Work Text:
"Fuck..."
Usually, Grisham doesn't bother with the utterance of curses in his kitchen. Most often it's Griselle when she's home, complaining about something they can't fix yet or some kind of paperwork, and more recently, it's Komorrin, complaining about something he had sketched wrongly or realising he had filed something incorrectly.
Usually, Grisham simply keeps working, knowing that his sister and his friend (is that really all they were, now?) worked better without interruption. But when he hears the clatter of a pencil hitting and rolling against the countertop, Grisham spins on his heel, expression worried.
"Is everything alright?"
Rin looks up, cradling his right arm in his other hand and carefully trying to massage it. He grins sheepishly.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, just, uh, cramping up a bit. That's all."
Glancing to the side, Grisham spots Rin's mechanical pencil askew and away from sketchbook, lead still extended. It pays to be observant, he's learned, especially when someone is lying to you. Wiping his hands on his apron, Grisham points at the pencil.
"You hate putting your pencil down without retracting the lead first, because it's easier to snap like that, and you always place it on your sketchbook so you don't lose track of it."
"Wha– how do you–"
Komorrin cuts himself off, furrowed brow relaxing as he shakes his head.
"It's not really that big of a deal, Grish, it just happens from time to time. Curse of being an artist, h— oww..."
This time, Komorrin cuts himself off involuntarily, hissing through his teeth as another wave of pain surges through his arm, making his fingers twitch erratically. He barely blinks before Grisham is sitting down next to him, carefully taking his arm to inspect it.
"How long have you worn your compression glove today?"
Carefully, Grisham unbuttons and folds back Rin's shirt sleeve, exposing his forearm and the black glove that extends towards the elbow. For all the care he gives to others, Grisham knows well that Rin has a habit of ignoring his own needs sometimes.
"It- it's not that, it's..."
Komorrin chews the inside of his lip, knee jogging in place lightly as he thinks.
"... it's easier if I just show you."
Hooking his thumb under the edge of the glove, Komorrin pulls it down and off his hand entirely. Crisscrossed in a scale-like pattern on his skin, faint green lines smaller than even a single millimetre glowing and disappearing and glowing again, stretching the length of his forearm. Delicately, Grisham traces the lines with a fingertip, concern twisting into confusion on his face.
"L– uh, Lysandre, he said it's probably from Zygarde's mega stone forming right in my hand from the pebble it gave me way back. He said something similar happened to him after he was rescued, that's why his eye is like that, and it goes away after a while..."
Grisham's gaze flicks up, meeting Komorrin's. It's been just over half a year since the Prism Tower incident. Surely that would have been enough time for this oddity to fade. Then again, it had been five years since anyone had last seen Lysandre, and jumping into the pockets of Hyperspace that have been showing up more recently definitely won't help.
"... Who else knows about this?"
"Just the team, and Vinnie from Quasartico, especially since Taunie's got something of the same from Ange Floette's power backfiring. I, uh..."
Rin's leg jogs harder as he looks away, guilt all over his face. Hesitantly, Grisham places a hand on Rin's knee, trying to calm the nervous jitters coursing through the man's body. He swallows, looking back to Grisham.
"... I didn't want to worry anyone. I didn't want to worry you."
Grisham sighs, pulling his chair and himself closer, keeping a careful hold on Komorrin's arm.
"You're just as bad as that friend of yours, sometimes. People will worry about you regardless of what you say or do. Usually, people worry less when they're told the whole truth."
Using both hands, Grisham starts to massage Komorrin's palm, slowly moving up and back down his forearm.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't want, or expect, an apology, Komo. I want you to trust in me. I know you do, so show me."
Grisham's voice is gentle, but firm. Komorrin nods, leaning forward to rest his head against Grisham's, eyes closing. Minutes pass, sitting in silence together as the pain eases from his arm. Tentatively, Komorrin flexes and wiggles his fingers, earning a smile from Grisham.
"Does it feel better, now?"
"A lot better, honestly. Thank you."
Lifting a hand, Grisham places it on Rin's cheek to keep him in place while pressing a kiss to his forehead. Rin laughs softly.
"You're just a big sweetheart, aren't you?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
The glimmer in Grisham's eyes betrays the deadpan tone of his voice, making Komorrin laugh more. Slipping out of his seat, Grisham stands, stretching lightly.
"Rest your arm for a while longer. I wonder if there's something better than that compression glove for you... I'll think on it."
He keeps his hand to his chin in thought while walking around the counter to return to his baking. Grisham turns back to Rin, who had already propped his head up on his uninjured arm to gaze at Grisham as he worked, earning another genuine smile from the usually "neutral but polite" man. Perhaps he'll find a good time to talk to Emma about Xerosic's work in more detail, find something in the Expansion Suit designs that could work to help Komorrin and Taunie's injuries. That would be left for later, however. Right now, Grisham has croissants to bake, and someone to look after.