Chapter Text
It was raining, and Lyney still wasn’t back yet.
Kinich had been turning a blind eye to Lyney’s missions so far.
He understood that it was the one thing that Lyney would rather do without him, and he respected that.
He respected that.
He did—does, respect that.
But Lyney had left the night before, not a message arrived throughout the day, not an item out of place, he has not come back.
Kinich felt cold in bed, misplaced irritation covering the overwhelming sense of uselessness that always seemed to grow in his heart when Lyney was not at his side, when he wasn’t at his side, protecting him.
He looked out of the window, staring at the unfamiliar buildings of Fontaine.
It was just starting to rain, and Kinich couldn’t bear to sit by himself, being useless any longer.
He sat up, shrugging the mess of blankets off him.
Some part of him wanted to go back to bed, pretend this was some cruel sick dream, some nightmare that would end with him waking up to find Lyney back in his arms.
But he wasn’t stupid.
Lyney had taken care to wake him from nightmares swiftly, and comfort him, but it had been an entire day without a word from him.
Twenty-four hours without seeing that beautifully perfect smile, those sweet pearl-like eyes.
It was hurting to go without the person he longed to hold.
He had only been allowed to hold Lyney close for a few months now, not nearly enough time but more than he could have ever hoped for.
He wanted to hold him until his vision dimmed and his soul was replaced by another.
Kinich stood with a broken off sigh, dragging his feet to the closet, pulling out the orange-yellow cloak he had been given from his tribe after they saw him drenched in a mess of abyss-tar and blood.
It was a miracle it hadn’t been stained red.
Typically, Kinich would shrug the cloak onto one shoulder, leaving the other bare for movement, but with the rain… He pulled it over both his shoulders, letting it fall and rest just above his thighs as he tied the front with the small hidden string in the cloak.
He left his regular accessories—earrings, necklace, gloves, harness—at the vanity Lyney kept in the room. He wasn’t expecting to run into anyone he knew or cared about, so he went without them, messily slipping his boots onto his feet with increased dread as with every step closer to the door, the idea that Lyney was missing became more real.
He wasn’t coming back.
He had to find him.
He could be dying somewhere, alone.
That made Kinich throw the door open with barely a second thought to shut it before he was running down the rain soaked stairs, as the water fell down on him.
They both hated the rain.
He hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask Lyney where he was going.
That sweet smile that told him things would be okay, even if he was dying, he would be okay.
But he wouldn’t be.
Has he ever told Lyney that he didn’t care how much he had to endure to stay by his side, as long as they stood together by the end?
Did he even tell him he loved him before he left for Harbingers-know-what?
Kinich shivered at the thought, or maybe he shivered from the cold rain, he didn’t really know.
He turned down streets that were getting more and more unfamiliar, searching for any sign of the familiar blonde hair.
Was the mission even in the city?
He always avoided prying into Lyney’s personal business when he could, because Lyney proved to be able to handle it, but has he ever been willing to admit when he couldn’t handle it?
Of course not.
Kinich thought bitterly.
He was an idiot to think that horrible habit had been left behind, that as long as he didn’t see it clear in front of him, it didn’t exist.
Of course.
Just as he had understood Lyney, Lyney learned to understand him.
How to prevent him from worrying, even when he should have been worried.
It was almost laughable, that Lyney seemed to know him so well, yet not at all.
His eyes snapped at the glimpse of a shadow, pausing his steps.
“...Rosseland?”
The small cat emerged from an alleyway that he had nearly ran past, the streetlights revealing the red stained fur.
No.
No.
Kinch took a step toward the small pet, then another, and another, until he realized Rosseland was moving away from him.
“W-where is Lyney? Please.”
The cat looked at him, then started running down the alley.
Kinich followed it, trying to ignore the red paw-prints being swept away by the rain.
He felt the dread settle deep in his bones as he got closer, a faint silhouette of a man crouched, leaning against the wall, head tilted to the side almost as if—No.
Kinich fell beside him, bringing a hand to his neck.
He’s breathing.
He tapped Lyney, carefully, then harshly, almost shoving him because he wouldn't wake up.
“Lyney, hey, c’mon, you were on your way back home, right? Let’s go home?” He pulled Lyney’s arm away from where it cradled his waist.
“Lyney.” Kinich held back a sob as he applied pressure to the wound that was staining the normally clean shirt Lyney wore, dying his hands to match the color of Lyney’s.
How long has he been bleeding out?
Kinich struggled out of his cloak, throwing it over Lyney’s colder body, hoping to bring back some of that warmth he had come to associate with him.
The constant movement seemed to wake Lyney, who nearly fell to the cold, wet, concrete ground as he shoved against Kinich, the horror in his eyes something old and painful.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me, you know me, don’t you?” Kinich felt sick at the idea of Lyney possibly having amnesia, having hit his head somewhere, at some point, had been suffering alone, confused, for maybe hours.
It would have been his fault.
All of this, because he failed to protect him.
“You shouldn’t—be here.” Lyney groaned as he tried to push himself up against the wall, ignoring the injury that still bled from his stomach.
“Careful.” Kinich scolded, but the tears brought by the rain made it sound desperate.
Lyney took a moment to look around, at Rosseland—the traitor—then at his beloved hunter, who seems to have hunted him down…
That’s what he gets for underestimating him…
“Hey, stay awake. I’ll bring you home just—don’t leave me.”
