Work Text:
It must've taken Nipulon a hundred light years to get out of bed. He spent around ten minutes gazing into the skylight above his webbed, lavender sheets. Must've paced out for awhile. The sky's sallow complexion only serves to make him feel sicker. Maybe, just maybe, he would have stayed in bed if he didn't remind himself that he's several days behind schedule. When he unravels the covers, he curses under his breath as a chilly breeze catches onto his leathery, flesh-ridden mass of a body. It only lasts for a moment, thankfully. But getting out of bed is far from being the last of his challenges.
Nipulon swallows four painkillers conveniently placed on a napkin on his pull-out nightstand. He feels like even that won't be strong enough, so there's no better time to take a couple of drags from his pipe too. At this point in his experience, he doesn't mind inhaling the smoke into his lungs a couple of times, just to get a stronger buzz. If it dulls the pain quicker, so be it.
After his fourth or fifth intake, Nipulon lets the pipe go out. He tries to set himself on the floor only to tense up in pain and inch back to the mattress. Fuck. This is not the time for his nerves to be shot. He has too many places to be, too many employees put under review, too many shipment files to look through, clients to check in; the list just goes on. He takes a few deep breaths before trying again, using the nightstand for support. His lower legs weakly thump against the dark gray velvet carpet, sending a subtle, but prickly buzz up his elongated spine.
His movements are especially stuttery today. Breathing through the stomach hurts too much. As he slithers to the wardrobe, a repulsive rumbling sensation presses against his ribs and guts—Nipulon swallows down spit in an effort to suppress it. With several pathetic groans and hisses, he crams himself into his metallic power suit. He takes a few experimental breaths through the chest—to be sure he can damn well breathe properly with the constrictive exoskeleton. He ignores how the cold, metallic inner material crinkles his many lower legs inwards like printer paper. He wipes away the cool sweat on his brow and straightens the suit's legs.
"This is gonna be a day, isn't it?" Nipulon mutters to himself. Oh well, he already wasted too much time getting ready. There's no use in taking an off day if it's going to set his duties back further. And he certainly can't trust anyone else to fill in for him—he's the best one for this position, Garmantuous said so himself all those years ago.
Nipulon checks his digital calendar, which blips out as a holograph from his phone. He sees an event marked with an obnoxiously bright red. Right—it's the day of the G3 officers' monthly meeting and it isn't until 18. Should be fine.
After putting on his gloves and debating on whether or not he needs to dry heave over the toilet, Nipulon makes his way to his office, just a floor down. He'll be out of it more often than not today, but it's usually the home base.
Not even a minute of sitting down and he's getting a call from Garmantuous. The calls from him are always welcome though, no matter how irritable Nipulon feels.
"Morning, Garm."
"Greetings, Nipulon. Did you check the groupchat?"
" . . . Do I even want to?"
"You kind of have to." Garmantuous' tone leaves no room for protests. "There's been a breach—some good for nothing alien scum got into the chat and you're the only one with admin access. And you remember what happened when I had admin."
Nipulon can't hold back an incredulous snicker. "Oh yeah, yes. I remember." Every officer's phone is set to self destruct for security/tracking reasons, but Dr. Giblets modified the G3 groupchat so that whoever had admin access could trigger the self destruct for any of their phones. So guess what happened to their previous batch of phones. Nipulon still blames Giblets, even if he wasn't the direct cause. "I'll look into it now."
"Good."
Nipulon starts sifting through the groupchat. The other end of the line goes quiet as he reads a few of the spam messages by "bitchlessbontyhnter221" and removes them from the chat. He adds them to the hitlist and tears through the five other hackers. Meanwhile, Garmantuous moves on to another topic.
"Your work log seems . . . extensive. You will be able to attend the meeting, right?"
Actually, no. "Huh? Of course I will." Well shit, since he told Garm the exact opposite, he has absolutely no other choice. He'll just have to cover all his regular duties quickly so he has time to make up the excess ones.
