Archive of Our Own ^beta

Norton Campbell was a determined man.

You could and people had said a lot of things about him that may or may not be true depending on who you ask and what your initial impression of him might be. 

A good employee, a try-hard, calm as the sea, a man with a mood as changeable as the weather, self-sacrificial, a selfish bastard. But something that everyone who had ever had the fortune (or misfortune, in his opinion) to meet him, universally agreed on was the fact that he was nothing if not determined. If he had a goal set out, something to work towards, something to achieve, there was nothing and no one who could possibly stand in his way - not even himself, constantly pushing his mental and physical performance to its absolute limit to get what he wants. What he deserves.

No price was too small to pay to reach his dreams, he had thought once.

Looking up at himself in the mirror, charred skin pulled into tight, grotesque wrinkles, he presses down on the scar out of habit. No feeling, only the sense of pressure on the meat and bone underneath.

At least he was still alive to feel anything at all , came a voice in his head.

Yeah , he replied to no one. At least he survived.

The letter weighs heavy in his pocket as he fixes the ascot around his neck. 

And perhaps , a wry smile pulled at his lips as he started towards his door, his days just surviving can finally come to an end.

He had but a single duffel bag worth of belongings to his name when he first stepped foot into the manor. Whatever money he had managed to save up was spent on the train ticket to get him to his destination and when that didn’t seem to be enough, with practiced skills he managed to sneak onto a cart for the last few miles of the torturously long ride. No matter, he told himself - it would all be worth it once he arrived and the games would begin. It wasn’t hard to convince someone like him to leave everything he had ever known behind with the promise that something better was waiting for him once he did so; he had no family to speak of, no estate to take care of and his friends…

Yeah. His “friends.” 

Whatever humane part of him was left tried to convince him that deep down he was going through all of this to honor the memory of those who had perished because of his all-encompassing greed, but even deeper down he knew he was doing it all for himself. 

He could feel bile rise in his throat at that, self-hatred singing the frayed edges of his heart. There were parts of himself Norton never could make peace with, his conscience bouncing to and fro like a ping pong ball between knowing what the right thing was to do and the ugly, desperate part of him that only had one wish - for his life, or whatever the Hell you can call this state of existence, to improve. And can anyone blame him? Can anyone hold that against him and tell him he was evil for wanting something more, wanting something better? 

In his battle of trying to fight the snarl off of his face, he barely even realized when it was finally his time to depart. And thinking back on it now, he notes with a pang of alarm, that he cannot truly recall how he had gotten from the train station up to the gate of the manor. Whenever he tries to reach into the depths of his memories, all he comes up with are fogged up images of trees, pictures that are blurred at the sides to the point where he is unsure whether he dreamed the entire treck or not. But what he can remember with crystal clear accuracy was the creak of the rusted gates that sounded much like a cry of protest when he pushed them open, the sound of his boots on the cracked pavement and the harrowing knock on mahogany doors that sealed his fate. 

The manor from the inside looked remarkably more put together than the outside, though it still wore the tears of a building weighed down by the ages. The wooden stairs that lead up to the second story assumedly were once polished and shining, now appeared to house a feast for a small family of termites. Underneath the loft, there stood a statue - typical of these type of rich bastards to keep things like this in the middle of their foyers, showing off their wealth and power in a weird circle jerk - which was beautiful, even to his untrained eyes, yet he could tell there were places where the folds of the drape were chipped and the marble had long lost its shine and luster. In front of the statue there was a small, wooden table that seemed to be carved out of expensive, high quality wood, yet upon closer inspection, it was leaning slightly to the left, as if the legs were damaged, and the off-red carpet underneath it was wrinkled, once-beautiful and intricate designs washed out and faded. However, he noted with surprise, the floor seemed clean, almost as if it was mopped not long ago.

So, he came to the conclusion that the other participants of these games must already be present. A theory that soon proved to be right as he heard the doors to his left swing open and a girl - or rather, young woman in what he could only assume to be a gardening outfit walked out and as soon as she took notice of his presence, immediately made a beeline to him.

The woman introduced herself as Emma Woods and had a curious manner of speech where she spoke of herself in third person. She took it upon herself to lead Norton around the strange manor. All things considered, she was not the world’s worst host and he managed to gather the gist of the situation from her explanations; there were currently about 18 people in the manor, with Norton and a woman who had arrived the previous night being the last ones to show up for the time being. He tried to prod the girl for more information about other possible guests, but Emma had no idea and he had no reason to doubt her. As far as she knew, everyone present had received a letter with a fern seal, promising them something that they desired the most if they were to come to the manor and participate in ‘the games’ and she showed her own letter to him as a sign of proof. What the mysterious baron meant by games exactly - it was anyone’s best guess. The two of them theorized aloud as they made their way through the halls of the manor; no games were held yet, so perhaps the reason was that the baron was still awaiting ‘players’ and once they deemed their numbers to be sufficient enough, that is when the real events would begin. 

Emma, he noted with a touch of fondness from somewhere deep within the confines of his dried up heart, was a very considerate person. After she showed him the essentials; kitchen, garden, laundry room and his bedroom, she bid him a cheery farewell and reassured him that if he ever had a question, she and some kind of mysterious ‘Emily’ would do their best to help him out. The exhaustion of everything that had happened finally having caught up to him, Norton simply thanked the young woman and decided to retreat into his chambers to mull everything that was told to him over. 

As he closed the door behind himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling off that he was being watched. Chalking his sudden paranoia off to the fact that he was just in a new place, in a building that was completely out of his sense of normal, he got about to unpacking his bag and getting comfortable in the room that would soon be called his. Though it was nothing grandiose, it was worlds better than what he had back at home - a bed with a frame that was actually intact, a nightstand, wardrobe, a set of drawers with a mirror and a door that he assumed led into a bathroom. Yes, all things considered, this was already an improvement to his living conditions and honestly, he couldn’t wait to finally get to sleep in a proper bed.

He knew better than to start relaxing immediately though.

No, if anything, he was more wound up than ever, pacing around in the room as he packed away his things, thoughts racing a mile a minute. The news that Emma shared with him was troublesome. He had been aware of the fact that he was being invited to play a game to win the money, but he was not expecting such a large group of people to be his opponents. 18 competitors and they were waiting on even more of them - just how many of them would there be? To get the money he was promised, to get the money he deserves, he would have to overcome each and every one of them in whatever trial they were presented with. 

This…was a fight for survival. He couldn’t be making excuses and making friends. As much as he wanted to get along with Emma, as much as it pained (but did it really though?) to possibly have to ruin even more lives to reach his goal, he convinced himself that it was a necessary sacrifice. 

Life was all about these necessary sacrifices. He was no stranger to that fact and he especially was no stranger to playing dirty. What would be one more shackle keeping him chained to the bottoms of Hell?

He had to win that money. No ifs, no buts, no compromises. The key to a life that was actually worth living was right in his reach and it would be his, no matter what it takes. 

No matter…

“So, why did you come to the manor?”

“Seriously? Right out of the gate? I thought there would at least be some kind of, I don’t know, foreplay first? I expected somethin’ more exciting.”

“Don’t be an ass and just answer the question.”

“I came here for money. Don’t need a better reason than that.”

“And you were complaining about a boring question? That is so cliche and superficial!”

“Alright then, let’s hear your magical and totally unique, never heard before reason then, good sir!”

Norton got to have his first dose of social interaction outside work in what feels like decades immediately the very next morning. Predictably, he had not slept well, tossing and turning the entire night, clinging to the little sliver of moonlight that filtered through his curtains to keep his mares away and before he knew it, the sun’s golden rays were already peeking from the horizon. Used to waking at ass crack of dawn to begin with, he figured he might as well roll with the punches and just start going through his morning routine and get a head start at exploring the manor. 

