As a human man, Koschei had never been invited to a ball before in his life. He'd been a simple enough farmer, he'd never dreamed of anything more extravagant than a season where nothing went wrong, where his children and wife could survive the seasons, and maybe, good drink. Being invited to events, as someone immortal, as someone expected to was, well, different. Saying he felt stiff was an understatement, and further more, not as naturally attuned to it the way others were. But turning things down now felt... loaded, in a word. There was already some anger over who Asa had escaped from in marriage, Leraje's men could be anywhere, and he was finding that being an immortal was more political, more glitz than expected.
So, when summoned, he had given the invitation to Asa — who could actually read, Koschei still unsure of how exactly to state that he couldn't — and with some preparation, they'd managed to actually show up to this event. What it was about, Koschei gathered it was an attempt to get various magical beings together, to decided on lands, on rules.
Did he care about it? Frankly, no. He was beginning to learn that it didn't matter what individuals thought; ruling wasn't all that cracked up to be. And he wanted to avoid the talks that were starting to pop up, able to see a rather determined fae working their way through different people. Koschei gives a glance to Asa — generally, better tempered than him — when the music starts, he feels grateful for it.
Immediately, he offers his hand, a grin on his face, "I don't suppose you'd mind dancing over politics?"
As he had found out early on, well before he had made that silent plea to be plucked from what he saw as unwanted, problematic circumstance, everything was an opportunity for politics. High tea was opportunity for discussions of marital futures and what it could mean in the building of empires, supper the chance to talk about military strategy and extending borders and elaborate galas like the one proposed by the invitation, however shrouded in fineries, were open opportunities to catch an individual off guard with one proposal or another; and it could be as readily dangerous as it could be annoying, appearances made despite the constant struggle of avoidance that they became.Fortunately, rank and title far different from what it would have been under engagement to the Snow Queen - a situation that he sincerely hoped would not rear its ugly head this night in particular - the more political of conversations could be easily ignored, swept aside in a twist of dark red fabric that concealed more than Asa might have worn in the confines of Buyan. HIgh-necked and long sleeved with a fur-lined brocade to keep out the winter cold, almost military in style, there was still no shortage to the gold accessories, embroidery and beading that gave it some glittering flash of brilliance.
Dancing - that just made it even more possible to avoid, the encroaching fae working their way through the crowd not without notice by Asa who, without second thought, takes Koschei's hand.
"Who do you take me for? A strategic mastermind?" He jokes, taking up more appropriate form once led on the sizable ballroom floor, stepping into the procession of couples bowing and curtseying and going through the motions of preparation into practiced steps. Every so often, there is a flicker of his eyes to those on the outskirts, perhaps simply observing or waiting for their chance to step in, perhaps impose political conversation into attempted merriment. Asa, however, shows no inclination to leave his husband's side. "They're certainly determined, aren't they?"
Feeling fully reconnected was currently a struggle for Julian, a sort of detached disinterest toward any of the horror he had faced the past couple weeks spilling out around the rest. He had tried to be more normal with Fox, especially after he had seemed concerned, but Julian didn’t especially want to be disingenuous, either. Hearing Fox’s grumbling, though, was familiar, was a piece of normalcy that settled further in than Julian would have predicted. “And why did you think I would start listening to you now?” he retorted, shooting Fox an exasperated glance, at once both relieved and disappointed he was close enough to touch but they weren’t quite touching. It wouldn’t have taken much for Julian to reach out and close the gap, to give into the irrational impulse to cling to Fox for a long moment—Julian had, after all, been too out of his senses when everything was happening to process much, but the idea that he could have easily not made it back to see Fox held its own kind of melancholy in the after now. That hadn’t happened, though, so best not to dwell.
Moving about was slower, but Julian led the way steadily toward the elevator. “I forget how you put it exactly, but I didn’t really go out looking to get injured,” he said. He knew that he should offer Fox more of an explanation, but he wasn’t sure how to go about a lot of it without sounding like he’d lost his mind. Sure, that was essentially what had happened, which in no way made it easier to address. Maybe once he’d had a chance to rest some, it’d be easier. Though he wasn’t especially optimistic, so instead just hit the button to summon the elevator. “We just encountered some… unexpected difficulties. One of which happened to be an overly large amphibian creature that wasn't too discriminating about what it consumed.”
Fox knew very well what it was like not to confess too much. Most of his issues in life had stemmed from playing things too close to the chest — emotions, thoughts, plans. But it wasn't something he could break easily, wasn't something that he knew how to evolve from, even with those closest to him — which Julian had been, once, was still, in a way, even if the thought of that made Fox feel a flare of self-consciousness, just in case. He still felt that bit of heat in his palm where he wanted to press it into Julian's side, to pull him in for a hug, at least, or — something. He pushed it down, followed alongside him to the elevator and into it, where he leaned over Julian to select his floor and stayed there, frowning with very clear concern. "Large amphibian creature." Fox echoed dryly, his expression unchanging. He'd had his own experiences beyond the gate. Giant bugs, apparently, that had tried to eat some of his crew. For him, he'd gone up against a neurogenic marine with a penchant for throttling — nothing that wasn't too unusual on this side of the gate.