" . . . Alright. I'll be running a little late 'cause I'll be dealing with getting rid of those invasive mytes in Zephyr. Little shits are eating the warp crystals somehow."
Nipulon finishes removing the hackers and threatening Douglas' payroll for sending off-topic images (mutilated bodies of Dreg Town locals). He opens his mouth to respond to Garmantuous, but has to bite back a groan when his sides start twisting and burning. "Yeah, got it." He hopes his sigh sounds like one of frustration instead of concealed pain.
"Thanks." Garmantuous hangs up promptly.
Thank god. Nipulon thinks he would've started feeling feverish if he was on the call with him for any longer. He rubs his bulbous eyes with a muffled grunt. "I should pull myself together . . . "
He spends some time taking calls from other high ranking criminals, setting up exclusive drug appointments and such. If the suit gave him an especially painful cramp, he'd snap a pen in half. By the time the calls were done, Nipulon ran through twenty pens. Okay so, it's not his fault that his grip strength is The Strongest Thing Ever. But whatever, the pain could be worse. Plus, this is good practice for his facial expressions. During his bad days, he'd been getting good at hiding any signs of pain through his expressions. His body language really needs work, though. He's not sure how anyone outside of Garmantuous hasn't found out yet. Is almost everyone that self-centered?
An hour's passed and Nipulon still has ten million piles of crap to do—and he's starting to think about his bed. Traitor. He clutches his office pipe like a lifeline and gives into a smoke break. 'This is your own doing,' the lilac smoke whispers.
. . .
The hours blur and mesh like every insignificant conversation Nipulon has with the lesser aliens (excluding the G3 officers). Sometimes he has to be security for his drug lounge; sometimes he has to go hunting for those who wronged the cartel. His suit is bound to get scratched up from such altercations, and that includes his body. There's times where his body uncharacteristically begs for rest, for another break. But it's alright—he can just smirk and deal. He can't let anything slip or give way, not again.
Looks like the decision to deal with it paid off! It's almost 18 and Nipulon's fully caught up with his work log. He stands tall in the G3 Cartel's conference room with the lower ranking officers—or most of them. He doesn't count Gurgula since he's. Well Nipulon knows. But the other shut-in scientist isn't here yet.
"Do any of you know when Dr. Giblets is getting here?" Nipulon asks with a slight scowl, hands clenched into fists behind his back. A huge ring light embedded in the ceiling illuminates the roundtable with a harsh white light that's a little too much for him tonight.
"I dunno," Douglas mutters before swatting a tentacle at Krubis' snout. Krubis jerks away violently, squeezing his drilless hand over his snout.
"The hell?—"
"Don't you guys work on the same planet or somethin'? Could've drilled through his door n' dragged him out or somethin' like that."
"How much did you drink this time?? The guy's a damn recluse located in some secret ass bunker. I can't find him, no matter how much I wanna gut 'im."
Douglas laughs loudly, leaning back way too far in the chair. "Yeah, mkay. Too busy getting high off furgles to actually try to kill him. If I were you, I'd—"
"Oh, shut your damn mouth with that 'if I were you' bullshit!" Krubis drills through the leg supporting Douglas' chair so he tumbles over shortly after. Douglas sputters a half-baked insult, just before he wraps a tentacle around Krubis' arm and slams him to the floor with him. The Skrendel brothers laugh and acknowledge the "spectacle" before them, even Jonathan.
"Quit playing around!" Nipulon snaps, and at the same time his abdomen convulses, he bangs a fist that shakes the whole roundtable. That regains everyone's attention and silences the room. Krubis and Douglas put the brakes on their little scramble.
Jonathan "discreetly" rolls a new chair for Douglas across the table, which narrowly misses him as it crashes to the floor.
Nipulon swiftly retrieves his composure by clearing his throat and rolling his sore shoulders. "So none of you know if Giblets is even coming?"
