Yixing doesn’t want to wake up.

If he wakes up, he’ll have to deal with reality. That he has one of the deadliest diseases the world has seen since the Black Plague. That he is too sick to treat himself properly. Worst of all, that he is utterly alone.

He can’t bring himself to face that reality, not yet. So he rolls over and weakly tugs the blankets over his head, burying himself in a cocoon of denial, and resolutely keeps his eyes closed, planning to stay that way until his exhaustion takes him over again. He’s floated halfway back to dreamland when a stray thought pings softly against his consciousness.

He doesn’t remember getting into his bed.

Eyes flying open, Yixing attempts to sit up. But his muscles don’t cooperate, sickened and exhausted and still shivery, so he ends up sort of flopping weakly around until he’s on his back and can look around.

Yes, he’s definitely in his own room. He looks down and realizes he’s no longer wearing the sweatstained, medicine-soaked clothes he’d fallen unconscious in; he’s been dressed in a clean pair of drawers and a nightshirt. There is literally only one person who would do that.

“Joon?” he calls weakly into the silence of the house.

There’s a moment of silence. Then a rustling sound from the front room. “I’m here, Xing.”

Gratitude and relief flood Yixing’s system, giving him enough energy to attempt again to sit up. He gets halfway there when Joonmyun opens the door, sees him struggling, and is immediately at his side with a steadying hand on his shoulder. He pulls the pillows up behind Yixing’s back and helps him settle against them.

“You came back,” Yixing breathes, staring up at him in awe. “I didn’t think...How did you know?”

Joonmyun smiles at him, just a slight twitch of his lips. “Your message-boy snitched on you,” he murmurs, settling down on the bed next to Yixing’s knees. “Sought me out and told me you didn’t look well. When your notice didn’t reappear on the board I thought I should come and check on you. I found you passed out in a pool of shattered glass and congealed medicine.” His gentle smile falters, his eyes looked haunted. “I’m so sorry, Yixing. I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

The guilt in his eyes hurts Yixing far more than even his absence had. “No,” he protests. “Nonono. It isn’t your fault. I should have known better, I’m the doctor here.” And it’s true - he was feeling sickly as early as Christmas Day, he should have realized and started treating himself immediately, not waited until he was too sick to handle a needle.

Joon’s mouth quirks. “I have heard that doctors make the worst patients.”

“It’s because we don’t have any patience,” Yixing jokes weakly, and it takes Joonmyun a minute to pick up on the awful pun. He chuckles, and his fingers weave in between Yixing’s.

“You’re the most patient person I have ever known,” Joonmyun murmurs, and something in his tone makes Yixing’s chest tighten painfully. If Joon notices his reaction, he doesn’t comment. “What are we to do, then? Your syringe is ruined and you need treatment.”

Yixing squeezes his hand weakly, hoping to reassure. “What kind of a physician would I be if I only had one?” he points out. Joon’s eyes widen hopefully. “The case on top of the cabinets in the treatment room,” Yixing says. “There’s a stepladder in the garden. Be careful, they’re fragile.”

Joonmyun squeezes his hand and goes. Listening to the sounds of him moving around the house, of him bringing in the stepladder and retrieving the case and preparing the medicine in the kitchen, Yixing feels as though his heart is going to pound right out of his ribs. He’s missed Joonmyun’s presence in his house horribly, much more than he even realized.

It takes quite a while for Joonmyun to prepare everything, but he returns with the syringe in his hand, and Yixing holds out a shaky arm, watching fondly as the pirate captain judges the angle and administers the injection with precision and care. Soothing the pricked skin with a swipe of his thumb, Joonmyun sets the emptied syringe on the nightstand and smiles at Yixing.

“There,” he murmurs. “We’ll get it this time, don’t worry.”

We. Yixing wants to cry with happiness. “I have no doubts,” he breathes.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Being ill is both harder and easier the second time around. Harder because Yixing had never really recovered the first time, so his body is weak and the symptoms progress faster and hit him in a different order. This time around, he does not lose his ability to breathe, but he falls into convulsions twice, his mind locked in confused terror as his body jerks outside his control, Joonmyun’s low murmurs of reassurance the only thing he has to hold onto. This time, he does not fall unconscious, but he loses strength quickly, becoming so weak that he can barely swallow.

