Day. 31 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”
im in a jaykyle mood so enjoy this one :]
Kyle wakes up slowly, dragged inches by inches towards consciousness, a process he knows and is used to, something he wouldn’t take notice of if it weren’t for the spikes of pain he vaguely registers throughout his body, in his limbs, wrist, chest. He’s been in this position enough time to know what it means, and it’s not something he’s looking forward to.
He cracks an eye open, looks at the room he’s in. A bedroom, stripped to the bare minimum, impersonal but clean. A familiar sight. He’s on the bed, over the covers with a light blanket over his legs, head resting on a pillow and a noise coming from his right. He jerks, shifts his head subtly to find who’s sitting next to him.
“My place,” a voice he knows well speaks in the quiet of the room. “Found you on the sidewalk, this isn’t the worse you’ve looked but I’ve definitely seen better.” Jason continues speaking as his fingers fly over his phone’s screen, typing faster than Kyle can follow
“Hey,” Kyle rasps out as an answer and takes a moment to look at him, his hair longer than he remembers, the jeans and shirt he’s wearing, the false air of casualty Jason carries with him wherever he goes. “How long?”
“About an hour since I picked you up.” Jason deftly pockets the phone and lays his gaze on Kyle, looking him up and down methodically. “Anything hurting?”
“Everything,” he sighs dramatically, because Jason means safety, and he’s not sure when those two ever became synonyms for him.
“Got roughed up good, yeah,” Jason smirks as he says those words. “Crash landed in Gotham, right in my turf. Nobody got hurt,” he answers before Kyle can even ask. “Unlike you. But you’ll live, nothing too serious. A couple broken bones, minor cuts and bruises, your ring is pretty nifty when it comes to protection shield, you know that?”
“I can patch myself up.” He protests weakly, even to his own ears, when Jason details the injuries. He tries to sit up but even the idea of loving his arms or torso seems like torture. He settles for shifting his head to look at Jason.
“No, you can't,” he answers bluntly. “Not in your state. You are exhausted so you won't be able to focus to use the ring, and-” he cuts when he sees Kyle is about to speak. "I pumped you with enough painkillers to take out a horse. You cannot patch yourself up."
Kyle focuses on his ring, on green, on will, the one that comes most easily and yeah, even using all the focus at his disposal he can't get a single construct out, must less a clear idea of what he’d want to make. It feels like his mind is being pulled in a dozen directions at once.
“Yeah, ok.” He sighs and lets his head roll on the pillow, looking at the ceiling. But there is one thing, though. “Why’d d’you pick me up?” Kyle asks him, turning towards him once again.
“The White Lantern laying unconscious in the narrows ain’t a good idea, you know. Had to fish you out the street did.” Jason keeps his voice casual, but there’s something on his face, the way he’s still sitting on a mismatched armchair near him.
“You’ve been sitting with me the whole time?” He rasps out, and watches, delighted, as Jason clams down and shuts off his face. Kyle beams, knowing he just hit the target right on. “Aw, you do care about me, Jason!” And that makes him laugh, unfortunately, because his entire left side is eaten by a pain burning like fire, something that makes him cough out pained grunts instead of laughter.
“Cracked ribs.” The smug expression slides easily on his face, although it is subdued. “Just making sure you were breathing right.”
“Right,” Kyle drawls and slowly lifts a hand up, the one with the ring. “I do yield the power of Love, you know.” When Jason doesn’t speak, he does it for him. “I know you’ll never say it, but I know.” The hand flops back on the covers and he closes his eyes. He knows he should say something more, could taunt and mock but he’s tired, and in that weird feeling where he knows things hurt but they don’t really, they just feel numb and that in return make him feel fuzzy. So he doesn’t say anything, letting the silence drags on as Jason stands up, walks around the room.
The foot taping he was hearing since he woke up is gone, as are the tense shoulders and Kyle knows that, even if he refuses to admit it, he’s sitting in this room just as much for himself as he is for Kyle’s sake. It’s heady, this holds they have on each other, one that crept up on them without him noticing.
"Hey, wanna cuddle?” He blurts out when Jason steps closer, grins at the falter in his footsteps.
"Don't push it, Rayner,” he grunts, and that makes him open his eyes, if only to watch the twists of his lips and the angry frown of his eyebrow.
"Come on, you know you want it too. Hugging is supposed to release good hormones for healing, right?"
“Cuddle this," is all he gets for an answer, along with a pillow thrown in his face. Ouch.
“Asshole,” Kyle mumbles even as he grips the pillow in his arms and releases some of the tension that built in his chest. “As soon as the drugs wear off, I’ll deal with that.” He promises and Jason hums. “Show you how it’s done.”
“Sure.” He says as if he were entertaining the ideas of a child, not the promise of witnessing great powers in action. “I’ll be right there when you wake up to see that.”
“Good,” Kyle nods once and his eyes slip close again, the sense of safety and familiarity of having Jason by his side enough to pull him back into unconsciousness, a well-known feeling by now.