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Blood.
As much as he heard it pounding in his ears, he also felt it rushing out from a deep slash in his side. He had gotten greedy; leaving the safe house that was Olgimsky's estate. Sure, he didn’t like taking the man up on his offer, but rest was rest when too exhausted to drag himself back to the make-shift lab in the factory. He had woken up early, around 4 AM, judging by the floor clock, and had hoped to make a run to the steppe to gather herbs since their whispers spoke clearer at night. What he hadn’t expected, however, was running into one too many muggers when crossing the Spleen.
Usually he could take one on, or even outrun them, but the haruspex had found himself cornered in the streets. He managed to knock one out, but the other had caught him off guard with a knife.
His vision was blurred, heaving from landing heavily on the cobbled streets after a hard push, blood gushing and mind fogged. As the mugger lingered above him, towering over his body like a starved hyena, he stood on death's doorstep. “I’m sorry, Khyygedi.” The kids, who had put their trust in him. The khatanghe, who had prayed and cried to him for help. All ended by a man with a weapon. Oh, how ironic it would seem that it wouldn’t be the plague to end him, but rather, something that was, at least at first glance, human.
When Artemy next blinked, he hadn’t expected the blood. At least, not the blood that wasn’t his own.
It took five, six, seven seconds for him to realize that the attacker collapsed to the side of him before he had managed to give the finishing attack, although it felt like so, so much longer. He furrowed his brows, sweat slipping into his eyes and worsening his already mosaic-like vision.
A gunshot, he thinks. Was that what it was? Between the sudden collapse and the blood, it seems so. With his head rushing, it was hard to hear anything past his heartbeat. What he did notice, however, was the figure rushing to him. Were they malicious? He wasn’t sure. Maybe another looter attempting to salvage whatever goods he might have. But why would another mugger use a bullet to prevent Artemy’s death? Especially in a time like this?
It’s crazy how much you can over-think when bleeding out.
As the person hurriedly crouched by his side, he recognized the long leather coat fawning on the ground around him.
“Erdem?” He groaned, moving to sit up. He was weak, but his breath had returned, and while his head was still swimming, things were clearing up as the immediate effects of the beating subsided faintly.
The bachelor grunted affirmatively. “It’s me. Can you sit?”
Artemy nodded, pushing himself up with a bit of straining. He saw Dankovsky eyeing the wound with a slight grimace. “We need to get you patched up. Do you think you’ll be able to walk? The stillwater isn’t far from here.” The haruspex nodded once more, moving one hand to put pressure on his side.
“Yes, I- Shudkher- I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.” He didn’t like burdening the man, but he knew that he needed the help if he didn’t want to bleed out on the street. That wouldn’t be a great sight for the people here. The bachelor nodded, pausing for a second before stepping over to the two bodies, now limp on the ground, rifling through their pockets. Artemy let out a small breath through his nose, a mere imitation of a laugh.
“Looting corpses now, are we, Oynon?” The words held no real judgement, as he had done the same. Despite that, he still received a small glare.
“Medical supplies are hard to come by, not to mention expensive. So are bullets, dear colleague. May I remind you that I’ll end up using both because you decided to wander the streets at night?” Artemy gave a half-hearted smirk, his head still fuzzy. There was no real irritation behind the pointed comment. The bachelor’s eyes betrayed him; concern flooding them, which could’ve also been mistaken for fear of taking on further responsibilities had it not been for the care bleeding through. He wouldn’t call them friends, but as doctors with their elbows in the mud side by side, they had grown a certain understanding of one another.
“I apologize. I’ll pay you back with.. Whatever I can, I suppose.” He grunted, attempting to push his body up from the uncomfortable stone.
“No need. I’d rather not lose one of the few other doctors of the town, and I’m willing to give up a bullet and some bandages if necessary.
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.
” He stood up swiftly, reaching a hand down to pull Artemy up. He grabbed it, groaning to a stand. Dankovsky quickly tugged Artemy’s arm around him in order to help him stay up. As embarrassing as it was, the haruspex was grateful. The warmth of the body next to him compared to the previously cold and unforgiving ground sent small shivers through him, although he didn’t dare to lean into him more than necessary.
While the walk to the stillwater couldn’t have been more than five minutes away normally, the slow pace made it agonizing. Artemy’s side was soaked in his own blood, and while it had slowed a bit, it still would need stitches, and the fuzziness was quickly returning to his head. “Just a little further,” Dankovsky had muttered. Regardless, Artemy had no way of really verifying whether that was true or not.
Before he had realized it, they were through the door and awkwardly stumbling their way through the circular, library-like room that Eva usually would reside in. She merely watched, with a curious but otherwise expressionless face. Artemy knew how she felt about the bachelor, and while she wasn’t necessarily opposed to guests, he still felt like it bothered her to see Dankovsky act anything other than cold to someone as he seemed to do everyone else. Why that crossed his mind now, he wasn’t sure.