"And it tried to eat you." Fox concluded, still dry and still trying to soften that flinty expression of — irritation? Frustration? He didn't even know. He wanted to have a harsh word with Julian's captain, even though he didn't know her and didn't know the specifics of the mission. If it was him, he'd have put himself in harm's way to make sure that nobody on his crew came out worse for wear. When the elevator slowed on Julian's floor, Fox pushed away from the wall, slid against the elevator door to keep it open so Julian could hobble out, and followed close behind again. In a quiet voice, he murmured, "You look tired, Jules."
Going still when Fox leaned closer, Julian tried to ignore the stirring of warmth that came with his proximity. It was merely circumstantial, nothing to actually think much about. Still, Julian’s head turned as he stole a glance at Fox, gaze lingering on the concern apparent in his expression. When the situations were reversed, when he’d been the one in danger and shot, Julian had hardly played it cool or anything, so he got it, even if that didn’t make him any more equipped on what to interpret from that. The elevator coming to a stop timed with the lurch in the pit of his stomach and that was enough to snap him back out of it as movement did take considerably more attention, luckily. Julian merely hummed his affirmation at Fox’s conclusions. It hadn’t succeeded, which Julian had ultimately settled on being the important part. “I told you I was tired,” he pointed out, a weary undercurrent settled in his tone. His initial warning had partially been a preface for not being good company in his current state, not that Fox hadn’t seen Julian being wholly unpleasant before. It’d still been a while and there were probably parts of him that weren’t necessarily missed, that being one of them. But Fox wasn’t really the sort to put up with anything he didn’t want to, which seemed fundamental enough to who he was that Julian couldn’t imagine that changing even in the intervening years.
Getting the door open, he let Fox hold it and went inside. “I’ve had some trouble sleeping is all,” Julian admitted, as he beelined as best he could for his sofa. Reaching out a hand to steady himself, he handed his crutches off to Fox, divested himself of his backpack, and sank down carefully, looking up at Fox. “The whole thing was—” nightmarish was probably the correct word, but Julian went with, “—weird. Not only because of almost getting eaten.”
Fox wanted to snip back that Julian may have told him he was tired, but he hadn't told him he'd be on crutches, bruised and battered — but he managed, just narrowly, to suck it in and push it downwards before it could escape. There was no point in starting something in Julian's current state, and Fox knew his irritation came only from worry, and how twisted up his gut had been for the last two weeks. His response was merely a small sniff, and then he followed quietly after Julian, watching him — taking those crutches, picking up Julian's backpack, and waiting to make sure he didn't need any help sitting himself down before he turned away.He'd only been to the apartment twice now, but Fox was confident enough with it to move around the space as if he'd been there a thousand times instead. He set the crutches close by to Julian, so he could grab them if he needed them, and then swept away with the backpack and his bag of groceries, setting the former by the entrance to where he assumed Julian's bedroom was, and the latter on the kitchen counter. It was much better to busy himself with that than with the way he'd wanted to run his fingers through Julian's hair, to soothe him, to settle in beside him on the couch.
"Weird?" Fox answered, with one narrow-eyed look shot Julian's way. "What kind of weird?" He tried to sound airy as he asked it — no pressure, the door open for if Julian wanted to discuss it. And then he slid in, as an added note, "Thought I'd make you that leek soup you like. You hungry?"
Even if Fox had only been over a couple times, there was a pleasant sort of familiarity that came with watching him move about. The backdrop might be different, but Julian had spent enough time watching him that the rest held its own kind of comfort, even if there were subtle shifts in how Fox moved now. Sinking back into the cushions, Julian positioned himself so he could still look Fox’s way, his selection of soup striking a pang of longing in Julian’s chest. He shouldn’t be surprised, given everything he recalled about Fox—sometimes in incredibly vivid detail—, but before they’d started talking again, there’d been an unfair part of him that had assumed in his bleaker moments that maybe Fox hadn’t given him much thought at all. That hadn’t been true for Julian and he was equally responsible for the distance they’d maintained, but he wasn’t good at things like being the bigger person. It was the rare exception where he was glad he was wrong, with as much as Fox still meant to Julian, ill-defined it might be. “Yes—I would like that, thank you,” he said, sighing under his breath. If he were less tired, he’d have offered to help, even if he ended up shooed out of the way since his version of ‘helping’ tended to involve being a distraction, more than anything.
Biting his thumbnail, a habit he tended to have whenever particularly apprehensive, he then continued, “The hallucination kind of weird, but not like the ones I sometimes get if I overextend myself.” Those, at least, were infrequent and didn’t alter how he perceived himself. “They were much more… immersive and didn’t affect only me, got to some others, too.”
It was at least a little reassuring that Julian didn't reject the offer of a meal — and didn't seem put off that Fox had brought the ingredients, or pressured into it, and seemed instead as though he was actually appreciative of the gesture. That was good. It meant, to Fox at least, that Julian wasn't completely strung out beyond repair from whatever had happened to him on that mission, even if he was exhausted, and wounded, and acting evasively. But as they both knew very well, Fox was anything if not extremely stubborn, and wouldn't be easily waylaid in his attempts to make sure that Julian was, at the end of the day, alright.He glanced over in time to see Julian chewing at his thumb and the corners of his mouth tugged down. He knew the gesture by heart, but said nothing, merely continued to pull the ingredients he'd bought out of the carry bag, setting them out on the kitchen counter while he listened. Fox hesitated obviously at any mention of hallucinations — and the word immersive. He turned, hip jut out like he was gearing up to sass, except all of that was reserved for whoever it was in charge of Julian's ship.
