I think I'll go come back to this sometime though.
His lips sting when Yixing prods at his face gingerly, hands cool as they examine the swelling bruise forming at the side of his temple. When Baekhyun presses a finger to the his mouth, they come away bloody - a courtesy of the well-placed blow to his jaw by the dealer he had conned the night before. Chased through the underbelly of the city, he had only just managed to shake the rest of the gang off before dragging himself through Yixing's window at the break of dawn with a pained groan and weary grin. Everything in his body hurts and he grits his teeth before loosening out a shaky breath, flexing and unflexing his fingers to wear off the pulsing remnants of adrenaline still racing through his system.
"Have you considered not pissing off every single pimp, dealer and gang in the city?" Yixing murmurs, pressing just a little too tightly at the cut he's begun stitching up at Baekhyun's hairline. At the sharp coil of pain, Baekhyun hisses, but tilts his head up slightly to look at Yixing. There's a rosy streak of daylight breaking through the dilapidated blinds that dapples across Yixing's face and in the darkness of Yixing's kitchen, Baekhyun can hear the humming thud of his heart, still beating too fast and too loud.
The painkillers are starting to kick in and briefly he wonders in the drug-induced haze if he's only imagining the taut lines of worry that line Yixing's forehead. He wants to comfort him, raise a hand to brush away the exhausted set of Yixing's shoulders, but he's lived and breathed in the snaking alleyways of the city all his life, and if there's one thing he knows, hidden here between creaking pipes and crumbling brick walls, it's that it's easier to act than to feel. Instead, he offers a shaky grin that sends a dull ache through his cheeks and takes a breath. "Where would be the fun in that then? Wouldn't you miss me?"
"Maybe," Yixing hums, "but at least I'd be able to get through one week without you dragging your butt here, bleeding all over my kitchen."
A frown tugs down at Baekhyun's lips. That's not true. "Not every week." Yixing jerks at the bandage winding over his newly stitched wound and Baekhyun acquiesces, "Okay, maybe a couple times a month. At the most."
Tilting his head back to rest again the wooden chair back, Baekhyun closes his eyes, but he can feel the soft chuckling exhale that brushes against the nape of his neck. The last time he came in, he had just gotten away from a couple of trigger-happy gang member bent on enacting revenge after Baekhyun stole their leader's prized car. It had been his left side that time. Foot caught in a dumpster while trying to scramble over the wall, he hadn't been able to dodge the searing bullet that pierced his side, and he still remembers Yixing's horrified face as he had pulled himself to Yixing's door afterwards.
"Baekhyun," Yixing says hushed, like he doesn't want to be heard, like he doesn't want Baekhyun or anyone to know. Against his will, Baekhyun cracks an eye open and stills. Yixing's stopped now, and he's looking away so that Baekhyun can't see his face. "You're not immortal, you know?"
Curling his fingers in the crook of Yixing's elbow, Baekhyun just smiles reassuringly. There's a throbbing spasm that runs up the side of his leg and a dull ache that permeates his head, but in the kitchen, it's warm and comforting and quiet, and he lets himself become hypnotized by the slow steady thrum of the heater.
"I'll be fine."
You're up bluedreaming!