it's terribly rare for the door to the archives to be closed; though dan heng's carved out a little place for himself aboard the express in a rather public location, he's never seemed to mind much when people drift in and out of the room. he doesn't consider it his, after all --- and there's a certain sort of impermanence to the way his bed is naught but a pad and some blankets tossed haphazardly on the floor, with very little care.
--- which is why tonight is quite the anomaly: the door is closed ( but not locked --- never locked ), and the lights within appear to be dimmed, as if its occupant is trying to get some much-needed rest. wafting from beneath it is a medicinal smell --- some sort of herbal salve, perhaps; were one to open the door, they'd find the room almost stiflingly humid, a little indoor fountain set up in the corner, unusually silent save for the sound of water trickling faintly.
at the sound of a knock on his door, a familiar voice drifting in from the hallway, dan heng lifts his ( too-heavy ) head from up off the pillow, trying his hardest to look composed --- though there's really no hiding the flushed cheeks or tousled hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the sweat-damp skin, the myriad bruises and wounds littering his arms and torso; there certainly won't be any concealing the hoarse voice or labored breathing --- the minute he speaks, she'll know.
it's certainly a dilemma. dan heng sighs heavily.
( he could've used his cloudhymn magic. he could've healed himself. but something about it just doesn't feel right yet. maybe it never will --- not for himself. )
"march, i ... " i'm a mess, he wishes he could say; it's the truth, but not one he wants to acknowledge. dan heng sighs again ( it catches wrong in his chest ); gradually, his tail begins to solidify, then wraps around his body, furry tuft at the end positioned so as to conceal his face. "ah ... come in. just ... don't be alarmed, all right ? everything is ... everything's all right ... "
the first thing that march 7th took notice of was the smell — something medicinal emanating from the archives next door, a scent that was evident even through the closed door to the archives. that, of course, was the second thing she noticed: that door never closed. concern kicked up then, as march hovered outside the door for a few long moments, before rapping knuckles gently on the wood. she called out to him, worry lacing her voice.
❝ dan heng? ❞ a pause, and then she leaned closer to the door. ❝ dan heng, is everything okay? may i come in? ❞
upon gaining permission, archer opened the door carefully, met immediately with the dampening humidity of the room. brow furrowed as duotone gaze fell to her best friend, curled up on the thin pad he calls a bed, and as march's eyes adjusted to the low light, she recognized the sheen of sweat, the discoloration of dragon's skin...
oh, aeons above, she thought. quickly assessing the situation, march knew she had to keep calm, she knew that freaking out would make dan heng pull away from her more, and that was the last thing she wanted at this point. stepping into the room, march closed the door behind her, and took a few moments to slip her boots off her feet, and shrug her sweater off her shoulders. unbuttoning the bottom of her blouse, she tied it into a little knot at her waist to give her clothing some breathability, and then made her way over to her partner's space. kneeling down, she crawled over to his side, and gently let her fingertips graze his shoulder, over a very deep looking bruise. though she couldn't see very clearly, the darker colors were evident nevertheless, and march had more questions than she was willing to say aloud.
❝ will you look at me, hon? ❞ her voice was steady, though she certainly did not feel all that steady herself, mind racing with potential reasons why he felt the need to hide this from her, and from the others on the express as well. ❝ i won't lecture you, i promise... but can you tell me what's going on? i'm admittedly concerned, you... you've been through hell. ❞