"Hallucinations?" He echoed, brow furrowed. "Is that in your wheelhouse on the Dauntless?" Things could get strange beyond the gate. He knew that. But he thought Julian's ship — well, they were mercenaries, weren't they? Protecting the interests of the biggest tech conglomerate in the galaxy. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes and swept back to searching through the cabinets for the things he'd need to start chopping and preparing to cook. "What kind of hallucinations?" He asked, not directly looking at Julian — not wanting him to feel like he was under a spotlight.
As the cabinets opened and closed, Julian glanced back over and said absently, “The pots and pans are in the lower cabinet beside the dishwasher, and the cutting board’s in the drawer next to the oven.” The way he arranged his kitchen tended to vary every couple years whenever the urge to rearrange the entirety of his living space struck, on top of it being a new place altogether, so there weren’t really any clues for where to find things that would have translated over from his last place. Though he’d seen that body language from Fox before and Julian hardly figured it had anything to do with it taking any extra time to locate where anything was in his kitchen now.How much did he want to try to explain? How much could he explain? There was both a certain level of confidentiality agreements baked into the Dauntless’s missions and a certain level of incredulity he possessed himself over what happened and he’d experienced it firsthand; how much sense it’d make trying to relay it was impossible to know. It seemed likely that Fox would believe him,
“It wasn’t outlined specifically, but I was told there’s an amount of risk inherent to the job. I figure it technically falls under that,” he said. Dangerous work hadn’t ever been much of a deterrent for him. He didn’t go out seeking situations to get himself killed, but there wasn’t much he shied away from, either. The rather lengthy disclaimers and policy about hazard pay were clear enough indicators on their own, but getting through it, processing it now that it happened, would still take some time. “But. I ended up thinking I’d become something other than myself and didn’t. Realize that until I got snapped out of it.”
He followed the directions well enough, locating the bits and pieces he needed and getting set up with a knife and the cutting board and moving to start slicing and dicing the vegetables he'd pulled out of the grocery bag. Fox levelled a look over at Julian from the kitchen, his expression — as it was wont to be — unreadable. Of course there'd be risk with the job — Julian was some kind of gun operator, wasn't he? Guns didn't exist without some form of danger. But — hallucinations. Alien worlds and hallucinations that made him think he was something that he wasn't. Fox's eyebrow twitched, a bit of anxious concern coiling in his gut — and anxiety was not something he was ever prone to feeling."Something other than yourself." Fox echoed, one brow twitching momentarily as he tried his best to make sense of what that meant. He couldn't imagine it. He hadn't been through it, after all, and hadn't been prone to hallucinations ever in his life, except for the times as a younger man when he'd dabbled in different drugs. He made a slight face, silent suddenly as he chopped and diced and — not wanting to push Julian to give more information than he was willing — finally set aside the knife and returned to stand directly in front of where he'd set himself down on the couch. Fox held out a hand.
"Good thing you snapped out of it." He noted, expression softening. "You want that bath? I'll help you to the bathroom. Dinner'll be ready by the time you get out."
Even for someone who had previously experienced some form of mind alteration on a much smaller scale, Julian found the whole thing unsettling. He tended to keep a tight lid on his self-control, so to have that obliterated for any length of time, much less as long as it’d been, didn’t sit well with him and that more than anything was the reason behind his exhaustion and inability to sleep. “Might still be on the shittiest beach somewhere if I hadn’t,” he said as way of agreement, as he took Fox’s hand. It was ridiculous, really, how even that much contact still kindled the memory of Fox's hands pressed elsewhere on Julian's body, however briefly. Most likely he could get himself to the bathroom and into the bath unassisted. He still didn’t release Fox’s hand immediately, instead gave it a gentle squeeze, lingered close for a moment. The urge to lean closer, erase what little space there was between them and let his weight rest against him so Julian didn’t have to really think about it, tugged at the pit of his stomach, but he stayed upright.
Exhaustion seemed to be part of him at this point, though, and he finally let go of Fox's hand, thumb brushing habitually against his wrist as he did so. "I think I can get myself into the bath, unless you were angling to watch me undress," he said, some teasing returned to his tone as he reached for his crutches. "Though if you could just grab me something to change into after, I'd appreciate it."
He'd reached out without thinking. It was just — normal. An easy move to make, an easy thing to do. Hold his hand out, help Julian up. But similarly, the touch of skin on skin contact sent an unexpected but not surprising flush of warmth through him, which only magnified with the way Julian's thumb brushed against his wrist in the way it always had. It forced Fox to take in a deep, slow breath, a centering kind of thing to keep himself steady, to make sure that he didn't do the next best thing he could think of, which would've been to reach out and yank Julian in by the hand again.But he was hurt. And exhausted. And likely to make stupid choices if Fox let him, if he encouraged him, and Fox didn't want to put Julian in any worse position than he already had — terrified, as he was, that the flirting would lead to disaster if they gave into it. It still didn't stop him from quirking his lips in a lazy little smirk, his warm hand tucking behind his back momentarily so he could rub his wrist against the rough belt line of his jeans. "What, I'm not getting a show with dinner? What am I doin' here then?" He teased right back, head ducking very slightly as Fox tried to cut through the tension that ebbed between them.
