There's hope, and he hadn't known there was hope. He takes a shaky breath.
"I -- yes," he says softly. "I'll wait on the deck." It seems easier than trying to find anywhere else right now, and he wants to look up at the familiar Barge stars, and sit on the familiar deck, and try to convince himself that it's really over and they're really safe.
At least Eiffel's immediate mayday had alerted him that Eiffel is here and okay, too.
When Jedao finishes getting Flint to somewhere safe to rest, he'll find Gonou tucked into a ball with his back against the wall near the stairwell, half starwatching and half trying to shoo away marching legions of apple crabs trying to punish him for invading their territory.
It's a little while before Jedao finds him - fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe - but he appreciates the view as well. He collects two of the dinner boxes and brings them over.
"Hey." He doesn't know what else to say. It seemed impossible they'd ever be here again. But he wiggles in to sit close without hesitating, slumping gently against Gonou's shoulder.
Gonou shifts to accommodate him, uncurling to stretch his legs out and -- after the slightest hesitation of his own -- slipping his arm around Jedao's waist. It had seemed impossible that they'd be here again, impossible that their time on the Galley would end with anything other than, eventually, dying in the fight. Or on that mysterious planet, maybe.
Or of their ties to the ship slipping, as the ship slowly failed. He'd tested going too far away from it once.
He's still stunned, and more than a little frightened, by the reawakening of all kinds of hope. Slowly his weight settles against Jedao in turn, relaxing by inches and degrees into the unbelievable relief of being here and still having each other -- of having not lost him, with all the dangers, and with everything he'd dared to say thinking they'd die --
With his limiters still missing, his powers are restlessly alive, Jedao's presence like a beacon to his senses.
"I didn't tell you before," he says, still looking up at the stars. "But your qi is beautiful. It makes me think of..."
It's not a visual sense, not hearing, touch or taste, not anything that he can directly relate to any familiar sense-profile. But he still gets impressions: deeply subjective ones, he's sure, Xie Lian had warned him about how easy it was to project onto what you sensed.
"...iridescence on fresh ink," he decides at last.
He doesn't care how much he's projecting. Jedao should know that -- what he really is -- is beautiful.
"I kept thinking, ah, I should have told you right away," Gonou murmurs, taking his hand. "The more I wanted you not to be disgusted by me, the harder it was.
"I didn't expect that response." He brushes the back of his index claw against Jedao's palm, remembering Jedao using it to scratch his own skin, just enough to reveal his black blood.
He's not sure it's stupid that they're both not human. But it might be a little stupid that he hadn't had the courage to say anything before he was forced.
"I can check if he's in the warden dorms," Jedao offers, although he doesn't move either.
"I would have told you eventually." It would have been easier, in an awful sort of way, if that were enough to drive Gonou away, relieving Jedao of the obligation to admit the things he's truly ashamed of. But Jedao didn't think it would be, even with Gonou's history with non-humans.
"...I would have told you eventually," Gonou says, in wry agreement. Being youkai is one of the secrets that bothers him the most, even if it's not really something he's ashamed of. Disgusted by, perhaps, but not ashamed of.
He settles a little bit further, letting his eye slip closed.
"I, ah... wouldn't have minded. Even if I were still human."
"Mm." He inhales through a pang of sympathy. He understands, in part. In another part--
-- it's very hard for him to consider the possibility that they would only have a little time, outside of the possibility that they both might die in weeks. When death isn't an immediate concern, well.
He opens his eye, just enough to look down at their hands through his eyelashes.
Quietly, he adds, "I am glad we'll have more time than I thought we might."
"I am too," Jedao murmurs, then turns, shifting up for a moment to press a kiss to Gonou's temple. "I love you too," he adds, barely more than a whisper. "I don't know why I couldn't say it before."
But they're alive, and they have a little time, quiet and tired, before he can't justify withholding his final confession any longer, and he wants Gonou to know. Now, in the wake of the storm, where hopefully it can live, unstrangled by danger and untainted by what's to come.
Gonou's breath catches at the tenderness of the kiss and at the words. He'd thought he understood as much from what Jedao had been able to say to him: it's not a surprise. Still, somehow, it matters to hear it spoken.
He turns too, lifting his hand to Jedao's cheek as he leans up to kiss him, slow and deep.