And might as well make use of the fact that now he has actual, running water in his bathroom and he doesn’t have to run anywhere so he can just stand in the shower for as long as he damn pleases.

A part of him was entirely too overjoyed about the idea of wasting a rich person’s money by running up the water bill.

He was just about ready with making himself presentable - more a force of habit than anything at this point, but also he had to remind himself that there was an image he had to keep and for that he needed a good first impression - rounding off his fake eyebrow with a few last strokes, when a knock sounded on his door. Puzzled, as he figured that he would be the only one awake for a few more hours, it takes him a few moments with a hasty call of ‘just a moment!’ to get himself to a state that he deemed acceptable and actually open his door.

Emma stood in his doorway and Norton couldn’t help the immediate pang of jealousy that flooded him upon seeing the young woman’s bright eyes and bushy tail look, as if the clock in the manor had not just struck the damned hour of 6 in the morning. Yeah, he could get ready in the mornings too, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. More of a pressing matter was the reason why she thought it was socially acceptable to knock on someone’s door so early, but after a pleasant exchange of greetings, he got his answer.

“We are going to have breakfast together!” She said in her little sing-song voice and even though she seemed awake enough, there was still an edge of that morning weariness in her tone that he could detect. But more evidently; she seemed excited at the idea of getting a new person to join them at breakfast, if he had to make a guess. When he could only respond with confusion, she continued. “By we, Emma means all the participants. It’s something we do to bond with each other! The butlers cook us three meals a day and we usually have it together. It would be a great chance to introduce you to everyone else!”

Oh boy. Just what he needed.

Oh , he corrected himself. That is, in fact, actually just what he needed.

An inherently positive set up for social interaction where he can make his first impression on everyone at once, so he won’t have to bother and set up his image to every individual one by one, and vica versa - he would get to see everyone’s faces and survey the competition in an effective and time conserving way. This was a perfect opportunity for him to get a head start in the game. He couldn’t waste it just because he was still groggy from sleep.

Not to mention…

Did he…hear that right? Butlers? Cooking for everyone? He would have an actual, well-rounded, proper meal, not just once, but three times a day? 

The admittedly sillier part of him that still clung to the good and the hopeful things in life sang at the thought. It was a kind of excitement he hadn’t felt in - in ages , really. It was a fire, but not the kind of fire he was used to; it didn’t engulf him completely, it wasn’t drowning out everything around him, reducing him to naught but an animal fighting to make it out of the inferno. No, no…it was the hearth of a cottage, tickling frostbitten fingers with gentle warmth. It was a soothing feeling, like holding a warm mug of too-bitter coffee, or standing under the warm spray of a shower, letting the pressure and heat relax your tense, overworked muscles.

He was positively giddy with excitement and it was taking everything in him to hide it. But thankfully for Norton, he was kind of an excellent actor.

Not to mention, he couldn’t let the fact that he was going to be fed normal food and not just moldy, stale scraps distract him from his goal and what he actually had to focus on. This was no time to indulge in his childish desires.

“Oh,” he replies, before plastering his face with his well-practiced, tried and true plastic smile. It could never find its place on his features, even after years of refinement such an expression still felt alien on his face - but it appears that Norton is alone in his discomfort, judging by the never-faltering grin on Emma’s face. If anything, she seems to brighten up considerably, seeing his lips curling into a smile. She doesn’t suspect a thing. Perfect. So, he continues lying through his teeth, as always. “Yeah, that sounds great Emma. I think I remember where the dining room was, so I’ll be right there in a minute ‘kay?”

The young lady, bless her heart, just nods and runs off, with a now distinct spring in her step, obviously delighted by the idea that this rag-tag group of strangers could all be friends.

Such naivety is both a curse and a blessing. Though Norton thinks himself to be the scum of the Earth, he still can’t be the one who breaks Emma’s heart in that sense. If he could have helped it, he also would’ve loved to think there is still good in this world, but alas - life sucks.

Eventually, just as promised, Norton shows up to the breakfast gathering. Much to his relief, as he steps through the door, only a few heads turn to look at the new arrival, the majority of the already present people entirely too preoccupied to even grace his presence with a greeting. This, he is used to. His presence had always been one that was meant to be overlooked and ignored and he much prefers it to situations when he is made a spectacle to be gawked at. Emma’s little gasp of surprise and consequent introduction is all the incentive he needs to turn on auto-pilot and let his instinct guide him through the motions of useless greetings, so he may focus fully on surveying his competition. 

Soon, all of them shall be nameless faces, memories crumbling under his feet as he climbs higher and higher on the social ladder. Getting attached would be a useless and ultimately harmful endeavor. He needs to be able to keep his cool, to push these people under the train when the situation calls for it. They may all have families, may all have lives outside of this game, but it matters not to him. He can’t afford to care about such details. Besides, who knows if they aren’t thinking the exact same about him? Sizing him up, looking for any visible weaknesses that they can exploit - everyone here is an opponent and he came here to win.

A chill runs up his spine and he is suddenly alert.

When he turns his head, his gaze meets that of a predator’s.

Cold, piercing eyes watch his every move as Norton settles at the table. Not much is visible of the hooded figure’s face, only those striking, storm gray eyes, like the ocean before a tsunami. They penetrate his very core, stripping him of all his carefully crafted outer layers that protected the broken man underneath and laid him out on the table for everyone to scrutinize. He felt strangely small under that stare, like this guy just knew everything there was about him despite the two of them not exchanging a single word.

There were quite a few things in life Norton hated. The rich, the privileged, the lazy, tight spaces - but one of the things he hated most was feeling like an open book. Feeling like someone could see right through him and know all his secrets from one glance, making him that much easier to manipulate. 

Not this time. Not anymore. 

He holds the man’s gaze, chin raised. They remain locked in a silent battle for what seems like ages before the shorter scoffs and returns to his breakfast.

How strange…

Maybe there is someone who will pose an actual threat to him.

When that gaze returns to him, he pays it no mind. He knows the reason why he is getting stares - the breakfast in front of him is delicious and there is so much of it , he eats as if it would be his last meal in existence. 

In the following days, the rest of the participants arrived and filled up the vacant rooms. Entirely too many new faces too fast, so Norton didn’t bother to try to remember many names - not like it would make a difference to him in the end.

With one exception, of course. 

After that…dare he call it, interaction over the breakfast table, Norton developed a sense of morbid curiosity regarding the hooded man. As far as he was concerned, that stranger was the only obstacle between him and the prize money, so naturally he had to learn everything he could about him if he wanted to go toe to toe with him, come the moment of battle. There was just something in his eyes, something dangerous that Norton knew could get him in trouble if he wasn’t careful. Knowledge was the strongest weapon he could arm himself with in this den of hyenas, so instead of mingling with others like everyone did, Norton set out on his quest to discover what he could about the manor and about the hooded man.

Emma, surprisingly, did not prove to be too useful this time. When Norton approached her in the garden - naturally, saying that he would like to help her tend to her flowers, to make her feel at ease and more willing to talk - she had little to share about the manor, the manor owner and most importantly to his current obsession, the man. All he learned from her was that his name was Naib Subedar and he was a loner, “just like you Mr.Campbell!” by her words. She was quite apologetic, sensing his disappointment that she couldn’t give him any more than that, so she pointed him towards some people who could tell him more.

While he didn’t much appreciate the idea of having to buddy-up with any more residents, it was hardly a challenge for him. He was not going to stop until his thirst for knowledge was satiated. And this could turn out to work for him in the end; the more people he got along with, the more people would support him, the easier it would be for him to win the grand prize. So really, it was just another arduous task he had to get through - and one that he had plenty of experience with already. If he could worm his way into the heart of those old, conservative and hard-ass geezers back in the retirement home, surely he would be able to sway some young, ambitious idiots who only saw him as an awkward, but well-meaning bottom feeder? 