It only helped when he moved away some, the prickle of a flush very apparent at his neck, no matter how much he liked to act as if it wasn't possible, and he backed off to fetch Julian's crutches so he could set him up with them, tucking one underneath Julian's arm and lingering behind him a little. "Off you go, then. I'm gonna go rifle through your drawers."
Murmuring a thanks, Julian’s gaze swept over Fox, noting the deepened color on his neck, still a little self-satisfied even as tired as he was. It always felt like a victory in some way, getting those reactions out of him, had been that way from the start given the way they each held their composure until they could make the other crack. Their time apart should have probably led to Julian being passed such things, but he very clearly was not. Simply picking back up where they left off was out of the question, considering the issues that had driven them apart—if Fox would even want that. But there was a part of Julian that still yearned, however deep he kept pushing it down. “This isn’t you just putting in your community service hours?” he said, as he hobbled himself beyond Fox and to the bathroom door, glancing back at him. “But knock yourself out. You aren’t going to find anything incriminating.”
Julian wouldn’t have been quite so comfortable with anyone else rummaging through his belongings, as private as a person as he tended to be, but there wasn’t much there Fox wouldn’t have seen before and the idea of a bath really was temping. Getting inside, Julian made his way over to his tub, one of the nicer features that had led to him choosing this particular flat. He’d always enjoyed taking baths as a way to unwind after any particularly difficult day and after all the oppressive humidity and detritus, he was in rather dire need.
Leaning his crutches against the wall nearby, he turned the taps so the basin could begin to fill while he began to undress unceremoniously. He rolled his shoulders, easing some of the tension out of them as he tossed his clothes aside, before lowering himself into the steaming water, careful to keep his leg propped up so the wound dressing on his calf wasn’t submerged as he settled in with a sigh.
"That's what you think," Fox had quipped back lightly with a lazy smirk aimed Julian's way as he watched him disappear into the bathroom. He followed suit, only angling away to step into the bedroom instead, taking a few moments to gather himself. It was weird, being here, in Julian's new apartment that was still brand new to Fox but felt, somehow, like he'd been there many times before. Maybe the bedroom made it even harder, with the way he could pick up the scent of some of Julian's cologne in it, and especially when he reached for the closet and drawers to search through his clothes. A lot were different — five years was a long time after all, but some pieces remained the same, and Fox lingered his hand over a particularly soft long-sleeved shirt with a warm, comfortable weave he'd admired with a sewer's eye once upon a time. Now he selected it from the pile, and a pair of sweatpants, and hesitated but only for a moment before he ducked a hand into Julian's underwear drawer to pull a fresh pair out. He folded them all against one arm, stepped over to lay them out on the bed, took one more look at the bedroom, and departed it — without doing any of the rifling he'd promised. It was too hard, he thought — too easy to get caught up in it.
He rapped lightly on the bathroom door as he passed by. "Clothes are ready on your bed." It had been momentarily tempting to leave them inside the bathroom, to slide the door open and surprise Julian with a lascivious look — but Fox was well aware how unfair that might have been, how it might have been unwanted, even, and if it wasn't — well. How easy it would've been to let himself be pulled in.
Besides, he'd promised that the soup would be ready once Julian was done, so with that he sauntered off, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and set to work cooking.
There was a part of Julian that had expected Fox to pop his head into the bathroom to leave clothes, so when all that came was the knock a vague disappointment accompanied it. Which was utterly ridiculous. Julian was hardly in any kind of shape to be looked at, even as much as he enjoyed it when Fox did, and beyond that, what would either of them really do? Their flirting was an indulgence—probably a bad one—that Julian couldn’t leave off of, even if the layers of mental and physical exhaustion made it a fleeting note rather than a lingering one. Letting his eyes slip shut, he dipped his head beneath the water, pushing his hair back out of his face when he resurfaced. Eventually, the memory of ichor that had stung his eyes and overwhelmed them rapidly, seemingly from all sides, would fade, or so he hoped. Much of his life had been spent near the ocean—the beach had always been one of his favorite places to be; he refused to let desiccated seabeds, the odd, brittle crunch of coral and thick, putrid, air become primary associations. Even if, for whatever reason, his mind seemed set on retaining it presently.
There were better things to focus on, like Fox making him soup. Troubling in a different way but. More pleasant by far. With as many evenings as they spent together, Julian could easily imagine what was happening in the kitchen, how Fox pushed up his sleeves and the way he handled a knife while chopping vegetables, the look of concentration he’d get whenever he was focused on something. Julian hadn’t been sleeping much lately, unable to relax enough to do so, so between the warmth of the heated bath and the present line of thinking, he drifted off before he realized it.
The time passed beyond the usual he’d take for a bath, closer into soup being done, while he was insensible to the world. As was happening the past days, though, his dreams inevitably began to warp and shift, back to Innsmouth, back to being on a beach with other figures that were decidedly not human. One reached toward him, and Julian jerked awake with a start, splashing water around him as he knocked a bottle of shampoo off, which skidded into his crutches to knock them over. “Jesus fuck,” he swore, disoriented in the moment as he was slow to realize he was back where he ought to be.
