Hochi holds Tochaa as their Parakka friends kill the Keriags surrounding them.
Blood spills across his hands, red and hot, the same as his own despite Tochaa’s gray skin—growing paler by the moment—and the different worlds they come from. Desperately, Hochi pulls his jacket off, presses it against Tochaa’s hip, and whispers promises that they’ll both make it out alive.
Tochaa is only injured because he saved Hochi’s life, and that’s a debt Hochi never wanted to owe and desperately wants to repay: a life for a life, and no more antagonism between them. But there is no immediate way to fix this. All Hochi can do is to force himself upright—his leg screams with the pain and he sets himself against it, holding himself upright because that physical pain is better than the panic in his heart—and carry Tochaa in his arms as Parakka urges him to safety.
Hochi refuses medical attention until someone tends to Tochaa. It doesn’t matter how many people are swearing at him about that being pointless, about Tochaa having lost too much blood, about not knowing if their healing techniques would work on a man from Kirin Taq. “He’s Elani’s uncle,” Hochi says, those words an anchor of undeniable truth. “He’s just as much a hero as I am. If we can save him, he must.”
There’s no stone-aided healing available on the battlefield, just needles and thread and hope. Hochi insists that they’re the same, and Tochaa should be treated as any other person in Parakka, and at last the medics listen to him and stitch Tochaa’s side back together. When they’re done, Tochaa is still unconscious, but he’s stopped bleeding. He’s still breathing.
It’s enough.
Only then does Hochi turn back to the Warren to help the kids still in there, a wyvern under his skilled hands and Tochaa’s necklace burning against his chest.
It takes them a month to find a place in Kirin Taq to build their base.
Hochi worries about Tochaa the whole time, because he can’t move without wincing and he’s unconscious—asleep, the healers insist—more often than not. Still, his skin is regaining as much color as it ever had, and Tochaa’s gaze grows steadier each day.
It’s another month later that Tochaa has finally recovered enough to move from their makeshift medical facilities to quarters of his own. “You’ll still need help,” the medic adds, “so it would be best if you didn’t live alone, but I’m not sure the shared dorms are the most restful environment.”
Almost immediately, Hochi says, “Tochaa can move in with me.” He’s got a room of his own, small but private, in deference to his status in Parakka. A moment later, Hochi realises that the medic intentionally waited until he was in the room before mentioning Tochaa moving out, and that this was planned even if he hadn’t been asked outright.
He doesn’t know what to think of this.
Tochaa’s off-white eyes meet his, considering, and Hochi wonders if he’s going to reject the offer. But Tochaa hasn’t asked for his necklace back yet, and so maybe it’s not surprising when Tochaa merely says, “If you’re certain.”
Hochi scratches his neck, feeling awkward in his body for the first time in years. He’s used to his bulk, proud of the strength it gives him, fiercely defensive of how this body is entirely of his own making. “I’d just make excuses to come check on you anyway,” Hochi grumbles. Tochaa has to know that’s true; Hochi’s been doing much the same for the past month, when he hasn’t been busy organizing Parakka’s initial rebuilding efforts.
Tochaa smiles at him, and the tension in Hochi’s shoulders releases. “Visiting someone is different from living together,” he remarks, but he does so while clasping Hochi’s hand. “But since you’re certain, I accept.”
“Good,” says the medic. “I’ll bring a schedule for continued physical therapy to you later today.”
“Thanks,” Hochi says. He keeps his arm steady as Tochaa leans on him to stand up, most of his weight on one leg. Tochaa has a limp, courtesy of the Keriag spear that tore his hip open, and Hochi is all too aware that he’s lighter than he was before his enforced bedrest and healing.
Tochaa picks up the length of wood he’s been using as a crutch, hesitates, and then glances at Hochi. “I think you’re a bit more reliable right now.”
Hochi grunts, not able to trust his voice, and slips his arm around Tochaa’s waist. It’s more than he needs to do, but he wants Tochaa this close, just in case. It’s a relief when Tochaa’s arm slides around his shoulders in return. They’re almost of a height, Hochi realises belatedly; it just never felt that way before because Hochi was determined not to look.
Well, he’s looking now, and he’s not going to turn away. “Come on,” Hochi says, relying on his natural gruffness to hide the real emotion in his words. “Let’s get you settled in.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Tochaa says, and his arm tightens around Hochi, pulling them just a little closer.