The officers shake their heads, Douglas glancing at Krubis for the briefest moment—definitely with a sneer.
Nipulon squints at all of them and pinches the spot between his mouth and eyes. "Great. That's just fantastic." His lower half aches horribly. Comparable to someone tying a balloon. He has to tighten his jaw because it feels like everything he's eaten and the sweet smoke he inhaled wants to come back up. Sweat beads on his clammy neck and uncomfortably rolls underneath his suit.
He would suggest waiting a few more minutes for Giblets, but he needs to move around a little. To do anything that doesn't involve being stationary. "Whatever, I can easily find him myself. Give me a—"
Dr. Giblets warps in at the far end of the table with a bulky, but portable device in his hand. The others came in by warp portal, but it looks like Giblets is designing a more mobile method. "Hello all! Sorry for the wait, I uh, lost track of time. At least I know this works! Instead of the warp portals, y'know?" He takes a seat next to the Skrendels, to their hostility.
"Yo watch it! Scoot a lil' over there, capisce?" Angela demands with a pointed finger, leaning onto the table so that Jonathan and Mona are out of view from Giblets.
'Dammit Garm, where are you?' Nipulon thinks. He relights his pipe and despite his best efforts, can't hide the slight shakiness of his arm as he brings the pipe to his mouth. He has to blink hard because he feels like the room is spinning. Pulling the pipe away, he sucks in what he hopes is a quiet breath when his crushed legs feel close to snapping.
"Uhh okay . . . " Dr. Giblets rolls his chair until Angela feels satisfied—with Giblets not even at the table anymore.
Something warm and thin is trickling down Nipulon's dewy sides, but he pays it no concern.
What he completely misses is Krubis' concerned glance. Krubis recognizes some of Nipulon's mannerisms when he needs a hit, but his deep, gray eyes look . . . vacant? Like when someone's entirely worn out and they can't grasp onto the thought of another thing to do? Maybe Krubis is reading into it too much—Nipulon's usually exhausted at these meetings, no matter how much he thinks he's hiding it.
"Where is Garmantuous?" Giblets asks.
"He's running a little late, dealing with Zephyr's myte infestation. Should be—" Nipulon huffs, "—wrapping up in a sec." He stays standing, but folds his arms together on the table, hoping it looks like he's just shifting his stance instead of doubling over in agony. His face might collapse into a grimace at any moment, but no. He needs to save it for a private space. "Let's get started, starting with Dr. Giblets' monthly reports. Giblets?"
"Oh yes! Let's." Giblets takes out a circular hologram projector and sets it on the middle of the glossy table. A myriad of overlapping screens pop up, all made of a light green and blue tint—a few of them seem to be logs in an unreadable compressed font. Others look like blueprints and slowly rotating models of various gadgets and concoctions. "I have created the new drug siphoning prototypes that you have asked for, Nipulon, but I found some difficulti . . . "
Nipulon unwillingly lets the rest of Giblets' explanation die in his ears since they're beginning to ring. Fuck, no. Not now. The spinning sensation becomes impossible to pretend it doesn't exist. His body isn't supposed to be failing him like this—he's used to this, this was supposed to make him stronger. He feels a rush of terror overcome him when his vision blurs and darkens.
He tries to stand up straight, but that turns out to be the next worst thing to do. A jarring, choked cry rips from Nipulon's throat and his vision blanks out, limbs give out. He hears metal crashing into solid table, then ground. He feels it, if only for a moment.
Dr. Giblets has to cut his report off when he hears Nipulon's horrific cry. He looks up only to catch the second-in-command's eyes rolling into his skull, abruptly followed by his side slamming into the table before his body ragdolls to the floor. The cacophony breaks up any side conversation or fidgeting that was happening before. Not even Douglas can find words to say—for a few moments anyways.
"Haha!—hooolyy shit! Man down!" He crouches onto the table to peer at Nipulon's crumpled body. His perverse curiosity stuns Giblets for a second.
