[m] House call

After the adrenaline had left his body, he felt the wave of tiredness hit him like a brick. It was when he sat at his table. Somehow he’d managed to grab his first aid kit from his bathroom, not that he could remember when he’d done so.

It was not too bad. That’s what he told himself, but the wounds kept bleeding. Using his finger he had tried to determine how bad it actually was, but it hurt too much. The moment he brushed against the wound, he pulled back. There was still blood smeared across his face, but luckily that one was no longer bleeding.

Míngzé was glad for the distraction Sāng provided while he tried to fix his arms. Around the time Lamar was mentioned, he’d given up. His elbows leaned on the table as he held his hand up in the air. The simple phone call kept him calm while he waited.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the doorbell rang. One thing he had not anticipated was getting up from his seat to let the man inside. With some effort he pushed himself up, pressed the button without saying anything, opened the door and then sat down again.

These things hurt like a mother fucker, especially the ones on his already scarred arm.

When he could hear someone enter his apartment. “Hi, don’t mind the new decoration,” he said with a small smile. Blood was not his style, sadly enough.

The silence that followed after they hung up sent chills down his spine. He never liked it, but it was even worse. Normally he would turn on the tv, but he did not feel like getting up from his seat.

Having Lamar appear at his doorstep soon after almost felt like a blessing. He wished he could greet him at the door, give him a tour through his apartment or something. But it would not work right now. Not when blood decorated his couch, floor, wall and table.

What a way to have Lamar over for the first time.

Míngzé held back a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Hearing Lamar’s voice gave him a reassuring feeling, the idea that things would be alright. Something was placed on the table, presumably some kind of greater medkit.

“Of course,” he said, pulling up the corners of his mouth in a smile. It did not fully reach his eyes. “These are the worst ones I think.” He held out both shaky arms. Some of the cuts were deep, way too deep to heal naturally and caused pain if he even dared to move his fingers.

“I tried to cover them up, stop the bleeding. Sad to say I’m not a good doctor.” A desperate attempt to lighten up the mood, pretend it was not that bad.

Lamar continued, but what he said made Míngzé’s fingers twitch, the only indication that he wanted to pull back. The idea alone was unsettling. He had never even thought about the possibility that the man had one. Which made sense, given his occupation.

Unconsciously he held his breath and only gave a stiff nod. How he wanted to say no. Tell him that he would go to a hospital instead. His whole posture grew stiff as he sat there, even unable to say anything.

It cost him a lot of effort to keep his hands in Lamar’s when every part of him was yelling at him for this to stop. “It’s okay,” he said, his strained voice revealing how uncomfortable he was. His eyes looked down at their hands, even when they saw nothing. “It tickles— I guess, and a bit cold.” Or was that simply because his own skin was burning.

His hands were not too bad, which would’ve been a relief if he was not fighting the urge to flee. Again. He had to talk, distract his mind. “She—” Míngzé bit his tongue and paused. He did not want to say what exactly happened. “There are a few more I think, one near the base of my neck that does not feel to great.” He was hurt all over, making it difficult to pinpoint every scratch.

Of course Lamar noticed. How could he not? He could already imagine the judgmental look in his eyes. People never understood and he did not expect Lamar to be any different. “I understand.” No ‘it’s fine’ or ‘I don’t mind. He simply understood why Lamar used his affinity.

“I’m not really sure,” he said with a pained smile. Figuring out where all the damage was located was difficult when everything hurt. Míngzé noticed how Lamar shifted and moved his hands to his neck. He tilted his head back and felt how it placed some tension on the wound, but he wanted to give the man better access.

All he did was hum at the mention of stitches. He expected so much and was fine with them.

In a way the soft feeling of Lamar’s affinity at work was soothing. Although it was mostly the man’s own calming presence. The pain lessened each time his hands moved to another spot. “Pretty sure there are some on my legs too. They don’t feel too bad.” As he’d tried to shield his face, his arms had taken most of the damage.

“Sorry that you had to see this.” He should’ve gone to a hospital instead of bothering Lamar. This— it was too much. His life was a mess and now he was involving Lamar too.

Lamar could not possibly begin to understand where this whole mess began. It was too much and he really did not want to involve the man any more than necessary. He wanted him to live his life away form all the bad that might happen sooner rather than later.

An almost sad smile found his way to his lips. The man who was helping him by using his affinity, promising he would help him even at his worst. If only he knew how ready he’d been to take all that away. “You don’t know that,” he muttered.

It was nice this way. He did not want to ruin something nice.

By now he expected Lamar to ask some questions, but so far nothing. Once he’d entered his apartment he’d joined him at the table and instantly started healing his wounds. Not one question asked. With a curious look he gazed towards the man. “Are you not curious about what happened?” He looked like he was attacked by a bear or something, and yet no questions. It was possible Sāng had told him, but he doubted that was the case.

He felt pretty miserable to say the least. While House was his favorite tv show, he did not like looking like one of their special guests. Good thing his doctor did not even come close to dr. House himself. The other’s presence was the only saving grace in all of this.

The truth remained that he could not tell Lamar anything unless he wanted to pull him into this mess. “I can’t, not right now at least,” Míngzé sighed. “One day I might.”When everything was over and done, he hoped he could tell him. No, he would tell him. By now Lamar deserved as much.

A chuckle escaped and Míngzé shook his head at Lamar’s comment. Right, taking off his clothes.

“Is that your medical advice, doctor?”

