They wheeled Aleksy out of surgery, and Finn’s watch began. His boyfriend was heavily sedated, and he’d bought a pulpy romance novel from the hospital gift shop in anticipation of it taking a while for him to wake up. He was nearing the final fifty pages of the novel, the heroine debating between her handsome centaur lover and a more conventional human suitor, when a change in Aleksy’s breathing alerted him that something was up.

“Hey,” said Finn, setting the novel aside. He reached for Aleksy’s closer hand. “Take it easy. You’ve got, um, drains.”

He scooted his chair a little closer, lowering his voice. “They said you should get your range of motion back if you stick to physical therapy,” he said. “Your, um, your breasts are gone,” he added. “Too much soft tissue damage. They’re gonna come talk to you about what kind of reconstruction you want to do.”

He pursed his lips.

“I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”

shibrogane
Aleksy is high off his ******** a**. He recognizes Finn is there, that someone is talking to him in very low, soothing tones. He should pay attention, he thinks, and he tries to sit up only to get hit with a wave of pain that bowls him over just as much as, oh, an actual wave would.

“I have breasts,” Aleksy slurs, brow furrowing. How the hell did he end up here? Aleksy blinks at the ceiling, which is very white and black-speckled and boring, and kind of wills his head to roll sideways so he can look at Finn. The corners of his eyes crinkle up in a dizzy smile. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, “Dobry… dobry vye…” He closes his eyes again, evidently tired even by just this minor effort. “Finnsha. Where am I?”

Something is beeping. His head hurts terribly because of it. When he goes to squeeze Finn’s hand, it is only very delicately done.


“Well,” remarked Finn, “You did. You don’t anymore.” The drugs were strong if Aleksy was forgetting basic details of his own physiology - but on the other hand, it wasn’t something hugely important to debate right now. The surgery-induced haze would clear in time, and then they could have, like, a more coherent conversation.

He raised Aleksy’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “You’re in Ashdown General Hospital,” he said quietly. “You, um - there was an incident at the job fair. You got slashed. Across your chest.”

He gestured with his free hand, indicating his own chest. “The doctors patched you up.”

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Aleksy hums consideration of this fact. He had breasts, but doesn’t anymore. That’s… that’s alright then. If he’d been in surgery to get boobs, things would have gotten awkward. “I don’t want tits,” he says to Finn, blinking very slowly, as if he has to put a great deal of thought into it. “I would like to be flat-chested, please. I will get tattoos.” To cover the scars. He knew what he was talking about… probably.

He tries to pull Finn’s hand down because watching his own hand go up so high makes him dizzy. “Finnshaaa. Why are you so far away. I don’t like it.”


Finn allowed himself to be pulled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of Aleksy’s mattress. “Sorry,” he said lamely. “I’ll stay closer. Sorry.” He didn’t say anything else about breasts, because it only seemed to be confusing Aleksy, and if it went on much longer it would likely distress him as well.

“You had a transfusion,” he said, “and they gave you a buncha pain meds. The strong stuff. And I was really scared you weren’t gonna make it through and I don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t. Like, I love you, man. I can’t deal with that kinda s**t. You’re not allowed to die on me.”

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This is also puzzling. Aleksy decides to squeeze Finn’s fingers again, as strong as he can (not very strongly but he doesn't know that). “Of course I make it through. Who would make sure you eat good Russian food? Tatya?” He tries to blow a raspberry but can't quite make it work. So he tries to raise his other arm to pull Finn closer and that doesn't even pretend to happen because his entire body screams at him to stop.

“Why it all hurts,” says Aleksy, pouting at his arm. How dare it fail him. How ******** dare.


“Because you got attacked by a ******** werewolverine,” said Finn, a gentle hand on Aleksy’s shoulder. “You’ve got stitches from here to here,” he said, demonstrating, his hand grazing across a rather large area of Aleksy’s torso. “You got, like, a transfusion. Uh. I already said that. Just. Like. Stop moving.”

He scooted his chair closer to the bed - as close as he could get. “I mean I would climb up there with you and we could cuddle but I think that would piss the doctor off.”

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“Ow,” Aleksy whines, finally managing a decent grip on Finn’s hand at the hand brushing over his chest. “No.” He stops moving, but only because moving hurts. Not because it would piss anyone off, since he doesn’t care. He settles back on his pillow and wishes he had like, five more. He needs to nest, to wrap himself up in blankets and sleep for a month. It’s not a logical desire, but he can think of no reason why he shouldn’t be allowed these things.

He considers everything Finn has just told him. “Okay,” he says. It sounds fake, but okay. “Were wolf tureen,” he repeats to himself, closing his eyes. “Mmmmokay.”


Finn allowed Aleksy to hold his hand, stilling it and wrapping his fingers around his boyfriend’s. “Just go back to sleep,” he said. “The meds are strong.” He was confident that he’d have to explain this all again in a few hours, anyway - but maybe Aleksy would be more lucid then.