"Whu—Nipulon?!" Giblets calls out. He takes a small step, then he stumbles over to where Nipulon is. His head is awkwardly leaning against the foot of a vacant chair, while one of his arms lay bent across said chair. He would appear peaceful if it wasn't for how his brows occasionally scrunch together and relax.
The others had sprung from their seats shortly after Giblets went to their secondary boss's body. They would care to put some distance between themselves and Giblets, but Nipulon's state calls for their full attention.
"Okay that was like . . . out of nowhere," Mona mumbles, scratching a nerve ending on the back of his head.
Giblets' possible heart is pounding. "Is he—is he sleeping?" It should be hella obvious that he's not, but Giblets is in a tiny bit of denial right now.
Krubis swipes his drill at Giblets. "Of course he ain't, dumbfuck! He's out! Out cold!"
"Oh shit yeah—he actually passed out." Douglas flicks his helmet open, wet black eyes blankly staring. Did he expect Nipulon to get back up? Probably.
Giblets anxiously wrestles with a few options. Wait for him to wake up?—if he wakes up? Wait for Garmantuous? But who knows how much longer he'll be, and he almost always answers texts or calls on his own time . . . can Giblets even trust himself to handle his immediate boss's body?
Well. To be fair, Giblets thinks he's the best one fit to make sure Nipulon is stable. Seems like Douglas could care less, Krubis can't possibly know much about organic functions and would rather drill his head open than work around Giblets, and the Skrendels . . . they'd be good for lifting Nipulon's weighted body, but that's about it. Giblets always wondered how they got into the biology field.
He reaches down to Nipulon's body, but hesitates halfway while stammering. "Um um, uhh…!—I believe his body should be lifted onto the table!" He makes desperate eye contact with the Skrendels, but only Jonathan is vocal about that implied directive.
"What's the difference between the table and the floor??"
"It gives me a better view of what I'm working with!"
"Can't we just, I dunno, wait for him to get up?" Jonathan asks as though it's the obvious choice.
"We don't know the extent of his condition yet! He might not recover for a dangerously long time!" Giblets grits his teeth together—talking with any of the Skrendels feels fruitless most of the times. His words seem to carry no weight.
Mona pulls the chair supporting Nipulon away and starts lifting him from under the shoulders. "Let's just put Nips on da table so this rompipalle can shut up."
"Sounds good to me." Angela snickers and lifts Nipulon by the knees. Jonathan shrugs and helps by supporting his midsection. The three set his body flat onto the table rather roughly, but they sort of listened to Giblets at least (even if it came with an Italian slur).
He sighs and stands on top of the table, right by Nipulon's unmoving head. Carefully, he starts to inspect his form for any injuries or unusual blemishes.
"Did anyone notice anything . . . strange about him?" Dr. Giblets asks.
After a few long pauses, Krubis speaks up, but not without an underlying irritated tone. "Looked like he was zonin' out a few minutes ago. But I just thought he was tired like always."
"Intriguing . . . " When Giblets gets to Nipulon's midsection, he presses down on his armor to gauge for any kind of reaction—that's when he hears the sound of rapid, but quiet breathing. But before he can lift his head, Nipulon's arms swing outward and knock Giblets off the table with ease. He crashes into the wall with a yelp.
Well he got a reaction alright.
Douglas cackles at this, but with the worst timing you could possibly imagine. Garmantuous warps into the room.
"Ahaha . . . aha . . . hey Garm!" He shrugs and his wide grin falters for a moment.
Krubis groans under his breath.
Nipulon is half-sitting up while panting and mumbling to himself. "No, no no no fuck fucking—shhhit . . . " He shakes his head, which slips back to the table with a loud thud. His pain-filled groan fills the once sterile meeting room.
