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It was late, but Yakumo wasn’t even close to falling asleep. He was too stuck in his own head, worrying about his housemate who had yet to return home.
He knew, logically, he had no reason to worry. Saint was much stronger than him, much more experienced, and perfectly capable of caring for himself. But he’d been out awfully long for some errands, and Yakumo had a feeling he’d been caught up in something he hadn’t planned for.
Yakumo tensed when he heard the front door open, as the house had been dead silent otherwise. He sensed Saint’s footsteps through the hallway, a familiar gait… though, noticeably more sluggish than usual.
Saint would check in with him if he needed help, right? It sounded like he headed straight for his room, so he was probably fine. Tired, if anything.
…No. Even after a few minutes passed, Yakumo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Slowly, he climbed out of bed, and grabbed his first aid kit on the way out. It wouldn’t hurt to… check on Saint, right? Even if he didn’t need help, there was no harm in trying. Yakumo crossed the hallway with caution, not wanting to wake Saint if he’d already dozed off… but his bedroom door was open, so maybe he wouldn’t mind some company.
Yakumo poked his head in the doorway, then stepped back with a gasp.
Saint’s mask was off. Thankfully, Yakumo hadn’t seen much, but the threat was still there.
“...Yakumo? Is that you?”
Yakumo held his breath, his back pressed against the wall.
“It’s alright, Yakumo. You can come in.”
Yakumo’s heart pounded in his chest. After a few seconds, he covered his eyes with his free hand and felt his way into Saint’s bedroom.
“Sorry if I woke you,” Saint said, “I got a little… caught up on the way home. Had to take care of something.”
“Oh… oh, no, don’t… I was awake, it’s okay,” Yakumo assured as he stepped further into the room. “I wasn’t sure— ah!” He yelped when he walked straight into something and stumbled backward.
“What— oh, Yakumo, you don’t have to cover your eyes,” Saint said, clearly holding back a laugh. “I’ll turn around again. It’s okay.”
Yakumo huffed, his face hot under his hand, but he followed Saint’s instructions nonetheless.
Saint was sitting on the far edge of his bed with his back to Yakumo, as he’d been before. But now that Yakumo had a moment to properly look, he noticed the state of Saint’s wings: bent out of shape, tattered, even bloody in some places.
“What… happened?”
“Just a couple lowlifes with nothing better to do than harass innocent people,” Saint replied. “I’ll be alright. They just need some time to heal.”
Yakumo frowned and looked at the first aid kit in his hand. He’d helped Saint with a few injuries so far, but never on his wings. “You can’t… heal yourself.”
“No. But time heals all, doesn’t it?” Saint inhaled as his wings spread to their full length, twitching slightly. It looked… painful. “I only need to do some preening in the meantime.”
Preening. Yakumo had seen Saint cleaning up his wings before, but never closely enough to know how it worked. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ve been… I’ve done some research on birds, and their feathers, and… well, I know it’s not the same.” He cleared his throat. He probably wasn’t making the best case for himself. “I-I’m sorry, that’s… probably offensive. You’re not a bird. I shouldn’t—”
“Yakumo.”
“Yes…?” Yakumo would’ve thought he was in trouble if Saint’s voice wasn’t so gentle.
“I’m not offended. I appreciate your consideration.” Saint was smiling; it was obvious in his tone. “If you want to help, I trust you to do it right.”
Yakumo gulped. He had enough medical training to handle Saint’s minor injuries. But, as much research as he’d done, he didn’t have any practical experience with non-human anatomy. “A… are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Saint said. “Just the back, if you don’t mind. I can take care of the front later.”
“...Okay.”
Yakumo turned on the bedside lamp and pointed it at Olivine’s back for a better view before he sat behind him. He couldn’t recall ever getting this close to Saint’s wings, or being quite so terrified of making a mistake. “Wh… what do you need me to do?”
“Some of the feathers are damaged,” Saint said. “Torn up, bent out of shape. You can remove them.”
“...Won’t that hurt?”
Saint’s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh. “It might, but that doesn’t mean you’re harming me. It’s not like your usual treatment is always completely painless.”
Yakumo bit his lip. Saint was right, healing hurt sometimes, but it was always better than leaving wounds untreated. “I… you’re right. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
Saint said that a lot… almost every time Yakumo apologized. But that didn’t make it any easier to believe it.
“Just with my hands?” Yakumo asked, eyeing a misshapen feather.
“Hands, tweezers. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
Yakumo nodded, even though Saint couldn’t see him. Tweezers almost made more sense, since they seemed similar to a beak, but… Saint wasn’t a bird. Yakumo had to stop thinking about birds. His own hands would give him more control, anyway.
He grabbed the feather as close to the base as possible, and took a deep breath before he tugged. The feather didn’t budge, but the wing twitched in a way that made Saint’s discomfort obvious.
“Like a band-aid, Yakumo,” Saint instructed. “Don’t be afraid to pull harder.”