Joonmyun cares for him with an unfailing, almost frightening determination, and his will is what keeps Yixing in good spirits. Joonmyun acts as if he is utterly certain Yixing will be well again, and his certainty is contagious. Recovering becomes, in Yixing’s mind, not an issue of if, but rather an issue of when.

Wary of Joon relapsing the way he has, Yixing manages to convince him to begin taking a preventative shot himself once a week, in the hopes of staving off any possibility of the disease resurfacing. They argue over it, because Joonmyun does not think they have enough cinchona left for that, but when raising his voice triggers a fit of hacking coughs in Yixing, Joonmyun quiets, and then acquiesces. Yixing doesn’t like the guilty look in his eyes, but it wins him the argument, so he lets it go without comment.

It is halfway through January when it occurs to Yixing that Joonmyun has missed his ship off the island. Guilt burns in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything, because he is not so good a man as to sacrifice Joonmyun’s company for the sake of Joon’s own sanity. And if Joon thinks about it, he doesn’t show that to Yixing.

By the beginning of February, the coughing has abated and Yixing is once more able to keep down solid foods. With the return of his appetite, Yixing’s strength begins to recover, and by the end of the month he is once more on his feet.

Throughout it all, Joonmyun digs himself into Yixing’s life, into his home and his routine, with a driven determination that Yixing finds at once endearing and unsettling. He makes no mention of leaving again, and returns promptly from every trip he must make down to the city. Even when Yixing is able to open his practice again, Joonmyun remains at his side, carrying and fetching, or assisting in moving his patients when he doesn’t have the strength, or distracting children while their parents are being examined.

In the kitchen one morning while Joon is still abed, erasing the slate on which they keep a chalk-drawn calendar, Yixing begins drawing the chart for April and realizes with a start that in just over three months, Two Moons will be back in port and looking for their captain. The notion makes his hand fall weakly to his side, and he collapses in a nearby chair, staring up at his unfinished calendar unseeing. Three months more, and Yixing will again be alone.

Five years, he reminds himself sternly. For five years he was alone, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He has company enough in his patients, in the shopkeepers he frequents. He is a grown man and does not need someone to be beside him all the time.

But Yixing can no longer imagine a life without Joonmyun by his side, without his smiles and his humor and his will and his touch. He’s well enough now that he no longer relies on Joonmyun to function, but Joon has stayed anyway, and it is no longer a matter of needing him, so much as wanting him. (That he loves him is an issue which must not come into play in this debate; things are complicated enough.) If Yixing could, he would gladly keep Joonmyun here, with him, in his house, for as long as they both would live, and that revelation is unnerving.

It cannot be, though. Joonmyun is too headstrong, too enterprising. He will grow restless if forced to stay, and the only thing worse than the idea of him leaving Yixing behind is the idea that he might stay, and come to resent Yixing for clipping his wings. No. Yixing must let him go, and content himself with seeing Joonmyun once every year or two, when someone gets injured enough to warrant a visit. And maybe, when they’re both older and some of the wanderlust has faded, Joonmyun might someday return to him, and they might make a life here together. Yixing could wait.

He didn’t have a choice.

“Are you alright?”

Yixing looks up, and sees Joonmyun, blithely underdressed in his drawers and nothing else, leaning against the door frame with sleep-mussed hair and a drowsy but concerned expression. He’s utterly gorgeous and Yixing’s heart lurches painfully.

“I’m fine,” he says, trying on a soft smile that feels tight at the corners. “Just thinking.” Pushing to his feet, Yixing busies himself with completing the calendar to keep himself from staring at Joonmyun’s near-ness. “We should go down to market today,” he says nonchalantly. “There’s a few supplies I need and we could use some provisions as well.”

“Hmm.” Joonmyun wanders up behind him, resting his chin on Yixing’s shoulder with one hand comfortably around his waist. Yixing’s hand - and breath - stutters. He’s so warm and solid, his voice in Yixing’s ear rusty with sleep. “April already, huh? Yes, alright, if you think you’re up for the walk.” He yawns. His fingers clench reflexively in Yixing’s shirt as he does, scraping lightly across his stomach, and Yixing feels a flush start up his neck. “Let me get dressed. And dunk my head.”

Silently, Yixing nods, and Joon pulls away, wandering back to the treatment room.