Hochi carefully doesn’t think about whether the gesture is one of affection or needed support. It doesn’t matter; he’s here for Tochaa either way.
A few weeks later, Hochi comes back to his room after a long day of working with building crews. He’s exhausted and looking forward to nothing more than clean clothes and sleep, so he strips his dirt-covered shirt off without a thought for his new roommate.
It’s the soft Oh that reminds him of Tochaa’s presence.
Hochi stops, shirt twisting in his hands, and closes his eyes. “Anything you want to say?” he asks, fully aware of the defensive growl in his voice. It’s less warranted in Kirin Taq than in the Dominions, but he’s a Dominion man with all the hang-ups that implies. Hochi knows what his back looks like, and why he keeps it covered all the time, and by now Tochaa has a good idea of Dominion norms as well.
After a pause almost long enough for Hochi to think about shoving his shirt back on, dirt or no dirt, Tochaa says, “It’s unexpected.” His matter-of-fact voice isn’t what Hochi expected either. He turns, uncertain, and sees Tochaa looking steadily at him. “I’ve seen very few Dominion people with a back as bare as mine. It’s… familiar, I suppose. Another kind of commonality between us.”
There’s something in the air—a bit of dust from his clothes, most likely—and Hochi blinks to clear it from his eyes. “Most people don’t know.” It’s honesty he never would’ve believed himself capable of offering to Tochaa before the Integration. Still, it’s easier to tell this to Tochaa, whose stoneless back he’s seen many times and thinks nothing of, because it’s— Well, it’s normal in Kirin Taq. If Macaan has his way, Hochi knows it’ll become normal in the Dominions as well.
“I won’t tell anyone.” Tochaa stands up, balancing himself with his cane, and carefully steps towards Hochi. “You have so many scars.”
Hochi looks down. Mostly he just sees the hair and fat covering his torso, faint patches of skin gone pale or rough the only evidence of old wounds, but Tochaa’s seeing all the evidence of the hard life he’s led. “I take care of myself.”
“I can tell.” Tochaa’s gaze is appreciative, Hochi finally realises. He stops, just at the edge of reach, and asks, “May I touch?”
Hochi can’t remember the last time he allowed someone to touch his bare skin for non-medical reasons. His mouth is dry, his heart beats fast, and he’s acutely aware that he was on his way to bathe. He says, “Yes.”
Tochaa’s fingers are gentle on his chest. They trace the lines of his scars, loop around his back in the lightest hug, and then run along Hochi’s naked spine. “Lovely,” Tochaa murmurs, his eyes meeting Hochi’s. “I’m glad to learn this about your body.”
His face is only an inch away from Hochi’s. It takes all Hochi’s bravery to drop the shirt he’s holding in useless hands and raise them instead to brush against Tochaa’s hips, shoulders, cheeks. “Are you asking—” Hochi asks, uncertain; he’s never been wanted like this. He’s never allowed himself to be wanted, because he would be too exposed, and it would be unsafe not just for himself but all those around him.
Tochaa has known all his secrets, even that of Elani, for so long. He has seen the part of Hochi’s body that Hochi considers least appealing and called it lovely. If there is anyone he can share this intimacy with, it is Tochaa.
“Yes,” Tochaa says, and then there is no more distance between their lips.
Later, when they’re lying in bed together, Tochaa says, “When you’d offered me space with you, I hadn’t thought you’d intended this arrangement to be permanent.” He nudges Hochi with an elbow, a smile playing around his pale eyes. “But you don’t seem to want me to leave.”
Hochi shrugs and tugs his lover onto his chest. “Well, it’s a good arrangement. Why mess with a good thing?”
“Am I that good thing?” Tochaa teases.
“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” Hochi says, all his sincerity laid bare. “If you feel the same way, that’s a gift.”
Tochaa’s eyes blaze, luminescent. It’s more obvious here, with Kirin Taq’s eternal twilight, than it ever would’ve been in the Dominions. He wraps one hand around the nape of Hochi’s neck, settles the other on his pendant—Hochi’s still wearing it, because Tochaa won’t take it back—and says, “Tell me.”
With hands and tongue, words and body, Hochi does.