His tongue passes over chapped lips. He knows it was just making it worse, but he gave up trying to overcome the instinctual urge to wet the dry skin a long time ago.
"Many Human… have… small not human friend," he signs with a vague gesture he hopes isn't an insult.
"- - aliens that - your planet?" Hizashi tilts his head almost ninety degrees to the side.
"No, not aliens," God this was so embarrassing, "Friends not Human."
Hizashi's tail swishes behind him as he tries to decipher what could barely be called a sentence. The rhythmic back and forth was slightly hypnotizing, and he could feel his breathing slow, until he's snapped from his daze by a quiet chirp telling him Hizashi thought he understood what he meant by 'not human friend'. His wing draws a wide circle followed by a silent clap. If Hitoshi remembered correctly…
"Animal-friend," he repeats while nodding, "You have?"
(It took him some time before he could stop sneaking looks at Hizashi, distrust slowly melting into curiosity as the days went by without being attacked. Without the threat of violence, it was the first time he could actually look at an alien.
It was simultaneously disappointing and hilarious. Hizashi looked like a child tried to draw from a description coming from a person who had only ever seen reptiles, and that person only knew the existence of chickens because someone described the poultry section in their supermarket. Like an overly complicated version of telephone that somehow resulted in a glorified dinosaur.)
Hizashi starts explaining something about his spouse collecting similar—but different?—animals from multiple planets with a put upon expression that barely hid his fondness.
He's in the middle of telling a story about his mate rescuing an alien animal from—a hole? a well?—from something and getting lightly injured or...?, only to be interrupted by a shiver, almost visibly starting from the wing that brushed the wall and travelling to the rest of his body, muscles and skin rippling like a wave.
Hitoshi couldn't stop thinking about his glazed over eyes, and waking up to a muffled cry and the same frantic humming as the first night. Hizashi had talked about what the asshole guards had done to his missing feathers in strained stilted mouvements, how they had basically stripped him of one of his senses.
Without thinking too much about it, he shrugs off his zip-up hoodie before he can chicken out, thrusting it toward him.
"You cold," he adds when Hizashi doesn't take his hoodie immediately, glaring at the floor. He wonders who left the deep scratch leading to the door, but the way the edges were dulled with time told him he was probably never going to meet them.
Small clicks make him reluctantly look up. Hizashi reaches out hesitantly like he's about to get bitten, and Hitoshi's arm is kind of starting to strain but he went through worse so he keeps still. He almost drops it before Hizashi can have a secure hold, and there's an unexpected pang when the dirty garment slips between his fingers. The irrational part of him expects Hizashi to start ripping it up and laugh at him. "You're giving this to me?"
The way he cradles it like he knows the hoodie is one of his last vestiges from Earth, his last reminder of home, smoothes out the ugly thing writhing in his stomach and screaming to take it back.
Hizashi wraps his hoodie around himself, when he finally responds with a stilted nod, fumbling a little with the sleeves before tying it in front of him. It kind of looked like it was hugging him. "Thank you, Shinsou."
A weight he hasn't been aware of lifts from his shoulders when the persistent trembling settles down, and the last of the ache disappears at the sight. There's less chance his kinda-friend-kinda-cellmate is going to die of cold in the middle of the night.
"Your... animal-friends, what name?" To his relief, Hizashi doesn't comment on the very obvious subject changement and his flustered face, starting on a rant about his mate's horrible naming skills, and how he had to take over the task when they ended up with a pet called Engine.
Shinsou isn't faring well.
"Let's learn more words, yeah?" Hizashi's gestures are as exuberant as he can make them—to his delight, his talons have started growing back, and it didn't seem like they damaged the nail bed, but they were still quite sensitive—as if their vigor could transfer into his cellmate. His purple hair barely moves as his wings draft some air on his face, matted and tangled in a hard knot. There's no indication that Shinsou is aware he's right beside him except for the cracked slits lethargically following his movements.
"Come on listener, don't give up now," he tries with a softer tone, adding a low croon, but Shinsou's pupils disappear again behind barely open eyelids. He tries to get his attention with clicks that come faster than intended.