As it turns out, a patient knocks on Yixing’s door at just that moment, and Yixing has to throw on respectable clothes and go do his job. Another shows up before the first has even left, this one with three fussy children who all need to be looked at, and by the time Yixing is finally done it is midafternoon and he has yet to eat, let alone get to market. Joonmyun makes them tea with bread and soup and cheese and insists that Yixing eat it before they leave, which Yixing does, gratefully, thinking wryly that Joonmyun has missed his true calling as nursemaid.

It’s the first time since Christmas Eve that Yixing has been down the mountain; for the last three months either Joonmyun has run the errands or they have sent the errand-boy to do so. Yixing is a little out of breath when they reach the town, and Joonmyun is hovering like a hen, reaching out to touch Yixing every time he so much as breathes the wrong way. It’s endearing and frustrating at the same time, and Yixing is for some reason hyper-aware of every time Joon takes hold of his elbow or wraps a supporting arm around his waist. Such touches are in no way outside normality, particularly not for them and particularly not considering Yixing’s condition, but Yixing’s heart stutters every time. More than once, Joonmyun notices Yixing tensing or holding his breath in unconscious reaction, and it only makes him hover more.

When they pass from rough-hewn dirt pathways to cobblestone roads, Joonmyun pulls back a bit and Yixing finds it easier to breathe and walk in a straight line at the same time. By now, the sun is beginning to set and the town is coming to life, and the further they go the more crowded, more rowdy the streets become. Joon swaggers at Yixing’s side with his head held high and his hand resting on the pommel of his cutlass, as if daring anyone to give them trouble. He’s handsome as anything and his bravado is endearing and Yixing tries not to smile at him too obviously.

They stop at the apothecary first, and Yixing takes his time browsing the shelves and discussing the latest shipment with the shopkeep. He ends up purchasing a rough-bound French medical journal that the shopkeep has somehow acquired in addition to the supplies on his list, and with the promise of something new and interesting to read has a spring in his step and a smile on his face when he exits the shop.

He looks around for Joonmyun, who wandered outside after it became apparent Yixing was going to be awhile, and pulls up short. The pirate is leaning against the side of the shop, talking animatedly with a dark-haired woman in a bottle-green dress. He laughs, his smile bright and beautiful, and Yixing’s good mood abruptly deflates. Everything about Joon’s demeanor screams flirtation and Yixing has no right to be jealous, he doesn’t, but of course he is.

Joonmyun glances up over the woman’s head and spots him, and his bright smile somehow widens and softens at the same time. He gestures, and Yixing puts on a genteel smile as he approaches, shifting his parcel under his arm so that he may bow over the hand the woman offers him.

“May I present Doctor Zhang Yixing?” Joonmyun murmurs, and there is humor in his tone, a bit of playful mocking to his overformal words. “Yixing, this is Sandara. She’s a...friend…of Chanyeol’s.” He raises an eyebrow.

A harlot, he means. In this town, it’s hardly surprising. “A pleasure, madam,” Yixing says.

“So you’re the doctor on the hill,” Sandara observes, returning his bow with a nod of her own. “We heard you was feelin’ sickly, sir. Glad to see you up and about.”

Yixing blinks at her in surprise. “Am I a subject of town gossip, then?”

Joon grins at his surprise, and Sandara giggles, snapping open her fan in a way that is clearly meant to be flirtatious. “Of course ye are. Living up there all alone, mysterious-like. People talk.”

“I get asked about you all the time,” Joonmyun tells him, and Yixing’s wide eyes widen further. “Young ladies, in particular, want to know if you’re really as handsome as they’ve heard tell.” He winks. “I tell them the rumors do you great injustice.”

It takes Yixing a moment to process Joonmyun’s meaning, and once it sinks in he feels a hot blush climb his cheeks. His mouth opens to protest, but nothing comes out.

“He’s not wrong,” Sandara adds, with a quite suggestive wink of her own. And Yixing would love to come up with some witty retort to disguise his fluster, but his mind has ceased to function entirely, because not only did Joonmyun just accuse him of being handsome, apparently he regularly tells others as well.

“I…” He swallows, hard. “I can’t imagine my life would be particularly interesting to speculate upon.” There, that will do. It saves him from gaping like a fish, anyway.

“Despite appearances,” Sandara tells him, “our lives here can be shockingly monotonous. I’m afraid I must take my leave, gentlemen. Have a pleasant evening.” She closes her fan, taps it teasingly against Yixing’s cheek, and saunters away, skirt swishing. Yixing watches her go with something like awe.

