Fi gave Johan a long look as he turned last night's events over in his head again. It was the disappointment that upset him, then. The lack of trust, the snap judgement Levi had made to trust Fiori over him. "You're very affected by his opinion for somebody who claims to hate him." He turned to grab a chair, settling beside the bed. It was strange, how Johan ranted and railed when underneath all the yelling he was so sensitive. If you cracked his armor open, it was easy to hurt him. "There's a reason he looks at you like that."
Johan frowned. He pulled the bowl of kasha to the front of the plate, using the spoon to absentmindedly poke at the granola sitting on the surface. It seemed superfluous to have dried grains on top of grains, but Cora must have remembered how much he liked his various toppings. He liked berries on his cereal too when they were in season. “I do hate him. You saw how he talked to me last night, and that’s why. He’s just like our dad.” He muttered the last sentence under his breath, more to himself than truly opening up.
Fiori caught it anyways, doing his best to fix that little detail in his mind for later. "You don't hate him, if you did you wouldn't be so upset that he's disappointed." He disliked his brother, sure. Maybe he even hated a few things about him, the condescension and the easy way Levi cast him aside, but he certainly didn't hate his brother as a whole or he wouldn't be so upset about not having his approval. "And, like I said, there's a reason he looks at you like that, and speaks to you like that, and treats you badly. You wanted him in chains, Johannan."
“I never said I was upset because I disappointed him.” He pushed his brows together and spooned a bite of the kasha into his mouth to conceal a scowl. “And he wants to me chains too. Obviously. He just wasn’t forthright enough to sent me away first.” His voice turned sour, more typical of the resentment he held in his heart than the tired confusion from earlier. “He looked at me the same way even before I had the balls to send for the slavers.”
"No, he was kind. This is a kindness Johannan, you wouldn't be treated half so well if you were sent somewhere else." Levi was angry, obviously, and he wanted Johan punished, but he wasn't cruel about it. There were people here to kept him in check and he had given Fiori of all people a principal role in the whole thing. "You carve away little pieces of him all the time, Johan. You rant and rail and you don't care that he loved you. This situation you've put yourself in is not unexpected."
Johan caught his lower lip between his teeth. He glared at the breakfast plate for a moment, and in a sudden decision that he wasn’t hungry anymore, set it down beside him on the bed. “I thought you were here to apologize. Not make me feel worse about everything.” Though that wasn’t to say he truly regretted what he did to Leviticus. In his mind, his brother still deserved it all. “What do you think he’s been doing to me ever since we were little? He didn’t love me.”
"I gave you my apology, and now I'm giving you this too." He gave Johan a long look, a little confused but mostly searching. The way Johan understood things was strange to him, he didn't know how Johan looked at Levi and saw somebody who had never cared at all. "It's advice, and you can tell me to stop if you don't like it. I think Leviticus has been trying very hard to be your brother for a long time, and you don't think the way he does so you don't see it. This is the only thing he's ever done to you instead of for you."
“Alright, then stop.” Once his hands were free Johan pulled his arms up to cross over his stomach. He paused, staring at his knees, then looked at Fi again with a flat expression. Though his were squinted from faint curiosity. “But first tell me. What has he done for me, then? Besides not sending me to the dungeons or exiling me or whatever.” He could only remember the bad parts of his childhood. The ones that came to his mind quicker than the nice dinners and festival seasons. Instead he focused on the loneliness, always being scolded for playing too rough and making messes.
"I wasn't raised here, Johannan, I can't say anything specific, but I know that when you were younger he adored you." He had heard it in Levi's voice the night they talked, the pride and the happiness as he recalled his brother's youth, and yet Johan seemed like he didn't remember those days at all. "It hurts when you don't fit, but he wasn't the one doing the hurting. Don't turn the blame on him when all he ever tried to do was help you. And don;t turn the blame onto him now either, when the only person you have to be angry at is yourself."
