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Worry was never a Moze's thing to do at all. Never his feeling, never an ounce of concern.
But as he swings the door open and lets the ray of light slip into the room with him, his breath hitches. His stomach twists, and his senses make him instinctively want to wrinkle his nose at the scent of blood. Jiaoqiu's blood.
He had to watch as Hoolay cut his arm, he had to watch and stay quiet as the borisin threatened him, he had to keep quiet and wait for general Feixiao to settle things, and his only task was to watch the enemies, but his blood was boiling.
Moze thought he was patient.
But even the most patient person can have their patience slipping away and finally snapping.
It wasn't even that long for Moze to show up right before Hoolay.
And he wasn't afraid, not for his life. But when he was watching Jiaoqiu from the rooftop, his heart indeed clenched, but not shattered. And it did now. It's hard to take a breath. It's hard to watch him in pain. He could take as much pain as possible for the mortal body, but Aeons, he can't be sure about Jiaoqiu.
And as the healer tells him to run, Moze feels like he's been ordered. It hurts.
It hurts to be able to do nothing as he is struck.
Despite that, he still could do something, couldn't he? He just didn't.
He feels dazed as the 'Give the wolf a dead end, where new paths arise' feels the air, and his vision blurs.
He let Jiaoqiu slip through his fingers, he let them take his Jiaoqiu away.
Again.
First, in the Shackling Prison, and then now.
He barely pays attention as he hears the Trailblazer and Feixiao here. He knows he has to obey orders, his general's orders, but he can't even draw in a breath.
He can't sit idly when he awaits her new tasks. He can't find himself a place as the hours pass torturingly slowly. He can't. He always was a word 'can' because he carried all his regrets and offenses and did his duties as a guard, but he's turned to 'could' without Jiaoqiu.
Because he could not be just sitting here, he could not be so helpless, he could disobey and follow his heart's lead, but Moze was a man of rational thoughts.
Moze was determined as steel in his intentions.
Moze was... Moze was being eaten alive with guilt.
He desperately tries to get rid of the small worm eating its way through his brain and telling him that he's late now and that damned foxian is probably turned into one of the dishes for borising, and makes him want to crave it with its thoughts out. With his dagger.
Moze's throat tightens as he steps into that room. His chest constricts, and he sharply inhales, praying for once in his life as if Lan would be so kind as to save one person's life somehow.
He feels Jiaoqiu before he sees him.
His hands tremble.
He drops to his knees.
Moze carefully scoops the unconscious form in his arms, and even though Jiaoqiu had attempted to bandage the sharp wounds left by Hoolay's claws, it still looked too abominable.
It doesn't register in his mind how they return and how he's in the chambers of the Alchemy Commission, watching like a hawk over Jiaoqiu.
He had always found it strange how he could even start to like a person who was so devoted to their general.
It took Moze an embarassingly long amount of time to lower his walls in this foxian's company.
But it takes him just that short time to tie himself to him completely, following him instead of Fexiao as a damn tail, even though he has his own.
And it takes him that brief look on Jiaoqiu's face as he wakes up to nearly make him break down.
He grips his cold and pale hand, intertwining their fingers, pressing Jiaoqiu's palm to his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, and he almost can't recognize the words that barely come out.
Moze feels like falling apart. But he has no right to. He has to be a support. He has to be a healer to the one who can't be healed anymore no matter what promises Feixiao makes.
"Don't be. I knew the consequences."
But Moze can tell he's putting on a tough front. He can tell.
He turns his head, pressing his face into Jiaoqiu's hand completely, his dry lips brushing against the damaged skin.
"I failed, Jiaoqiu. I failed you," he mutters incoherently, grasping his hand tighter, his calloused fingers clutching thin wrist with almost deadly force.
Jiaoqiu lets out an exhale, and Moze does notice the slight wince. He knows it hurts. And his guilt raises its head again.
"You're without your gloves?" Jiaoqiu asks suddenly, his thumb subconsciously brushing against the face under his fingertips.
"Yes."
"Come closer."
Moze is stunned for a moment. Closer? Hos closer? But he obliges willingly, still holding his hand. He carefully sits on the edge of a medical bed, trying to make himself loud enough so Jiaoqiu would know about his whereabouts, and that's so unusual. But he'll do it. He'll put a cross on all his habits and principles if it means providing him comfort.
"Like this?" he asks softly, not looking away from his face.
"No," he protests after a while and tugs him closer just to test. Moze indulges.
He lays down near him, hand still on Jiaoqiu's, and his other protectively wraps around his waist surprisingly naturally.
Jiaoqiu tenses for a moment, his eyes snap open, and Moze involuntarily shivers.
There's no usual gold, no usual sunlight, only faded yellow, hollow as the moon on some unpleasant nights. But somehow, they still capture him in their haze, and he snaps out of his little trance when Jiaoqiu quickly closes them.
Moze swallows thickly as the other shudders in his arms.
"That's..." he paused, tips of his ears twitching in a rare nervousness. Moze wraps him in a blanket tighter. "Unusual," he manages. Moze isn't an expert in feelings, but he knows his Jiaoqiu long enough to hear how hard it is for him to pretend he's fine.
"I'll be here for you. I swear. Feixiao..." he trails off, pushing his lack of knowledge in comforting people back. "Feixiao said she'll find a way to cure you. And if the general promises something, she'll do it, remember?"
Jiaoqiu doesn't reply. Instead, he reaches with his free hand to Moze's face, tracing the contours of it, his touch feather-light. Moze can swear he feels his own dagger slicing through his chest.
"I have a small privilege to touch you like that right now, don't I?" he murmurs, his thumb caressing Moze's cheek, but his tone is still with a hint of bitterness in it.
"You..." Moze trails off. He leans closer, and Jiaoqiu's hand pauses, faltering in its position. "You can explore all you want. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here. I'll be by your side no matter what. I swear. I swear with my life, Jiaoqiu," he whispers, his voice shaky and uneven, strained even. He doesn't even think when his lips lightly press against his eyelids, touch so tender he never thought he could ever give anyone.
Jiaoqiu freezes, and at the next small kiss like that he grabs the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. Demanding.
"Promise me," he says, asks, and there is an almost pleading undertone. Moze squeezes his waist just a little, pressing himself closer so he won't accidentally move him. He knows Jiaoqiu would never admit he's scared, but Moze knows him. And he'll know him even more. He won't let go. Never.
"I promise," he assures, his voice firmer than before, and he lets the 'I love yous' remain unspoken for now, but his hands tremble again when he unsurely meets Jiaojiu's lips in a light kiss.