Joonmyun’s laughing at him. “She’s a hell of a woman, isn’t she?” he says with a grin, and Yixing abruptly realizes how his red face and openmouthed stare could be interpreted.

“She’s certainly interesting,” Yixing acquiesces. “Kim Joonmyun, it seems you and I need to have a discussion about spreading rumors.”

He pins Joonmyun with a stern look which is utterly ignored. “I’m afraid not, Doctor,” Joonmyun says, slinging an arm comfortably around his shoulders with another of those incredible sunlit smiles. Yixing is glad he’s already blushing - it covers up his blush. “You’re just going to have to become accustomed to the notion that people find you interesting.”

They fall into step, headed down deeper into the marketplace and the throngs of people. “I can’t imagine why,” Yixing grumbles.

“You can’t?” Joon asks. “A handsome young man with a mysterious past, living alone in the woods at the top of a mountain, no King, no country, and no one ever sees him except for the people he heals? The tale practically writes itself.” He jostles Yixing’s shoulders companionably. “How do you think we knew where to go, that first night? We wouldn’t have hauled Chanyeol an hour up the mountain in his state unless we knew there was a doctor at the other end. You came highly recommended, and we were not disappointed.”

Yixing blinks at him. He’s honestly never thought of that before.

“Xing,” Joon says, stopping in the middle of the road and turning to look at Yixing with an incredulous expression. “Do you honestly not know how many people you’ve touched? How much of this town owes you their lives, or the lives of their loved ones?” Yixing stares at him blankly, because...no. He actually has no idea. He never leaves his house, how would he know? Joon sees his confusion and shakes his head. “Heavens. You really are something else.”

The fond smile on Joon’s face is making Yixing’s heart go into palpitations. Yixing takes a deep breath and averts his eyes, attempting to calm himself, because the last thing his still-weak body needs is cardiac arrhythmia.

That’s shot right to hell when a warm hand cups the back of his neck and pulls Yixing close. For a fleeting moment Yixing thinks Joonmyun is going to kiss him and panics, but he only tucks Yixing against his side, sliding his arm down to a more companionable and less intimate hold around his shoulders. “Come on,” Joonmyun murmurs. “We need to get to market before all the vendors leave.”

He’s right, and as it is the marketplace is less crowded than usual and many of the vendors have already sold out and are closing down for the day. They manage to find the majority of what they need, though it is dark when they are finished, and Joon insists on carrying their parcels, a stack in his arms almost too high to see over. He seems to have no trouble at all with it, cheerfully telling Yixing the story of exactly how Chanyeol came to meet Sandara, complete with a comedic interpretation of Chanyeol’s deep voice, his wild-eyed grin and his ridiculous, larger-than life manner. Yixing can almost see Chanyeol in Joonmyun’s place and is giggling madly at his antics when he feels rough hands around his mouth and neck and is yanked off his feet.

Yixing faintly hears Joonmyun yell in surprise before he hits the ground, thrown forcibly by his attacker in such a way that his temple bounces off the cobblestone. Dazed, Yixing can’t force his limbs to work, and panic shortens his breath to be helpless like this as he feels those same rough hands search his body. A tug at his belt and the snapping of broken string tells him his purse has been taken, and then the hands are gone. It’s over in seconds.

Though his world is spinning and he feels sick, fear for Joonmyun gets him moving, and he manages, through sheer will, to open his eyes and get his hands under him enough to look up over his shoulder.

There’s three men, dressed in dark, ratty clothes with cloths over their noses and mouths, against one Joonmyun. Joon already has his sword out, the parcels dropped in the mud, and is locked in combat with two of them while the third takes off down the street with Yixing’s purse in hand. Unable to do anything else, Yixing watches with unfocused eyes as Joon, who looks angrier and more fearsome than Yixing had thought possible, slams one of the attackers right in the jaw with the heavy brass handguard of his cutlass. Blood and teeth go flying and the man goes down in a heap, and Joon turns immediately to the other, swinging a heavy blow that would have cleaved him collarbone to navel if it hadn’t been blocked.

