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The mask is what catches Zhao’s attention.
Joon-gi was acting strangely during their adventuring that day. He had spaced out a few times and taken hits he should’ve been able to dodge. Now that they’re back at the bar, he sits hidden away at a booth in the corner, sulking and keeping his head down. But he’s always been strange and withdrawn, and if he doesn’t want to talk, it wouldn’t be right to intrude, would it?
He’s been wearing that black face mask all day. He hadn’t worn that since he joined their party.
Zhao cautiously approaches his booth and sits across from him. Up close, it’s clear how different he really is, with dull eyes and pale skin that looks ghostly against his dark clothes. Not a good sign.
“You okay, man? Haven’t heard a peep from you all day.”
“I’m fine. Just a little under the weather.” He has a raspy edge to his voice that would be cute if it wasn’t so pitiful. Zhao’s throat hurts just from hearing him talk.
“You don’t sound fine. Got a cold or something? You should’ve stayed in today if you weren’t feeling well.”
He bows his head and some of his slicked-back hair falls loose, brushing against his forehead. He hastily pushes it back in place. “This is no time to be ill. I can’t afford to waste away days in bed.”
“I get it, there’s been a lot going on lately. But I’ve ignored my body and overworked myself enough in the past to know that you’re gonna crash and burn if you keep that up. It’s easy to do when there’s a lot of people relying on you, isn’t it?”
Joon-gi goes wide-eyed. As a fellow Ijin Three leader, Zhao knows more than anyone the kind of pressure they were under.
They weren’t really friends back then, although Zhao wished they could’ve been. Their relationship was limited to shared glances across the meeting table at Heian. Seong-hui was stern but could appreciate a good joke, while her second-in-command was always dour. In the beginning, Joon-gi wouldn’t even make eye contact with any of them. He seemed tense, troubled. A feeling Zhao knew all too well.
He’d subtly try to make Joon-gi laugh or smile, looking for any change in expression and hoping he could lighten the mood. It was a fun challenge when he was bored, plus, he was a little worried for the poor guy. He’d like to think he was at least slightly amusing. It was hard to tell. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at reading Joon-gi now, after so much experience looking for clues in a twitch of the mouth or barely-narrowed eyes.
“I’ll be alright. I…” He has to stop and clear his throat when he gets hoarse. He can lie all he wants, but he can’t cover that up. Usually his tells aren’t so obvious. “I can handle this.”
“Don’t think you can fool me with that shit. I’m gonna get you some medicine or something, and you better damn well take it.” Zhao tries to sound authoritative, but he’s found that his caring nature can be as hard to suppress as a cough.
He stands, and Joon-gi gets this look on his face like he’s considering running and hiding. But he’s still there when Zhao returns.
“This one’s special-made by the bartender. He says it’ll fix you right up, better than anything you could get at a drugstore.” He places the cup of tea on the table and Joon-gi scowls at it, his contempt visible even behind his mask.
It smells herbal and honey-sweet, enough to make Zhao’s mouth water. He’ll have to get some for himself later.
Joon-gi pulls down his mask and his expression suddenly softens. He probably noticed too, despite the stuffy nose he must have. He blows away the steam and hesitantly takes a sip. The way his eyes light up is telling.
“See, what did I tell you?” Zhao playfully swats his shoulder, so gentle it barely makes contact. “You better take it easy tomorrow, okay? Or else I’ll have to tie you down and lock the door.”
“And you’ll be fine without me?” He says it so woefully, as if he'll be gone forever.
“It’s just one day, we can keep things under control. Well, as under control as they usually are. That’s not a high expectation with this crew.”
“Heh. If you say so.” His eyelids are drooping. He resists for a moment, but sighs and lets them flutter shut. His voice is hushed and scratchy. “I suppose you’re right. I won’t be useful if I burn myself out.”
“That’s not the point! Useful or not, you’re my friend, and I... er, we all care about you.”
The tea must be working, Joon-gi thinks — a warm and fuzzy sensation replaces the congestion in his chest.