He did his detective work diligently. As much as he loathed thinking of his social standing, he had to admit that it was a useful component in his toolbox when it came to disarming the more prejudiced, and perhaps even naive and dense guests in the manor - and it even helped him find the common ground with the less fortunate attendees, which he was surprised to find there were many of. 

It tugged at something in his heart dangerously, to be understood and understand others. It threatened to dislodge the hatred and ambivalence he wrapped himself in when nights were too cold and lonely, when boots dug into his skin and laughter met his cries for mercy. 

He avoided those people, who made him feel so strange. He knew what was happening, what could happen to him if he got too close, and there was no way he was throwing away his golden ticket to the life he had been working and destroying his body for, all because someone was nice to him. 

Information about Naib Subedar was hard to come by, so he savored every little bit of it, even if it was obvious that what was being shared was little more than someone’s weird, misguided fantasies about someone they did not understand or even feared; gossip was little better than lies, but even rumors held little nuggets of truth inside them, under layers and layers of fluff and over-exaggeration - and Norton just happened to be an expert when it came to digging for precious resources. Through grueling sessions of back and forth and one too many favors, he had managed to gather the essentials and then some; Naib Subedar was a foreign soldier, now mercenary, somewhere in his early 30s. He spoke little, was always the first one at meal times and did a lot of the chores around the manor, despite the fact that he didn’t seem to get along with anyone and that they had butlers whose very purpose was to clean up after them.

He also, apparently, did not like people standing behind him.

Norton suddenly sits up straight, the air in the living room going cold with no warning.

He turns, looking over the back of the couch where he was sprawled out, and Naib locks eyes with him, his short, stocky silhouette outlined by the setting sun.

This time, it is Norton who looks away first and he immediately starts beating himself up for it.

He feels like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Guilt was not a familiar feeling to him, not anymore at least - so as it nips away at him with renewed vigor, energetic after years of laying dormant like a great beast, Norton feels his cheeks flush in shame. Shame that he looked away, shame that he gave in, shame that the very man he had been asking after had come to find him in person. He knew - he feared he had been caught before the soldier could even announce why he was here. 

“Hey.” Naib starts, after a long pause. It is an unnecessary greeting, an empty formality and they both know that it is only being thrown out carelessly to at least pretend that they are about to have a normal conversation, and his tone gives away his apathy towards the situation. This is the first time he is actually hearing the man speak, yet he can tell that his voice fits him just fine - it is a deep, low voice, hoarse from lack of use, yet commanding attention, which would make sense for a man who had served in war. His tone however is flat, borderline annoyed. His footsteps, quiet and light and barely audible and Norton with his fucked up hearing would not have even heard if it he weren’t hyperfocused on the situation, grow closer, until he is standing directly in front of Norton. He poses his next challenge immediately with a pointed accusation.“...You’ve been asking around for me.”

Shit. Fuck.

He was hoping against all dull hopes that his initial worries that his little maneuvers had been discovered were unfounded, but the cat’s out of the bag now. Panic grips at his heart but he is seasoned enough with putting on a front to not let it show on his face. He simply looks up at the man, finally getting his first, genuine impression of his appearance.

Right off the bat, he notes with a hint of amusement that he doesn’t actually have to look up all that much to get a good once-over of him. The mercenary is shorter than most men he had met in his lifetime. His face is one made of stone in every sense of the word; from the cold, blue eyes that he had already gotten a good look at before, to his sharp jawline and defined nose and even his to expression, carefully concealed in icy neutrality. The marble of his face was chipped at the corners of his mouth in a way that reminded Norton of the Greek statues in those rich British bastards’ private collections of stolen treasures - that is to say, even the imperfections and scars on his face only contributed to his imposing presence. They fit on his face, like they always belonged there, like he wasn’t beautiful despite them, or because of them, but with them.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Now is not the time for this. He has to dig himself out of his Goddamn hole he climbed his way into .

He does as he had with the others. He smiles, just on the cusp of being sickly sweet - he dons the costume of a poor, stupid, bumbling idiot from the working class as he stumbles his way through daily interactions without the help of social norms to guide him through it. After all, who could get mad at someone who is simply trying to do their best despite the cards life has dealt them? Everyone loves a go-getter who is genuine in nature. He even goes the extra mile, letting out an awkward little attempt at a chuckle, hand coming to rub behind his neck in a clear display of embarrassment. When he speaks, his voice is unnaturally light, airy, trying to rise above the coal scraping against his vocal chords. If this stupid persona worked with that uptight french perfumer, surely it is going to have at least some sort of an effect on someone less prejudiced, right?

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just, simply, y’know - you’re a pretty intimidating person…”

Everything stands still, two guns cocked and loaded and pointed against one another.

The stench of smoke wraps around his throat.

“And you are a shit liar.”

His eyes widen and the mask cracks, disintegrating into naught but the dust of his self-assurance and idiocy. Norton stares at him, as if he was deaf, mute, dumb, or perhaps all three at once, the panic he had so carefully drowned and buried rising from its grave with a vengeance. He must look just as stupid as he feels, jaw on the floor as he gapes at the man, brain scrambling to collect whatever is left of his persona, his charm, his shield. Usually he would not be so shaken up by someone calling his bullshit out, he would not have gotten as far in sneaking into the good graces of those old miners if one person probing at his facade was all it took for his house of cards to fall - and that's what pisses him off the most, honestly. Failing at a game he thought he had perfected, a game where he had a perfect score until this fucker decided to break his streak, just because he could.

Bastard. He decides right then and there that he hates this guy. Loathes him, even. He knew he would be bad news.

And just like the beast that people say he is, a blade sharpened by war and the cold call of money, the mercenary digs his heel into the corpse of Norton's pride, merciless and unforgiving.

“Drop the act. You may be able to fool the others, but you can’t fool me.” Naib all but scoffs at him, sharp canines and even sharper tongue coated in venom brewed specifically for Norton. Somehow the man, despite the height difference being clearly disadvantageous to him, looks down at him, eyes colored by judgment. His tone drops, dragging Norton down with it and pinning him to the couch with only a few words. “If you need something, ask me directly. You wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot, would you?”

Oh.

Oh so that's the kind of fucking game he wants them to play, huh?

Norton's smile returns with no warmth. This style of smile is natural and truly his. He couldn’t deny it if he tried; it's a crooked, ugly little thing, just a slight curl on one side, tugged up by nothing but spite and envy. When he opens his mouth for a counter, his voice comes out as more of a croak than anything. It burns his own ears and he hopes, prays even, that Naib is just as disgusted by how he sounds as he himself is.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Naib’s eye narrows. Just one, Norton makes sure to note to himself.

“Is it?”

They have come to a standstill once more. 

The mercenary moves. Keeping his gaze on Norton, as if he wanted to ensure there would not be a single second where he has an opportunity to slink away, he strides over to the armchair set across the couch. He drops himself down there, legs spread, a clear attempt to fill out both the chair and the atmosphere of the room with his presence. It works, if only for a moment - because that moment is shattered when Norton thinks about all the extra effort Naib has to put into appearing bigger than he is. 

If nothing else, Norton will, at least, always have that over him. Quite literally.

After seizing each other up for a few more tense, drawn out seconds, Naib breaks the ice once more, his voice cutting through the silence like the sound of a knife being unsheathed.

“So? What have you discovered?”

He leaves little room for discussion. Although according to every single rule of syntax and human language what he just said was a question, they both knew it was anything but. Naib’s attempt at a question was little less than a demand. These meaningless words that were just husks for their true message quickly assembled themselves into what Naib was actually trying to convey in Norton’s mind; tell me everything you know right now, or I’ll make sure that you don’t leave this manor in one piece.