It's so very different from their first lessons. Shinsou had been really excited about learning See'krtsh'ish, his whole body leaning closer and closer toward him when they spoke. His brain was like a sponge , absorbing everything he said with rapt interest. The distance between them had reduced with every cautious shuffle, until Hizashi could touch Shinsou if he extended his wing.
That vigor was slowly trickling out as the cycles went by without any food.
His heart skips a beat when Shinsou lets out a long breath and there's an hesitation before the next, and what was he going to do, the Human just expired, but he cracks an eye and thankfully starts breathing normally again. "There you are, listener! How are you feeling?"
"Very good." It comes out slightly slurred when Shinsou eventually musters the energy to lift his head off the floor and somehow has enough energy to waste it by rolling his eyes. The sarcastic reply doesn't quite reassure Hizashi when his skin doesn't bounce back to its usual shape, instead staying wrinkled and folded.
It was taking more and more time for Hizashi to coax him out from his slumped position and for him to respond. The four last cycles, his sentences started petering out before they could reach their end, and then Shinsou would just stare into empty space, squeezing his upper limbs around his abdomen.
Even when Hizashi had convinced Shinsou to take most of the water ration at the sight of his cracked lips—his species were desert dwellers, and Humans were definitely not—he suspects he barely bought the Human two or three cycles.
(Keeping his share of water would weaken the threat while keeping him in shape.
The soft fabric preventing the metal floor from leeching all of his body heat makes guilt bubble in his guts, a queasy wave that had nothing to do with the pangs drilling a hole in his stomach washing over him. Shinsou had to know he was signing his death warrant, and yet, he continued sharing water with him, parting reluctantly with the bowl with sagging shoulders. Besides, the whole point of dismantling the fighting rings was to save the trafficked victims. What kind of hero would he be if he caused one of them to die of dehydration simply because they were a Deathworlder.)
The ringmaster seems to realize that in his worn out state, Shinsou wouldn't be able to kill Hizashi even if he decided to, because after fifteen cycles of starvation, a tray of… something is slid through the service hatch, alongside a deep dish filled with water.
As soon as the metal plate scrapes against the floor, Shinsou lunges at it, such a harsh contrast to his hazy eyes, that Hizashi's brain takes several seconds to understand that the animal gulping from the dish, careful not to let a single drop of liquid fall, is the same cellmate eager to learn a new language. The dish is almost tipped completely over the Human's head before he finally sets it down, and starts shoving the goop in his mouth without swallowing the last bite, despite his slightly queasy look at drinking too fast.
Hizashi doesn't dare move or look at the Human. Bringing attention to himself while Shinsou was curled protectively over his food would be the worst thing to do, right under walking up to him and stealing some of the slimy stuff.
Wet chewing fills the cell, only interrupted with the occasional clatter of the water dish and Shinsou's sharp inhales when he remembers to breathe around the slop.
He's debating whether wearing the 'hoodie' will make him a less alluring target or if he should risk taking it off, when his digestive system decides to make its discontentment known with a growl loud enough to cut through Shinsou's eating frenzy.
Deep silence falls between them, heavy on Hizashi's chest. The Deathworlder—because right now, Shinsou looks nothing like the tired sarcastic guy, and everything like a predator, crouched like an animal and matted hair sticking to his face—turns slowly to face him. His cracked lips bleed crimson beads. As if he just devoured prey.
Please go back to the goop. Please go back to the goop.
Shinsou doesn't go back to the goop. Instead, pink climbs his cheeks, and he thrusts the tray toward him while hastingly wiping his face with the cloth covering his wrists, leaving thin streaks of red in the corner of his mouth.
The slop sloshes, and Hizashi quickly steadies the bowl before it tips over, mind blanking at the shy "Sorry".
He wants to politely decline the offer, but what tumbles out instead is "Is that for me?"
He cringes as soon as the words form. He really shouldn't question Shinsou's generosity, but this goes against everything known about human behaviour.
"Sorry, I am… hungry and thirsty," the Human says with small tight movements. "Next cycle, I give more to you."
His eyebrows are lowered and the outer corner of his eyes are drooping in what Hizashi had learned was sadness, and he's regretful for not sharing.
He manages a bewildered "It's okay listener" before taking a bite of what's left.