He didn't want to disturb Julian while he recovered in the bath, but he did reach for his commlink after a moment, flicking up the screen and spending a moment to swipe through some music choices before he settled on some soft and familiar acoustics to keep him company while he cooked. It was — again — too easy to fall into the familiarity of it all. Julian in the bathroom, Fox cooking. The only differences now were that they were not together, that Julian had just returned home from experiencing some seemingly disturbing hallucinations beyond the gate, that he was limping around on crutches, and that Fox just — Fox didn't know what he just wanted to do. He just wanted to see Julian taken care of, he supposed, as fraught as that emotion tangled in him.While the soup simmered, Fox set himself up at the kitchen table, swiping through his commlink, still listening to music. He'd cleaned up completely after himself, so that all that would need to be done was to serve the meal when it was ready, when Julian was out of the bathtub. He was just in the middle of reading and not reading something, wondering whether or not Julian had fallen asleep in there and if he'd need to go check on him, when he heard the clatter of the shampoo bottle, and then the crutches, and then Julian's swearing, and in an instant Fox was up and moving, no hesitation in his stride as he closed the distance to the bathroom door.
He opened it without thinking, too driven with the desire to make sure Julian was alright to even hesitate at the door of it, because he was already at the edge of the bathtub, hands on Julian's shoulders, brow furrowed in concern. Fox remembered the nightmares, and he wasn't about to risk it. "Hey, hey. You alright, Jules? You hurt yourself? Something happen?"
The dreamscape hadn’t slipped quite into nightmare territory, but Julian’s mind was fogged with exhaustion and it always took him a moment to come back to himself, unless—Fox was there. His hands were steady and the concern writ in his expression familiar as Julian blinked up at him, processed the question a moment later, and breathed out an unsteady sigh, shoulders sagging as some of the tension he hadn’t been cognizant of holding found release. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I fell asleep, I guess,” he said, lifting his hand to curl damp fingers around Fox’s forearm, not to pry him off or anything, but rather to reassure himself that Fox really was there. Julian wasn’t always prone to nightmares, luckily, though they happened often enough that Fox knew what to look for when Julian was coming out of them. His recovery now was much quicker, at least, and he squeezed Fox’s arm gently. “Sorry I worried you.” That extended beyond the present moment; Julian knew that he wasn’t fully engaged the way he ordinarily would be with Fox, had probably done plenty to worry him already outside of knocking things around when startled awake just now.
But as Julian had settled back into himself, he was acutely aware that he was rather naked and while Fox had seen him that way too many times to count, it was still. Different, now, with everything that felt built up and unspoken between them and while Julian was glad that it was still warm enough in the room that any additional flush creeping down his neck wasn’t too remarkable. He let his hands drop from where he had touched Fox to instead rest along the rim of the tub, glancing away from him. “How’s the soup coming along?”
At least whatever he'd dreamed of hadn't triggered a migraine or worse, and Julian seemed like he was back to himself — sort of, about as much as he was already, tired and worn and exhausted looking. Fox's brow dipped in a brief flicker of a frown at his apology. "Not necessary." He slipped in back, quickly, wanting to assuage any concern that he was in a bad position for having to take care of Julian. And even then, Fox didn't think he was taking care of him that much — just cooking dinner and making sure he didn't drown in the tub. At the same moment that Julian realised that he was naked, that slap of understanding came to Fox, too, and he went similarly warm, keeping his gaze very level and refusing to let it trail down to Julian's shoulders, his chest, and beyond. That just wasn't — well, it wasn't fair, for one thing, because Julian was in a fragile state, and Fox would never take advantage of anyone in that position, but it was still absolutely something noteworthy, and he licked his bottom lip to quickly try to distract himself and let his hands slip away from Julian's shoulders.
"Dinner's ready." He didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving Julian to the bath now that he'd woken up with such a clatter, but he drew away, sent his gaze up towards the ceiling, and carefully spun so he could set Julian's crutches back against where they'd been leaning previously, and to lean up to fetch him a towel. Fox turned back, gaze still pointed upwards, eyebrows arched, a playful look of innocence on his face. "You think you can get out?" He asked, and then offered a hand down, while the other unfurled the towel. "Here. Let's get you out of there."
On the one hand, the number of times Fox had seen Julian naked were many, so the abundance of modesty seemed almost absurd; on the other hand, were their situations reversed he would have very likely done the exact same thing, both for the sake of privacy and the sake of not driving himself mad. He liked to look at Fox plenty as it was already, which he didn’t seem to mind at all. Even if Julian certainly wasn’t looking at his other friends in quite the same way, with the same frequency, maybe this was all less remarkable to Fox and he was just being polite now. Julian didn’t really believe that was the case, but he was tired and it was easy for his thoughts to slide. So after a beat he took the towel, rolling his eyes which carried into his tone, with Fox’s eyes turned ceiling-ward. “Yes, I’m not quite that infirm yet,” he said, flipping the switch so the tub could begin to drain. Still, he took Fox’s hand to carefully get to his feet without slipping, weight balanced more on his uninjured leg. He made a cursory attempt to dry himself off before wrapping the towel around, slung low on his hips.
“It’s safe to look now,” he said, amusement underlying the exhaustion in his tone as he reached for Fox again to steady himself as he stepped out of the tub, teeth grit when he still had to put some of his weight on his injured leg, however briefly, though it wasn’t enough to reopen his wounds, as he grabbed his crutches. “I think I can handle it from here, unless you wanted to help me get dressed to get that show after all.”
