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Rin had heard that almost dying was meant to change your perspective on things. They said the rush of your life in its entirety flashing before your eyes in one awful second forced you to reconsider the decision you had made. She had thought that was bullshit. Recalling every strike from Auntie Fang, every angry customer’s scream in her face, every night of sleepless terror at the thought of marrying a pig who’d do worse… How was remembering any of that meant to make Rin regret choosing to fight to escape it all, choosing to fight to stay away from it all?
Maybe she would have been right if it had been just that. But like with every other fucking thing that had ever happened, it wasn’t just that. Instead of almost dying, singular, it had been almost dying, multiple. Instead of a moment of reliving, it had been an eternity of it, and if there was one thing Rin hadn’t needed any confirmation for, it was that an eternity of Auntie Fang was enough to wish for death, let alone an eternity of her and every other fucker Rin had met in her life. Still, she hadn’t regretted anything. A moment, an eternity, the difference may have cemented her harder, but it hadn’t changed any direction in her mind.
What had changed wasn’t anything in her head. It hadn’t even been the several broken bones and probably broken organs inside her body. It had been Nezha’s soft hands over hers, his soft words against whatever wretched cries managed to tear up out of her. It had been what he had said.
Funny, that. It wasn’t the pain from a Mugenese soldier caving in half her chest which was going to kill her. It was going to be Nezha telling her that he loved her as he pleaded for her to survive.
A younger Rin would have chortled at the idea of Nezha doing something, anything, out of love for her. An older Rin guessed it tracked. Even in tenderness, Nezha would always be the one to kill her.
The needle entered her.
She went cold.
“Eat, idiot,” Nezha told her, jutting the spoon so close to her mouth that Rin thought he was doing a remarkably good job at almost cracking a few of her teeth for someone so obsessed with her getting better.
Telling him such was out of the question, whatever garbles possible with a tongue loose from opium was not worth it. One, Nezha was the type of jackass to laugh at her for it. Two, he was the type of smart jackass to shove the spoon into her mouth with that opportunity.
She settled for just raising her eyebrows in her best, “Is this how you are going to try to convince me to eat?” expression. Judging from the blend of irritation and affection on his face, the point was received.
Most people, she thought, would have taken that as a sign to shut up. If it had been Kitay, who, in fairness, was the furthest thing from most people, he would have maybe even apologized. But this was Nezha, and so it made sense for him to smile instead.
“Come on Rin,” he cooed and, like the condescending motherfucker he was, waved the spoon, “Here comes the birdy!”
He laughed again at her glare, and that sealed the deal. If he had meant what he had said back then instead of merely being desperate like the rest of the Cike had been and just saying shit, if she hadn’t maybe even just hallucinated his confession, wouldn’t there have been some change? A flinch, perhaps. A pause and an apology to the girl he supposedly loved. But no, he was grinning cruelly, just like he always did, nothing different at all between. Rin supposed it was for the best. What was she meant to do with love? A shared annoyance of a friendship, that she could at least savour. She opened her mouth and grimaced as the hot liquid filled her mouth, scrunching her nose at the salty taste. She didn’t think, however, that she could ever savour this.
“There you go!” Nezha coaxed, oblivious as ever, “Swallow now, won’t you? There’s a good girl.”
What the fuck?
Everything came rushing into her head, worse than any near-death haunt, worse than even during the split-second drop when Enki had injected her to stop the pain and patch her up. Well, she may have been just as close to death as with any of those times.
The shock at the insinuation in his words and in her mind. The way the blood plummeted in her heart as it rushed to her face and ears. And, of course, the choking of her throat as she lost focus on controlling her muscles.
It was no surprise that Nezha would come closer to killing than anything else in these past few days. It was one that it was out of this, of all fucking things.
“There, there,” the son of a bitch comforted, rubbing her back as he leaned closer to her bed than before, even now drawing a deeper red to her skin, “It’s okay. It makes sense you’d gag. It’s been a tough time for you lately.”
This fucker.
Rin felt herself flush deeper, but she couldn’t care about how stupid she’d look with, crimson staining on mud, not when it was half rage and humiliation instead of anything warm. He knew. He knew. He had known what he was saying, had known the suggestion in it. Hah. How could he not have? Nezha was no idiot. Rin was. Rin was the biggest idiot in the world for ever believing that he would say anything like this without it being a joke on her like everything else in her life had been.