After the slow process of climbing the stairs, Dankovsky unceremoniously dropped him in an armless chair, quickly going to his desk to comb through the drawers. He paused for a second before looking over.
“You may want to take off the shirts. Stitching clothed wounds have proven to not be the best idea.”
Artemy had to agree.
Undoing the buckles and pulling off both the dirty smock as well as the dark gray turtleneck underneath proved a challenge, taking long enough that the thanatologist had already found the necessary things to patch him up. Having the doctor watch as he partially undressed was.. Weird. He didn’t hate it, though. Not that he liked it-at least he didn’t think he did-but there was a certain trust between him and the other man. Plus, while not the same, the other had shed his snake skin coat and his cravat for easier movement, leaving the vest and the collared shirt to contrast against one another.
His brow did perk up in confusion, however, as the other man popped open a half full bottle of twyrine.
“First you get me shirtless and then you try to get me drunk, Oynon? I didn’t take you for that kind of man,” he said jokingly, earning him a scoff.
“I’ve got to clean the wound somehow. Plus, it seems that I am currently out of morphine, unfortunately, so this is the best I can offer.” Artemy let out a grunt of understanding, as well as appreciation. Guilt vaguely gnawed at him, remembering the few vials of morphine he, himself, had tucked away, although he needed those for other patients.
Dankovsky grabbed a torn-but seemingly clean-washcloth, lightly pouring a bit on the bundled fabric, then handing the rest of the bottle to Artemy, who graciously accepted it before taking a sip.
“The conditions here are bad at best,” the doctor at work said. “I had to reshape a sewing needle over a candle in preparation for situations like this, and I’m forced to use twyre spirit for cleaning a wound.” He pressed the cloth to the wound, resulting in a small hiss from the larger man. He stopped for a second.
“I apologize, try to endure it. The needle most likely won’t be the most pleasant, either. Not sharp nor thin enough to be used on skin.” Artemy expected that. He took another sip, this time longer. He was a big guy, so it would take a bit for him to feel the effect, but at least the heat of the alcohol warmed him up a bit. His skin flushed as the hands of the Bachelor, now ungloved, worked on his wound, waves of heat running through him. He wrote it up to it being the alcohol taking effect easier due to the blood loss.
Silence fell between them as the doctor worked, slowly pulling the skin together in practiced movements. The stitches weren’t perfect, as expected with improper equipment, but it worked in a clutch.
Artemy loosened his grip on the bottle with a sigh, not realizing how tight his grasp had been before his fingers started to have a dull ache. Dankovsky’s eyes shifted to his, the sound having broken his focus.
Between the gentle burn of the alcohol and the look of now broken concentration in the others’ eyes, his head swam. He knew he looked like a mess; face flushed, a slight sheen of sweat from the long haul here, to the delicately parted lips and heavy breathing. He could barely find it in him to care, though.
The bachelor, however, furrowed his brows further, clearing his throat before returning to his work. A faint redness creeped along his pale skin, coloring the tips of his ears and dusting his cheeks. Embarrassment, he figured.
“So, what was so important to bring you into the streets at night?” The words broke through his haze, pulling him more back to reality, making him realize he’d been staring. While it seemed like idle chatter, genuine interest peaked through his words. Artemy let out another breath, another half hearted attempt at a laugh.
“I was on my way to the steppe. I have to gather as much as I can while the twyre is still in bloom. Not to mention, producing tinctures can be time consuming.” The Bachelor scoffed.
“You were risking your life to go gather herbs?” His tone was amused more than anything. Despite the dark lines under his eyes breaking the playful response, Artemy gave him a small smile in return.
“You try looking for twyre during the day. It’s harder than you’d think, Erdem.” The other rolled his eyes, pulling back to grab a pair of scissors to cut the thread after looping the last stitch and closing up the wound. Artemy felt his heartbeat quicken as the other inspected the stitches before padding over it with the washcloth to clean off any remaining blood from the area, now wet with water from a flask.
“And you, Oynon? What were you doing out in the streets; with a gun, no less?” He paused his movement, as if the question had caught him off guard. His eyes landed on Artemy’s face, scanning over his features.
“Simply relaying information. Time is short, and it seems I’ve been reduced to a messenger boy for now.” He sighed. “Food is running low, and both the Saburov’s and the Olgimsky’s patience have been grinding thin.” Artemy nodded. He knew how they could be.
He reached down, stilling the bachelors hands.
“I can clean myself, you know.” The other flushed harder, but shook his head.
