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At the request, Jakkoa glanced, and obliged, standing to fetch what was asked for and returning to set it at Hargitt’s side, out of the way of the meal. He hadn’t been paying overly much attention — the conversation was casual, after all, and he was ready to eat himself, his thoughts on the day behind him and tasks ahead. Hargitt’s initial expression at his question, however, while brief, triggered curious puzzlement. Was he…worried about something?

Jak’s gaze followed Hargitt’s, to a lump of blanket at the tent’s edge, and then back, frowning. I'm not sure where I placed them… Though he hadn’t considered it immediately, the fact that they weren’t visible was odd enough, and odder by the moment, given the other man’s behavior. It was just a bowl, but it had been here, and he hadn’t left since then…

But, Jak realized, he was being ridiculous. Hargitt was sick and had probably risen despite instructions to remain put and set it outside somewhere, he just hadn’t noticed. He would find it later, and then-

Not hungry.

Jakkoa’s eyes narrowed.

If it hadn’t been for that, perhaps he would not have been suspicious enough. In retrospect, he would assure himself that he’d have found fairly soon regardless, but as it happened it was that denial — when Hargitt looked visibly hungry in his contemplation of the food — in conjunction with his absurd statement earlier that morning and evasive behavior, that inspired Jak to set his food temporarily aside. Standing, he moved for the edge of tent where Hargitt had glanced and stooped there to shift the blanket-

For an instant, Jakkoa held perfectly still, staring as his pulse beat in his chest, and a number of reactions flit through his mind at once—most immediately, anger. Hargitt had lied to him, and not minorly, but at a time when he was in critical condition and it was Jakkoa’s job to tend to him. He was not only starving himself, but wasting the food by burrowing it away like some-

“Hargitt…what is this.”

I can store it in this.

Jakkoa took a moment, staring as he processed. Perhaps it shouldn’t have taken as long, and perhaps it was all obvious, but it was so preposterous — from Jak’s perspective — that he found himself waiting anyway, listening, watching. As though he wished, hoped, expected some more comprehensible form of explanation to be forthcoming. None came. Which, he took to mean he had made all the right assumptions, things were just-

“Why are you hiding food?” He shouldn’t have yelled. Hargitt was sick, and it was just one bowl of food; it could be replaced, they just had to be on the same page—but in that moment it felt more personal than that. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you—” But immediately, Jak shook his head, the tight knot of anger and embarrassment in him doing nothing but spiking messily upwards as he corrected himself. “No, that isn’t even the right way to begin it because you must, or you wouldn’t have done this, so how stupid do you think I am? And why are you lying to me? Do you want to go home? Do you trust me with nothing? Was it that bad? Do-”

He touched his teeth together, gaze diverting sharply as his pulse lodged in his throat and he needed to breathe and assess what was actually going on, to find out from Hargitt what the reasoning behind this was. It was difficult when he felt so insulted, and as though surely the only thing it could mean in essence was that Hargitt wanted to die — which he doubted, and there had to be better ways, besides — or that he had some serious issue with Jakkoa’s company and care to make him so averse to it.

Jak knew he wasn’t the best healer or caretaker, but he was trying, and Hargitt had agreed to come-

“If you have anything to say to me…complaints about my cooking, aid, or company, I would appreciate hearing it now.”

Jakkoa frowned, listening, and at first at least he understood in portion. His family had not been wealthy. They did well enough, but they did not have so much as a home to their name, and he was familiar with the concept of eating less—and even going hungry—on account of other mouths to feed.

But that was not this.

Jakkoa felt a sharp, furious spike at the latter admittance, though, If I was injured, and only my Uncle could hunt then he ate… and he sneered. “If your uncle denied you food on account of being injured then make no mistake, he is a filthy human being hardly deserving of the title ‘man’, and a disgust to think about. And you’re wrong. I do understand going hungry. I’ve gone hungry. I have all younger siblings and my family was hardly more well off than yours—we do not have a house as you do, but less mouths to feed. I’ve known more than once what it means to worry there won’t be enough among us…”

Pursing his lips, he gestured to the bowl. “But this is not that! We have food. We have enough, and not eating it is only wasting it and making it worse. It accomplishes nothing and furthers our problems since I need you healthy. I will not eat that and no one will but you so I suggest you do. Now. Whatever hairs have come on it from being hid, you can stomach those, too - it should still be fresh enough since this morning…”

He frowned, trying to sort through the re-surging swells of anger, not so much at Hargitt now, but the concept of it all, and in particular his ‘uncle’—what thinking individual would…? It made his hackles bristle to even think on, though, and he didn’t know the man. He knew nothing of context, nothing of anything else-

But whatever had gone on, it had inspired this behavior. And that was enough for Jakkoa to decide he’d sooner spit in the man’s face than converse civilly.

