#please know also that patrick has no intention of showing hyuk these wounds when they reunite :'D- he's saying 'over my dead body'

[ofgentleresolve]

knob.​

 ♔ ———–

   I’m fine, I don’t need it.

   Stubborn speech like that is expected and yet, the bones around jaw tighten at the sound. It must be because the words bring an air of familiarity; of the times he’s bled and waved away any offers of help. He’s definitely lost count of the dismissals he’s shot people’s way; knowing that Nakamura and Jae-Hwan might’ve experienced his rejection more than once. This thought leads the detective to wonder if the Black Knight has aiding hands on his side — other souls who have been as close (or closer) as he is right now, with the solid view of burnt edges and blood-stained garments.

    Perhaps. 

    One man shows cannot last as such for too long.

    I’ve dealt with worse. 

     Truth be told, one thing Hyuk has never internally questioned is the vigilante’s strength. Even if the stubborn detective is clueless about a past which seems to be tightly locked, he can tell the Black Knight was not born out of sweet clouds and innocence but out of dark ashes and a deeply rooted ache. He’s been through something, regardless of missed details and skipped clues; regardless of unanswered questions (because he caught that — the avoidance of inquiry when it comes to the watch he saw on their last encounter) and the need to stay silent. So this he does not doubt — the Black Knight having dealt with worse.  

    It doesn’t mean he has to endure this by himself, though.      God, he almost wants to scoff at the irony.      Hyuk pushes others away.     Wants to be alone and hide in a corner to lick his own wounds in peace.      Like an injured creature would.     And yet, and yet — when the Black Knight tries to do the same, he refuses to leave.      Funny how he can’t follow these steps when it comes to himself. 

     A harsh sigh takes place when the vigilante insists on shooting more of his acidic words Hyuk’s way, hands landing on his own hips with a defensive stance. It doesn’t help that the detective has a very short fuse (growing shorter for the past five years) and so, when the Black Knight dares to be noxious to prevent himself from dealing with Hyuk’s offer, he decides to throw a few daggers the other’s way. 

      They aren’t as sharp, though.        Blades laced to those tinges of brusque care he tends to have.

    “Just shut up for once. I couldn’t care less about what I might get out of it. Not everyone is going to help you for leverage or to benefit themselves, you idiot. You think I gain something by having you wander in my office whenever you please? For someone who’s been smart enough to stay in anonymity for so long, you can be foolishly thickheaded.” 

    Concern soon takes over when he witnesses the other struggling. Hyuk takes a few steps forward, yet doesn’t get too close as to not suddenly get pulled by the force of innate defense. One of his arms stretches, as if trying to reach out in case it gets worse; observant of the vigilante’s every move. This episode, indeed, goes against every word shared. About being fine. About not needing anything. The blood the Black Knight keeps leaving on his office is a testament of this; a red-colored cry of help.

    He really isn’t doing well.     What the hell got him into this condition? 

    As soon as the vigilante takes the seat, Hyuk gets to work before the other decides to back down from the impromptu motion. The detective disregards every glower and token of bitterness; opening the heavy first aid kit and getting out the tools he needs to clean the wound while the other undresses. 

     He hears the thud of clothes falling on the decayed floor, knowing that perhaps the Black Knight is going to need another shirt. It’s a good thing Hyuk practically spends most of his life in that office, having spare clothes in a drawer that maybe the vigilante could use — that if he doesn’t start with his usual acrimony. 

     Well, that’s a worry for later. 

     Saline solution is poured onto gauze pads to soak them, putting them in a small container to carry them close to where the vigilante is sitting down. When he finally breaks away from the business of preparation and actually looks up to direct his harsh gaze at the Black Knight, the glare ends up softening.