“You are in no state to do that. I don’t want you ruining my work and tearing my stitches because you weren’t patient enough with cleaning up.” While Artemy felt reluctant, he understood. He was a patient man in most cases, however that patience came short when it was about himself. So he nodded curtly before looking away and taking another swig of the twyrine, his head fogging with the faint awareness and connection to the town, as well as the blood rushing through him.
Despite the town calling, he had no urge to leave, gently melting in the chair from the buzz and the soft, cold touches of the washcloth against his burning skin. The sudden movement of Dankovsky pulling back and standing up to drop the now bloodied fabric off in a small basin caught his attention, watching the man almost mechanically sweep through the room. A natural grace mixed with a slight tensity in his step not going unnoticed by the menkhu.
“I’m figuring you are in no condition to go back out there.” It felt more like an order than a mere observation, Artemy realized. “The bed is free for you to use, and I would highly recommend you take me up on that offer.” Another pang of guilt formed in his gut. Not only had Dankovsky saved him, he had used several of his resources on him, he had wasted his time, and now the man was offering up his bed to him. He furrowed his brows.
“Erdem, you look as if you haven’t slept in days yourself. I can’t in good conscience do that.” The slight slurring of his speech made the other smile wryly.
“Do you see yourself? You were on the brink of death less than an hour ago, and now you can barely speak properly between the blood loss and the alcohol. You need the rest.” The haruspex grunted. He was right; but he didn’t feel good about it. He took a deep breath before slowly rising to a stand. The other’s expression changed to one of confusion, however, as Artemy stepped closer to him instead of the bed. He placed the near empty bottle on the desk that the ebony haired man was leaning against, grasping his arm instead.
Their eyes met, one holding confusion while the other had a sort of fogged over determination. “Wait, Burakh, I-” Dankovsky’s speech was cut off as he was tugged off by his arm, being dragged to the bed. Artemy knew the man needed rest as much as he did himself. He plopped onto the soft bed, gently moving a book out of the way before tugging the hesitant and confused bachelor down beside him.
Artemy was well aware that he was a larger man, and that it would be a tight fit, but occasionally he’d have to make do with what he had. He wrapped his arms around the other, both to save space and to prevent the man from moving away.
“Get some rest. You deserve it,” he muttered under his breath, flushing at the other’s breath landing on his bare collarbone and shoulder. A small smile grew as the tenseness of Dankovsky’s body slowly melted into his hold.
“Unbelievable, the gall of you,” he had mumbled before settling into the hold. “You’re lucky I haven’t slept in a while, Burakh.” Artemy’s smile widened. As if instinctive, he brought a hand up to comb his fingers through the other’s soft hair. He made a mental note that despite not having been washed for a bit, it still had a faint soap smell, and it had somehow stayed smooth regardless.
He was nowhere near drunk, and yet, he felt so much bolder. Things that had barely occurred to him now felt natural. Reaching out, holding, caressing.
Perhaps it was the stress.
Artemy had never been much for romance; his life often being too busy with work and study. Despite occasional crushes and, in rarity, a few dates, he had never had much experience within that department. This, however? It just felt right.
Did he like the bachelor? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t exactly know what that entailed. What he did know was that holding him close felt safe. Protective and protected. He nuzzled further into the smaller man, placing a small kiss on the top of the other’s head, leaving him silent.
“Sleep well, Bachelor.” He felt Dankovsky just barely reciprocating the hold, faintly nudging his head further into Artemy’s shoulder.
“Goodnight, Burakh.”
-
When he woke up, his senses were clearer, almost too much so. The aching sting in his patched up wound, the sharpness of the world around him, and.. The sweet scent of soap, of a long forgotten cologne lingering, of sweat and filth wiped off despite it not entirely letting go. The feeling of an arm hanging across his mid, with his own around shoulders. The feeling of hair and the others breath below his chin and on his neck. Hell, even the oh so gentle touch of eyelashes pressed against him.
He was surprised to find that he had no urge to pull away. Sure, he had been cognizant of his emotions a few hours prior, but he had still been tired and running on empty. Between the spirit and the post adrenaline rush, he had acted selfishly.
It did give him the best rest he had had in ages, admittedly. And not just because it was a better bed than his cot and the occasional couches he had been crashing on.
He allowed himself the bliss of another’s hold, of the closeness and intimacy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had gotten a hug from anyone other than the one from a young child with a scraped knee. He let himself relax, despite the plague destructively raging on outside, despite knowing that it would be back to endless work after. Despite knowing that he would be back to slowly killing himself, he let himself have just a moment of peace, and safety, and of warmth.
As it comes, it just as quickly ends. Not after long-couldn’t have been more than ten minutes-Dankovsky stirred from his sleep. The opening of his eyes had the lashes tickle his throat, just a smidgen.
If Artemy didn’t write it up to his imagination, it almost felt like the other took on a small smile upon realizing their intimacy.