"What the—what the fuck?!" Garmantuous shoves the Skrendels to the floor as he slithers his way to Nipulon. Douglas and Krubis have enough time to move aside, but their primary boss directs his glare and foreboding posture towards them. "What the hell happened while I was gone?" He zeroes in on Douglas with bared, sharp teeth; Douglas flicks his helmet back on. "Did you do someth—"
"I swear on my shitty ass life I ain't done a thing." He gestures towards Nipulon. "He keeled over cause his body's achin' like crazy." Then to Dr. Giblets, who's just getting up. "Dr. Numbnuts over here had the Skrendels put 'im on the table, thinking he wasn't gonna wake up for awhile. Well uh, there you go."
Krubis' eye twitches as he stares Douglas down. "Wait that's why he fell? So you couldn't tell us that earlier?"
"Oh my god, I thought it was obvious enough for any of you guys to get it." He snickers and eyerolls. "Y'see, this is why I'm the Chief of Training and Torture. I've seen it all and I know it a—" Krubis revs his drill; Douglas steps away.
"Alright now shut it!" Garmantuous bellows. "I've heard enough. All of you are dismissed." He turns to Nipulon, who's trying to sit up again, but he keeps swaying.
"But," Dr. Giblets says with a frown, "what about the—"
"Forget about it, meeting's being pushed to next week."
He blinks. "Next week?! Is it that bad?—"
Garmantuous slams a fleshy limb against the table, making Nipulon jump. "Enough questions! Everyone needs to leave now or I'm skipping all of your monthly paychecks!" He sure knows how to make the officers feel seen. Exposed is a better word. The Skrendels dip into the warp portal without a moment to lose. Dr. Giblets is much more reluctant, but he ends up following through when Douglas shoves him towards the portal.
"Ugh, didn't even get to loot through Nip's bottle stash . . . " Douglas mutters as he puts in the destination for Dreg Town in Port Terrene. Once Krubis leaves, Garmantuous takes a deep breath.
Nipulon feels absolutely naked without needing to be.
He's given up trying to put himself upright since the pain and vertigo are basically unbearable. His torso is like a shrill alarm, pulsating with the pathetic plead for release. Has he been trying to catch his breath, or was he gasping for air this whole time? He doesn't know—he can't even remember why he is on the table or why he feels the near-overwhelming urge to throw up, like this morning.
"Why—why did you—dismiss them?—We weren't—" Nipulon stammers between loud, stabbing attempts to breathe.
"Goddammit, how do you take this suit off?" Garmantuous demands.
Anything but that. Anything but removing it here, right on the surface where the G3 Cartel conducts their monthly meetings. Where they maintain assignments and make sure the import and export of illegal drugs, weaponry, and materials for their warp bases goes smoothly.
"Answer me Nips! Nipulon!"
If Nipulon did not quickly show his boss how to take off the suit, he would have passed out all over again. Though he thinks that's still a possibility. He squeezes his eyes shut. Partially to block out the overstimulating lights and somehow alleviate the pain of being able to move his lower limbs freely. With what little nerve activity there is, of course. Well with the suit off, Nipulon expected that he would be able to breathe normally now—but to no effect. It's like a neverending cycle of inhale, pain, exhale everything to release pain. He can't stop panicking.
"What? What's wrong still?" God, he wishes Garmantuous' barking could cure everything, but it's doing nothing right now.
"C-Can't . . . fuck…!" Nipulon opens his glazed-over eyes, turns his head to Garm, and reaches for his limb. He looks confused as all hell, but he offers up his limb as though it can solely fix everything. Nipulon grabs it as tightly as he can, knowing that Garm can't feel a thing. It's this slimy, warm, and flabby skin in his grasp that makes him realize he should be breathing through his chest, not his stomach. Once he begins doing that instead, the sharp pains lessen. They're very much still there, but he can regulate his breathing now. Finally, it returns to a slow, although shaky interval.
Nipulon lets go of Garm reluctantly, resting his hand on the top of his head and sighing. The only filler in the silence of the room is Garm's labored breathing and the buzz of the overhead ring light.
" . . . Thanks, Garm," he murmurs.