     Not only does the Black Knight look…vulnerable under the office’s light, but luminescence is quite brutal when showing the whole map of scars traversing on his back and other parts of his body (he can see marks on his neck; his arms–). There’s the fresh one, deep and possibly throbbing; open and spilling crimson, but there are also other old injuries that have left their prominent mark; skin regenerating in the shape of raised patches begging to be seen. Not even the blood can hide them — actually, the color makes them more visible…at least, in the eyes of someone who’s very familiar with the difference between tones of hues and the gnarly vision of wounds. 

     Somehow this makes the vigilante more…real.       More human.       A reminder of mortality, of the battles carried.       Some of these scars even look like burn marks.       God, the notion of fire follows him everywhere.       He hates it.

      Hyuk takes a moment to collect his bearings, not sharing a word despite the curiosity tangled to his bones. Maybe this is one of the reasons the Black Knight covers himself all the way to his neck; uniqueness of scars would make him recognizable. But was it always like this? Are these scars the reason why his defenses are so high; the reason why he decided to take the mantle of the Black Knight? And who, or what, would be so merciless as to sear his skin like this? 

    Stop it, Lee Hyuk. You’re not supposed to care. 

    A deep breath is taken as hands get occupied with the container he left there earlier, grabbing one of the gauzes and carefully dabbing and wiping skin with it. The gauze quickly turns red, discarding that one and continuing with another. The process repeats itself until there’s just a very small amount of red trickling; Hyuk reaching out for bandages to catch the ongoing flow. 

    Pressing the bandages on the injured area, he applies pressure with his hands to try and make the bleeding stop; some of his fingers accidentally colliding with some of the scars that happen to be on the way. 

    “You’re going to need stitches. The cut’s too deep to just treat it with bandages. I…made the bleeding stop a little, but if you’re going to keep doing stunts, then this needs to be closed as soon as possible. I can stitch you up, too.” 

      It’s something he, unfortunately, had to learn.       He can’t afford going to hospitals whenever his recklessness kicks in.

     “I’ll do that. Here,” 

     a hand instinctively reaches out to take the vigilante’s gloved one (he’ll ignore the sudden tremor rising up his spine), guiding it the best way he can to his injured back so he can press the bandages. The pressure won’t be the same due to the hand’s awkward position, but it’ll be enough. 

    “Keep it there while I get the suture set.”

    It’s inside the first aid kit, but he has to move away for a moment to grab it. 

    “Don’t you dare move or you’ll end up with two wounds, not one. This one and another coming from my fist.”

———– ♔  

He’s heard this lecture before, the ‘stop-acting-like-you’re-fine-and-let-me-help-you’ one. He could even list all the variations he’s had the displeasure of sitting through, whether it’s the one laced with concern ( Nell ), the one stoic and threatening in demeanor ( Alfred ), or even the one barely able to hold back its anger ( Taiyang ).

Hyuk’s, acidic and yet also somehow exasperated as if he’s seen the Black Knight do it all and then twice, should be no different. And yet.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who doesn’t listen to anyone’s suggestions.“

Something about this iteration hits DIFFERENTLY. Crawls under his skin. Whereas with the others, it’s merely a matter of putting up a wall to bounce their concerns off of, this one…this one bruises. Cuts even, like the ones seared into his back.

( The thing with relationships, Patrick doesn’t realize, is that they’re two-way streets. Even if Hyuk doesn’t know the Black Knight’s true identity, for all the times Myungdae has intentionally pushed the detective’s buttons, Hyuk does the same. Pawn and Rook both have noted on it-

“You’re scared of him.” Nell observed once. “You lose your cool when you’re around him.”

“Well that would explain why we having to order the smoke bombs en masse.” Alfred added.

Alfred got socked in the jaw after that. They were sparring. )

Patrick crosses his arms, jaw clenched as he balances himself on the stool provided. His head keeps on spinning, but not even vertigo can keep the frustration and sheer ANNOYANCE that this situation ( which is, in hindsight, his doing considering that he picked Hyuk’s office of all places to try and calm himself ) has brought about.

“Knob.”