What a flammable person.

Good thing Norton had ample experience dealing with explosives.

He leans back, spreading his arms over the backrest of the couch, like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world that could possibly weigh him down. And really, why should he be concerned? This is the first genuine conversation he’s had since arriving here. This is the first time that he doesn’t have to care about pitching his voice up and coating his words in artificial sweetness. The first time that he doesn’t care that when he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows in a clear challenge, Naib is going to see that only one of his eyebrows moves the way it’s supposed to. The first time that he doesn’t have to care about making a good impression and hiding his rotten core. In a funny way, this interrogation that he had been so scared of ended up being quite a liberating experience for him, hadn’t it? So once again, he does absolutely nothing to hide the contempt and poison in his voice when he retorts to the other’s threat-masquerading-as-a-question with a “question” of his own.

“Why should I tell you?”

Naib leans forward, as if hooked on the bait that Norton had so kindly thrown out. He puts his ankle on his knee, regards the other with a look and yet again, shatters whatever semblance of satisfaction and security Norton could hope to enjoy for even a second.

“It’s about me. You are not losing anything by telling me about myself.”

He feels a twitch. Naib sees it and forces him to meet his gaze, trapping him completely.

Not “I already know everything there is to know about myself.” or “It’s about me so I deserve to know.”

“You are not losing anything.”

That tells him all that he needs to know. Naib, infuriatingly enough, despite all the time Norton had spent lying through his teeth, pretending to be a poor sucker and kissing everyone’s fucking asses to make sure no one would ever be suspicious of him, already has him figured out. 

The playing fields are not level. The mercenary clearly has the upper hand.

Norton has had to grovel his entire life away in tight spaces - so he is not about to take being backed into this tiny ass corner laying down.

“I propose a deal then, mercenary. ” It is entirely too late for him to stop his anger and frustration from spilling over, so he embraces it and allows it to take over the conversation. His words come out sharp, pointed, as if the very profession Naib claimed as his was too dirty to be spoken, even by someone’s mouth who spends the better part of his life digging through dirt and shit. “No, not a deal. Let’s call it a game. You strike me as the kind who likes games, yeah?”

Naib doesn’t grace him with an answer - not a verbal one, at least. He lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and tense and perhaps he even hopes that it will be heavy enough to crush Norton like a little bug. Finally, the man nods towards him, nudging him to go on.

That was a mistake on his part, truthfully. Now Norton knows that if he plays his cards right, he can drag Naib down to his level.

“I tell ya everything that I got figured out. If it’s true, then I will tell you somethin’ about myself in turn. Then we keep going until we get fed up with each other. How’s that sound?”

“Awful. I have no interest in your petulant games.”

“You asked first, soldier. Afraid that until you agree to my terms, m’ lips are sealed.”

Naib scowls, his lips twitching up to flash teeth and for a moment, Norton feels like he has finally did it, he went too far poking the tiger and now he was stuck in a cage with it, where he would be made an example for other idiots not to play with wildlife. If they were anything like Norton though, they would not listen - even now when faced with such apparent danger, all he feels is some twisted sense of satisfaction that he had gotten a reaction out of the other. He decides that if there is one good thing about Naib, then it is his sensitivity to Norton’s tests and teases. He can use this as leverage against the man, which makes him relax slightly and feel more secure going forward. 

Norton had forgotten that it always takes two to tango though.

“...Let’s make it interesting then, miner. ” The man spits at him and stands and for a terrifying moment, Norton almost feels scared. Almost , because he would never allow himself such luxuries as fear when it comes to this game of survival, but he is keenly aware of the fact that if Naib were to attack him in this very moment, Norton would be at a disadvantage. However none of his doomsday theories come to pass as instead of walking toward him, Naib pulls his hood down and sets out towards a glass cabinet that Norton didn’t even notice being there previously. He wonders about its purpose and contents for only a second before he hears a latch, the click of bottles and Naib returns to him with a bottle of bourbon in his hand and it all falls into place. “You strike me as a person who likes making things harder for himself. Instead of just giving up information, let’s ask questions. If we are unwilling to answer a question, we have to drink. Exciting enough for you?”

Oh. Oh, so that’s how it is.

Maybe this dance of theirs won’t be as bad as he had thought.

“Very. Pleasure making a deal with you, Mister Subedar.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Mister Campbell.”

And if you were to ask him about that night today, all Norton would be able to recall from the conversation would be the sweet, juicy little tidbit that feared ghurka Naib Subedar still slept with stuffed animals to this day.

The games started not long after.

At first, they had no idea the day was going to be any different than all the previous ones that they’ve spent together. They gathered around the dining table, ready to dive into another monotonous day of doing nothing, when the butlers came into the room and called for their attention, officially announcing the beginning of the first match. They gave out jugs of wine and juice and whatnot for them to enjoy along with their breakfast as a celebration, and no one thought twice about accepting it - they have been eating and drinking the staff’s cooking for the past weeks, so if they wanted to poison them, they would have done so long, long ago.

Or so they thought.

The first signs that something was wrong started appearing shortly thereafter.

The wine was too strong - is what they initially blamed it on when their words started slurring. “But that makes no sense!” a high-pitched, youthful voice would call out from across the table as the Barriere brat stood. “I had the juice, but I’m still feeling woozy!”

Could it have been the food? “ No” - Victor would knock on the table, calling attention to his untouched breakfast. He had not eaten, only had a sip of water from the pitcher, yet his sight was still going blurry all the same.

The tension in the room was ever growing, the seeds of panic blooming into full blown hysteria the longer they stayed in the dining room. Naib was the first one to stand on uneven feet, wobbling over to the double doors.

Only to find them locked.

Silence. 

One could hear a pin drop.

Norton immediately felt like throwing up.

Locked? The doors were locked? Someone clearly poisoned them, and they were trapped inside this damn room, forced to just sit around and accept their fate?

He had to leave. He had to leave .

He barely managed to push himself into a stand, his shaking arms fueled by pure adrenaline doing their best to support him, when his traitorous knees gave out underneath him.

It all went black before he even hit the floor.

When Norton finally came to, after however long, he didn’t even want to think about it - he was in a place he did not recognize.

His mind was a mess of questions. What happened to them? Who is doing this to them? What do these games mean? Where were they taken? What do they have to do here? Why? Why is this happening to him?  

The only way he could stave off the oncoming meltdown was to force all of his questions into the farthest corner of his mind and remember what he came here for - to defeat his competitors and get his money. He had to calm down and focus on finding the others. Because surely, surely there had to have been other people present and he wasn’t dropped off at this strange location all by himself. This was supposed to be a game and games are not played alone. 

The sooner he knew who his opponents were, the better he could prepare himself. 

This was the moment he had been waiting for since arriving here. In the following seconds, minutes, hours even, everything he’d done to study his peers would pay off and he’d emerge as victorious. He couldn’t falter just because the way they brought him to the arena was unorthodox. Poison or not, he was meant to win this game. The prize was his to claim.

It’s going to be okay. It had to be okay.

Time to get his head on straight and actually assess the situation. First of all, where was he? Slowly but surely, ignoring the way his joints popped at the smallest amount of stress put on them, he stood, supporting himself on a nearby wall. Immediately, as if on instinct, his eyes were immediately drawn to the sky, but what welcomed him was not the clear blue brilliance that he was expecting. Wherever they were, they were blanketed by a strange, gray air, with no sun, but also no clouds to be seen anywhere. Was it that foggy outside…? But there was no fog to be seen anywhere else, in fact, when Norton looked around, he could very clearly make out the shape of a large, circular building, lined with a fence and some tasteless statues of angels. He could only assume this was once a hospital, people loved to decorate those with angels and crosses and whatnot. Not having a better idea as to how to continue his investigation, he figured he might as well head inside.