She spat out the rancid soup onto Nezha’s face, but the son of a bitch couldn’t even look ugly with that, his lovely face frowning in a perfectly schooled expression of indulgent disappointment.
“Most men don’t like it when you spit-” he started, only for his frown to shift into something genuine when she refused to look at him.
“Rin?” he asked worriedly.
Rin didn’t lift her head. She wouldn’t let him see her cry, even as she knew he could see the tears staining her linen just as much as she could feel his concern even while looking away.
The soup went cold.
It was just like Nezha, Rin thought with half hate and half affection as always with Nezha, to bring food to her as an offering of apology when it had been what had upset her in the first place.
“Congee.” He has said, placing the bowl beside her, as though she was a simpleton who didn’t know.
Somehow, it felt more irritating than when he had done it to provoke her. At least with that, she had known he hadn’t actually thought of her that way. And that had been the real start of it, hadn’t it? Him making her think he felt something for her that he didn’t.
She scoffed at him, turning away again. She hated this, hated not being able to scream at him, to tackle him, to fight with him until they were both bleeding. Hated not being able to go back to how they were before.
“Rin,” she heard him plead, a victory she couldn’t even celebrate, “You need to eat. You’ll get sick if you don’t. You are already-”
She turned to him. Why, she mouthed, slowly enough for him to be hit with each word, do you care?
Nezha blinked, before twisting with indignant anger.
“Wh- oh wow, let me think.” he snapped sarcastically, cupping his chin in a faux ponder. “Maybe it’s because I care about you? Because you are my friend? Because you saved our asses and almost got killed, and if you die, the rest of us have a higher chance of getting offed too?”
She let him continue, not that she could do anything else half paralysed, before mouthing again after he had stopped.
Because you love me? She asked,
Nezha pulled back, mouth dropping, and all Rin could do was curse herself for her stupidity before he replied.
“You remember?” he asked with something that couldn’t be anything other than regret.
Oh. Well, it seemed her first theory was correct. He had done what he could to keep her alive, it wasn’t just some wistful delusion brought out of agony. She didn’t know what to do with that. She supposed it was better than her being so deluded and pathetic that she had imagined it. But then, she also supposed it was worse a thing to have Nezha say that and for it to be some regret for him to carry, something that would linger between. They wouldn’t, she thought mournfully, be able to go back to the way it was, couldn’t exchange a barb or sweet bun without this being dredged back up.
She didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. She bowed her head down, picking up the congee and sliding it onto her lap. Nezha was a shitty chef, she reassured herself, and probably hadn’t added enough salt. It was a good thing she was crying to make up for that.
The asshole couldn’t even let her have that, his hands cupping her cheeks, his fingers wiping away her tears.
“Rin,” he whispered, so softly she wouldn’t have been able to say anything harsh even with her tongue working. “I thought you were going to die. I wasn’t even sacred. I thought I knew that…that-”
Wait.
Were. Were.
It wasn’t something that angered her. They all were soldiers, shamans. They knew death or worse was the fate that awaited them. She couldn’t hold that against Nezha. But if Nezha had thought she was going to die, that there was no hope in saving her, why had he said that?
His eyes were gleaming, Rin noted. Nezha didn’t cry like her. His face didn’t get blotchy, his nose didn’t run, and his eyes didn’t become swollen. He cried as beautifully as the rest of him. Even his fucking tears looked too perfect, clear drops sliding down his face immaculately.
“I wanted you to know.” His voice wasn’t. It cracked with emotion, quavering even its firmness, answering her and, she realized, with the way he suddenly looked at her with a sudden intensity, his own. “I still want you to know.”
She couldn’t pick up a spoon, not with the bandages on her skin and the drugs in her muscles. But shaky fingers were still enough to wipe away Nezha’s own tears, to cup his cheeks too. It was a terrible idea. They were young and stupid. This relationship would be a trash fire that would leave either of them dead. She was still recovering and bedridden, and there was no way that this was going to remain chaste and soft. Enki would kill her for re-breaking a rib, and Altan would kill her again if this was how she did it.
But it was Nezha. What other option was there but death?
She leaned in. He leaned in. They kissed.
The congee went cold.