Yixing tries to push himself up, to get to his feet and help Joon, but his arms collapse under him, all of his strength stolen away. He is vaguely aware of hot blood pouring down the side of his face and thinks, head wounds always bleed so much. His vision is graying, but he knows somewhere that he cannot let himself fall unconscious, not with a knock to the head like this. He’s terrified for Joon, but he can’t concentrate on anything else other than don’t pass out, whatever you do don’t pass out.

The world is swimming too badly for Yixing to gauge the passage of time, so it is an indeterminate amount of time later that he feels hands around his shoulders. He thinks for a brief moment that he is being attacked again, but then he recognizes the grip. Joon.

“Xing,” he’s saying, and he sounds so panicked. That’s no good. “My God, Yixing, speak to me!”

Yixing blinks, but all he sees in the dim evening light is a pale blur. He can’t tell if Joon is injured. “You...alright?” he asks groggily.

A short, harsh bark of a laugh. “You’re gushing a bloody river and you’re asking about me. That’s a good sign, I suppose.” Something presses against the side of Yixing’s head. “Stay with me,” Joon urges as he wraps something around the wound. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Yixing tries on a reassuring smile. He’s pretty sure it comes out crooked and grotesque, but oh well, it’s the best he can do. “Never,” he tells him. “Not...an idiot...thanks.”

He thinks he feels the brush of lips against his forehead, but he’s probably imagining that. He’s concussed, after all.

“...stitches?” he asks.

Joon’s face is still swimming in his vision, but he can make out a nod. “At least two, if I’m not mistaken,” he says. “Can you talk me through them?”

“I...believe so…”

“Good man.” Joonmyun’s arms are solid around him. “How about walking, can you manage that?”

Yixing blinks at him. “I’ll do...my damndest.”

Even blurry, Joonmyun’s smile is bright. “I’d expect nothing less. C’mon, Doctor, up you get.”

He lifts, and Yixing struggles to get his feet under him, and goodness, but Joonmyun is really strong. They manage to get Yixing upright, but the change in angle has his head swimming and his stomach turning and the world sways. Joon catches him, holding him tightly around the ribs, and Yixing breathes through the nausea until the street comes back into something that resembles focus.

“Y’know,” he murmurs into Joon’s shoulder. “Don’t think I’m...going t’ make it...up the mountain.”

A tight chuckle. “We’re not going that far,” Joon says. “We need to stop this bleeding first. C’mon, one foot in front of the other.”

Yixing does his best to obey. It’s slow going, and Joon is half-carrying him, but they make it down the street and around the corner. When Joonmyun pushes a door open and Yixing is assaulted with bright light and raucous voices and loud, jaunty music, he realizes fuzzily that they must be at the inn, Anna’s inn and tavern.

His guess is correct, as demonstrated when Anna herself bustles up to them. “Heavens!” she exclaims. “What happened?”

“Hooligans,” Joon murmurs under his breath. “I need a room and I can’t pay you immediately. They got both our purses.”

Anna pulls out a large key ring, jangling loudly even in the din of the tavern. “Ye say that as if I don’t trust ye,” she admonishes. “Honestly, Captain, I’m hurt.”

Joon smiles widely. “You’re an angel come to earth, Anna.”

“Hmmph. Tell that to me husband.” She bustles off, and Joonmyun and Yixing follow her, Yixing pressing a hand to the wall to assist his teetering balance.

At the foot of the stairs, Yixing makes to lift his foot and nearly topples over before Joonmyun catches him. Grumbling unintelligibly to himself about doctors who don’t know their own limitations, Joon bends down and scoops Yixing right off his feet, lifting him bridal-style. Thrown by the sudden change in angle, Yixing makes a small, unmanly noise and clings with all his remaining strength to Joon’s neck as Joon starts up the stairs.

“I’m not going to drop you,” Joon huffs exasperatedly. “You feel like a child, anyway, you’ve lost too much weight.”

Yixing pouts. “Been sick,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Joon murmurs. “I know.”

Anna opens the room for them, and Joon goes ahead and just sets Yixing right on the bed, holding him upright while Anna stacks the pillows against the headboard. Joon carefully lays Yixing back, straddling his hips and reaching around him to arrange the pillows more comfortably. Yixing thinks dazedly that with Joon leaning over him like that he feels rather like a on her wedding night, pressed down into the sheets while her new husband tells her to relax and think of England, and giggles at the image.

