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Survival, Shai thought, was the one thing he was unquestionably good at. Was the one thing he understood on this absolute miserable bitch of a star.
Sure, you could question that claim, from the outside looking in it may seem otherwise. How he can't help but recall the little spat he and Sun just had about 'deathwishes' and 'who may or may not have them' not too long ago. Sun claimed he didn't, Shai thought otherwise, his actions sure a shit sung another tune-- and Shai knew he didn't, though Sun certainly wasn't so convinced. And, beyond his stubbornness, he gets it, yeah, sure, may seem counter-intuitive for a guy who supposedly values survival above all to be constantly picking fights, diving head first into the hornet's nest night after night. Knowing the belly of the beast better than his own scars.
But, that was it, wasn't it? Didn't that also prove his case? What better way to survive, to win, than hone yourself? Something something knowing your enemy and knowing yourself. He was no rambling Mhigan monk but he knew that it didn't matter if you waited for the fight to come to you or if you got up off your ass to chase it; survival was an instinct, a skill, a thing inside yourself, the blade in your gut that you had the choice to clash against whetstone and sharpen or leave dull and unused.
It made perfect sense, to him at least, he wasn't sure how Sun couldn't see it, or how he couldn't see that his own actions were absolutely courting a stupid, meaningless death.
In the quiet of the warehouse he studies him silently, privately, over a project of scrap in front of him. After their blowout the air had been a touch more terse than usual but, whether he felt that or not Sun didn't let it impede him one bit, busying himself with this and that, addressing Shai over his shoulder casually as if it was a lifetime in the past already. This lull of busying quiet was nothing new between them, and it made for an easy floor to watch him with a slid, lidded gaze, mismatched eyes far away and unmoving, pinned onto peach fur.
The blaring alarum of Castrum Centri was nothing new to him, neither was the blinding rolls of red emergency lights nor the deafening roar of the hurried footfalls of soldiers the next corridor over. The adrenaline coursing through his blood, the taste of metal, smoke and gunpowder, the flurry of his heartbeat, the single-minded way his instincts were honed in on nothing but surviving. A heat all too familiar, a home.
But this. This. Fuckin' this. Stopped in a darkened hall, kneeling next to a bleeding Garlean's sorry excuse for a body, the only source of light being the heated glow of Sun's eyes and the aether pouring forth from his hands.
He had tried, of course he fuckin' had, to get Sun to forget it and keep his ass moving, it was one sorry fuckin' blighter, just leave him, they have bigger problems to worry about. Besides, if that red-and-black clad bastard had the strength to lift his gunblade he would've fired at them both by now. But all the soldier could muster now, from his spot back against the wall, was to tilt his head back and twist his eyes shut, hissing through gritted teeth from the pain, cold sweat running rivulets down his neck.
Shai watched, torn between obsessively watching their flanks, and watching Sun work, every excruciating second feeling like a bell and then some. To ease out his mounting frustration and fear he took to bearing threats onto their unwilling patient. 'Keep fuckin' quiet, try anythin' an' he won't be able to bring yer ass back from what I'll do to you.'
Only to be immediately balanced by the even-keeled, focused calm in Sun's voice. 'Hold on, almost there, you're doing well, breathe for me.'
Unable to muster the energy to respond, Shai watched as the soldier swallowed hard, throat bobbing with the effort, how he couldn't help but notice the way the main artery vein there was stressed and bulging. How easy it would be to tear through it if he tried anything, to have him bleeding out in mere seconds.
Only in retrospect, much later when they had made it back to the warehouse, did Shai realize that it was likely Sun had noticed the exact same thing, that they both had an eye for that sort of detail.
Just for completely different reasons.
Where Shai saw the quickest ways to end a life if need be, Sun saw every way to preserve a life at any cost.
"... Y'shai? Anyone home in there, tough guy?"
A voice. Sun's voice.
"Huh?"
He's standing there, above and in front of him, from where Shai sits on his spot of the couch. Even in the dimness of their warehouse that smile basically fuckin' lights up the room.
"There you are, did you have a nice trip? I was about to get started on supper, in the mood for anything?"
He swallows, blinking himself to focus, to will away the after-effect images of Sun's bloodstained, aetherpulsing hands.
"I, uh. 'M fine, s'fine, anythins' good."
And when Sun turns then, before he's taken no more than two steps away, Shai finds he's already standing and on his feet.
"Wait, lemme, uh. Lemme give ye a hand."
Which spurs another smile from Sun, only for them to fall into a familiar, playful banter, Sun's last culinary concoction wasn't that bad, Shai had eaten it! Sure, the eft tongue had been a little rubbery, but maybe he just overcooked it a smidge...
Like night and day. But Shai would be a liar to say he wasn't growing to chase his light, fostering a home there. His own personal heliotropic shadow.