“Sorry,” Yakumo mumbled. He took another moment to psych himself up before he pulled harder, effectively plucking the feather from Saint’s wing. The man didn’t even flinch that time, so Yakumo felt a little more confident moving on to the next one.
“Do they… grow back?” Yakumo asked after a minute, hoping to fill the silence— but he was also genuinely curious.
“You did your research, didn’t you?” Saint asked. “Like a bird, yes. They’ll all grow back.”
“Right.” Yakumo cleared his throat. “I didn’t… want to assume. But that’s good.”
He continued his inspection of Saint’s wings, combing through the feathers oh-so-carefully in search of any abnormalities. Thankfully, most of the affected feathers were still salvageable, only needing to be straightened out a bit.
“Just like that,” Saint encouraged, which Yakumo definitely needed. “I already feel better.”
Yakumo only hummed in response, concentrating on his task. He grimaced when he had to remove a particularly large feather from the edge of Saint’s wing, but the man seemed unbothered.
“How does it… feel?” Yakumo asked, barely audible.
“Hm?”
“Sorry, um… I mean, what do your wings feel like?” Yakumo tried. “In general. Are they like… limbs?”
“Oh… yeah,” Saint answered, and Yakumo could still hear the smile in his voice. “Something like that. Not quite as strong as my arms, but there’s some muscle there, of course.”
“Of course,” Yakumo mumbled. He did one last pass over Saint’s wings to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then started gathering up the damaged feathers he’d removed. “Ah… what should I do with the feathers?”
“You can leave them for now,” Saint said. “I’ll take care of it.” He flexed again, showing off an impressive wingspan that Yakumo had only ever seen from a distance, and let out a sigh. “Thank you, Yakumo. That feels much better.”
“Ah... you’re welcome,” Yakumo said. “D-did you need anything else? I brought the first aid kit, just in case.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Saint replied. “Just some scratches. You can leave the kit, and I’ll take care of it.”
Yakumo stood from the bed, since that was probably his cue to leave. Saint already trusted him with his wings, so he probably meant it when he said he could manage the rest.
“Yakumo?”
He froze in place. Maybe not. “Yes?”
“I think you should start covering your face in public. At work, especially. But... everywhere. Always.”
Yakumo frowned. He trusted Saint's judgment, but it seemed odd to bring it up now. They were already so strongly associated with each other, and while Yakumo had an alias of his own, it wasn’t as though his real name was a secret.
“You have questions.”
Yakumo let out a breath as his shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
Saint turned around, and Yakumo promptly averted his gaze. It was much easier to look at the adjacent wall than to look Saint in the eye.
“Do you remember that patient we rushed through the other day?” Saint asked, and Yakumo nodded. “He doesn’t exist.”
“...Pardon?”
“There’s no record of him anywhere. I’m not sure if he gave a fake name or what, but… something’s going on.”
Yakumo blinked. It was strange, especially considering Saint hadn’t talked about the guy since he’d shown up at the hospital. “Is that why… you asked me to bring him in?”
“Yes. But I couldn’t get a lot of information. Oddly enough, according to security footage, you took him out of the hospital.”
Yakumo’s body stiffened. “What? I— I didn’t do that! I didn’t even see him after—”
“I know,” Saint interrupted. “Take a breath, Yakumo. You’re not in trouble. I know you wouldn’t do that.”
Yakumo did as he was asked— to the best of his ability, at least. The alarms were still ringing in his brain, but he wasn’t in trouble and Saint wasn’t upset with him.
“I’m almost sure it was one of Huey’s people.”
Yakumo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t heard anything about the Grand Sorcerer in his time working with Saint— most people assumed he was dead. “How...?”
“He can… mimic peoples’ appearances,” Saint replied. “I didn’t think he was active anymore, but now I’m wondering if I missed something.”
Yakumo gulped. The idea of some villain wandering around with his face was terrifying. “Doesn’t he... if he already knows what I look like, will a mask help?”
“Maybe not. But if he’s causing problems again, I doubt he’s the only one. We need to be more careful.”
Yakumo took a deep breath. He hadn’t had to deal with villains yet; he’d hardly fought at all, save for a couple incidents with particularly disruptive patients. But if one of the villains knew what he looked like and could turn into him—
“Breathe, Yakumo.”
Another breath. He felt a little lightheaded.
“We’ll be okay,” Saint assured, “I promise. I know what we’re up against, and I won’t have anyone disrupting the peace around here again.”
Saint was smart. Much smarter than Yakumo. If he was that sure of himself, they'd be okay.
Probably.
“I'll find something for you to wear by tomorrow,” Saint said. Yakumo heard some shuffling on the bed, and braved a glance to see Saint facing the wall again. “Goodnight, Yakumo.”
It was undeniably a dismissal. Yakumo had a lot more questions, but Saint was probably exhausted, and didn't owe him an explanation. As always, Yakumo just had to trust, and he’d be fine.
“Goodnight,” he whispered before he left the room.