“I think you’re drunk on blood loss,” Joon mutters. “Anna, can I get a needle and thread, and a bottle of rum?”

“Aye, lad. Be right back.”

The door closes, blocking out some of the noise from below. Yixing stares up at Joonmyun’s defocused face.

“You’re pretty,” he mutters under his breath.

“I am not,” Joon says, flashing a grin. “I am ruggedly handsome.” Yixing smiles crookedly at him and Joonmyun chucks Yixing very gently under the chin. “You’re the pretty one. All the girls say so, remember?”

“Pfft.” Yixing’s eyes flutter closed. “Blind, all of them.”

Warm hands cup his cheeks. “You can’t fall asleep, Xing,” Joonmyun says, and all the teasing is gone from his voice. He sounds worried, so very worried. “Remember? You have to tell me how to stitch you up.”

Right. Right. No sleeping. Concussion. He knows that. “Stitching’s easy,” he mumbles. “Make x’s. Like this.” He holds his hands up, crossing his index fingers to demonstrate what he means. It takes all of the strength in his body to do so, and his hands drop again almost immediately. “So th’ skin don’t pull.” He makes a face. “Doesn’t. Doesn’t pull.” Grammar, what’s grammar? His mother would be shocked.

“See, I didn’t know that.” Another brush of lips against his forehead, and Yixing’s starting to think he’s not imagining it. “What would I do without you?”

Yixing grins sloppily. “Die of malaria, apparently.”

Shocked, Joon bursts into laughter. “You’re horrible,” he gasps, and Yixing reaches out to poke his hand playfully. Joonmyun grabs his fingers before he can and laces them in his own.

“Xing…” Joon sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t protect you.”

Yixing shakes his head, squeezing Joon’s fingers weakly. “Not your job,” he says. “I wasn’t looking...I didn’t see them.” He closes his eyes again, just to rest them. “Too busy...looking at you.”

Silence. Some tiny voice in Yixing’s head whispers, what did you just say? but the rest of him is too out of it to register. He hears the door open, and Joonmyun’s weight moves off his legs. Murmuring voices tell him Anna has returned.

He’s floating in and out of consciousness when a little shake brings him back to the surface. “Yixing,” Joon is calling. “Xing, come on. Help me.”

Yixing’s eyes flutter open. Joon’s got a bottle in one hand and a needle threaded with thick black thread in the other. Stitches. Right, stitches.

“Soak the needle and thread in the rum,” Yixing murmurs. “To...to sterilize. Do the wound, too...give me the rest.”

Joon blinks and stops mid-motion. “The rest of the rum? You don’t drink.”

Not usually, no. “Painkiller,” he mumbles. “Alcohol...numbs pain...along with sense.”

“Right,” Joon says. “I knew that.” Doing as he’s told, Joonmyun pours a little rum in a dish and drops in the needle, then helps Yixing to pour a good portion of the rest down his throat. It burns horribly, somehow sweet and bitter at the same time, but Yixing swallows it, knowing even through his haze that the faster it gets into his system the easier this will be on both of them. That done, Joon tips the bottle over a rag and starts cleaning the wound. It stings like hell but Yixing grits his teeth and bears it without complaint, because he knows it could be far worse.

“Alright,” Joon breathes. “Stitches. You said x’s, right?” Yixing nods blearily. “How big should I make them?”

It takes a second for Yixing to parse the question, and another for him to remember the answer. “No wider than...your smallest fingernail,” he says softly, raising his pinky finger to show what he means. “First stitch...under the wound,” he explains, hoping he’s being clear enough and trying to demonstrate with weak hands. “Knot thread...around itself. It’ll...shrink...because rum. Then, x’s...then knot...at th’ other end.” His sentences are broken up oddly by his breath, which is becoming labored.

“Got it.” Joonmyun is straddling his legs again, sitting high up on Yixing’s thighs so he can clearly see the wound, and his body is so close that Yixing can feel him radiating heat. Yixing’s hands land on Joon’s thighs, curving around the muscle shakily. “I’m sorry, this is probably going to hurt.”

Yixing swallows and closes his eyes. “In...inescapably,” he murmurs. “Do it.”

It does hurt, but Yixing has had worse. Joon’s hands are gentle and steady, and he doesn’t flinch at all when Yixing’s fingers curl harshly into his thighs. Long minutes later, Joon cuts the tail end of the thread with his knife, and Yixing collapses back into the pillows, winded as though he just ran a mile.