The other players seemed to have similar ideas to him, he came to find. Trekking up the stairs, he could pick up on the sounds of a tense conversation - the voices were scared, anxious and hurried, the people clearly trying their best to put what clues they had together to hopefully figure the situation out. When he finally rounded the corner and came into the room, all their heads turned and their expressions lit up when seeing Norton, who they, for now, associated with a reliable, hard-working presence. Emma took the initiative to take him by the hand and drag him up to the strange, sputtering machine that Balsa and Gilman were tinkering away at, only to be pushed away by the inventor when the apparatus started shaking more violently in reaction to his proximity. Something about how electricity is reacting to his magnets or whatever - not like he could understand it even if he paid attention.

All he could think of at the moment was how fate really was cruel in what tests it put him through, making him sacrifice the few people who had never done anything to harm him and had actually done their best to make him feel like he was part of a community. Even when Emma and Gilman left to explore the rest of the map, they were smiling at him, full of trust and belief that he was going to do the right thing, the kind thing.

Thank God Subedar wasn’t here. He didn’t think he’d be strong enough to face him right away. The time will come, he was sure of it, but first, he had to make it out of this match as the sole victor. 

He didn’t know at the time that this was intended to be their existence for the rest of eternity. They had no idea that after this match, countless others would follow.

Everyone played like their life depended on it.

Including Norton, of course.

Which meant that he royally fucked up everything he had built up with the other survivors within minutes.

He wasn’t planning on doing it, not this early, at least. He would have been perfectly fine tinkering away at the strange line of codes and ciphers with Balsa until the last possible second, but that thing interrupted his plans.

They heard it first. A voice, strangely ethereal, dancing on the line between human and otherworldly, carrying a haunting tune across the air. 

They both still, afraid to move or even breathe, as if their bodies were suddenly launched into overdrive. Hearts hammering in an unnatural way, for a moment Norton was convinced he would faint right then and there, but the adrenaline rushing through his system kept him upright and alert. 

A shrill note.

Then they see it.

A tall, dark figure, emerging from around the same doorway Norton came through. Black hair like tendrils wrapped around a battered up violin, thin, purple lips pulled into an unnaturally wide smile and a strange, yet overwhelming feeling of danger, danger, danger.

It raises its hands, movements jerky like a puppet on a string, mimicking the movements of a conductor at one of those stupid, expensive operas and Norton panics. 

He barely hesitated, barely even thought about the consequences of what would happen - he pushed Balsa towards the creature and ran out of the building, never once looking back. Not even when he heard the young inventor scream out in pain, not even when the bells above them tolled in celebration of the first victim, not even when his legs could no longer carry him and he collapsed in a faraway corner, hacking up saliva and tar as his body struggled to keep him awake and conscious.

It’s okay. It’s fine.

Everything was fine.

Balsa was out, which left only two more to go. Then he’d be out of this trial and into the next one.

Now that he knew that this would just be a demented twist on tag, he felt a bit more comfortable coming up with a strategy as to how to proceed. He just had to avoid the thing while he was alone, call its attention when he was near someone else, decode the strange ciphers on the machines and make it out alive. Simple enough, and the magnets he’d discovered in his pockets when waking up proved to be useful to push others away from himself and give him a boost to get away from the scene of his crimes. Straightforward, foolproof, and he made it out as victorious before the guilt of what he’d done could really settle and choke him in the process.

Only problem was that when he walked through the gates and woke back up at the manor, the teammates who he had abandoned and sacrificed were waiting for him around the same dinner table where they promised they’d support each other no matter what, nursing wounds and lacerations that his selfishness had caused.

(Nevermind that everyone panicked. Nevermind that most of them also fled, ignoring their teammates’ cries for help and prioritizing their own survival. Perhaps the difference laid in the fact that while others simply ran away, Norton actively participated in their downfall.)

The jig was up. His mask lay shattered by his feet along with his dreams of a better life. Now everyone could see him for who he truly was, and many of them made it a point to let Norton know just exactly what they thought of him.

A sham. A liar, a scumbag, a fucking asshole who was unable to care about anyone else besides himself. Under the glares of the other guests, all he could do was glare back and defend himself with whatever he could. Emma refused to talk to him for days, anger clear in her eyes whenever their gazes happened to meet on accident, leering at him as if all she wanted was to burn him alive. Luca already forgot what happened to him, but a subconscious, primal part of him egged him on to steer clear of his way, flinching every time he stepped too close to him. Fiona gazed upon him with pity, as if she knew what kind of desperation was clawing at his heart, pushing to do the things he did and somehow her reaction stung the most out of them all.

They all looked at him like the little worm that he was.

Naib looked at him. Unflinching, unchanged.

It makes sense, that he wouldn't be affected by the sudden revelation. He was the only person who knew who Norton truly was, who got a chance to see behind the curtains and witness the depths of his depravity and greed.

He didn't care. When Norton got thrown into the chair, barbed wire digging into his skin, Naib would always be there, shoving his hands like a protective barrier between thorns and skin, never letting a single hiss or groan of pain through his teeth. He would hold his back to him, let blades, spikes, hooks pierce his flesh, as long as it meant that Norton would be able to run away and survive for another minute or two. He knew, they all knew that at the end of the day they would all be fine and return to the manor with the worst of their injuries healed, and yet he still went out of his way to ensure that for the time that they spent in matches, Norton wouldn’t take any more wounds.

He hated him more every day.

He hated that throwing himself between danger and these people he had never even been aware of before arriving here came so easy to him. He was reliable, truly and honestly reliable. The loner who no one dared to approach suddenly shot up as the pillar of their community and as someone who could be counted on no matter what happened. Norton wanted to convince himself that was the root of his hatred; that unlike him who ended up going from the most liked to the most hated person within the span of 20 minutes, Naib rose in popularity without even trying. And because Naib didn’t have to grovel and slobber at people’s feet to be noticed and liked, he didn’t care about it, so why should such treatment be given to someone who wasn’t even going to stop and appreciate it? Why does Norton have to be the one to suffer again, why does his work have to be ground into dust every single fucking time?

But he knew that deeper down, what he felt to be hatred was a twisted, contorted version of confusion and perhaps, disgustingly enough, admiration even. Why? Why did Naib do all this? Why was he so hellbent on rescuing and protecting every single one of them, even scum like Kreacher and Norton himself? He just couldn’t understand it, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put himself in Naib’s shoes and imagine doing the same things. There was no merit to it, at least none that he could find on his own. Naib knew more intimately than any one of them what it felt like to be pierced by every single weapon, to be shot, burnt, slashed, he’d felt all that pain, yet he was willing to experience it time and time again for the gain of others. He didn’t get it. 

To be fair, Naib also didn’t get him.

“You open your burnt up ears and listen to me, Norton Campbell,” He hissed at him once, one of the only times Naib had genuinely lost his cool with him. It was after a match, another loss, naturally, all because Norton wasn’t interested in making proper callouts so Tracy had no time to relocate before being kited into. Naib stomped up to him, grabbed his collar with an iron fist and dragged him down to look him in the eyes and in that moment, Norton really thought he was going to sock him in the face - instead, he got something possibly even worse.

“You do not get to decide who lives or dies. Just because you had a shit life doesn’t mean that you suddenly have the right to pass that bullshit to others. Shouldn’t you of all people then know how it feels to be treated like garbage? So get the fuck over yourself, and start taking this shit seriously. Like it or not, this is a team game . If you are too selfish to think about others outside yourself, then at least realize that their win is your win too. Help them survive and you’ll have an easier time too. I was nice to you, but I’m running out of patience. Pick up the pace, or next time there will be no one to rescue you.”