And yet he’s still sitting here with his wounds uncovered for Hyuk to treat. Perhaps it is immature on his part too, resorting to schoolboy tactics to vent his frustrations,  Twitching at the sound of a solution being poured into what he assumes to be a cloth, he can’t help but dig his fingers into his knees in dread for the next part- when the saline solution is supposed to make contact with his back.

He shifts in his seat, peeking behind him. What is taking Hyuk so long to- he stiffens. Oh.

There’s a look of concern and…painful tenderness on his face. It’s a look Patrick hasn’t seen his dear friend wear in…well ever since the Black Knight started making house calls. Maybe Hyuk would’ve given Patrick that look five years ago. Maybe he still would.

“Are you done looking?” Patrick looks away, fighting the urge to pick up his bloodied shirt and cover them up. The scars. Would Hyuk look at him the same way if he knew the TRUTH behind them?

( So many of them were the result of inflicting pain on others. Unwillingly. Willingly. In self-defense. To save his own skin. )

He squeezes closes his eyes. “I didn’t come here for a pity party.”

The saline solution hits his skin and he bites the inside of his cheek, choking down the wince. He should be used to this, the BURNING that comes with treating open wounds. It cleanses and purifies the body in a catharsis- for wounds to heal, they have to hurt first. First, pain, and then, relief.

Doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it.

( There’s a reason, back in the Black Knight’s base, that patching up wounds is a…two-person job, rather than one. One to actually treat the wounds. The other to hold his hand. It’s childish, he knows. )

Suddenly winded when the burning finally dies down, he tenses as Hyuk’s fingers brush over his back ( funny how much a difference removing blood can make), even the parts with raised skin. Patrick always tries to avoid touching those if possible- they’re just another unwanted reminder. But contrary to most cases, the detective’s fingers don’t feel like intrusions. If anything, they’re…craved, if not even yearned forr, however much of an accident the contact is supposed to be.

It's a dangerous feeling, Patrick tells himself. He needs to stop. He needs a distraction- which is exactly what he gets, even if it is of the bad kind.

“…You’re not going to let me say no, are you?” He already knows the answer to that. The anticipation for the burning pain returns, and it’s even worse now. Sutures- his least favorite type of treatment. If not for the idea of another sharp object piercing his skin, then for the fact the needles need to be cauterized before sinking into flesh.

In other words, a flame is needed.

( The first time Patrick needed sutures, it took Nell and Alfred an hour to get him to sit down. )

His breath hitches, heartbeat picking up as the edge of his vision blurs, unwanted adrenaline taking the place of clarity. His fight-or-flight mode is moments away from kicking in in spite of his body’s protests. Patrick needs this, he knows- Hyuk knows it too: if the Black Knight is going to made another appearance, the stitches are going to keep him from bleeding out.

Did Hyuk notice then? Is that why he grabs Patrick’s gloved hand ( to which of course, Patrick’s stupid first instinct is to squeeze his dear friend’s hand- Patrick manages to restrain himself, thankfully )? Or maybe that’s just Hyuk being painfully practical- that’s what the detective has always been: reckless, yes, but surviving, always, even by the skin of his teeth. And survival always requires a degree of practicality.

For once though, the Black Knight doesn’t have a comeback to Hyuk’s threat. Or maybe Patrick is too busy trying to decipher why he wants Hyuk’s fingers brushing against his own again. Or maybe it’s just the sheer exhaustion from everything that makes him simply huff in disapproval.

“I’ll stab you if you try that.” Or maybe there is still some fight left in him; it’s said half-heartedly though. “Just…make it quick.”

The needle sinks and while the initial prick isn’t nearly as terrible as he expected ( it never is ), Patrick still squeezes his eyes shut. For all the times, he’s welcomed silence, it’s just oppressive here. For a moment, Patrick almost misses his dear friend’s pointed jabs. He swallows the lump in his throat- he can’t keep sitting like this.

“You…you have QUESTIONS, don’t you?”

A statement, not a question, here.