Bearclaw Valley you got melted to butter

@Evien

Everytime he closed his eyes, he couldn't shake that image of Merrick off of him— his haunted face, the subject of an American Gothic. He'd always thought that he couldn't feel things the same way other people could, but he was realising now that he could. Like a knife in between his ribs.
Full of uncertainty, he walks towards Evien's room. The corridors are dark, darker than he'd noticed. The smell of him, mingling with the sharper scent of herbs, fills his head and veins.
Kastner?
Feet getting wet in the water, he takes another breath. There is another smell: the bitter and metal smell of unhappiness. For a long time he stands outside the doorway, unsure of himself, fidgeting with his sleeves and that Adam's apple going up and down, up and down. Then he clears his throat, and lets himself in.

It had been days since Evien had socialized with any packmate at all, locked away within his chambers. Merrick had really gotten to him the other day, shaking his confidence and causing the ground to shift beneath his feet. On one hand, he felt awful, accusing him of the idea of infanticide, but on the other... if he was correct in his assumption, he was also doing nothing to keep them safe.

So, the doctor moped, curled up in his room with the curtains drawn. Forsaking any sense of routine or personal care - eating, drinking, bodily functions of any sort were pushed to the back of his mind. The bare minimum was done, drinking enough water to sustain his body and only leaving his den momentarily so he didn't make a mess of his sleeping quarters.

Evien perked his ears a little upon hearing Kepler's voice and took a deep breath before he lifted his head. Unkempt and exhausted in spite of the fact he was oversleeping constantly. Rubbing one eye with a closed fist, he sat up and looked over at the other boy. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

The air inside the room was stale and warm. He doesn't see Evien until he shifts and for a second he is locked into place (Were those shadows under his eyes always there? Was he always so small?) until he breaks away, a nervous hand at his temple.
Should you be the one asking? He shoulders through the curtains, inspects the recently dried herbs, the bedsheets that needed to be changed. Fucking hell, Kastner, a gentle frustration in his voice, Who are you? What are you doing to yourself?
Having to cure a doctor of his miseries. It sounded perverse. Something turned inside out and still breathing. Taylor didn't know what to do. He could barely even take care of himself. He stands there, helpless, eyes wide and hands limp. It is quiet, other than the murmur of the stream just outside the door. The light inside is heavy and green.

Evien gets to his feet with a quiet sigh, running a hand through tangled curls as he went to open the curtains. Regardless of his state of disarray, the herbs were still neat and the room was tidy, if not a bit dusty. It was only himself that he was tearing apart piece by piece, punishing himself for his perceived follies. 

He deserved this.

"Does that matter?" he asked quietly, pushing past the blond to straighten up some of the burdock he'd seen out of line. Neat, tidy. Everything organized and in its place. Except his hair, his clothes, his bed. "Who I am?"

He'd asked the wrong question. The wrong words, the wrong meanings, all coming out of his mouth in an unstoppable stream and he can't stop himself, just like you can't unspill a bottle of ink. Evien moves past him and he holds his breath— he touched me— but he quickly kills the thought and buries it deep.
From here, he only sees the back of his head. His tan neck. The image is fuzzy with dark. Maybe I don't know you at all.
To see someone so whole become hollowed out, it was cruel. Just a few days ago he had envied the doctor for his knowledge, his decisiveness, his autonomy. It was cruel. You, he stops himself briefly, but decides to continue. How can you help others if you can't take care of yourself? He sees it now: Evien is just a boy. He might've been a medical student, he might've been a prodigy, he might've come from a poisonous home, but he was just a boy.
He sees it now.

Just a boy - that was all most of them were, anyway, wasn't it? All Merrick was - the father-to-be, a child having children. Evien couldn't imagine. His eyes burned momentarily and he squeezed them shut, shaking his head to rid himself of those emotions. That was his problem, he thought - letting his heart get in the way of his head. 

But he couldn't help himself.

"Do you want to know me?" he asked then, and feels selfish for it - how dare he even think about himself right now, when he'd fucked up so monumentally the other day? If you don't trust me, then get out.

