[Gift] Meeting a Friend

CW: mild suicidal ideation, self-loathing

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You're not dead until you're dead.

That was the creed. And somehow, he wasn't dead.

Exhausted, wounded. Aching from nose to tail tip and everywhere in between, but not dead.

"This is Kurra." Corundum spoke frankly, motioning to the friendly green toa beside her. "Your new retainer."

Ajit lay in his bed, rasping his tongue across the bandages protecting what was left of his foreleg. He watched Kurra with a weary apprehension.
He didn't need a retainer. He needed…. he needed to be better. To not—

"Hey." Kurra's paw was suddenly between Ajit's tongue and bandages. "Yeh'r gonna make it worse."
Ajit blinked, sighed. Withdrew his tongue and nodded.

"…It's good t' meet yeh." he intoned, if only to be polite, not acknowledging his flub.
You're not dead until you're dead.

He tucked his right paw under himself to hide the way it shook. If Kurra or Corundum noticed, they both pretended not to.
Ajit pretended not to appreciate that, swallowed around his pride and grief.

Until just weeks ago, he'd been more than able to defend himself. Protect himself. Serve himself. Now…
He could hardly walk.

It seemed like it should be easy after the hours days weeks in the endless desert with Zadehdin's test. He'd gotten by just fine there. Sure he'd stumbled but he'd been able to get back up! He hadn't collapsed in a screaming heap the moment he took his third step.
He hadn't needed a brace to—
Ajit took a breath. Swallowed again. "Sorry I'm not much good fer company." he said.

Kurra tilted his head at him, and then laughed. Laughed, bright as a seerop. No malice or judgement. He helped himself up onto Ajit's bed and flopped down near him, as devil may care as if they were equals, littermates even.
Ajit glanced to his mother, but Corundum just offered a polite smile and turned away. She bid a quiet excuse about getting back to her duties. The door slid shut behind her. Leaving them to get to know each other. He glanced back at the toa, startled and wary, and wanted to protest but the words would not come—

Almost as soon as the door was closed, Kurra chimed, bright as the dream-sun: "It's all right, yer highness."
When Ajit caught himself doing a double-take, Kurra continued, "Yeh look like somethin' the lutas dragged in. Don't think much anyone would be feelin much good for company." He was. Disarming. Ajit blinked, unable to keep up with the stranger's disposition.
What… was he supposed to do with this? With kind eyes looking at him with admiration and understanding?

Treating him like a friend? After what Ajit had done?

"They're makin' something fer yeh." Kurra whispered, ducking his head conspiratorially. "So yeh can walk. I ain't supposed to tell yeh that yet."

"…Why tell me? My mothers finding out could end yeh." he asked. Kurra rolled a shoulder, and flopped down on his side. Looking up at Ajit almost upside down with a grin.

Just... Existing. Brightly. "Because, yer highness. Yeh be lookin about ready to feed the leviathans."

Was it that obvious?

He wouldn't. He Couldn't. For one, he'd never make it to the gate without collapsing. He knew his limits. He could hardly make it to the restroom without collapsing, crossing Paschara would kill him long before the Leviathans could. For two he'd never be cleared to leave Paschara with his leg like this. For three, he was the heir. He couldn't give up.

…And he owed Living to his victims, at least.

He averted his gaze from Kurra's bright expression. "…The explosion…?" He was certain his mothers had a gag order on just how badly he'd fucked up. Not to protect him from accountability, no. The city would never allow that. He would never allow that. But the guilt.

The dead were dead. He wasn't.

"Three dead." Kurra said, rolling onto his back and streeeeetching his legs up like a comfortable luta. And then he was on his side again, looking serious as he eyed Ajit. Ajit's heart plunged, down, down into the crater. Down into the abyss. Guilt and grief. His mentors, his friends—. "Four wounded. Ain't supposed to tell yeh that, either. Yeh'r not the only one what lost a leg."

None of this was right. But…

He couldn't bring himself to scold Kurra, either. He shifted his own weight, untucked himself.
Kurra complied with the silent request and rolled so his shoulder was pressed to Ajit's side, and applied his teeth and tongue to Ajit's frill.
The contact was almost enough to make the prince cry.
He needed the honesty. The frankness. The sunlight.

"Thank yeh…" they were the only words he could get out.
He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve someone there to protect him, even from himself—he…

You're not dead until you're dead.

He had to keep breathing. Keep moving. …If that meant leaning on Kurra, if his mothers trusted Kurra to be someone he could lean on—literally—he would.
Even if he didn't deserve this.
This was what he had. And he couldn't waste it.