He knew that threat was about as empty as they come - Naib could never handle someone dying and knowing that it was on his conscience. Still, it sparked something in Norton. He was right, regretfully; the more of his teammates survived, the better chances they had at winning. It was never about the survival of the fittest. Unfortunately for Norton, he was not raised to be a team player and he had no idea how to participate in anything that wasn’t a fight for his own survival - not to mention, at the baseline his teammates had no trust in him whatsoever, so any match they headed into was an automatic 2 against 3. He had to start from the absolute rock bottom again, and he was so, so fucking tired of it at this point.

But he had to do it. He had to win. Surely winning a match - or an amount of matches was going to be key to them escaping from this hellhole. And he was pretty adept at digging himself out of holes.

Assisting Naib was his best possible starting point. He was the only one who had even an inkling of trust towards him, which was a harrowing thing to recognize. Despite everything he’d done, the man still held some sort of hope out for him, and that somehow weighed heavier on him than his actions during the very first match he participated in, but damn it all, if Naib wanted to give him a challenge, then he’d fucking rise to it, like he always had.

During their next match together, he drastically changed his approach. He kept a close eye on where all his teammates were from the start; that Brand kid was doing his best running around the church grounds, dodging tentacles with a strange finesse; Kreiss was working on his own cipher towards the red carpet, his quiet, but nevertheless angered grumbling coming through their devices every now and then; and Naib was doing his best decoding right next to the church doors, clearly having positioned himself in a way that he could run to the rescue as soon as possible. Which turned out to be rather soon, as a bell that they had all now gotten awfully familiar with rang through the arena, signaling that Florian had fallen, being caught off guard on a window.

Rescues against Feaster were particularly difficult. This was the perfect opportunity for Norton to show what he can do for a team.

He could do it…he was going to do it.

God, why was this so much difficult than fucking people over?

The little ping coming through their communication devices pushed Norton to action. Naib had sent out the message that he would start moving in so he had to get going too, if he wanted to meet the mercenary before the chair. He knew that, so why was it so hard for him to move? Why did his legs suddenly feel like a thousand goddamn pounds?

He couldn’t act like this. Not now. Not when it finally mattered.

He gives his cheeks two good slaps, and sets off.

The gravel crunches under his feet as he runs all the way from graveyard to the church, by now having enough experience maneuvering the area that he knows if he approaches a cipher, his magnets will react to the metal and give him a good push to make the trek quicker. Florian was taking a while to be strapped in, which could only mean the worst; Feaster was dragging him all the way down to the basement, the most feared and detested location by the survivors. Norton curses under his breath at this sick twist of events - figures that the one time he is trying to do something nice to prove he’s not just some gum stuck on the sole of Naib’s boot, he has to do so under the most difficult circumstances possible. The stakes just couldn’t possibly get higher, huh?

By the time Naib’s figure is within his peripheral, crouched right behind the supporting beam between the pews, the mercenary is already aware of his presence, his head turned towards the entrance and cold eyes following his every move. He frankly looks baffled, offended even that Norton dared to show his face at such a critical moment, but he knows better than to start yelling at him. Instead he waits, his hand curling into a fist as it rests against the wall, and only opens his mouth to hiss at the miner once he too is on his knees next to him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Norton hesitates for a moment, instinctively already contracting his vocal cords to pitch his voice up, as if his body had already been hard wired to lie and was unable to operate in any other way. He clears his throat, forcing his hindbrain into cooperation as he tries to slide closer to the mercenary, keenly aware of the sharp gaze keeping track of even his smallest gesture.

Breathe in, breathe out. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. It had to be.

“This guy sucks to rescue from, no? Let me lend a hand.”

Naib starts to cut him off, but his mouth remains open, unable to form a single coherent sentence for a few seconds. His eyes are wide, looking at Norton, then at around themselves, as if looking for the culprit who set this prank up, but upon finding no one, they return to the miner. The confusion is palpable on his face and it almost makes Norton feel like he should just forget this whole fucking thing and run back the same way he came from. Being the professional that he is, the mercenary only allows himself a very short time to gawk, before his face hardens again, his hand reaching back towards his belt for - something. Norton can’t see it from his angle and he knows better than to look.

“Norton Campbell, suddenly feeling like being helpful? I don’t buy it. What’s your goal?”

All of them were allowed to bring one item into the natches with themselves, almost like a token of good faith from their host. Some of them carried with themselves precious memorabilia from their previous lives, like anchors to help keep them grounded and calm during these twisted games of tag. Norton used to ignore this choice given to them, entirely too focused on winning to spare even a single thought for such frivolous, surface-level comforts - however after a while, he had started bringing one of his ambers with himself, figuring he might as well. And after so many matches, he had inadvertently started taking notes of what each survivor brought with themselves; the embalmer would pin a little blue mandala on his shirt, that postman would always have a dog toy on him for his postdog, and he doesn’t remember the last time he had seen Kreiss without that paraffin lantern hanging from his belt.

He briefly remembers that Naib too, would bring something to the matches with him. He never got a good enough look at it to know what exactly it was, but he swore, sometimes he could catch the gleam of a blade whenever the mercenary ran in for him.

Was he reaching for his-?

“God just - c’mon man, I have a plan. We can both get away from this without injuries.”

The man glares at him.

He was just fastening a new pair of arm pads on.

Norton feels his heartbeat in his throat.

Time stops for a moment as the two hold each other's gazes, neither of them willing to back down. Naib sizes him up, glancing off towards the basement and the purple tentacles extending up from the stairs, then back at Norton and the magnet clutched in his fist. He can’t even begin to imagine what could be going through his head in that moment; perhaps he is cursing Norton out for making his job so much harder, maybe he is planning how he is going to push him down the stairs and into Feaster’s loving arms the first opportunity he gets so he can make a clean rescue, or maybe even he was planning out all the ways Norton could fuck this up and how he would have to balance out his failures.

His questions are never answered, because in the end, all he gets is a firm, curt and straight to the point warning.

“...You have one chance. Don’t mess this up.”

And they were off, just like that.

He was greatly disturbed by how well the two of them worked together, even with minimal communication. Norton’s incessant people-watching made it so that he had enough information on how Naib liked to go about his rescues that he didn’t need any direct commands from the man on how to help. As if his body was carried by pure instinct, his steps fell in line with the soldier’s immediately. Their timing was impeccable. Norton ran in first, drawing Feaster out far enough that his magnet could attach to him without too much of an issue. He immediately turned tail, jumping around the tentacles as they writhed in an attempt to strike him and just as he got behind the wall, there was a click - in that very moment, as Feaster was soaring towards the wall, led by the polarity of the magnets, Naib bounced off the nearest pew, weaving around the obstacles like a lightning strike. Before the hunter could gather himself, Norton was right there, chucking another one of his magnets, this time pinning the monster against the same pew Naib launched himself off of. 

The two men made it up the stairs unscathed, Naib going one way and Florian the other, forcing Feaster to split his attention between the three potential targets. With Florian’s inflatable ball blocking one entrance and Naib, having used another armpad, already being halfway across the map, the choice was obvious - it was Norton’s turn on the chopping block.

Really, he should have accounted for this and ran when he had the chance. Unfortunately, he was entirely too preoccupied when he saw Naib rushing up the stairs and any and all higher thoughts flew right out of his head at the sight of the mercenary.

He was smiling.

Naib was smiling at Norton.

A small, but proud, beaming little thing. Sincere in every sense of the word.

He soon realized that his cavalcade of anger and confusion towards the mercenary started developing a new, dangerous third facade. One that he was unwilling to tackle or admit to himself, even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

“Why do you do this? Do you think you are actually helping with this bullshit? All yer doing is making softies like Clark and Reznik panic over whether they’ll have to watch ya bleed to death again.”