Jedao groans quietly into the kiss, leaning in with his whole body, close and easy. He feels strangely vulnerable and safe at the same time, terribly exposed and somehow sheltered under the barge's own strange stars.
Gently, Gonou's hand slips from Jedao's cheek down along the line of his neck to curl around his nape, keeping him close.
He feels -- protective, aching with tenderness and terror alike: the thing he's feared about letting himself love again had always been that possibility of a second loss, truly shattering after he had so barely survived the first. He hadn't precisely meant to let himself. And yet--
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Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"I -- yes," he says softly. "I'll wait on the deck." It seems easier than trying to find anywhere else right now, and he wants to look up at the familiar Barge stars, and sit on the familiar deck, and try to convince himself that it's really over and they're really safe.
At least Eiffel's immediate mayday had alerted him that Eiffel is here and okay, too.
When Jedao finishes getting Flint to somewhere safe to rest, he'll find Gonou tucked into a ball with his back against the wall near the stairwell, half starwatching and half trying to shoo away marching legions of apple crabs trying to punish him for invading their territory.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"Hey." He doesn't know what else to say. It seemed impossible they'd ever be here again. But he wiggles in to sit close without hesitating, slumping gently against Gonou's shoulder.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
Or of their ties to the ship slipping, as the ship slowly failed. He'd tested going too far away from it once.
He's still stunned, and more than a little frightened, by the reawakening of all kinds of hope. Slowly his weight settles against Jedao in turn, relaxing by inches and degrees into the unbelievable relief of being here and still having each other -- of having not lost him, with all the dangers, and with everything he'd dared to say thinking they'd die --
With his limiters still missing, his powers are restlessly alive, Jedao's presence like a beacon to his senses.
"I didn't tell you before," he says, still looking up at the stars. "But your qi is beautiful. It makes me think of..."
It's not a visual sense, not hearing, touch or taste, not anything that he can directly relate to any familiar sense-profile. But he still gets impressions: deeply subjective ones, he's sure, Xie Lian had warned him about how easy it was to project onto what you sensed.
"...iridescence on fresh ink," he decides at last.
He doesn't care how much he's projecting. Jedao should know that -- what he really is -- is beautiful.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"It's so stupid that we both weren't human this whole time," he mumbles, reaching for one of Gonou's hands.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"I didn't expect that response." He brushes the back of his index claw against Jedao's palm, remembering Jedao using it to scratch his own skin, just enough to reveal his black blood.
He's not sure it's stupid that they're both not human. But it might be a little stupid that he hadn't had the courage to say anything before he was forced.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"No, I get it," Jedao insists. "I was scared to tell you, too. If I hadn't seen..."
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"It's lucky that worrying was stupid, isn't it?"
His tone is wry; he shifts his grip on Jedao's hand to weave their fingers together, settling against him more heavily.
"I should go see if Xie Lian is back too," he says, not moving anywhere. He's very tired.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
"I would have told you eventually." It would have been easier, in an awful sort of way, if that were enough to drive Gonou away, relieving Jedao of the obligation to admit the things he's truly ashamed of. But Jedao didn't think it would be, even with Gonou's history with non-humans.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
He settles a little bit further, letting his eye slip closed.
"I, ah... wouldn't have minded. Even if I were still human."
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
He's pretty sure Gonou understands perfectly.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
-- it's very hard for him to consider the possibility that they would only have a little time, outside of the possibility that they both might die in weeks. When death isn't an immediate concern, well.
He opens his eye, just enough to look down at their hands through his eyelashes.
Quietly, he adds, "I am glad we'll have more time than I thought we might."
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
But they're alive, and they have a little time, quiet and tired, before he can't justify withholding his final confession any longer, and he wants Gonou to know. Now, in the wake of the storm, where hopefully it can live, unstrangled by danger and untainted by what's to come.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
He turns too, lifting his hand to Jedao's cheek as he leans up to kiss him, slow and deep.
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
Re: [shortly after waking up on the Barge]
He feels -- protective, aching with tenderness and terror alike: the thing he's feared about letting himself love again had always been that possibility of a second loss, truly shattering after he had so barely survived the first. He hadn't precisely meant to let himself. And yet--
They are safe here.
And he is, to his own shock, happy.