Perhaps he’d lost a bit too much blood after all.

Now he wished he was wearing a shirt with buttons. Míngzé held his shirt and pulled it halfway before a hiss escaped. It caused tension on the wounds. “I could use some help,” he confessed, his shirt halfway. At this point it might’ve been better if they cut the shirt to pieces.  

His attempt at removing his shirt failed miserably, only worsening by the comment made by Lamar. Choking in his own saliva was one of the many things he did not expect to happen that day. In an attempt to mask it, he started coughing.

“He told you that, uh?”

Of course he did. What did he expect? It’s Sāng! And this is his own fault because he was not careful with his own words

What little progress he’d made was undone as he pulled his shirt down again. Now he knew what Sāng had told Lamar when he said he texted him.

Part of him wanted to apologize for Sāng’s shameless behavior, but was that really needed? The other’s facial expressions were a mystery to him, but there was the tone in his voice, the words he used. His golden eyes rested on Lamar as if searching for something.

Míngzé lifted his arms, moving them out of the way for Lamar. “Go ahead.” The shirt was ready for the trash anyway.

“I must confess, it's been the most stressful day.” Was it smart? Certainly not. Was it truly harmful? No. “Almost a shame I won’t be able to do much else.” He used the same casula voice Lamar had used. These wounds needed to be taken care of first anyway. Getting distracted now might not be the best idea.  

“I might kill him for that,” Míngzé mentioned casually. He did not mean it. Maybe. Yet a part of him was relieved. Even after all the hardships his friend had endured, some things had remained the same.

If he let himself feel all the stress and exhaustion that was currently in his body, he would most definitely cry. What Míngzé could do was explain his whole sob story to Lamar, tell him about what happened, how stupid he’d been and how terrified he actually was.

He did not want that.

What he wanted was exactly what Lamar described. Relaxation, an empty head, a way out of this mess.

One corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, but he quickly corrected himself again. “How lucky I am to have a doctor at my side who is so knowledgeable,” he mused calmly.

Before Lamar started cutting, there was a warning. Every now and then he felt the cool metal brushing against his skin. It did not take long before Lamar had undone him of his shirt. Some cuts became visible, most of them nothing too bad. You could almost count all his ribs, while his barely noticeable muscles didn't help either.

Slowly but surely his body was turning into a canvas for stories. The ugly burns that spread over his right one, an uneven circle on his stomach and now these scratch marks. How he hoped they would not scar too. He did not need the reminder each scar gave him.

“How does it look?”

His stomach muscles tensed at the light touch against the scar. He awaited a question, but again none came. “I assure you I’m not in the habit of getting hurt,” he tried his best at a joke. Was it even true? These last few months beg to differ.

At least his torso remained pretty much unharmed. “You seem pretty worried about my lower parts,” Míngzé noticed almost innocently.

All the previous tension returned when Lamar started working. The usage of his affinity brought forth complicated feelings. He wondered if he would’ve said ‘no’ if it was someone else. While he did not see the wounds heal, he could feel it.

Yet as the stitching began he was in a way grateful. It was not that it hurt that much, thanks to Lamar. While Lamar worked, he stayed quiet. Míngzé focussed on the cars outside, the distant muttering of people, his neighbors moving a chair. He wondered what they were doing or saying, what the destinations of those cars were. Everything to keep his mind occupied.

It was horrible to say the least.

And yet when the other’s hand lingered a bit longer, the magic of his affinity spreading through the wound, taking the pain and discomfort away, he felt just a hint of comfort. It disappeared the moment he noticed.

A deep sigh of relief sounded and his shoulders visibly relaxed when Lamar mentioned they were done. His arms felt like a weird mixture of soreness and numbness. “Thanks,” he said. With one hand he gently traced his arm, feeling Lamar’s handiwork below the tips of his fingers. “Not nearly as good as how I did it, but it will work.” He smiled lightly before lowering his hand again.

Normally he would like a new shirt first but now he did not mind.

“Do you even have to ask?” Míngzé said with one tilted eyebrow and a hint of a smile. No matter what, he would not get them off himself, and he would almost feel sorry for Lamar if he said ‘no’.

Míngzé slowly rose to his feet, finding his balance first. “I’ll allow it,” he said as he smiled. He waited, his gaze resting on the vague silhouette he saw before him. He placed one hand on the table for extra support. If Lamar was this eager to help, he could do it all himself.

A short chuckle escaped. A very good try. “Nice of you to word it like that.” In other words it had been a horrible and failed attempt. Which did not come as a surprise, it hurt more after he took care of the wounds than before.

But it was better now. All Míngzé had to remember was to be careful with what he did. Which was obviously why Lamar’s hands were the ones unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down after and joining them kneeled down on the ground.

His attention solely went to the touches tracing his body with precision. In a way they felt like they were almost teasing him. No longer did he pay any attention to the real reason this was happening in the first place.

The last of the wounds must’ve been healed by now, as Lamar’s hands traced up to where he was certain no wounds needed healing.

In a way this was almost new unexplored territory for him. All these years there had only been one and no one after that. Although rolls had been mostly reversed back then. He did not mind the change-up this time. It was thrilling.

His breathing got deeper and he closed his eyes, anticipating what would come next. “You know you don’t have to, right?” he breathed, a smile tugging at his lips, knowing fully well Lamar was not complaining and neither would he. By now there was no real stopping anymore, he was longing for it, more than he cared to admit.