Chapter Text
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Yin groaned, eyelids heavy, trying to focus through the dull throb in his skull. Prom had left hours ago. Maybe. He wasn't sure how long. The dim basement light did little to chase the shadows from the corners. His body ached in ways he didn't know possible. Every muscle, every joint, every bone felt like lead.
He tried to push himself up, just enough to crawl toward the faint outline of the stairs, but the world tilted violently. Pain flashed across his ribs, his back, his shoulder, and he yelped, half from pain, half from surprise at how weak he'd become.
A voice broke through the haze. Low, controlled, unmistakably calm.
"Easy, easy... don't move too fast."
Yin's head jerked, eyes barely opening. Bonz was crouched beside him, sleeves rolled, hands gentle but firm. He looked like he hadn't been expecting this mess either, but he wasn't panicked. He was steady. Reliable.
"You're lucky I found you before someone else did," Bonz said, tugging at a loose piece of rope still binding Yin's wrists. "And... you're lucky Prom's distracted."
Yin blinked, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
"I... I thought..." He couldn't finish. Words failed. Relief, anger, exhaustion, guilt; everything collided.
Bonz didn't answer immediately. He simply worked, loosening the knots, then guided Yin into a sitting position against the wall. He passed him a bottle of water, tilted just so, helping him sip.
"You're fucking crazy," Bonz said quietly, almost a whisper. "This is just..." He shook his head slightly. "You're not gonna make it, at this rate."
Yin pressed his face to his hands, wincing as he flexed bruised fingers. He thought of War; the stage, the spotlight, the way War had looked at him that night before the chaos erupted.
"I... I need to see him," Yin muttered. "I need to know he's okay."
Bonz's expression softened fractionally. "I know. But you're no good to him like this. You can't even stand right now, and if Prom, or anyone else, catches you wandering, it's over. You'll just drag more trouble into his lap."
Yin exhaled slowly. He hated that Bonz was right. He hated feeling helpless. Yet seeing a familiar, steady face after all these weeks, after all the danger... part of him just wanted to collapse entirely and let someone else fix it.
Bonz crouched lower, meeting his gaze. "We'll get you patched up. Just... lay low for a minute. Let Prom calm down. You need to think, not move like a reckless idiot."
Yin let himself lean against Bonz, feeling the warmth of his presence, grounding him, like the quiet before the storm. He closed his eyes, just for a second.
And somewhere beneath the chaos, somewhere below the glittering lights of the Ruby and the echoes of gunfire and Prom's fury, Yin finally let himself feel just a little less alone.
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The Ruby was half-asleep.
Chairs stacked, lights dimmed to amber, a soft hum of jazz leaking through old speakers somewhere. Yin moved through the haze like a ghost; still sore, but upright, no longer the wreck he'd been a few nights ago.
The hallway outside the dressing rooms was almost silent at this hour. The muffled bass from the club above trembled faintly through the walls. Like a heartbeat, distant and slow.
Yin leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. Every step hurt, but lying in that basement had felt worse. He'd told Bonz he'd rest. He hadn't. His legs moved on their own, guided by some restless pull that had nothing to do with orders or logic.
He didn't even know what he'd say when he found War. Just that he needed to see him.
When he pushed the door open, the familiar scent of powder and smoke met him first. The dressing room lights were dimmed; War sat before the mirror, half-undone: shirt unbuttoned at the throat, stage jacket tossed aside. The remnants of his performance still lingered on his skin, faint shimmer under the yellow glow.
He looked up, startled at first.
"...Vee?"
Yin's lips parted, but no sound came. For a second, the surprise in War's face gave way to something else, something that looked like fear.
"What the hell are you doing here?" War stood quickly, crossing the space in a few strides. "You shouldn't even be—" He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the bruises. The split lip. The way Yin held his ribs.
The words died in his throat.
Yin tried for a smile. "You were hard to find."
War just stared at him. Usually, this would be the part where he said something sarcastic, something to keep distance — but he couldn't. For a reason that beat him, this time he couldn't. His hand hovered near Yin's arm, uncertain whether to touch or not.
"You shouldn't be walking around," he said finally, voice quiet. It wasn't reprimand; it was concern, stripped bare.
"I'm fine," Yin lied.
War's jaw tightened. "You're not."
Yin huffed out a weak laugh. "You sound like Bonz."
"Bonz didn't see you like this." War's tone was still level, but there was a tremor underneath. "If he had, he'd have locked you in that room himself."
Yin lowered his gaze, breath uneven. "Didn't want to stay down there. Not tonight."
War hesitated, then exhaled, the sound shaky. He took another half step closer. "You could've called for me."
"I didn't think you'd come."
War's eyes flicked up to meet his. Whatever he wanted to say caught behind his teeth.
"You shouldn't say things like that," he murmured.
"Why not?"
"Not funny."
Yin's expression softened. For a moment, all the noise between them, the distrust, the secrets, fell away. There was only the hum of the club, and War's hand finally reaching out, brushing the side of Yin's face with careful fingers.
"You should've stayed down," he said again, quieter this time. "Just for a while."
"I couldn't," Yin whispered. "I needed to see you."
War froze. His thumb stilled just short of the bruise. His breath hitched, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost unrecognizable, stripped of every defense.
"Idiot," he muttered. But the word carried no bite. It was soft. Shaken. "You're really going to make me worry, huh?"
Yin's smile faltered, and something unspoken passed between them; something heavier than gratitude, lighter than forgiveness.
War dropped his hand, stepping back as if distance could undo what just happened.
"Sit," he said finally. "I'll get something for that lip."
Yin obeyed, sinking onto the low bench by the vanity. War rummaged quietly through a drawer, pulling out a small tin, the kind the makeup artists used for touch-ups. He dipped his fingers in and dabbed a cotton swab with practiced care.
Neither of them spoke for a long while.
When War finally pressed the swab gently to the corner of Yin's mouth, Yin winced, but didn't pull away. War's touch lingered a fraction too long.
"You always do this," War said quietly.
"What?"
"Show up half-dead and make me mend your wounds like I'm your military nurse."
Yin smiled faintly. "Nobody can make you do anything."
War's hand stilled. "Yeah," he said, barely audible. "They can't."
His hand lingered near Yin's jaw a moment longer than it should have, then fell away. The air between them felt too close, too full.
"I need some air," War muttered, setting the tin back on the vanity. "Stay put. Prom's been pacing around all night."
He turned toward the door, but Yin was already moving.
"Wait."
War stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"I'm coming with you."
"You can barely stand."
"Still coming."
War's sigh was long, but he didn't argue. He just pushed the door open and held it a little wider, wordlessly letting Yin pass first.
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