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It's late into the night and Porsche has been in bed for hours, waiting for sleep that won't come, when he hears a few taps to his door before it finally opens with a creak.
"I should have known better than to give you an order and expect you to follow me," Kinn says from the doorway of Porsche's hospital room.
"Should I have just left you to die then, asshole?" Porsche fires back, annoyed. He's lucky arguing with Kinn seems to come naturally to him because he's able to do it while scanning every inch of Kinn that he can lay his eyes on.
He looks worse for wear, but really what could anyone expect? They were lost in the woods for three days, they fell into a cave, and then Kinn got himself shot. For Porsche. It's a miracle that, except for the bullet wound, the worst he has to deal with is a few scratches.
Kinn closes the door softly behind him and slowly shuffles towards Porsche's bed. He's got an IV stand with him and Porsche can tell he's leaning his weight on it slightly.
"What are you doing here?" Porsche sits up in bed. There's no use pretending to be asleep if Kinn is here to bother him anyway. "I thought you were going to have surgery?"
"I did," Kinn replies once he's standing right beside Porsche's bed. "They just let me out of recovery half an hour ago."
" Shit!" Porsche just barely stops himself from screaming. He's got one hand on Kinn's good arm, eyes flitting over him once, twice, three times just to make sure he isn't bleeding anywhere. "Then why the hell are you here? Shouldn't you be laying down?"
"Exactly, so scoot over before my stitches rip," Kinn says as he sits on the edge of Porsche's bed. He doesn't even bother hiding the smug smile on his face when Porsche moves like greased lightning as soon as Kinn says the words "stitches."
Asshole.
Kinn gingerly settles into bed next to him and Porsche, for all his talk, gets up to make sure his IV stand is in the right place. He adjusts the angle of the bed so that Kinn is comfortable and there isn't any unnecessary pressure on his stitches.
Once all that is done, Kinn looks up at him from where he's successfully stolen half of Porsche's bed.
"Come here, then,” he says primly. “Let's share."
Begrudgingly, Porsche sits back on his side of the bed. He turns to Kinn and finds the latter staring right back at him.
"What's up with you?" Porsche asks, trying to appear as nonchalant as he can. This isn’t the first time their eyes have met like this. In fact, Kinn always looks away first.
"I couldn't sleep," Kinn shrugs with his good shoulder, eyes not leaving Porsche once.
"What does that have to do with me?" Porsche pushes on, crossing his arms at his chest.
"I got used to having you beside me when I sleep."
And fuck winning their little staring contest because no way is Porsche going to hold Kinn's gaze after that. It's too much. He's still not sure how to approach everything that happened in the forest in a way that would minimize his chances of getting hurt.
"I'm glad you didn't, by the way."
"What?"
"Leave me to die," Kinn says quietly.
Porsche snorts. Was Kinn still loopy from the anesthetic? Is that what this is? He looks back at Kinn and is taken aback by how open and fond his expression is.
"Weren't you just complaining that I never follow your orders?"
"I can complain and be grateful at the same time," Kinn insists, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance even though one corner of his mouth twitches upwards and betrays him.
"Then let me make it up to you for..." Taking a bullet for me, he wants to say. But the words get stuck in his throat so instead he coughs and makes a declaration. "I, Porsche Kittisawat, 23 years old, promise to follow the next order you give me as long as I find it reasonable."
"Really?" Kinn asks and he's smiling again and Porsche tries to tamp the emotions down but he can't help the giddiness bubbling up inside of him knowing that he put that smile on Kinn's face.
"Yes, that's a promise! You have one chance. Just let me know when you think of something–"
"Stay," Kinn says, still smiling though it's softer. More hesitant. He's eaten properly for the first time in three days, he's gotten cleaned up, and he's just been released from the recovery room after getting a minor surgery done on his bullet wound.
He still looks more vulnerable now than when he was bleeding out on the forest floor.
"Please, if you can."
And just. Fuck. How was Porsche supposed to keep his emotions in check with that?
"You're such an idiot," Porsche complains as he takes Kinn's hand in his and laces their fingers together. He lays down on his side, facing Kinn, and it's a good thing they're in the VIP wing with the bigger beds because it's honestly a snug fit for two grown men to squeeze into one hospital bed like this. Still, the room is a bit cold and the blanket can't quite cover both of them so Porsche can't be blamed for leaning into Kinn's space, on the uninjured shoulder, and pressing his nose the slightest bit into Kinn's neck.
Kinn laughs and Porsche thinks he feels Kinn press a quick kiss to the top of his head but Porsche can't even come up with a half-hearted, contradictory remark to say to that. Everything is too good. Kinn's warmth, his scent, the mere fact that Kinn was here -- everything about this situation brings Porsche the feeling of safety that he didn't even know he was looking for.
Later, when Kinn's breathing evens out, Porsche can't help the sleepy, content sigh that seems to bubble out of him from the warmth in his core, the fluttering in his chest.
He thinks of that night in the forest. Of the moment when he heard gunshots and didn't even need to turn back. How he just ran as fast as he could and his feet brought him to where he needed to be.
"One chance," Porsche murmurs into Kinn's skin as sleep finally, finally overtakes him. "And you waste it on something I was going to do anyway."