"I need to get a towel or somethin', you're bleeding. Christ almighty, what did I tell you about letting it get this bad?"
Nipulon stares up at the light with a glare. "Well I'd be worse off if I didn't get through my work pile. So don't ask me that."
"And guess what? I don't feel like letting you attend tomorrow's meeting."
He flinches, swallows back a lump, and looks at Garmantuous' lumpy form. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me loud and clear," Garm retorts. "You're going to take a break for the rest of the week. No work, no scheduling, no nothing."
"Are you kidding me?!" Fueled by pure aggravation, Nipulon sits up completely and ignores the painful way his back muscles stretch. "I went the entire day, utterly and completely fine. It was only because you didn't show up in time that I lost my composure."
Garmantuous cackles lowly and starts circling the table. "Oh that's—that's rich. So because I was late to a meeting that you can damn well manage on your own, you passed out from pushing your body past its limits. Your body."
"The officers were causing me unneeded stress, that's—that's what pushed my body past its limits! You're the best at shutting their bullshit down."
"Yeah, obviously, but—! God!" Garm throws several chairs to the opposite end of the meeting room. "You can't keep fucking up your body like this! This is probably the worst I've seen you, Nips!"
"Ye-Yes, I can! I can do it over and over again so that things get done around here." Nipulon's voice starts to crack, and he barely notices his eyes beginning to burn. "So that I can keep the G3 in good standing!"
"You already do."
Nipulon pauses. A sudden shower of guilt runs across his sorry skin. Because he wasn't, and isn't, being smart. Ruining himself during the job so that future work days are worse for him? Ignoring such clear signs that he's . . . he's bleeding a lot. Among the spreading blacks and blues on his sunken lower half are lots of skin breakages and old, deep gashes reopened. A little blood loss is fine for him usually, but this looks bad. He hopes there's nothing internal going on.
He didn't even notice that Garmantuous left the room. For what?
A wave of light headedness washes over him—and his chest feels like it's tightening. "Garm, it's getting bad. Real bad, haha . . . " Nipulon's muscles quake until he can no longer sit up again. This has to be one of, or the most embarrassing thing to happen to him in his entire life. Pick yourself up. And stay up. He is not going to let himself bleed out on the G3 table, dammit. But no matter how hard he tries . . . he's stuck here, going nowhere with this useless body. "G-Garm, where did you go? I'm fucking scared, it's stupid I know, b-but . . . "
The artificial light is getting fuzzy, and if Garm is coming back, he won't be able to hear him with all the ringing. Again, the lights are overstimulating him, but he's afraid to close his eyes. Doesn't want to let himself go, even though it would be so, so easy to.
It's so hard to be something normal.
He's not supposed to—
. . .
Nipulon's eyes open to a familiar skylight, its circular shutters halfway closed. Once his vision clears up and his brain is less foggy, he realizes that he's in a bed. His bedroom? When he manages to sit up, he sees an IV attached to his arm, flowing with blood. As much as he wants to have a really long drag of his pipe, he lifts the covers to figure out why he feels a tight pressure wrapped around him. Turns out he's bandaged up to the bottom of his abdomen. His legs on either side stick out limply and overall, he feels like a gutted fish.
A merkaloid guard is snoozing away in a chair that rests against the grand, elderberry-colored doors.
"Hey. Anonymous merkaloid npc," Nipulon calls out, but winces at how raspy his voice sounds. But the guard awakens nonetheless, scrambling to stand at attention.
"H-Huh? Oh, Nipulon, sir! How do you feel?"
"Like shit. Where's Garmantuous? I need to see him," he quietly adds, "urgently."
"He's in your office, I'll bring him over as soon as possible."
Just as the guard leaves, Nipulon furrows his brow. "My office..?" What could possibly bring Garmantuous there? He'd rather not have him in there while he's unable to get up from his bed. He sighs heavily and picks at the webbing of his mattress. Garm must be pissed, rightfully so. And the nerve that Nipulon had to argue with him over something that was clearly his own fault? He won't blame Garm if he gives him the cold shoulder.