It tastes exactly how it looks, that's to say absolutely disgusting. It's so bland, and his stomach almost revolts at the random gritty chunks. The mouthful goes down laboriously, sticking in his throat, and he wishes there was water left to wash the texture away.
Shinsou's already pale face drains even more. Hizashi gulps the last of the goop mixture without enthusiasm, shuddering as it lingers in the back of his mouth. Hunger gnaws at him, like the food he just ate woke the slumbering beast, and it's now pacing, waiting for more to come. "Are you okay?"
"Eat too fast," Shinsou responds slowly, resting his sweaty forehead on the cool metal.
His face has turned a sickly green, and Hizashi hopes he isn't going to barf. The cell really didn't have good aeration.
Hizashi isn't sure if his attempts at comfort are welcome, but Shinsou leans toward him when he comes closer, and he finds the courage to lay a wing on his back, giving him plenty of time to shrug him off, before rubbing gently in a way that usually helped him when he was seasick. The textile is grimy, leaving a brown powdery residue when he looks at his skin, but the Human's warm, heat radiating through the cloth. He can't help inching closer to ward the—though dampened by the 'hoodie'—constant chill, edging the borders of the vomit splash zone.
They had become more comfortable with each other, their See'krtsh'ish lessons shining light on how Human 'threat displays' were actually cultural misunderstandings, and while bared teeth or sustained staring still made his breath catch and his limbs freeze, it didn't make his life flash before his eyes anymore.
It's the casual contacts that really cemented that Shinsou was probably not going to snap and kill him for no reason. Fingers grazing his scapulars here, a small teasing nudge there, it had helped him not go crazy.
He's always been a touchy person, probably a result of growing up in a household where you were constantly either being preened or preening someone. Shouta had spent the beginning of their friendship embarrassed at his physical displays of affection, and even now, he hides his face in mortification if Hizashi brushes the side of his head in public.
He immediately stops petting Shinsou when he starts trembling, but the Deathworlder swivels around and reaches for him. Hizashi startles, but the hand falls halfway before it can reach him.
He expects to see a snarl, or maybe annoyance, but Shinsou's eyes are shiny, and to his horror, they start leaking, huge drops trailing down his face and sweeping away some of the dirt staining his face, leaving wet lines on his cheeks.
"You're injured?" He can't help the alarmed squawk when Shinsou starts rubbing his leaking eyes . "Don't touch them! Let me see."
He pulls the upper limbs of the Human who is still touching his eyes .
"How does it feel?" There's symmetric pupil size, but the skin around is red. He's sniffing, the profuse liquid spilling into his nose. There's no blood, thank god, and they don't look deflated or anything, but Shinso's breathing is uneven and he looks like he's not getting enough oxygen.
"No injured," he starts, shoulders shaking, "Big emotion, have… water in eyes. Normal for Human."
"Your eyes. Are dripping. Because you're feeling too much?" He can feel his own skepticism, because what the fuck.
That pulls a small wobbly laugh, and he has to keep himself from pulling Shinsou's hands from wiping away at the watery discharge.
"Are you sure? It doesn't hurt?" There's still suffocating worry, but it's quickly overridden by the rising curiosity when the Human nods.
He must have seen Hizashi's next question coming, because he sighs, pushing his hair away from his face. "I feel… bad. Hungry, and not give food to you. And eat too fast, my stomach hurt." There's a small hesitation, his whole body curling inward, before he adds, "I am… lonely before you."
The shame in the twist of his fingers is not quite Shouta's half moon eyes, but it's still familiar. He must have a special radar for befriending species who kept their emotions close to their hearts and would rather break a bone than talk about their feelings.
Now that he's not panicking about Shinsou's physical health, he notices the way he's gradually leaning toward him, like an insect chasing a bright light, his hands clenched against his sides.
Oh.
A vice squeezes his heart to a pulp. He can't imagine it, being imprisoned here, his only interactions filled with violence. He lets himself fall forward until his flank is pressed against Shinsou's, but it isn't until he wraps his tail around his ankle that the Human starts to relax, unwinding gradually until he slides flat on his back.
They fall asleep, sides pressed against each other.
It's the first time in a while Hizashi doesn't feel cold.