psin and healing

Kenji’s recovery is slow—agonizingly so.

The days blur together in a haze of pain, exhaustion, and frustration. His body remains weak, aching from wounds both old and new. The nights are the worst. Even when he closes his eyes, the memories claw at him, dragging him back to the suffocating darkness of that chamber.

Alexeier stays close. Too close.

Kenji hates it. But at the same time, he needs it.

Every time he wakes up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, Alexeier is there. Sometimes speaking, sometimes silent—just there.

But even with Alexeier’s presence, Kenji struggles. His body still remembers. The phantom sensations won’t leave him alone. Even the simplest touches make him flinch. Eating feels like a chore. Sleeping is a battle he rarely wins.

And then—something changes.

The calm doesn’t last.

One night, the door bursts open. Raven enters, her eyes sharp, her posture stiff.

"We have a problem."

Kenji forces himself to sit up, ignoring the burning ache in his ribs. Alexeier stiffens beside him.

Raven tosses a folder onto the bed. A mission file.

"There’s movement in the underground," she says. "A target connected to your past, Kenji. One of your old clients—one of the bastards who bought you—just resurfaced."

Kenji’s blood turns cold.

Alexeier’s expression darkens. "Where?"

Raven doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looks at Kenji.

"You don’t have to do this." Her voice is quieter now.

Kenji’s fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket. His body is still weak, still healing. He knows he shouldn’t move.

But the moment he flips open the file and sees the face staring back at him—

Everything inside him burns.

"Where is he?" Kenji’s voice is hoarse, but the ice in his tone is unmistakable.

Raven exhales. Then, she gives him the answer.

Kenji tries to push himself up, but his body betrays him. The sharp ache in his ribs forces him back down, his breath hitching in pain.

Alexeier doesn’t even hesitate—he grabs Kenji’s wrist and shoves him back onto the bed.

"You're not going anywhere."

Kenji snarls, trying to yank his arm free, but Alexeier's grip is unyielding.

"Get off me."

"No." Alexeier’s voice is firm, his jaw tight. "Look at yourself, Kenji. You can barely stand, and you think you’re ready to go on a mission?"

Kenji glares at him, chest heaving. The fury inside him is unbearable, clawing to be unleashed. He doesn’t care about his injuries. He doesn’t care that he’s still weak. The face in that file—the bastard who used him—he’s alive.

And Kenji needs to be the one to end him.

"I don’t care what happens to me," Kenji grits out. "I just need to—"

"No, Kenji!" Alexeier cuts him off, his voice sharp with anger. "You think this is just about you?"

Kenji freezes.

Alexeier’s grip tightens, his expression unreadable. "What do you think will happen if you go out there like this? If you push yourself too far and—" He exhales sharply. "If you die, then what? You think that’s justice?"

Kenji’s breath stutters.

Justice?

No. This isn’t about justice.

This is about vengeance.

This is about control.

But Alexeier isn’t letting him slip away. He’s holding onto him—anchoring him.

Kenji clenches his jaw, his whole body trembling. His rage, his pain, his desperation—it all collides, making him feel like he’s suffocating.

But Alexeier doesn’t let go.

And Kenji doesn’t pull away.

For the first time, he allows himself to breathe.

Kenji grits his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. His body still feels weak, but his rage burns strong. He wants to argue, wants to throw himself into the fire despite the pain.

But Alexeier’s voice cuts through his fury—calm, firm, and unyielding.

"If you really want to make them pay, then rest," Alexeier says, his gaze steady. "Help yourself recover. Get back to your natural self. We have to plan this well. We don’t have to hurry."

Kenji exhales sharply, his frustration evident.

Alexeier continues, his tone softening just slightly. "Revenge isn’t just about striking first—it’s about striking right."

Kenji looks away, his jaw tight. He hates feeling weak. Hates waiting. But deep down, he knows Alexeier is right. If he goes in like this, he won’t just fail—he’ll be throwing himself right back into the hands of his enemies.

And this time, there might not be anyone left to save him.

His fingers loosen, and he finally exhales.

"Fine," he mutters. "But the moment I’m ready, we strike."

Alexeier nods. "We will. And when we do, they won’t see it coming."

Alexeier huffs, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, someone had to throw your words back at you. Maybe you’ll finally listen this time."

Kenji smirks bitterly, leaning his head back against the pillows. His body still aches, and the weight of everything lingers in his chest, but for a brief moment, he feels something close to amusement.

"Funny. You’ve grown up too much, idiot." His voice is hoarse, tired, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. "Isn’t that my line?"

Alexeier rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he steps closer, placing a hand on Kenji’s head—not roughly, not forcefully. Just enough to be there.

"Then take your own damn advice, senpai." His voice is quiet but firm. "Rest. Heal. And when the time comes, we’ll burn them down together."

Kenji exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. He still feels broken, still feels the weight of what was done to him.

But with Alexeier beside him—

Maybe, just maybe—he won’t have to carry it alone.

Raven arranges Kenji’s transfer back to the condo the moment he’s stable enough to leave. The hospital stifles him—the sterile air, the beeping machines, the constant reminders of weakness.

Alexeier doesn’t argue when Kenji insists on going home. He just makes sure Kenji doesn’t collapse on the way there.

The first few days back are rough. Even in the familiar space of his condo, Kenji struggles. The phantom pain lingers. The nightmares don’t stop. Sometimes, when he showers, the blood he remembers isn’t really there—but his mind refuses to accept it.

Alexeier keeps an eye on him without being overbearing. He doesn’t hover. He just exists in the space—making sure Kenji eats, making sure he doesn’t spiral.

One night, Kenji finds himself awake on the couch, unable to sleep. The weight of everything presses down on him, suffocating. He grips his shirt, frustration burning in his gut.

Alexeier, sitting nearby, notices. "Tch. You’re pushing yourself too hard again."

Kenji scoffs, running a hand through his messy hair. "And? That’s nothing new."

Alexeier exhales, leaning back. "You’re human, Kenji. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine."

Kenji doesn’t respond right away. He hates feeling vulnerable. Hates admitting weakness.

But when Alexeier tosses a blanket at him—no words, no pity, just a simple action—Kenji sighs.

Maybe, for now, resting isn’t the worst thing.