He blinked at Kinich, at the tears and desperation in his eyes, that broken expression he had sworn to never be the cause of again.
Kinich made a small sound, and then Lyney was being picked up, arms moving under his knees and back, as if he was some frail prince in need of rescuing.
Kinich didn’t say anything, and that’s what scared him the most.
He could handle anger, barbed words that cut sharp, or grief with sobs that could tear his heart in half… but nothing?
How can he fix it when he doesn’t know what it is?
And maybe that was the worst part for him.
Kinich didn’t want him to fix it.
He knew, if he let his emotions take control, that Lyney would do anything to calm him.
He doesn’t want to be soothed with those deceptive words.
He wants to hurt for him.
He wants to feel his pain and hold him through it.
He doesn’t want to be okay, when Lyney wasn’t.
Lyney hid behind that easygoing facade, and Kinich behind a stoic demeanor, to keep the other from worrying.
Kinich didn’t stop even when the rain poured down harsher, just shifting to shield Lyney as much as he could, whose injuries seemed to have caught up to him, as his eyes drifted shut, looking impossibly at peace.
Kinich hadn’t even realized the tiny shadow following them until a small ‘meow’ interrupted his thoughts.
He looked forward to see Rosseland, on the steps that led to their home—the ones he had almost walked past—looking mildly annoyed like most cats do, as if it was calling him names that Lyney certainly wouldn’t approve of if he heard them.
Kinich didn’t dwell on it for long, pulling Lyney closer and carefully walking up the stairs, giving a small ‘thank you’ to Rosseland, who leapt up onto the crates by the door and jumped onto the door handle, pulling it down and clinging to it until Kinich was able to push it open with his hip, not disturbing the man in his arms at all.
How many times has Rosseland had to do that, for it to be second nature…?
Kinich wondered, as the cat slipped in behind him, nudging the door shut with its head until it clicked in place.
Their home seemed… cold, now.
Like he was intruding into something personal, despite the fact he and Lyney had been living in it for months already.
When he wasn’t in Natlan at least.
He didn’t think further about it, as he had one goal in mind.
Take care of his lover.
Luckily the abyss war in Natlan, made it so first-aid was as easy as breathing to him.
He walked to their shared bedroom—he technically had his own, but he always ended up in Lyney’s regardless—and set Lyney down on the bed, careful to not cause any further pain.
Rosseland meowed beside him, circling his legs until he turned to head toward the connected bathroom, where he knew Lyney kept a small first-aid kit.
Particularly because burns were a frequent occurrence when he was in the kitchen.
Kinich looked through the drawers, finding the supplies rather easily, he walked back to the bedroom.
He felt uncomfortable as he removed Lyney’s shirt, since he knows how Lyney felt about his scars.
It was rare he went without a shirt, despite Kinich’s reassurances that it didn’t bother him, it was simply an insecurity that would take time to heal.
Which normally Kinich was happy to provide…
but his health took priority, even if it might result in an argument later.
Kinich carefully undid the buttons, pulling the sleeves off as they were as soaked in rain as the shirt was in blood.
…That shirt might be beyond saving.
He moved forward to sit beside Lyney as he cleaned around the wound.
It didn’t look like a stab or claw wound—which Kinich was very familiar with—rather, there were three smaller wounds, circular in shape and unfamiliar to the point he was going to pass them off as arrow wounds.
But, besides Lyney, there were no known bow users in Fontaine.
...But there were plenty who wielded guns.
Kinich wasn’t familiar with gunshot wounds.
Sure, he knew people who wielded such weapons, but they never shot anyone, seeing such wounds on Lyney’s body felt uncomfortable, but familiar, despite having no clear memory of seeing such wounds before.
He cut off his thoughts as he reached for the bandages, wanting nothing more than for the wounds to be gone already.
He carefully lifted Lyney, shifting the bandage under and across his torso as he spotted the blood spilt onto the bed.
He cautiously turned him onto his side, finding the matching wounds and cleaning those too, before taking a moment to breathe, cleaning his hands off with the unsalvageable shirt.
Distressed was almost not enough to describe his state of mind.
He knows he couldn’t have prevented this.
He knows Lyney likely hadn’t gotten injured on purpose.
But a part of him can’t help but think about all the times Lyney had hidden his injuries.
If he had made it back on his own, would he hide these too?
Kinich looked at the man beside him, before he noticed something was off about him…
He had seen Lyney shirtless before, he knows what scars adorn his body.
Which is why it is weird, that he doesn’t recognize some of them.
One by his hip, definitely from some kind of whip—another on his ribs and more than a few across his arms where his sleeves would normally cover, most looking like old knife wounds, and others completely foreign to him.
They were all new.
It was a disturbing thought, something that never truly settled in his gut, making him sick.
When had these scars been formed?
For how long was his lover in pain, waiting for them to heal?
How had he not noticed?
Why didn’t Lyney tell him?
Kinich shivered, from the cold or his thoughts, he didn’t know.
He crawled into bed beside Lyney.
So he won’t get cold.
He reasoned in his mind, not because he desperately wanted—needed to hold Lyney and be held in turn.
Rosseland seemed to have taken it as their cue, as the cat pawed at the lightswitches before hopping onto the to cozy up next to Lyney’s other side, purring peacefully.