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There’s a cut above his eye, a souvenir from a lucky hit his opponent had gotten in. Blood trickles into his eye, and it stings like hell.
Geshu Lin squints at the man before him. “You’re not my usual medic.”
The tall doctor he’d shared a room with last night reaches into his kit, pulls out a swab and a bottle of adrenaline chloride. His stare is even, if wary. “No,” Jiyan agrees.
“You’re telling me there’s only one room in this motel. And that I need to share it with this random guy I’ve never met?”
The counter girl pops her gum, unimpressed. “Pretty much. You should've booked ahead, man.”
He wasn't even supposed to be here, is the thing. Yhan had called him to this middle-of-nowhere town to take over another fighter. A last minute replacement, he’d said, but the tickets were all booked and it was a pain to give out refunds, plus it was being livestreamed on Twitch. So Geshu Lin had boarded a bus, going only slightly willingly.
—Point is, he’s not being paid enough to care, as long as the other guy is chill enough.
Geshu Lin looks over at him. Clean-shaven, well-dressed, nice watch. Pretty, even if he looks like he works out. “You here for a conference or something?”
“Or something,” the other guy replies.
“So, how’d a famous surgeon like you end up doing what any mildly competent hack would've done for two hundred bucks? Yhan call in a favour?”
“Something like that. We served in the military together.”
“Must’ve been a helluva favour. Hard to believe he wasted it on this.”
“Let me buy you a drink.” Something unidentifiable makes him say it, but it’s not an offer he regrets making once it leaves his mouth.
Jiyan fixes him with a severe look. His hands are gentle as they press an icepack to the swelling bruise on his jaw. “You’re very nearly concussed.”
Geshu Lin’s head leans back into the dingy wall behind him. “Worth a shot.” The ringing in his ears starts to subside.
“He’s blind to his left side. Hit him from the bottom.”
Geshu Lin rolls his sore shoulder. Jiyan continues to patch him up, playing the dutiful cutman like he hadn’t spoken. “You were watching?”
“Enough to see that he’s slower to react when you approach him from the left.”
“Huh.” Geshu Lin cants his head to watch Jiyan work. “You want me to win?”
“Given how much work I’ve put into treating you tonight,” Jiyan says dryly, “that would be nice, yes.”
“So,” Geshu Lin tries. “If I win. You’ll have that drink with me?”
Jiyan raises his head. Their eyes meet and hold— Jiyan’s visibly considering it. Then his gaze flicks downward to Geshu Lin’s mouth, his bloody lip. It’s only for a split second. But Geshu Lin’s whole career hinges on reacting to split-second actions.
Jiyan exhales a short breath. “You know what, fine. What the hell.”
Geshu Lin smirks. “Now I’ve got twice the motivation. Yhan’s really getting his mileage out of that favour you owe him, doc.”
Jiyan tsks.
Geshu Lin wins, of course. Yhan calls to tell him he never had any doubt, though the old dog’s probably just relieved to be getting his cut.
Victory tastes sweet. And after a round of drinks, Jiyan, he’s pleased to know, tastes sweeter.