It was quickly unwound, however, as Dankovsky sat up, forcing the blonde to retract his arms. The former swung his legs to the side in order to sit straight, stretching his arms and back, letting out small sighs as joints popped satisfyingly. The only noise after that, however, were the faint ones of the town seeping through window cracks.
“I must admit, that has probably been the best sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” His voice was low, hesitant, albeit appreciative. Artemy let out an affirmative grunt, turning to lay on his back under the soft comforter while studying the other. His black hair was a mess, tousled out of its usual shape.
“As was it for me.” He responded, his heart gently pounding in his chest. "It may only have been a couple of hours, but I feel better rested than I have in long.” Dankovsky nodded, standing up. He turned to look at Artemy, his face still lightly dusted pink.
“While pleasant, time is running out. We- I have to get a move on.” He found another washcloth, briefly wiping his face with one hand while trying to fix his hair with the other, almost instinctively. “While I hate to rush you out knowing resting would do better for your injury, every doctor is needed as of now.”
Artemy sat up as well. He was well-aware of the shit-storm going on outside, and he, too, understood the urgency. He reached into the small bag on his outer thigh, pulling out a sewing needle and some thread before gathering the previously discarded shirts. The thread didn’t match either fabrics, nor was he used to anything other than surgical stitching, although it would have to do. Walking out without a shirt on wasn’t an option, and neither was making the local women stitch the fabric together while on him.
.. Especially since they were mildly soaked through with his blood.
Somehow, despite needing to stitch it up and buckle everything back up, it had taken the bachelor just as long to smoothen his shirt with his hands, to tie the bright red cravat with its lavish pin, to fix his hair, to put his gloves back on, and to pull the long coat back onto his shoulders. The entire ordeal went on with no conversation, nor any real focus on the situation other than a slight lingering stare from the thanatologist.
Once both done and ready, they stood. Tense. Awkward, even, almost avoiding eye contact.
“Well, dear colleague, it seems it’s time to head off?” Artemy's gaze flew up to study the other’s face, eventually landing on the top of his head.
“Hold on-” he reached out, running his fingers through Dankovsky’s hair, fixing the part that he had missed without a mirror. When it was sufficiently even, he smoothed it out with his palm before giving a decisive nod. “There we go. Can’t have your reputation as the handsome big city doctor fall to the ground because of a bad hair day.” His eyes connected with the other pair already staring back at him.
His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the emotions flickering through his eyes. He wasn’t sure what they were or what they meant, but they made him soar. Such a gentle color. Brown, like the earth. Like a mixture of the herbs he worked with. Like the hide of a prize winning bull.
Eyes that could represent everything that was alive and beautiful, although so often everything but locked behind a gate of stress. Artemy felt a small smile slip onto his face as his hand slid from the top of the other's head to his pale cheek, gently holding it.
Neither had realized the small looks to lips, nor the almost imperceptible moves closer to one another. Neither knew what to say, if anything. It was just heat and safety.
Artemy’s other hand hesitantly landed on the others waist before closing the rest of the gap between them.
He was hyper-aware of every single sensation: The lightly chapped lips resting against his, the palms resting on his chest, the scruff scratching against his own, the heat radiating off of his dear bachelor’s face. He let out a small breath through his nose, almost in relief. How he hadn’t realized how long he had needed this, how the other man managed to move his heart and spirit in a way no one else seemed able to.
Their lips massaged against each other, slowly and nervously. There was no strong passion, only tentative exploration ending in understanding on both sides. Their souls danced, playful adoration mutually melting into one solid state.
Sadly, it had to end eventually, which both parties had to acknowledge. It didn’t stop the prized, yet slightly dazed looks either of them gave each other, though.
What Artemy wouldn’t have given to stay. To sleep the day away with the other in his arms, ignoring the outside world screaming and yelling for aid from the both of them.
He knew that wasn’t an option, though. He reluctantly pulled away, tracing his hand from the other doctor's cheek down and along his arms, giving his hand a squeeze.
“It’s time to go, Erdem,” He whispered, afraid to break the trance. Dankovsky closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath with an expeditious nod.
“So it seems, Burakh.” They both paused, silence falling over them. “.. Artemy.” He then corrected himself, almost testing out the name. His heart kept ascending, never wanting to let go of the sweet sound of his name on the others lips.
“Let’s go.. Daniil..?” He mumbled. It felt scary. Committal. But it also felt right. The other masked stern focus, only fooled by a small light in his eyes and a small quirk of the edge of his mouth.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now.” Artemy chuckled, not missing the smile breaking through as Daniil said it.
“I wouldn’t dare, Erdem.”
Needless to say, while her expression was still somewhat flowery sweet as they passed through, the dried tears on Eva Yan’s face were still visible, and while Artemy felt like she now understood just how far the bachelors love was out of reach, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty.