Caretaker Kankri: Kankri X Female!Reader

Part 2

When you awaken the next evening you find it hard to crawl out of the soper slime, instead stretching languidly and swimming your limbs about in the gelatinous liquid. Eventually, however, you decide you might as well get out and care for the pawbeast. You pull yourself free from the sleeping device and wipe the slime away from your eyes, then slide down the side of your recuperacoon to land on the floor. But when you reach over for the towel you used last night you realize it is not there. In fact, upon further inspection, the hive was a bit more organized than you were used to. You frown in confusion, but decide to wake up more before tackling this mystery, and look around the floor for your towel—you hated tracking slime over the floor if you could help it. You glare at the puddle forming underneath you, quickly realizing you have no choice but to do so, and head off to take a shower. Your lusus must have cleaned your respiteblock. Unusual, but stranger things had happened.

Your shower was uneventful, except for an instance where you knocked over the cleaning products and scared the shit out of yourself, and you finished quickly. Which is to say, it still took you 20 long minutes to get yourself awake and another five to finish washing.

You stumble out of the room to retrieve you clothes from your dresser—a black shirt with your symbol, dark jeans, and a deep brown over shirt, which you leave unbuttoned for the hell of it. You turn to feed your howling stomach—

—only to realize the door is ajar. Your eyes narrow. You are certain you closed that last night. Moreover, you are ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE that it had been closed before you began showering. Your lusus wouldn't be home at this time—they were, in fact, usually only home during the hottest hours of the day. And Tarqin couldn't open the door himself from this side of it—and he had been in the room all night.

What. The. Hell?

You were suddenly aware of movement in other areas of your hive. Equipping your scythekind specibus you head out, following the noise into the food preparation center. Peeking around the corner you look through yet ANOTHER door left cracked open, and you see...

Is that a pot? Of soup? Sure smells like it. But your lusus can't cook.

This must be a prank.

Suddenly indignant, you open reach for the door to let your moirail, or Gamzee, or whoever it is have a piece of your mind—

—yet stumble forward when it is opened by someone else. You are pulled forward as you do not release the knob, colliding into the warm body on the other side of the barrier. Both of you hit the floor unceremoniously, with you landing on top of the bright red sweater of the intruder.

"Kankri?! Oh my gosh, are you alright?" You scamper yourself off of him and reach out to help him up, only to realize he might not appreciate the contact.

"[Name]," he wheezed, "y9u really must watch where y9u are g9ing in the future. Such recklessness may result in injury f9r y9urself or 9thers." He lifted a hand to his head, only to pull away and wince at the blood coating his palm. "In fact..." Your scythe had nicked him above the eye as you fell, apparently, and now there was a good amount of blood on his face.

"I'm so sorry, Kri. I'll be right back." You leave to fetch a first aid kit before he can comment on your nickname for him. When you come back he is holding a damp paper towel to his head. "Here, let me see." You reach for his arm to move it away.

"N9 n9, I'm fine. Just a little scratch 9ver the eyebr9w. N9thing seri9us, [Name], I pr9mise."

"Please, Kankri, just let me look. I want to be sure, alright? It is, after all, my fault your hurt." You keep the pressure on his wrist light, trying not to push him. Already you can tell he is uncomfortable with the contact. He stands there silently for a while, watching you cautiously, before he swallows and gives a small nod of acquiescence, the muscles in his neck tight. You set the kit on the counter behind him, flicking it open with one hand while exposing the wound with the other. Kankri shivers slightly, tension radiating off of him, and his breathing becomes shallower. You notice his knuckles turn white from gripping the counter. The cut is clean and shallow, but as a head wound it bleeds profusely. With a sigh—and slow movements—you pull out some antiseptic, gauze, and tape. Kankri winces slightly as you apply the ointment and bandaging, but keeps strangely quiet as you work. With practiced movements you dress the wound, then hand him another damp towel to wipe off the rest of the blood while you put the medical supplies away.