to kick K out of his own bed when he looks like this. "I'm used to sleeping on the floor. A mattress on the floor is gold standard."

From:

konstant

"You're hurt," K says again, the emphasis gentle, even a bit pained. K is hurting but there's nothing actually wrong with him, and anyway, he's a replicant.

That doesn't mean anything in particular to anyone here, but it means something to K still.

From:

hippie_ninja

It's that pain in K's voice that stops him. His friends, when they're worried about him and trying to do something nice for him, get angry with him. He's prepared for that. He's wrongfooted by such direct, empathetic kindness.

"I want you to be comfortable, too," he says, a tad helpless about it. If they're going to break the law together--and they've already agreed they will be--he wants to take care of K how he can.

From:

konstant

The mattresses in the Down public housing are nothing fancy, well worn and broken in by dozens, maybe hundreds of bodies sleeping in them over the course of their lives.

K is still absolutely sincere when he takes another draw off his cigarette and says, "Gold standard," and smiles, just barely. "We'll switch. Or adjust when we feel different."

From:

hippie_ninja

He looks at him and gives in. Mostly. "Eat your sandwich. I'm going to make your bed."

If he's worried about K being comfortable he is more than capable of making sure that K's space on the floor is cozy.

From:

konstant

He will eat the sandwich; if nothing else, Jesus spent money on it, and someone else brought it here, and K never wastes food. And he doesn't argue the compromise in turn seeing as how they're making one about arrangements.

But he does raise a hand before Jesus starts to move off the bed, offering it palm up, fingers relaxed. He doesn't try to touch Jesus or block him. This is, very much, a question and a tentative offer.

From:

hippie_ninja

He hesitates, only to look at K and make sure he's reading this offer right, and he slips his palm gently over K's. His fingers don't interlace with his; instead he touches just his fingertips to K's.

From:

konstant

K holds steady, waiting, as long as Jesus needs - only moving to tap ash off the cigarette, to hold it out of their way.

The only thing he changes is he closes his thumb, just a bit, up over the edge of Jesus's hand; he smooths it along a short, soft line, just enough pressure to be felt, to feel in turn.

A soft touch, for the harsh ones they've both endured most recently.

From:

hippie_ninja

If he lets go, he doesn't know when he'll get to have this again, so he stays. It chips away at the wall he's resisting being built up in him. He doesn't want to isolate himself and he doesn't want K to be alone, either, and here they both are, trying to be there for each other.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "For not shooting me."

He's said this to multiple people before, but never to anyone who wasn't a survivor of the same plague.