It was hideously difficult not to steal a glance as Julian wrapped the towel around his waist, but Fox managed to maintain a semblance of self-control until he was given the go ahead. The sight he was met with was not much better — Julian, still damp, naked except for the towel slung low on his hips, and Fox caught himself for a moment where he couldn't stop himself from staring with a little obviousness. His gaze tracked over injuries, too — any leftover sights he might've seen from Julian's mission, but that came embarrassingly secondary to the way he was taken aback by simply seeing Julian like that again. "Right." Fox answered, though it didn't quite make sense in context, and he realised as much, flushed and let out a deflecting exhale of laughter. "I mean, wouldn't mind a show." He covered, or tried to. "But I'm not sure that leg of yours will let you. C'mon." Fox had half the mind to offer to help dress Julian, but that was much more dangerous, and he wasn't entirely sure Julian would've appreciated that level of babying and fussing. So he merely stepped aside and waited for Julian to head out first, so he could follow carefully behind him, ready to catch him or steady him if he needed the help.
Pausing at Julian's bedroom door, Fox trailed his gaze across him again and then shot him a soft look of concern. "If you need a hand, though. Don't struggle on your own. I'll serve you soup on the couch, so you can stretch out."
The healing bruises and scrapes weren’t anything to write home about, but Julian wasn’t an especially humble person on a good day, so he stood a little straighter, arms folded across his chest, as Fox’s gaze moved over him. It wasn’t as good as being touched by him, yet there was an appeal there all the same, stirred warmth settling in the pit of Julian’s stomach as he noted the return of the flush. His lips curled into a smirk, smug despite his exhaustion, as he held Fox’s gaze a beat, before starting to maneuver out. Julian was careful; even if he trusted Fox to catch him, the times they’d already tumbled together were already bad enough without Julian being naked save for a towel. Glancing over, catching the soft look, his heart constricted in familiar, inappropriate, way and it took more effort than it ought to resist grabbing the front of Fox’s shirt to pull him in gently to draw him inward with Julian.
Instead, he gripped his crutches tighter, wetting his lips unconsciously, as he rolled his eyes at Fox. “Pretty sure I could give you a perfectly lovely show from a seated position, but we’ll save it for another time,” Julian said, with a trace of the familiar cockiness that, strangely, made him feel more normal than anything else had so far. “But I have it from here. Promise I’ll yell if I need help, or want a hand.” It seemed unlikely, ideally. As much as he enjoyed tormenting Fox, it was just as torturous for himself, so with that Julian made a hasty retreat to get himself dressed.
Julian's cockiness helped. It was something Fox could slip back into easily, too — their posturing and flirtation that seemed close to the truth but never quite digging far enough into it. Fox could push the weird little bundle of nerves that had built up away, could settle a lazy smirk Julian's way, a flirty little wink following him as Julian turned and disappeared into the bedroom. Fox lingered there for a second. It would've been so easy to follow, to lean into Julian from behind, tuck his face against his neck, wrap his arms around him. His fingers flexed, tempted — and then he quickly shoved both hands against his sides, wrapped his arms around himself instead, and disappeared off back to the kitchen.He'd been correct in saying that the soup was ready — when he pulled the lid off of the pot it smelled perfect, bubbling away at a low simmer. He'd already set up some bowls for serving so grabbed them, making sure to fill Julian's as much as humanly possible without spilling, and did as he'd said he'd do — turned to deliver it to the coffee table by the couch, so that Julian could stretch out more comfortably than trying to fit his aching body into a chair at the dining table.
Fox set his own bowl down beside it, with cutlery, and by the time Julian returned Fox was just pouring a small glass of wine for the two of them, and turned to smile. "I know you must be on meds, but just a little bit wouldn't hurt, right? Might help you sleep."
Julian took his time to get dressed, both out of physical necessity and out of needing a moment to recompose himself. Being around Fox was somehow both incredibly easy and incredibly difficult; self-control wasn’t usually in short supply, but around him it often wore thin. The years apart should have made that less true, made it easier for Julian to approach all of this with the sort of detachment he held for any other ex than the one currently making him dinner. He was tired, was all, and it was nice to be cared for. Once changed into the clothes Fox had selected, Julian hobbled his way back out of his bedroom. The aroma of the soup permeating from the kitchen drew a rumble from his stomach, a familiarity that came with all of that that softened his expression as he looked at Fox. “I’m on an antibiotic, yeah,” Julian said. There were analgesics in his bag, too, but he’d stopped taking them once the worst of it had passed, mostly because they tended to make his dreams more vivid. Besides, his pain threshold was higher than average, thanks to his implant, even if he knew he was veering toward dicey territory the longer he stubbornly stayed awake. “So I might pass on the wine, but thank you.”
Lowering himself carefully to the couch, he handed his crutches off to Fox again while Julian settled himself in, legs outstretched as intended. “Smells really good,” he said, offering Fox a worn, sincere, smile. “Like always.”
Fox gave a shrug and a pop of his eyebrows and commented, "More for me," about the wine, topping his glass up just a little more before he followed, sidling on over to situate himself on a chair that he'd pulled over to be a little closer, so he wouldn't be too far away in case Julian needed him and so he wouldn't take up any room on the couch so that Julian could stretch all the way out if he felt like it. If he so happened to sink down and fall asleep while Fox was there? Well, that was perfectly alright. He set his glass down, folded a leg over the other and picked up a bowl to hand it carefully to Julian, before returning to take a hold of his own."Does smell good, doesn't it?" Fox answered back with a quirk of a teasing but flattered smile, always more prone to deflecting with some faux arrogance than to feel comfortable to accept a compliment outright. "Doesn't taste half bad, either." He sipped as if to prove his point, and settled back in his seat so he could watch Julian, gaze tracking carefully across him again.