Jakkoa stared. He had assumed at least that the worst was over. There was no logical recourse now that it was all in the air other than for Hargitt to relax and eat. He needed to, and they had the food and Jakkoa wanted—expected, demanded—that he do so. It didn’t actually occur to him that Hargitt would continue to persist. It had been so illogical to begin with he couldn’t possibly-

But instead Jakkoa found himself staring, temporarily blank-faced as he listened mutely, …the rest needn't be touched until I am able to hunt… trying to process the words and convince himself Hargitt meant them in earnest. Anger trickled back, slow as if through a crevice in a dam at first, the dam being disbelief, desperately holding back the swell because he couldn’t be serious.

But he was, and seeing Hargitt begin to push towards a stand was the final stir. Jakkoa snapped forward. He was significantly smaller than Hargitt, far beat in overall size, height, and weight—but Hargitt was unwell, unfed, and already visibly unsteady on his feet. Jakkoa’s hand fisted in the front of the man’s shirt, yanking in the first half instant and shoving the next, making the most of whatever surprise or lack of balance he had going for him to force Hargitt back heavily to the furs. He was right there with him, one knee braced to the man’s chest unbudging and gold eyes sharp with furious intent.

“You will eat. Now,” Jak said. “I do not know where I made myself unclear, but in your uncle’s company you may follow whatever ridiculous, dangerous, inhuman rules he makes if you enjoy risking yourself that way. With me you will eat when you need to, particularly when you are sick and your body requires the resources to recover. I am your healer, and I will not watch this stupidity. It is not negotiable. And if you do not think you can manage it or think me unreasonable, then as soon as you are well I will find someone else to accompany me and you may endanger yourself elsewhere. But not under my watch. Am I clear now?”

Jakkoa wanted something reasonable. Or, certainly, he thought so. With his mounting anger, however, it was more difficult to keep in mind the core issue. He wanted Hargitt healthy and to heal, he wanted him to let him take care of him when he needed it and be comfortable enough to know he could eat his fill. It was almost hurtful as much as it was maddening, that Hargitt was so stubborn in resistance of something he needed that was being given freely and presented with the best intentions—for no reason but for the poisonous impression apparently left by his uncle in regard to such matters.

Regardless, though he had lashed out, he had expected in return for Hargitt to act—more or less as he had: stubborn, stiff, quiet. If he anticipated anger, he had imagined a contained and strictly bound variety, and in truth he had still thought it far more likely that he’d get…begrudging consent? Cooperation? Abashment that this ridiculousness had escalated so far on account of Hargitt’s stubbornness?

Instead—Jakkoa felt his pulse lurch at the first jolt of movement—Hargitt was up, inches from his face. Fine. Jakkoa’s skin prickled, his shoulders bunching again as anger (which had ebbed with his initial surprise) stirred back up. Because apparently, Hargitt had the nerve to still be angry-

Jak opened his mouth.

Now, get off.

Whatever Jakkoa might have said never made it to the air. Instead, Hargitt’s body was moving—with sudden and surprising force given his state—and Jakkoa was reminded in a flash of an instant how much bigger than him Hargitt was. Years of mountain hunting and farm labor had done good work on his body and Jakkoa had known that. But it was another matter entirely to have it all directly over him, pinning him to the furs when his pulse was already up, and Hargitt managed to look so impassioned.

Jakkoa felt himself flush, a creeping inevitability that kept his cheeks colored and went up his long ears despite his best intentions. He swallowed, potently and irritatingly reminded that he had kissed this man before. And he was so close. And Jakkoa was-

“Nnnh…o-outside…?” If he’d been abashed before, the breathy, wavering quality of his own voice was far more than he was willing to tolerate with himself. He cleared his throat, diverting his gaze and frowning—by the goddess, he couldn’t even squirm without it becoming immediately obvious what his newest issue was. “Of course,” he murmured at length, his voice having lost all force by then but at least coming out even, to his relief. “Whatever you like as long as you eat, I wasn’t aiming to upset you…” When he looked up, he meant to keep his eyes on Hargitt’s and they did start there, but it was quite difficult, he found, under the given circumstances, not to just let them skim briefly down to observe the position Hargitt had put them in and appreciate the body over his. “I shouldn’t be driving you to over-exert yourself in any case. I apologize for my aggression. I was just…concerned.”