Lines formed on Johan’s forehead as he scowled down at the food plate he’d set aside. “Right. You weren’t raised here so you have no idea what it was like between us.” He hugged his legs closer to himself. At least however much he could without pushing against his ribs. Fiori was right to an extent, he considered: Leviticus hadn’t always been the problem. It was just when they started getting older, and after Mikhail was born, that tensions rose and favoritism became apparent. “Not like I have anyone else to blame.” He turned his gaze sideways to Fi. “Well, there’s always you.” He was only half serious, forcing a glint of humor into his expression.
Fi huffed quietly, not quite a laugh but not entirely without humor. "You can blame whoever you like, Johannan," he said, and he didn't know enough about Johan's family to do anything but guess and hope what he was saying hit home. "But it doesn't change the fact that this is a problem that your parents caused. Did they stop giving you their affection, after Levi came of age?" He didn't know, not for certain, but he had seen men and women like Johan before. Jealous, ambitious, desperate to be noticed; there was a specific problem that drove that sort of behavior. "Or did it feel like they were slipping away even before that?"
Johan lightly chewed on his lower lip. He seemed slightly less perturbed than before, more thoughtful and sad than anything at the moment. No matter how much he had tried to conceal it with humor. He kept his gaze averted, even as he opened his mouth to speak again, then hesitated. He had something to say, obviously, but a wave of reluctance washed over him. While he wasn’t angry at Fi, and part of him wanted to be. Could he really push past that enough to open up? Perhaps. In a way, it felt right to open up. “Ah. It was…it was, yeah, a few years before then.”
Fi smiled, a small, soft thing that he knew Johan probably wouldn't see. "It wasn't fair of them." He reached forward slowly, careful to keep his hand in Johan's line of sight and give the prince time to pull away, and set his hand on the younger man's knee. Touch was equal to comfort in his mind, and he thought that Johan deserved some of that right now. Obviously it wasn't a subject he enjoyed talking about. "They should have taken better care of you, but you can't put the blame on Leviticus. He was a child just like you were, he wasn't trying to make them turn you away."
Johan pursed his lips as he watched Fiori’s hand reach closer to his knee, but he didn’t pull away. He stiffened a bit under the comfort, sure, yet it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. His eyes narrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, mulling over Fi’s reasoning. “Well, he did,” he finally said, “whether he meant it or not.” There was also the plain fact that in his parents’ absence, Leviticus was the only one he could blame. Not Mikhail, not Cora, and not even Fiori—save bitter resentment and bias, of course.
Fi didn't move once he'd reached his goal, content just to hold him in a way that wouldn't cause Johan any discomfort. "It is not his fault that your parents favored him, Johannan. You're smart, you must understand that. The blame is theirs, and nobody else's." He looked up as he spoke, catching Johan's gaze with a soft expression. "If you cannot bring yourself to blame them now that they are gone, then at least do yourself the favor of recognizing that your brother had no stake in what happened. Your anger will only cause you pain."
Johan met Fiori’s gaze while he talked, for once soft, if only just for a moment. A blink of an eye, and then it was gone. His eyes narrowed back down to the end of the bed. It must have been tiring for him to stubbornly hold onto so much anger and hurt. And Fi was right—it was downright painful. He reached for his half-finished plate of food, moving it to a safer location on his side table. “I’m done talking about it for now.” For now. So the conversation wasn’t over. “I’m seeing Mikhail today…I need to get dressed. And shave,” he added the last part with a slight frown, running a hand over his jaw.
Fiori gave him a small smile in return and pushed himself to his feet. "Alright." He appreciated that Johan was willing to continue talking, and proud too. There was so much potential in the younger prince, below the anger and the hurt and the lashing out, but it felt like he didn't get to see it very often. "I'll fill a basin and find you a razor. Do you feel up to walking now?" He'd need to get up eventually of course, but Fi saw no value in using up his energy before the day had even really begun. "Or should I bring them to you instead of setting them up in the bathroom?"