Eventually, Garm enters his room. The hissy sigh he lets out is one of relief, maybe frustration too. "You scared the hell out of me, Nips."
"I know, I know. I'm so—"
"No. Don't even think about apologizing." Garm draws to his bedside, eyes downcast. "I didn't realize you were losing so much blood that fast. Should've acted quicker."
"Acting quicker wouldn't have changed the fact that I kept ignoring my body the whole day." Nipulon can't find it in himself to glance at his longtime business partner. G3 drones are heard buzzing past the skylight window, patrolling without a single delay.
Garmantuous worries his bottom lip with his scraggly teeth for a time. He huffs and rests a limb on Nipulon's forearm, making him flinch. "Guess I just wanna know . . . why didn't you just call me? And let me know that today's just—not a good day?"
"I thought I could get through it. I really did. And today was our monthly meeting, and I didn't—I didn't want to fall behind even further. My agenda was so backed up as it was and taking a day off would have only complicated things."
"Mmm." Garm looks down at his limb over Nipulon's arm, then to his face. "You look like you wanna add something else. What else is there?"
Nipulon takes in a sharp breath and winces in pain. "I just. I can't believe I threw it all away. All the work I put in to be . . . Nipulon. The officers had to see me like that, for fuck's sake." He chuckles dryly, clenching the sheets tighter. "Now the next time I see them, I have to—to pretend that they still respect me?—"
"What? What are you talking about?—"
"Besides you, I am the last person they expected to see in such a . . . vulnerable state!" He glances at the blood bag attached to the IV stand with hatred. "It's supposed to be something only you have to see, if you must. At least you understand. At least this doesn't change anything between us."
"Of course it doesn't, it never did. But who cares if anyone else sees? You still have the authority, as my right-hand man. The brains behind this entire operation. That's all that should matter to the others."
Nipulon wants to curl up even a little bit, but he knows he'd just hurt himself trying to. "I'm sorry, I just—"
"Don't apologize—"
"Garm, please," he hisses, before his voice softens. "I want to. Because I won't be able to see what you see in me." He stares up at the golden ornate designs of his empire chandelier, suspended in the middle of the room with web strings. "Almost my entire life has been just like this—others of my own damn species telling me that I'm enough, more than enough. But the moment I ditched my home planet and experienced hell and back, I was sure they were lying. Trying to make me feel better or some useless bullshit."
He looks down at his scarred and scratchy hands, loosely clasped together. Memories of self disgrace flash across his mind. Times when he thought he got over how out of place he felt, before he fell back into the black hole all over again. When he idolized Garmantuous like a prophecy at the cost of his own self esteem.
Nipulon shudders while his eyes start to well with copper tears. "Believe me, I wish I could see myself as . . . me. I hate this body, and I hate what I've done to it even more."
Garmantuous's form seems to deflate somewhat as he sighs loudly. But then he does something that Nipulon didn't expect; he scooches in closer. Halfway on the bed.
"You uh . . . do you want a hug?" he tentatively asks.
Nipulon sniffles, then blinks, the action clearing his teary vision a little. He's offering first? "Huh?"
Garmantuous has the gall to glare at him. "Urgh, don't look at me like that. M'trying."
"Heh." He cracks a smile. 'Goddammit,' he curses himself; his hearts are beating too fast. He pulls the sheets closer to his lap, contemplating Garm's question as if it were a life or death decision. But he doesn't need to know that.
Garm stays quiet—either he's being very patient with Nipulon or he genuinely doesn't know what else to add.
"Not to sound greedy but uhm . . . " Nipulon clears his throat and raises his voice a bit more, but he still sounds hesitant. "I think I just wanna rest. On. You?"
Garmantuous chuckles lowly. "Yeah, gotcha. Can you move a little to the right, or…?"