“It’s better me than them.”

“The Hell are you talking about?”

“Oh come on Campbell, the fact that I am still here, talking to you, is a goddamn miracle. I shouldn’t have been able to leave service in one piece.”

“...So what, you’re just gonna try ‘n get yourself killed here?”

“It’s not that I’m trying to die, just…if it happens, it happens. And I might as well save another life by doing it.”

“Using us to satisfy some kinda martyr-complex? You’re so fuckin’ selfish.”

“Like you have any right to say that to me!”

It starts small.

It’s like the first signs of a sickness, the symptoms you ignore for days - a headache that you try to sleep off, a sore throat you try to chase away with honey-sweetened tea, a clogged nose you try to remedy by keeping your face over boiling water for a few minutes, then you’ll be as right as day, good to keep working, only for it to get worse and worse until you literally can’t get out of bed. Struck down by a fever, red hot, sweating buckets, without the slightest idea of where you are or who you are even. 

The way Naib looks at him. The way he looks at Naib. It changed. He’s not sure why, not sure how, but it changed. A slight tilt, a thin film pulled over the lens, coloring every interaction they have.

Neither of them were what people would call extroverts, or even remotely friendly. They were completely content to keep to themselves, be silent bystanders in a conversations, only chip in if they had something important to say that they thought others would like to know as well, and even then in their deliveries they were blunt, straight to the point, often times borderline rude even with their closest of companions. Perhaps it was this that opened up the theoretical door to each other, an invitation for the two to forget first impressions and become closer. Not even - because those awful first impressions were the building blocks upon which their familiarity was built. It was a silent understanding, both men knowing what the other went through without needing to hear the details. Trauma was funny like that. It breaks something deep inside you and it only makes sense that broken people find each other, right?

Much to his horror, Norton often found himself seeking the mercenary’s company above everyone else’s - and not for the reasons he sought other residents. It wasn’t for information, it was for his own amusement, which was a strange thing to admit. They didn’t have to talk to have a good time and that was something he really appreciated on his worst days, when he felt like he was a single word away from an explosion. He could always rely on Naib’s somber calmness to bring his nerves down and offer him something to cling onto until his feet touched the ground again - and Norton too in turn often lent a shoulder for the once-soldier to lean on. 

Though most of their time together was spent in comfortable silence, they often talked too. Norton could hardly believe the kinds of things he had ended up confessing to Naib while sipping a glass of whiskey, pathetically nursing their wounds under the gentle light of the moon. 

“I want to go to the theater,” Norton said once, expecting the worst. “I want to sit with those rich bastards just once so I can watch a play as it’s supposed to be watched.”

But the laughter, the scorn, the disgust never came.

Naib just smiled, that crooked, yet ever-so-warm smile of his.

“When we get out of here, I will take you to a play. Any play you want, I’ll buy you a first row ticket.”

And as it appears, tonight would be another one of those nights when loose lips would let fall to too many well-kept secrets.

Darkness had fallen over the manor after yet another, tortuously long day. His muscles ached, his bones protested to any movement at all. And today had been one of the better ones too, with only having to rely on Emily to patch up one of his arms and get a good scolding to take it easy for the night. His companion, however, was looking worse for the wear, as per usual. A purple bruise blooming on his cheek, wrapped in gauze as far as the eye could see and his left arm was resting in a makeshift sling after he pulled it during a particularly rough fight for escape earlier. The worst of their wounds would always disappear when leaving matches, but depending on the outcome, they would still have to tend to their less serious traumas themselves.

The injuries were one thing though, something that both men had been used to even prior to their participation in these games. No, what was particularly new about this arrangement, was the sheer fact that they could now find solace from their pain in each other. Agony and discomfort was not something Norton was ever willing to share with others, much less rely on them for aid. But with this guy…it was far too easy. Dangerously easy.

Naib was talking to him. 

He, regretfully, wasn’t sure about what anymore, suddenly entirely too preoccupied with detangling whatever is happening in his brain. A part of him felt remorseful that this meant Naib’s words were going in one ear and out the other - but that remorse too, was part of the problem. Suddenly he found himself treasuring whatever the mercenary decided to share with him, be it genuinely meaningful, deep insights about his life before the manor, or completely and utterly useless blabber about how he could most definitely beat Norton in arm wrestling.

He did not doubt him, truthfully, but he always relished in an opportunity to rile Naib up, so he would profess that he could never, until the day that it finally happens. Even then, Norton would most definitely swear up and down that he cheated, so really, Naib would lose regardless of the outcome.

But back to his current dilemma, he had no idea when this change happened. When they first met, he took great joy in ignoring the man and letting his dumb scolding roll off his back and make him repeat himself until he went blue in the face. Even now, he enjoyed teasing the man immensely, but he had to admit to himself that his approach to doing so had changed drastically. No longer was he looking for obvious gaps in his armor that he could poke through to stab at tender flesh; their rivalry was a great beast that had been tamed to better resemble a playful dog that tugged at your sleeves and refused to give up the ball during fetch. It was lighthearted, but he would not dare to call it gentle, nothing about Naib or himself, especially, is gentle, but it was softer. Easier to stomach. 

There was trust between them, definitely. Trust unlike any that Norton had ever experienced before.

And something else too. Something that Norton did not dare grace with a name and therefore give it more power. It was already strong enough to hold his thoughts hostage during lonely nights; when it seemed that the dark was too encompassing, when his candle was burning too close to the bottom, his mind would always wander to the mercenary and no temper tantrum could make his thoughts derail from the man and just - just everything about him.

His silky brown hair, that had started looking healthier the longer they spent in the manor. It would peek out from under his hood sometimes, tantalizing Norton to step closer, forget the status quo between them and tuck it behind his ear.

His hands that bore the scars of a life of war and sacrifice, hands that were so warm and strong that all he wanted to do was rub his face into his palm like some sort of demented animal who never knew affection. Those hands that saved so many, Norton couldn’t help but wonder if they could save someone like him too.

His blue eyes, that were so striking, the color of the great grand sky, the color of freedom after spending hours upon hours in the belly of the earth. Sometimes he felt that he could only breathe when those eyes were peering at him, shining in all their brilliance. At this point, he barely remembers what they looked like the first time they fell on him, sharp, cold and cruel - nowadays, Naib only ever looked at him with something so, so soft and tender that it would break something new in him every single time.

And his smile. God, his smile.

Whenever he thought of his smile, he swore he could see his candle burning brighter, as if relit by a mysterious fire.

Naib didn’t smile often, so every single curl of his lips was a sight to be treasured. It was a breathtakingly brilliant thing, all white teeth and warmth. He couldn’t get enough of it. Every time it happened, he felt like an explosion had been set off in his gut and he would have to struggle to put himself back together and pretend he wasn’t affected in the least by such a gorgeous sight.

He was pathetic. Truly and honestly pathetic.

His crush - God damn it, it was a crush - was a useless waste of his energy that he could be spending on a myriad of other things. That’s how he tried to console himself, at least, so he wouldn’t have to face the obvious questions. 

Would his feelings be returned? Would Naib ever even entertain someone like him, who he knew was irreversibly broken at best and a selfish bitch at worst? 

The answer was obvious, had been obvious from the start, so admitting it never hurt him too deeply.

Naib nudges him on the shoulder then, clearly trying to call his wandering attention back to the present. He’s smiling at him again, with those shining eyes, full lips and flushed cheeks.

Norton smiles down at him, crooked teeth and black eyes, pulling away from the hand poking at him.

It’s not going to happen.

Every time they kiss, it tastes different.

The first time Norton’s lips meet Naib’s, he tastes of metal and rage.