“Should I wrap it, then?” Joon asks, and Yixing nods weakly, because that’s a good idea. It will probably continue to ooze blood for a while.

It isn’t until Joonmyun is halfway through wrapping his head that Yixing realizes, “Oh. Our purchases.”

Joon shakes his head. “I was able to grab the book you bought,” he says. “They took the medicine. And the goods all landed in the mud, they were ruined.” His eyes are narrowing. “Good-for-nothing lowlifes. They were lucky I didn’t run them all through.”

Oh. Oh. Yixing was so busy being concussed that he hadn’t even looked to see the outcome of the fight. “Are any still alive?” he asks quietly.

“I only got the one,” Joon growls. “His mistake for crossing me.” He looks down at Yixing, whose eyes are wide. “Oh, Xing, I’m sorry, I forgot. Do no harm, and all that.” He looks a bit shamed, now, color rising to his cheeks.

Yixing shakes his head. “I’m not...totally naive, Joon,” he says. “It’s an uncivilized world.” Violent death is always regrettable, but not uncommon in Tortuga, and Joon is, after all, a pirate. He forgets that sometimes.

“I am not usually so eager to end a life,” Joonmyun murmurs. “But all I’d seen was you lying still and bloody on the stones, and I thought...well.” He sighs. “My temper got the best of me, I’m afraid.” He ties off the bandages and sits back on his heels, still straddling Yixing’s thighs. “You’re in no shape to walk up a mountain,” he sighs. “We’ll stay here tonight.”

Yixing blinks. “There’s only one bed,” he points out.

Joon an eyebrow at him. “That hasn’t been an issue in the past, has it?”

Well. No. But...Yixing blinks. He can’t come up with a ‘but’. He’s pretty sure there’s one there, but he can’t find it.

“Alright,” he acquiesces.

“Should you eat?” Joon asks, and Yixing thinks about it.

“Probably.” He’s still a little nauseous, but he needs the energy and he hasn’t eaten much at all today. That light tea Joonmyun made earlier seems years ago. “You take such good care of me,” he murmurs, getting a little teary-eyed at the thought.

“Hey, none of that,” Joon says, swiping his thumb under Yixing’s eyes. “That’s the concussion talking. Can you stay awake while I go beg some scraps from Anna?”

Yixing nods. “I’ll do my best.” Now that he’s not actively dripping blood down his face, his mind feels a little clearer. He’s tired, he’s so tired, but he thinks he can stay awake.

He’s not quite correct about that, though, and without Joon to distract him he drifts off quickly. Joon wakes him a few minutes later with panic in his eyes, but Yixing manages to pull himself out of unconsciousness. Relieved, Joon sits at his bedside and feeds him, caring for him in a way that has become very familiar to them both over the last few months. When Yixing can eat no more, Joon eats the rest, and then climbs onto the bed and sits against the headboard, his hip pressing against Yixing’s.

He is warm, and close, and feels like home. Between the blood loss and the concussion and the rum, the world is unfocused and softly glowing, and Yixing sees nothing unusual in shifting down a little so he can cuddle against Joon’s chest like a child. Joonmyun, for his part, wraps his arm around Yixing’s back and holds him close while he reads aloud from Yixing’s new medical journal, stopping every few sentences to make Yixing answer questions about what he’s reading. It’s an obvious ploy to keep Yixing awake, and he is grateful for it, especially because Joonmyun clearly has no idea what he is reading and can’t possibly be very interested in it.

Eventually, though, not even the talk of rare diseases can keep Yixing awake, and he taps Joonmyun on the chest and says, “It’s been hours. I’m probably alright to sleep.”

Joon gives him a considering look. “Are you certain?”

“As I can be.” Yixing shrugs and sleepily burrows closer to Joonmyun’s solid warmth. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“You’ve had a long day,” Joonmyun murmurs. “Alright. Go to sleep.”

He doesn’t move, and Yixing doesn’t ask him to. He just rests the undamaged side of his head against Joon’s chest and listens for his steady heartbeat.

He’s nearly asleep when he feels, through the dreamy haze, Joon’s warm hand smoothing over his hair. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” Joon whispers. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Mmm. Maybe he is asleep, after all.

“I love you,” Yixing murmurs into his shirt, before losing consciousness entirely.