"One sec." He starts to lift himself up, but he freezes from a jolt of pain traveling through his elongated spine. "Agh—fuck."
"Wait, hold still." The cartel boss gently lifts Nipulon's bottom with one limb, shuffling him to the right before doing the same with his lower half. That simple but thoughtful action would keep Nipulon going for the next few weeks.
"Thanks."
The two adjust their positions until Nipulon's upper body is nestled against the folds of Garmantuous' damp and warm skin. Akin to resting on someone's lap. Garm does his best not to overlap his body with Nipulon's injuries. His body isn't naturally built for laying back, and although he could attempt to, he prefers staying upright. He's being used as a pillow anyways, so why not?
Nipulon hums, which dissolves into a purr rumbling in his chest. He swears to god if Garm points it out . . . he'll roll off this bed and underneath it. Once he settles, he opens one eye. "Oh yeah, what were you doing in my office?"
Garmantuous groans, which Nipulon can feel as a soft rumble against his temple. "That fucking merkaloid. I'll merk them later."
"Garm," Nipulon urges.
"Alright fine, I was just assigning your tasks to the other staff, for the next four days. But it's for your own good."
It's Nipulon's turn to groan. He twists to his side, ignoring the bruises that press into the webbed sheets for the sake of leaning further into Garm. "Fuuuck me . . . but thank you. You're right."
"And the next time your body feels like it shat itself on the far side of a moon, don't ignore it. For the love of god, don't ignore it." He sounds amused, but Nipulon also catches some actual concern.
Nipulon nods. "Whatever makes you feel better."
"Whatever makes you feel better."
" . . . Right, right."
With that, Nipulon goes silent with the rest of the room, its oppressing smog finally starting to lift. It won't clear out for a long time, maybe never. But it's alright.
The sallow complexion of the sky is brighter on his skin, and it brings out the definition of his inherited build. Warm air circulates the room, most likely from Garmantuous's subtle vapors. A couple of minutes later, a quiet, motorlike purr seeps from Garm.
'Please don't let this be the last time.'
. . .
A few hours pass. Nipulon's phone starts ringing on the nightstand. He groans lowly and pries his eyes open. Once he blinks the heavily overdue sleep away, he reaches over Garm's body to grab it. Thankfully, Garm sleeps like a rock.
Nipulon doesn't make time to check the caller ID before answering. "What? Is it important?" his hushed, raspy voice asks.
"Hey uhm, Nipulon." Krubis' uneasy voice answers from the other end. Hm—here's an unexpected caller. "Just wanted to check in on you I guess."
"I'm fine, thank you for your concern."
"Well—I-I just wanted to say I'm sorry about that. Like that whole thing shouldn't 've happened. I could've done something before you—"
"Hey, I'm sure whatever you could've done wouldn't have stopped me from crashing anyways." Nipulon's slight chuckle leads Krubis to snort lightly. "This isn't your business. You should be concerned about yourself and your overdue medical visits. Ironic much?"
"Aw shit, don't call me out like that . . . I'll work on it." Krubis runs out of words for a few seconds. "Hope you don't mind me lookin' after you, though."
Nipulon blinks and feels himself smile thoughtfully. It could be funny, how similar his difficulties are to Krubis'. How strangely melancholic. "I don't mind much. As long as it's not Giblets." He shudders dramatically.
"Ah hell nah. He was a fucking mess today." Krubis' voice becomes tighter at the mere topic of the doctor.
"Tell me about it," Nipulon grumbles before yawning, then he glances at Garmantuous' softly rumbling form. "Alright, I need to get back to sleep. Don't expect me to be active for the next four days, by the way."
" . . . Yeah, got it." Krubis sounds understanding. "Night, Nipulon."
"Goodnight, Krubis." Nipulon hangs up and sets his phone back on the nightstand. For a minute, he remains seated, halfway leaning against Garmantuous. Staring into space with a furrowed brow. Soon enough, he sinks back into his familiar position against Garm, retreating into the damp warmth.