Nervous arms wrapped around his stomach - he'd not even thought about food in days, but it was more difficult to ignore when he was moving around, expending energy that needed calories to sustain it. But he couldn't touch the stuff when he felt like this, imagining poisons that caused vomiting and stomach upset and left him shaking and dirty on the ground, unable to take care of himself. But was he truly taking care of himself now?

Green eyes fell to the floor and he shrugged his shoulders. He was embarrassed, to be caught not caring for his own body and in the aftermath of his and Merrick's fight. "It's been working pretty well so far," he rasped, refusing to make eye contact with the other boy at the admittance.

Am I not allowed to? He asks, still calm. But he feels the first pinpricks of frustration drive themselves up his palms, and he clenches his fists.
I've never known anyone in my life, and this time, I thought—
A heavy sigh that lasts longer than it ought've. He looks away in shame and confusion. They crowd around his head like birds to a bloated corpse. He leaves the sentence to die a quiet death. It chokes in his brain, it rolls over in the metaphorical hospital bed.
I thought I knew you. Wearing your heart on your sleeve meant that there was nothing stopping anybody from tearing it to pieces. Nothing between it and the open air. Life was just a yawning vaccuum that wanted to hurt you. So far. There is heat in his voice now.
Kastner, he's cooled down again. Let me help you. This time, it is him that searches Evien's face for eye contact. The map is treacherous and infuriating, but it is beautiful.

The frustration was minimal, but it was there - Evien didn't blame him, but the tensing of Field's hands still hurt, in a way. His response stung somewhere deep in his chest and he sighed through his nose, one arm crossed over his chest as he leaned on the wall.

"I've never shown you a part of me that wasn't real," he stated simply, looking out the window. It was an oddly beautiful day for such a painful conversation. Even now. It was up to Fields whether or not he accepted it.

Evien swallowed, his throat dry and gross. Wanted to ask questions in return - was he not allowed to be hurt? or why do you care?, but he didn't speak. The medic didn't understand why it was Kepler who seemed to be so wounded by his appearance.

Conflicted eyes turned toward the taller boy, and he shifted back a bit, getting more comfortable against the wall he leaned on. "Help me how?" he asked, scanning him over with a response.

The golden light hits the side of his face and turns the fur there into burning white filaments. The dust motes shiver in the beam. Taylor steps forwards, and they move alongside him.
Evien is right, and that's what kills him. He breathes. It is a muffled and dry noise, like sniffing through a fist. They stand there, one boy on the floor, ragdoll-ish and spent, the other boy standing, awkward, his mind in a simmer. His first taste of empathy in months. He remembers why he had decided so long ago not to feel. It was much easier that way.
Just... he pauses, fights to find the words he needs. He'd never been good at this. Let me exist next to you for a bit. What's left of his frustration is quickly evaporating— he's just tired now, tired and confused, barely even able to keep up with what's coming out of his mouth and what's coming and going in his head.
His steps eat up the distance between them in neat, mincing bites. He's close now, close enough to reach out and touch the curly brown hair.

Evien was too aware of his physicality at the moment. Too aware of the air between them, growing smaller and smaller as Kepler approached. It felt as though the taller boy was studying him with the same intensity that the telescope he was named after studied distant planets. Only, the two of them weren't quite so far apart.

"You can exist next to me for as long as you want," he blurted - it must have been a combination of his sleep-addled brain, lack of food, and this fucking boy who seemed to have such a hold on him. A hand came to cover his mouth, alarmed at his own words. 

The boy turned his gaze to the floor again, cheeks burning hot.

You can exist next to me as long as you want.
His feelings for Evien were creeping, subtle, a leak in the corner of a room. But now, they were impossible to ignore. The water had rose up to his neck. The elephant in the room had turned its passive head towards him and lowered it to charge.
All hooded eyes and heavy lungs, he takes one of Evien's hands and brings it up to his nose. They smell like herbs. They are small, and the palms are slightly calloused. This only happened in his dreams. He lingers in this moment of unreality.
You, too. Neither of them had said I love you yet, but it hung in the air and swarmed their heads.
He closes his eyes and places his other hand over the doctor's. In the dim light, he looked translucent. Only that green gaze felt real. You, too.