"You wanna tell me more about what those hallucinations did to you?" He asked finally, his features soft with concern.
Taking the bowl with murmured thanks, Julian cradled it carefully against his chest, the ambient warmth seeping into him. This was solidifying into being the most normal he’d felt in days. Even if it’d been years for this to remotely be typical for them, it still felt that way, an anchoring point that he hadn’t realized he needed. It scared him, a little, that Fox could still so easily be that, given how abruptly things had ended for them before, but. Julian wasn’t about to turn any of it away as he instead did as suggested and spooned up some soup, making a pleased sound as he tried it. “No, not bad at all,” he said with a contented sigh, falling quiet as he focused on eating for a moment, while he turned Fox’s question over. Did Julian want to tell him more about it? Partially, though it came with the unfortunate accompaniment of having to think more of it himself. He glanced over at Fox and while his own seating choice was practical and necessary, there was a part of Julian that would have very much liked to curl up against his side.
He pushed that down. “They just... altered the way I perceived reality to such an extent I barely remembered being me,” he said, which, for someone as rigidly self-controlled as he tended to be, was immensely troubling. “It felt like there were these other things in my head, almost. Like I was being pulled along by something else and that was all that mattered.”
Fox couldn't imagine it. He very rarely did what other people told him to do, and to not be given a choice in the matter — it made his skin crawl. He winced sympathetically as Julian explained, settling his bowl against his lap as he considered it. It was all beyond him, really — how it had happened, what it meant, and what lingering symptoms Julian might, but hopefully wouldn't, experience. There were smarter people than him who worked for the Dauntless, he assumed, especially those who had medically cleared Julian to return to his own apartment without needing to be under watch, so that, at least, was reassuring.He still didn't like it. But he'd done far worse, he supposed — even while they were dating, always getting recklessly dedicated to cases, sometimes going rogue to reach a solution, and usually those times ended up with him returning to Julian's apartment in the early hours of the morning recovering from a new blaster wound or greeting him from a medical clinic bed. Fox sighed slowly through his nose and then reached over, gently pinching Julian in his side.
"You still feel like you." He offered in a teasing but soft tone. "You remember being you now? I'll tell you if you're acting out of character." Fox leaned back and settled into his chair, eyebrow popping upwards. "Still been snarky enough at me tonight, so it can't have altered you that much."
For the most part, Julian tended to be careful and methodical. He didn’t go plunging headfirst into danger without reason, but he certainly didn’t shy away from it either. This had been the opposite of that, senseless and without full control which shook him deeply as there had been a time when flying off the handle had been part of who he was, too. Nothing good had ever come of that, had been worrying enough at times that he’d willingly undergone rolling the dice on an experimental neural implant that could have very easily fucked him up in other ways if things hadn’t gone well enough. Even with being cleared by their medic and having no relapses so far, Julian remained wary, part of him worried that, too, was somehow a mistake and that maybe not letting his consciousness slip was the key to holding that in place. It was senseless, reasoning born of exhaustion in itself, and ultimately unsustainable as it was all going to catch up with him sooner or later.
But talking to Fox was easy, as was the eye roll Julian turned Fox’s way. It was true, though, that Julian had started to feel more like himself, less disconnected than he was when he’d first messages back to Fox as soon as the Dauntless was back in comms range. “Maybe you just bring that side out of me whatever state I’m in, Foxy,” Julian said. He spooned more of his soup into his mouth, careful to not drip anything; he was hungrier than he had realized. “But I do remember, so… just need to be sure this is what sticks.” Which he was, annoyingly, not quite yet confident of.
Foxy earned a sharper little warm look from Fox, one that dissolved into a roll of his eyes, and then the expression melted away to something more concerned and subdued at Julian's follow-up response. He sounded uncertain, and that bothered Fox — not with Julian, not at all with him, but that he wasn't back to normal as he should be, and didn't feel confident in the fact that he was himself again. Fox watched him silently for a moment or two, spooned a few more mouthfuls of soup into his mouth, and then carefully set it aside once he was feeling satisfied with how much he'd had. With that, he gently moved up over onto the couch, shifting carefully and sliding himself in — while encouraging Julian to adjust his position as gently as he could, without jostling any of his injuries and without spilling any soup. It was all so he could tuck himself in against the corner with Julian's back against his shoulder, and Fox tilted his arm across the back of the couch, slim enough at least that he didn't take up a great deal of room, but could tuck Julian in against his shoulder.
"I'll make sure it sticks." He reassured finally. "Just relax, yeah? Eat. Relax. Want me to put a holo on? I'll stay 'til you fall asleep."
Focusing on eating, Julian tensed when Fox got up; maybe now that he’d gotten Julian settled in, he was going to head off for the night. It wasn’t as though over comms Julian had made it sound like company would be welcome for long and while he was tired, he didn’t want Fox to go. The realization came to Julian in the split second before Fox seated himself instead and, careful to not spill, Julian inched over to give Fox enough room to fit himself into the corner. The warm, solid, weight of him at Julian’s back settled his nerves once more. He wasn’t usually quite so jumpy, which was another point as this being outside his norm and while part of him hadn’t wanted anyone else to witness this, if it had to be anyone, at least it was Fox. Maybe later it would be troubling that he was someone who Julian still relied on, but that was for another day, after much more sleep and without a meal made just for him.
