Honkai: Star Rail oneshots

[aventurine/sunday] in the wake (of a hurricane)

written for ficwip's all ships ship week 2024! day 2: double life; hurt/comfort.

cw: Aventurine/Sunday, vigilante AU, blood & injury, medical procedures, implied/referenced mutilation, implied/referenced abuse, Aven is traumatized but what's new, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, Aven is called Kakavasha

based on my sunven hero/vigilante AU, which is heavily inspired by Matt Reeves's The Batman (2022). u don't have to have seen the movie to understand this, tho it would help set the mood of the AU & the general vibe of their relationship i think. (regardless, it's a good movie (imo) so def watch it if u want.) basically, sunday is the batman figure, kakavasha is the catwoman figure. they come from very different backgrounds; both have their respective issues, but they try their best to understand for one another (as u'll see here, if my writing does what i intended for it to do 💀)

heed the cw! vasha is (mostly) not having a good time. if you think i should warn for anything else, pls lmk 🫶

title from Frank Ocean's "Pink + White"!

🚂 _ _ _ _ 💫

Under the stark, spasmodically-blinking light of the bathroom, the gash on Kakavasha's neck looks deeper, and the blood gushing out redder and more copious than Sunday initially feared.

"Fuck." There is a smile on Kakavasha's lips still as he curses. His fingers tremble around the faucet's handle. "Fucking lunatic. Unbelievable." He turns the water on, lets it sluice over his hand. It barely washes anything away.

"Does it hurt?" Sunday frets—and immediately regrets the way he phrased it, naive and infuriating, a way that makes Kakavasha scoff.

"Nah, it just stings a little— Of course it hurts." Kakavasha drops his hand that was trying without success to staunch his bleeding into the sink. With brusque motions, he strips 'Aventurine's' gloves off, then starts to scrub his hands together in forceful attempts to get the blood off. His scowl is plastered to his movements all the while. He's sparing Sunday most of his anger—which, in some ways, makes Sunday feel even worse.

"You got the tracker out, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, of course," Kakavasha mutters, as if he doesn't think that question even needs to be answered. He cranes his neck a little to look at the wound, and grimaces half in disgust, half in pain. "Where's the equipment that you picked up?"

"Here." Sunday lays the medical kit he's swiped off some ambulance that had pulled up to the scene out on the countertop. Kakavasha shakes his hands to dry them somewhat, then immediately begins to rummage through what's there. "Ah, Kakavasha... let me—"

"I got it." Kakavasha dismisses him. He tears open a pouch of sterile gauze, then uncaps a bottle of disinfectant and pours a liberal amount over his hands, before drying them with said gauze. His motions are clearly practiced, just hasty. No matter the case, though, Sunday can't imagine leaving an injured person to stitch up their wound all by themself.

"Let me help."

"I got it, thank you." Kakavasha is already pulling latex gloves on. His eyes flick from the medical kit to the mirror to the sink, but never toward Sunday. "I'd appreciate if you could wait outside."

"It might be easier with two people," Sunday implores. "I could hand you the equipment, or—"

"No need."