Johan bobbed his head. Whether in appreciation, or simply just letting Fiori help. Either way, perhaps, was an improvement. “I can walk.” He took one last bite of his breakfast from the plate sat on his side table, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. As long as he stayed easy in his movements, he seemed capable enough not to hurt himself. He sat at the edge of his mattress for several long moments, his shoulders rising and falling gently with each breath. Lost in his thoughts while he waited for his water basin and water to be ready.
"Alright." Fi padded out of the room and then returned a few moments later, watching Johan sit with a mix of pride and wariness in his eyes. It was good to see him healing, but at the same time it boded for more trouble. There was no reason for him to believe that Johan's good mood would stick around, as nice as that would be on Fiori's frayed nerves. "Be careful with the razor. And… I'm sorry, again." He nodded towards the door, indicating that everything was prepared. "People don't tell you that enough, I think."
Johan pushed himself up to stand, but not without the aid of his hand on the bedpost for stability. “I’ll be careful,” he muttered off-handedly, then turned his glance to Fi at the apology. Hints of surprise in his expression. As if Fi hadn’t apologized already, the sincerity took him off guard again. “I…I appreciate it. Really. People never seem to think they’ve done anything to me that they would need to apologize for.” He dipped his head in a short nod, pushing himself off the bedpost towards the bathroom.
Fiori forced himself to sit and watch Johan go without hoovering at his side the way he usually did. He returned the nod with a thoughtful expression, hiding his own surprise at Johan's reaction to the apology. It would always be shocking to him, that people treated Johan so cruelly. A measure of it was justified, he understood that, but Johan was still a person, and an incredible one at that. No matter his sins, he deserved some manner of respect. An apology was the least Fi could give him. "When you see your brother… would you like me to stay?" He hoped he was loud enough that his words carried. "Or should I go and let you be alone?"
Johan braced himself against the counter as he surveyed the items he would need to shave. His ribs still hurt, but at the very least he could care for himself now. And for that he was grateful. The soap bar he picked up first, dipping it in the basin to wet it and lathering a decent amount in his hands, which then he spread over the lower half of his face. He was reaching for the razor when Fi asked the question, and he hesitated. Unspeaking while he considered his answer, Johan started shaving.
“You can do what you want,” he finally said. “It won’t matter to me whether you stay or let us alone. I will say he might be…intimidated by your presence.”
Fiori hummed quietly, the way he always did when he had something to think about. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the boy, but he'd told Levi that he would meet him and even the thought of lying made him feel sick. Leviticus had been the one person he could depend on here. To repay that loyalty with dishonesty would be nothing short of a sin, at least in Fi's mind.
"I'm surprised, I thought you would take the opportunity to be alone." He glanced down at himself, his calloused swordsman's hands. The tendons in his arms flexed as he clenched them into fists and then relaxed as he flattened them out again, scar shiny against his tan skin. It was strange, knowing that the people here didn't see him the way he saw himself. "Do you really think he would find me frightening?"
“I wouldn’t be alone if I’m in the room with my brother.” It was a snarky response. Johan knew what Fiori had meant. He didn’t correct himself for a decent chunk of time while Fi examined his own hands. Besides, he was more focused on the razor at his jaw and the slight tremble in his hand to bother with honest responses.
“Yes,” he finally said without turning his gaze away from the looking glass, “he’s never seen someone like—goddamn it!” The small metal blade hit tile with striking ferocity, bouncing once until it slid into the far corner of the bathroom. Johan backed up against the nearest wall and kept his hand pressed against his cheek, though a small trail of blood dripped through a wrinkle in his palm and down his wrist. He shut his eyes as tightly as possible. “I-I don’t want to hear it,” he snapped, because of course his greatest fear was Fiori reproaching him for being so insistent on shaving by himself.
Luckily he had made it nearly the whole way. Just a final stripe or two on his right jaw.
In the second that Fiori had to process the answer, his stomach sank. Luckily, there was something loud to pull him from his thoughts. A yell. The clang of metal hitting the floor. He was up on his feet in a heartbeat, pushing thoughtlessly into the bathroom and taking in the scene.