“You can put something on if you want to, as long as it doesn’t have that guy I hate in it,” Julian mumbled, since he couldn’t ever remember the name of the annoyingly prolific actor but Fox would probably remember who he meant. The food and the other physical comforts were starting to get to him, even if drifting off still wasn’t high on the list of things he wanted to do. “Dunno if I want to fall asleep yet, though.”
"Dang, and I was just gonna put on the Impossible Mission series." Fox teased, tilting his head in such a way that his nose nearly brushed against Julian's hair. He tilted it away, both for himself and for Julian. They'd ended up in each other's orbit again but he was never overly sure of how much Julian actually wanted from him, if he was too close, teasing too much. Now, all he wanted to do was make sure that Julian felt comfortable, safe, and himself, and nuzzling into his neck — as much as Fox would've liked to do it — wasn't something that was going to be entirely helpful, he thought.Instead, he let his arm drape across the back of the couch so that he was half tucking Julian in against him, and shifted just minutely enough so he could reach out for the holoscreen's controls, flicking it on and scrolling through the available channels a little mindlessly. He wasn't exactly looking for entertainment himself, but something that could at least — maybe — distract Julian from the torment on his mind after what he'd experienced. Something light, preferably.
"You don't have to sleep." Fox answered easily. "Just relax. Oh, this show—" He said it with a tone of pleased recognition, immediately selecting the unsurprising choice, for him — a procedural show about a Peacekeeper with a style that went towards the Mahoroban West.
The familiarity that came with being close to Fox grounded Julian more than just about anything else could, which was telling in itself. He was going to cling to it now, though, when he needed an anchor more than usual and if that happened to still be his ex, well. It’d be more of a problem if Fox weren’t there just as willingly, so Julian focused on eating more of his soup. He only spared a glance to see what show had been picked. The odds of him paying more than half attention to it were fairly low, given the current state of his mind, but that wouldn’t stop him from passing judgment, anyway. As far as procedural shows went, the one Fox selected was one that had grown on Julian—primarily because of how much he associated it with Fox—to a point where he was genuinely fond of it, so he didn’t object as the intro bit started to play. “Do you ever think they’ll stop making new seasons of this? Since I don’t know what we’ll do then,” he said, leaning over to set his now empty bowl on the coffee table. He was fully aware that Fox would have done that for him without complaint, but Julian also took the opportunity to rearrange himself so he could lay even further back, head coming to rest in Fox’s lap.
Ordinarily, Julian would have questioned whether or not this much physical contact was unwelcome—plus his hair was still a little damp—, but he was tired and this was the most comfortable he’d been in many days, even more than the bath. “The soup was very good, also,” he said, as if that were the most remarkable thing at the moment, rather than him further invading Fox’s personal space.
"Stop making Vindicated? Gosh, naw," Fox said, his drawl coming out even stronger with the surprise that came from Julian sinking down further into his lap. He lifted his hand a little, half ready to assist, momentarily worried that something was wrong — but all it ended up being was Julian settling into a more comfortable position, his head in Fox's lap in a way that struck him hard with the nostalgia of it. All those times Julian had suffered a migraine, or they'd simply been curled up together watching this same show. Fox peered down at him with that soft, unbalanced surprise, and then finally relaxed, the tension easing out of his lap and middle as he settled his arm back against the couch. "You're welcome." Fox answered quietly with that little smirk an uptick at the corner of his mouth, and he turned his gaze so he could settle it on the screen, letting himself idly enjoy the episode that he was half sure he'd seen before and also not positive that it simply wasn't similar in every way to every single other episode of the holo.
After a little while, he let his arm slip down from the back of the couch so he could tuck it unconsciously around Julian, barely registering in the familiarity of the movement — it was just what he'd have done, years ago, one hand settling into Julian's arm, his thumb stroking slow lines against it.
Close as they were, Julian noted the way Fox tensed, holding himself carefully still in case he needed to push himself back up. Being as close as they were before versus the years that had separated them continued to be a simultaneous juxtaposition that Julian didn’t actually know how to navigate for himself. Right then, the former was winning out for him, after everything, since at heart it was the part he wanted to cling to, even if that terrified him at times.As his gaze met Fox’s, Julian eased, too, as that momentary worry that he had crossed a line drained away. “I’m sure they couldn’t handle the dozens of angry people petitioning them,” he teased, turning his head as his attention shifted toward the show as it started. He was warm and full, much more settled in his skin in a way he sorely needed after this last mission. Falling into amicable quiet as they watched the show together, he let other thoughts fall away, lulled further as Fox’s hand fell on his arm, familiar and unexpected all at once.
Julian took a steadying breath, not tensing any more than that. Anytime Fox touched him was electric, no matter what it was, but he didn’t want to spoil the moment, or for it to stop, because it was comforting, too. So much so that as the rhythmic movement continued, he started to drift off once again before even realizing it, eyes slipping closed as his own hand moved to rest atop Fox’s to keep it there, the way Julian always used to reach for him just to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.