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Darem reeks of blood.
The smell hits Jay-Den first, then the realization that despite everything they are all here, alive and well. Mostly well. Almost alive. The woman — Anisha, Caleb’s mother, she is real — got the worst of it and is being treated by the ship’s real doctor, but it’s Darem who reeks of blood. And Jay-Den’s good enough to wipe his classmates’ noses, so he goes and does just that.
He did not think it would be so red.
Not that he’d ever been thinking of Darem’s blood color, but — maybe blue, royal blue, or rich purple, cool to the touch…
But it’s red, burning hot and red, and it’s everywhere — all over Darem’s face, and in his mouth, and on Jay-Den’s hands, and he’ll never be rid of the smell.
“Don’t fidget. Let it knit back together properly.”
Human — and Khionian, it turns out — face is such a complex fragile thing.
“Yeah. Right.”
Darem’s voice is soft, light. Darem’s pupils — Jay-Den checks — are blown way too wide. Darem’s smile is also wide, manic, as if he’s drunk and not beaten up and in pain, and it’s all bloody. That’s bad. Then Darem, unblinking, licks the blood off his teeth and lips, and it’s worse.
Jay-Den is not like that. He is not into that. He is treating a wound, detached and professional.
And Darem reeks of blood and desire.
“There. You may have a light concussion, though.”
“No, I don’t.”
No, he does not. How’s that head both so fragile and so tough?
“Ugh, sorry, I'll get off it... It’s the blood. Give us a tissue?”
Darem’s no longer smiling, but his eyes are still too wide, too dark and too bright at once. Jay-Den should wipe all that blood off himself, lest his patient messes all that freshly healed… stuff… up… but then he’ll certainly drown. They both will. He hands Darem a tissue, and they both clean up.
There, all done. Just like new. Just in time for the red alert.