pica

Personaggi: Remy (oc), Kyp (oc)

Warning: //

Note: scritta per Explorers capitolo 1, settimana 1 con prompt: SAFE | Silenzio | non più di due battute di dialogo

When Kyp enters the room the lights in the observation deck are out, and the space around the small window, rising open and vigilant over the town streets outside, is wrapped up in an uneasy silence. It’s been like this for days. 

 

The shadow crouched by the window, dark and unmoving, contrasts the everchanging lights from the shop signs outside in a way that makes it look even smaller, sadder. More helpless.  

 

Remy, he said his name is. That’s the only information they and Djadi managed to get out from him before he glared at them, grinded his teeth and refused to speak again. The boy was angry, that much Kyp could tell without asking. But he was also scared and hurt when they found him on the streets and took him in – Djadi still has bites and scratches on her arms from the desperate fight he put up, like a wounded predator who's lost one too many fights but is not ready to give up on life yet. Or so Kyp thought, cause now he just looks... powerless. And vulnerable. They almost – almost – feel bad for having to get closer, as if sneaking into a beast’s lair uninvited. 

 

They know the boy hears them approaching when they see him getting even smaller under the blanket wrapping his body against the window. They don’t want to put words between them, so they just let the silence speak whatever it is they are trying to figure out about each other. As if reciting a well-oiled routine, they place the medical kit on the small metal bench by the window, the one where Remy is crouching, looking away. The boy doesn’t move when he hears the clinking of metal against metal, and Kyp is not sure whether to consider this an improvement from the last time they did this. All the same, they let a silent sigh escape their lips and they sit down beside him. Not quite close, but near enough they can get a glimpse of his profile sneaking out of the blanket. His dark skin is bathed in the lights from the street – greens and yellows and blues that dance in chaos on his face, taking turns to kiss his bright golden eyes. He doesn’t flinch – he doesn’t even seem to blink. Kyp wonders what he’s seeing down there, or if he’s looking at all.  

 

They start by uncapping the bottle with the disinfectant, then grabbing the little bag containing the bandages and a piece of cotton wool. They consider warning Remy with a few words, but then they remember the last time they did that, and the way the boy bared his teeth, almost hissing, staring at them as if they were some kind of monster. And so Kyp holds a breath, and decides not to give voice to his thoughts. Instead, they extend ad arm, long and thin, until they’re barely brushing the tip of their fingers against the blanket. A hint more than a warning – as if to say I’m here, I’m about to touch you, don’t bite please. 

 

And Remy doesn’t, much to Kyp’s surprise. He lets them pull down the blanket, uncovering his body and all the big and small wounds he bares on it – old fights and new ones, some still painfully fresh as the memories he holds of them. There’s gauzes and bandages on every single one. It’s been a long time since someone tended to his cuts and bruises, and he has no idea how to feel about this. 

 

(‘Cause this is not home. This is not family, and these people might be dangerous, they might have interests, ‘cause no one is so kind as to invite a hurt beast into their home – there must be something else they want. Something bad. It’s always something bad – even when it starts good, he ends up fucking everything up ‘cause he’s incompetent and naïve. His fault – always his fault. But what should he do? Fight back? He did. And look where it brought him - into the house of strangers. He’s scared. So, so scared and tired. Yes, so tired...) 

 

Kyp presses the cotton wool, wet with disinfectant, and Remy hisses ever so slightly. Kyp freezes for a moment, his body rigid and ready to run, but then Remy just catches his breath and relaxes – or tries to, anyway. 

 

Kyp doesn’t like this one bit. They made sure to remind their disapproval to Djadi over and over, every additional day they spent guesting this shady stranger on the Pathfinder. Their opaque skin, once translucent as the diamond shaped horizons on Hlvraine, is a testament of the guilt of bringing danger into your own home. They know better than to repeat an old mistake. 

 

And yet he keeps coming back here night after night as some kind of stupid, unqualified nurse. It’s so much worse – they find themself realising – when the boy doesn’t fight back, because now they feel so bad they even conceived the thought of him being somehow dangerous and bad. They stop to listen to his unsteady, pained breath as they unfold the clean bandage in place of an old one, trying to touch him as little as he can. Who knows who he fought battles with, who he hurt and who hurt him back, who wants to hurt him again, whose attention he drew on himself. Kyp really doesn’t like attention, least of all when others bring it inside his home, uninvited.  

 

But then Remy sits so docile, his empty golden eyes looking away, holding his breathe between gritted teeth as if trying to push back the pain, and Kyp can’t help but somehow feel angry at him. It’s stupid, they know, because letting such frivolous emotions cloud the mind never brings good consequences – they realize better than anybody else – but if there’s something they cannot bring himself to forgive is the act of giving up – of losing hope, of becoming tired of trying.  Even them, with their weak heart and fragile will, were able to keep finding new ways to survive – no way such a wild creature can’t find a place for himself, be it with bare fangs, discipline or raw strength of resolution. 

 

Kyp shifts to the next wound, and they know their skin won’t change colour – not even a millimetre, not even the slightest of shades. Rationalize your frustration, take it apart, break it down to pieces so small they lose all meanings, fold it away, close the door, throw the key - and there’s silence again, inside and out. 

 

It takes them half an hour to finish the job. They do so impeccably – gentle hands and absence of voice – and by the time they’re finished Remy looks like a new man. 

 

Kyp sighs once more, thankful for the peaceful encounter, and starts folding away what’s left of the medical supplies. The neon lights from the street are swirling like a bad harmonized stroboscope on top of the lid of the metal box, and it takes a moment for Kyp to realize the small, feeble voice that takes place, ever so shyly, at the heart of a room that heard no sounds for days and nights. 

 

It gets almost devoured by the silence, but Kyp still hears. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

They freeze in place, a knot in their chest they don’t quite know how to explain.  

 

Even in the darkness of the room, Kyp sees shades of yellow and white starting to paint their knuckles – and they know it’s not the neon lights this time. They quickly cover one hand with the other, breathe in, breaths out, skin is boiling and they never knew if the sensation was ever only in their head or if the other felt it too – they never dared to ask, too afraid, too guilty to bring the topic up once more.  

 

 

It’s so hard when they have no idea what name to give to the brawl happening in his chest. 

 

But-- 

 

They have strategies for that as well. Always carry a plan b with you. That’s the lesson he learned – one he will never allow himself to forget. 

 

Kyp cracks a silent smile and turns – they have a million smug, bitter, sarcastic answers to give to the broken, sorry creature next to them.  

 

Not a single one of them has any occasion to escape their lips, however. 

 

Remy’s head falls heavy on his shoulder, his breath steadier than Kyp has ever heard in these restless nights – fast asleep. 

 

Not for a moment Kyp considers moving away, and his skin quickly goes back to the same pale shade of grey he’s so fond of. Everyone is entitled to brief moments of peace, even wild creatures – maybe them more than anyone. And so Kyp closes their eyes and waits. As long as it takes.