He should have felt guilty for latching onto the distraction. He wanted to, but blood was starting to pool at Johan's elbow and the blade he'd been shaving with was still open in the corner where it had landed and Fi's own heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his fingers. There was no room for dostractions, there was only this room. "I know." Before he even processed what he was doing, he was at Johan's side, reaching up to brush away the hand that had been clapped carelessly over the cut. His touch was almost painfully gentle, but that couldn't have been a surprise by now. He couldn't stand to be careless when Johan was so clearly hurting. "I won't say it, Johannan. Will you let me take a look?"
Johan immediately stiffened when Fiori entered the bathroom. He shrank back, instinctual as if he still expected criticism, until his bloody hand was swept aside with a gentleness that startled him as much as a reprimand might. “I’m fine.” He didn’t move away, though. The greater flux blood from the cut had dwindled to a thin trickle by now; the worst of it had trailed a path down his arm. He hesitated before answering the question. Normally he would say no. An immediate no given the context. Given exactly who was asking. Yet Fi hadn’t brought up the obvious, and he was being so gentle, and for once Johan found he didn’t mind that as much as he should. “I suppose. Go ahead.”
Fi gave him a wan smile and reached forward, tilting Johan's chin up and to the side so he could see exactly how bad the damage was. The cut bled sluggishly as he studied it, but he didn't find that particularly worrisome. Head wounds were slow to close, especially when they were long like this, gouged across the line of Johan's cheekbone. "You're not fine," he said finally, reaching over to grab a cloth from the sink. It only took him a moment to wet it and bring it to Johan's cheek, the pressure just slight enough to keep from stinging. He didn't quite know why he was being allowed so close—as always, Johan was an enigma to him—but whatever the reason was, he was grateful. "You're bleeding. You're hurt."
As much as Johan hated Fi, the only reason he was letting his enemy—and his brother’s close friend—so close to him was petty, mostly. He was tired. Lonely. And the other man was offering him a moment of gentleness. He was far too aware of Fi’s fingers. They felt like they burned imprints into his skin, equally as bothersome as the wet cloth, to which he winced in anticipation for pain. The small intimacy had him clenching his jaw beneath the shallow wound. Had a lump forming in his throat, and made it difficult to speak around. “I’m hurt,” he echoed weakly.
He couldn’t help his emotions. They slid from one to the other too easily, sometimes within the minute, with invisible triggers. Anger to sadness. Playful to standoffish. It hurt him too, perhaps just as much as he hurt others. “For…goddamn once, I just want to do something right,” he lamented, as if he forgot it was Fi he was talking to.
Fi ran his fingers absently over the curve of Johan's jaw as he winced, an unconscious effort to soothe. It was funny, almost. He had spent his whole life being carved into a soldier and yet he still felt the need to help so keenly that it hurt. Even now, when there was so much for him to run from, he found solace not in anger but in kindness. In care for another person, no matter how distant or angry he may be. What did it matter that he didn't understand Johan? He was allowed to be here, tending carefully to wounds they both knew could be taken care of alone, and that was more than enough.
"You've already done so much, Johannan. Hold this." He tapped gently on the cloth, waiting until Johan had set his clean hand on it to let go, and then grabbed a fresh one and set about cleaning the blood from his skin. It was slow work. Methodical. All too easy to get lost in, as he cradled Johan's hand in his. "Why not give yourself time to heal? There will be so many challenges to conquer once you stop aching, there's no reason to push yourself now."
Johan kept frowning as Fiori worked at tending to his cut. He tried averting his eyes, staring fervently at one of the stones making up the far wall. Even so his gaze kept flickering back to Fi’s face, so close to his own, to furtively study those unfamiliar features. Before a week ago he’d never been so close to an Usigen to convince himself that they weren’t all inhuman forces of evil. Fi’s sturdy jaw, his pale green eyes, and bronze skin were closer to a work of art carved from stone than demonic.
Johan forcefully blinked the thought away and banished his gaze to the wall again. “You don’t understand. Leviticus doesn’t understand. I don’t have time for rest, not until I’m at the top.”
