Chapter 410: Words So Sweet.

Chapter 410: Chapter 410: Words So Sweet.

The warmth blossoming within him feels like summer.

Not the blazing kind of today, where the sun’s touch scorches and its rays beat those foolish enough to challenge it into submission, but the sleepy kind of summer; full of lazy red evenings and clear blue days.

For someone who for so many years had known only winter, it’s both a relief and a surprise to learn that it’s even possible to feel like that.

​Khobi yawns.

​"...Getting bored of me, huh?" Loac snickers, and while Khobi easily picks up that he’s teasing, he doesn’t quite catch the strained edge to his tone.

​"Like I could," he retorts on a scoff. Loac’s gotta be more of a dumbass than he gives him credit for if he thinks there’s any chance he could ever get bored with him around.

Every damn day is a new challenge with this guy –in the ring or out of it –and just when he thinks he’s got him all figured out he finds a new way to surprise him.

​Take this, for example.

​Khobi shifts to get a little more comfortable, and flings a look back over his shoulder as best he can to settle him with a meaningful look, "...I’m gonna guess you knew about Binny?"

​Loac doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about. He shrugs –neither here nor there. "I might’ve."

​Khobi’s eyebrow twitches.

​"...Were you the one who put his name forward?" he wonders aloud. It hadn’t sounded like it had been Drogger’s idea, although he’d clearly had no reservations about it.

​"Nah, that wasn’t me," Loac replies dismissively, and lets out a long, almost regretful sigh, "I probably should’ve though. He deserves it. Him and Vogrid used to be the only ones who could catch me."

​Seriously . Like clockwork; just when Khobi thinks he’s got him all figured out.

​"...You’re an asshole, you know that," Khobi decides, and Loac makes an offended noise because he was the one who hijacked his bath. "Always pretending to be such an asshole."

​"Are you an idiot?" he drawls, butting his forehead into the back of Khobi’s head to make his displeasure known, "That doesn’t make sense.

Am I an asshole or not?"

​Scowling, Khobi wets his lips and sinks down a little deeper into the water so that his head falls slack against Loac’s shoulder. Like this he’s got a really great view of the rafters, and –if he tilts his head –an even better view of Loac’s face.

​He settles his gaze on the rafters.

​"...I haven’t decided yet."

​" Tsk ," Loac snorts dryly, and when he fidgets Khobi feels a flash of disappointment that he’s offended him enough to get pushed him off.

But no, he’s just making himself more comfortable, so that Khobi’s thick skull isn’t digging into his collarbone.

Contemplative, he leans his head into a hand; the one not currently occupied with tracing every inch of Khobi’s body. "Let me know when you figure it out."

​A snort leaves Khobi’s throat; pitching up slightly at the end as Loac’s fingers continue in their lazy ascent up his arm, leaving prickles in their wake.

It doesn’t make sense; these are the powerful hands that draw blood, leave bruises, and work beauty from a blade. How are they so gentle?

​They fall back into an easy silence.

The bathroom’s often dim but night must have finally fallen because the last rays of daylight have ceased falling in through the cracks in the shutters.

The bath’s still steaming though, so Khobi thinks it’ll be fine to stay just a while longer. Thankfully, his body’s no longer cursing him as violently; his limbs soaked pliant and loose, and soothed by the light brushes of Loac’s touch.

In his wanderings, the tip of a single finger finds the steep swell of Khobi’s bicep.

It drags a streak of water along the ridge then stays its course up and over, towards the crook of his neck.

As it reaches the edge of one of the uppermost scars marring his back, it slows.

​Then it stops completely.

​And suddenly the silence doesn’t feel quite so easy.

​Khobi’s expecting it this time, so he doesn’t flinch when the the finger turns to a thumb, then a whole hand, dragging along the knotted, criss-crossing spider web of scars he finds there.

​It doesn’t hurt. If anything the weight of Loac’s gaze is heavier than his touch.

​So much heavier .

​"...What?" Khobi finds himself saying, more to the ceiling than to Loac. It comes out on a whisper. " What ?" he says again, more insistently, when Loac’s response does, too.

​For a second there, it feels like Loac thinks better of repeating himself. But then out of the silence he hears it –

​"...Will you..." Loac swallows, voice uncharacteristically small;

uncharacteristically hesitant as he thumbs at one of the thickest scars –one that healed bad and hadn’t quite knit together quite right, "...Tell me about it?"

​Khobi’s stomach twists. Loac doesn’t need to clarify –he already knows what he means by that –but he does anyways.

​"Briyagi."

​It’s not a question he’d ever expected to hear from Loac.

A few of his friends and some of the more curious and forward of the soldiers have asked him about it.

Khobi’s always kept his answers brief and vague, because Briyagi wasn’t a nice place and even though that time of his life is over, the memories he has of it aren’t fond and are still fresh.

Looking back into the abyss feels like inviting it in, and whilst he no longer fears what he’ll find –he weathered it all before –he likes this place.

It’s peaceful, and there are people here who have become precious to him, and he won’t let the shadows of the past ruin it for him.

​If he allows Briyagi to haunt him, Silas wins.

​And he refuses to let that happen. He did what he had to do. He lived on his knees; head bowed to hide the fire in his eyes, and then he broke free of that darkness, and he won’t go back.

​But he wasn’t always that strong. He was a kid once.

A tough one, born of the mountains and the blood of the Iron Heart, but a child nonetheless. A human one, with a family who loved him.

He was scared that there were ghosts in the mountains, and he cried when he skinned his knees.

​And he was only that child when the darkness came for him. ℯ

​The early years –the years before the size of his body matched the size of his spirit –are foggier, and for as vividly as he remembers his childhood and his homeland, the day he was taken is mostly a blur.

Nor does he remember much of the journey away from Scargga. He was young, and he was hurt, and the road was long and endless.

His feet hurt, he knew that much. And his wrists had rubbed raw.

As a child he had always had a big appetite but that was the first time he knew real hunger. Little did he know at the time that it would persist for years to come.

He wasn’t the only one taken prisoner that day, but by the time he was sent away to Crade, he was the only one who was left.

​Who would want to know all that ?

​He sinks down into the water just a little deeper, and Loac’s arm automatically sinks down with him to curl around him. Not tight, just... there .

​It’s grounding. Reassuring, almost. Like it’s fine whether he answers or not.