[Once, long ago, Yujin had been told he had a grand gift of silence. He'd been a bit annoyed to hear it at first: after all, hearing someone enjoys when you keep your mouth shut does not a glowing compliment make. But it wasn't long before he realized how vital that silence truly was in a relationship. At its best it was intuitive: not an emptiness or absence, but a quiet binding together of every other moment. The hold of breath above an exhale; short rests between notes.
Settling into tonight's makeshift camp feels like one of those rests. For all the hurt that still hangs between him and Jake, there's already an understanding there, tying them together by mere presence alone. By hard work. By shared fortune and misfortune, and by burdens carried together.
He's watching Clover ruffle himself into a little ball of feathers when Jake, breaking that silence at last, pulls him out of his reverie.]
We did better than I hoped. [he replies, stretching his hands nearer to the crackling fire. After all, they'd been kicked off the train with next to nothing on them. His hands come to rest back at his sides again when Jake transfers their little harvest from his hand-basket to the empty case: the hard, red fruits tumble in, colliding with each other with a soft rumble like a drumroll.
Yujin takes one of the strange Ankatan fruits, rubbing it clean against his shirt sleeve. He brings it to his mouth, and his teeth sink through the tart skin and into the sweet, pink flesh with a crunch: the texture of a crisp persimmon, its flavor crossed strangely with a plum. Or a peach? He's not sure. Yujin utters an approving hum.]
They're good.
[The hesitant ghost of a smile crosses his lips. A second later, it's gone, because the basket of fruit is again his friend's hand, marred by burns far along, but not quite finished, in their healing. Yujin's eyes walk along, stopping at the bullet wound (unsightly but healing) and ending on Jake's bruised cheek-- new, blooming, his fault.]
Does it still hurt?
[He forgets to specify what. Maybe he's asking about everything. He's not entirely sure.]
no subject
Settling into tonight's makeshift camp feels like one of those rests. For all the hurt that still hangs between him and Jake, there's already an understanding there, tying them together by mere presence alone. By hard work. By shared fortune and misfortune, and by burdens carried together.
He's watching Clover ruffle himself into a little ball of feathers when Jake, breaking that silence at last, pulls him out of his reverie.]
We did better than I hoped. [he replies, stretching his hands nearer to the crackling fire. After all, they'd been kicked off the train with next to nothing on them. His hands come to rest back at his sides again when Jake transfers their little harvest from his hand-basket to the empty case: the hard, red fruits tumble in, colliding with each other with a soft rumble like a drumroll.
Yujin takes one of the strange Ankatan fruits, rubbing it clean against his shirt sleeve. He brings it to his mouth, and his teeth sink through the tart skin and into the sweet, pink flesh with a crunch: the texture of a crisp persimmon, its flavor crossed strangely with a plum. Or a peach? He's not sure. Yujin utters an approving hum.]
They're good.
[The hesitant ghost of a smile crosses his lips. A second later, it's gone, because the basket of fruit is again his friend's hand, marred by burns far along, but not quite finished, in their healing. Yujin's eyes walk along, stopping at the bullet wound (unsightly but healing) and ending on Jake's bruised cheek-- new, blooming, his fault.]
Does it still hurt?
[He forgets to specify what. Maybe he's asking about everything. He's not entirely sure.]