Jakkoa expected-

But he was getting nothing he expected. It wasn’t that he didn’t want; he did, more suddenly and sharply than anticipated under the circumstances. But he had thought for certain that Hargitt wouldn’t—hadn’t, couldn’t, wasn’t interested—and had worked with that assumption going forward. Except that evidently he was, and not simply generally, but at this moment pressing himself forward. When Hargitt’s hips rocked in against his, Jakkoa’s body had already made its interest evident, and the sudden friction jostled loose a short, unanticipated moan that his teeth didn’t catch. His fingers reached and perched at Hargitt’s waist, tempted to clutch but not quite daring—like a dream, where too much active engagement would stir them both to waking and evaporate the opportunity forever.

And Hargitt was so near to him, 'Yes.'

Yes?

Hargitt’s lips touched skin, and Jakkoa swallowed on the instinctive keen of sound that caught in his throat as his lashes flit—and closed—and he tipped his head, simultaneously baring his neck to the advance and shifting as much nearer as he dared. His fingers clutched and his back arched just enough to fit himself up against the heat and rockish weight overtop him, and he shouldn’t. If his pulse was quick and dizzying, he couldn’t imagine Hargitt—sick, exhausted, unfed—was in any state to be exerting himself.

But he felt invigorated, and breathless with curious interest, and he didn’t want to encourage Hargitt away for fear of losing a moment he might not find again. So instead, with gently questing fingertips, he let his touch splay and come to rest at the palms, drawing them up along Hargitt’s skin just under his shirt and gathering magic there as he went. It was strange, though he didn’t fully think on it then, how easily it came—almost innately, as though (unlike most all other times he attempted to call on his magic) it only needed to be tapped upon and encouraged to participate, and this was enough to bring it rising forward with his touch like an inward swell.

If his hands were warm with the glow of it, he did not notice, far more focused on the skirt of Hargitt’s breath against his neck and the prickling channels of heat left in his wake. “Hargitt…”

In some back corner of Jakkoa’s mind he knew Hargitt oughtn’t be exciting or over-exerting himself and perhaps even that he couldn’t physically maintain it even if he were inspired to try. But Hargitt was over him, the brace of his hand fitting at Jak’s back to draw him up nearer still and in that particular instant Jakkoa was thinking about very, very little else: the heat of Hargitt’s breath, the glow of his body warmth, the solid boulder-wall of chest that was his body against Jak’s, and how intoxicatingly satisfying it was to forget all other concerns, arch, and grind his hips into the process as his fingers encouraged Hargitt’s shirt up his back to bare and touch more of it.

He was fairly certain he could spend all of a day or more touching Hargitt if the man had let him—but he was now, and damned if Jak was going to-

Hargitt’s body slumped forward, and under other circumstances, it might have taken longer to put together the pieces, but at the given moment, Jakkoa felt he knew all but instantly—with immediate but not entirely unexpected disappointment—exactly what had happened. He shut his eyes, and breathed out; Hargitt’s was a dead weight, and no small one either. It was probably for the best. The man needed rest and recuperation-

Jakkoa’s lips pursed.

But what he needed more than that was food, and now that he was out he still hadn’t eaten. Jakkoa was pinned. Aroused. Stuck. And alone in consciousness. Hargitt was unwell, poisoned, half-starved and unconscious. All largely his own fault. And so far as Jakkoa was concerned half of his own problems were also Hargitt’s fault, if the man had just done as he’d said-

Unfortunately, frustrating himself further over any of the various points did little good, and the situation was what it was. Thus, after a brief flash of peeved lamenting, Jak signed and resigned himself to his fate, which left only the remaining question: what did he do now? There was an immediate and sharp urge to make himself presentable and leave the tent to find someone to finish Hargitt’s unresolved work, but it wasn’t as appealing as it ought to have been. He was already here, he had worked all day and worried over Hargitt and he didn’t especially feel like putting on a face to the extent it would be necessary to draw in a stranger.

He was already here, and didn’t want to leave Hargitt in his state besides. His breathing was even at least, and a touch to his throat told Jakkoa that his pulse was calming, but he was very clearly unwell. And Jak still fully intended to be sure the first thing the man did when he woke would be to eat.

And then perhaps tend to unfinished business, but first he needed to not starve himself.

Thus—because he did want to be near Hargitt, didn’t figure the man would wake, and even if he did he had started things—he opted for remaining at first more or less exactly where he was when dealing with the issue Hargitt had imposed on him, before cleaning himself up, setting the food aside but where it would be visible and ready when the man woke, and finally tending to Hargitt in his sleeping state. This man would have some talking to do when he woke.

But for now, Jakkoa’s fingers were gentle as they worked, and he found it difficult to be overly cross with the man, even if it was entirely his fault. He was good, honest, and dependable company, and Jak found as he thought on it that any remaining slivers of periodic real anger were not directed at Hargitt at all, but at who and what had inspired such a fierce aversion to self care in this regard.

He would have to learn more about the man’s uncle in the future, but Jakkoa maintained a sharp suspicion that he would like very little he heard.