Blood smears between them in lieu of lipstick, but red stains trickle down their jaws either way. It is not the appropriate time nor place for a first kiss, their clothes torn and covered in grime as they are pressed up against the dirty wall in one of the many abandoned rooms of White Sand Street Asylum. He has a hand fisted in Naib’s collar, pulling him up to his level, and the mercenary rewards such transgression and clear dig at his height by scraping his nails down the back of Norton’s neck and across the exposed skin of his side where his shirt is already torn off, hoping, wishing for it to leave angry red marks. Just as angry as he was, just as angry as they both were. Stubborn perfectionists that they are, it is always, always easier to blame someone else for mistakes that they made, and they both had their favorite people to blame right where they wanted them; within punching distance.

Naib had messed up when he ran in to rescue Kurt, experienced hands somehow getting tangled in barbed wire and leaving his back wide open. Norton cruelly nips at his lip in punishment, pulling him even closer, shamefully careful of the large wound that the spike left in Naib’s back after he pulled it out. Naib retaliates, teeth clacking against each other, fueled by how Norton, carelessly, perhaps even selfishly led Wheel to the poor, unassuming Helena at the start of the match, kickstarting the downfall of their entire team. He wholly blames him for it, even though he willingly left his half decoded cipher to rush to the scene when the man was about to go down, jumping between the hunter and Norton to take a hit that would have definitely killed him. 

Adrenaline was still soaring through their veins, each heartbeat pumping more blood into their gaping wounds that they would then proceed to lick up, warm tongue against cheek, only to mash their lips together, again and again. Naib writhed under his hands, breath labored and nostrils flared. A squeeze and a yank at his shirt was not enough to settle him - if anything, Naib took that opportunity to twist himself, relying only on his core strength to push Norton to the floor instead, pinning those dastardly hands to the floor so he could have his fill of the miner’s lips without any further distraction. Norton yells, squirms, calls him every name in the book, but his threats have little value when he does nothing to actually throw the other off of himself. Like two wild animals fighting for their territory, like two comets plummeting towards certain doom.

Norton is so stupid. Naib is so stupid.

They are just perfectly stupid for each other, aren’t they?

The second time they kiss, Norton is met with the bittersweet and familiar sting of whiskey.

They never talk about their feelings, not the ones they have towards each other, at least. The kiss they shared is never brought up. Any consequent kiss after that meets the same fate, lost in the graveyard of their memories and regrets. At least, that’s what Norton assumes. He assumes Naib regrets kissing him, talking to him, meeting him. He assumes that any contact or interaction with him is colored by the regret of having to put up with his demeanor, of having to navigate the minefield that is a conversation with him, of having to listen to his labored breathing and failing lugs, of having to breathe the same air as him - the regret of thinking that he was just another tortured soul who needed some understanding and encouragement to come out of his shell and join the rest of society in being a normal person. Everyone he had ever met and attempted to be genuine towards disliked him and cast him aside once his usefulness had reached its limit. So why would Naib be different?

Why would he be different, when the only time he wants to kiss him is when he wants to punch his lights in - or when they are too drunk to even remember it all tomorrow?

He wasn’t entirely stupid - he knew they were, at the very least, fond of each other enough to be considered close friends. That’s where the line was drawn in the sand. That’s all they would ever be. Norton though, he was notorious for never having enough of anything. He was the host of a terrible, bottomless darkness, a hollow pit that no human could ever hope to fill in their lifetime. He wanted more. He wanted Naib, all of him, and then some more. He wanted Naib to need him too. A disgusting, whiny and weak little part of him wanted Naib to sink down to his level. He wanted to carve a hole in him, leave a matching void in his heart that would connect them forevermore and lock them in an endless loop of mindlessly chasing satisfaction through each other. He didn’t love right, couldn’t love right. He only knew how to take and take and then take some more.

Naib didn’t deserve someone like him. Someone so fundamentally broken and wrong, evil in the purest sense of the word, good will twisted into jaded hatred and ill intent. 

Naib, someone so good, who shined golden even with blood caking under his nails.

Naib, someone who knows what love is supposed to be, who is loved and cherished by others, who has friends and family waiting for him on the other side of the world.

Naib, who is now sitting so pretty in his lap, legs wrapped around his midriff in a vice grip. 

When they pull away for air, breaths burning with a sickening sweetness, he can make out the shape of the mostly empty whiskey bottle that they left on the table and the two glasses that they gave up on using very quickly, instead resorting to just chugging straight out of the bottle. It was just like them, dirty, rude, unrefined, unacceptable. They did not care for the taste of it, nor did they stop for even a single moment to savor its aging or undertones, they never did. There were too many demons to drown in that golden current, too many memories they wanted to erase from their minds once and for all, too many wounds to soothe. Despite their reputation amongst the others, of them being able to achieve anything that they set their minds to, one led by martyrdom and the other by greed, they too were disgustingly human and needed the liquid courage to face whatever was awaiting them in the shadows tonight. 

There is a whisper against Norton’s lips, something that sounds suspiciously close to “I love you” , so he takes another swig and licks into Naib’s mouth, hoping to stop him from making that mistake again.

The third time they kiss, the salt of tears crystalized on their lips binds them together. 

Norton's true colors paint an ugly visage, the portrait of a man reveling in viscera and greed, and Naib was his blind admirer, running fingers over the divets carved by oil paint and gore, feather light, careful, doting. But Norton was just as guilty of being an ignorant devotee, letting rose colored glasses tint old blood a blushing pink, decorating Naib as one would pretty porcelain. 

They never say it aloud. They never talk about it. Deep down, in their true selves, neither of them were especially talkative. Norton could run his mouth for hours, weave great promises and come up with compliments by the thousands as long as it got him what he wanted. Perhaps that’s why in such a sacred moment, dirty little tricks and blood stained weapons had no place between them. It’s just Norton, eyes black as the soot that permanently discolored his insides with rubble and envy, curled around a body too warm and too precious for someone like him to get his hands on. It’s just Naib, a mockery of a man who is more weapon than person, stitched together again and again not because someone cared for him, but because he had to be , clasping too cold hands in his own and pressing them against his face and chest. 

It’s almost like a prayer, a plea.

Can you feel it? My heart thundering?

He kisses at the back of Naib’s neck, pulling him closer.

It’s warm. You’re warm.

There’s a chuckle, barely disguising a sniffle.

Naib rarely cries. Norton wouldn’t say he never does, even though that is a pretty popular misconception that others have of the mercenary, which he actually used to believe too - it is not hard to do so, with his unshakeable composure and iron will, most would believe that a man of his character would never allow himself such a weakness as crying. 

But Norton knows better. He now knows the tears that fall from his eyes are not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the depth of his passion, to the goodness of his character. 

And he would never, ever dare to make Naib feel like he is not allowed to be vulnerable around him. Seeing Naib Subedar cry was a privilege that no one besides him could profess to have. Because it was a privilege. To be trusted so deeply that he was willing to be overwhelmed with his emotions and allow himself to succumb to them, all because he knew Norton would be there to hold him together, it was the greatest achievement of his lifetime. He wished he could collect every little tear into a bottle, so he could remember every single time Naib was willing to fall apart in his arms. It would be his little private collection of pearls, worth way more than any necklace adorning the necks of the nouveau riche. He was a pretty crier too; by God's, everything this man did was a work of art. 

He wasn’t sure why Naib was crying tonight though. It could be a number of things, really. A nightmare, chronic pain, exhaustion - anything. He has yet to tell him, but he is in no rush to know. If Naib thinks that he should be made aware, he will tell him, he trusts him on that. 

Seems that he wouldn’t have to wait for long though.

Naib is moving, slithering out from the space between his arms. He turns, pressing his palm on Norton’s chest, at first just to rest it there, soaking in the moment where they are reminded that both of their hearts were still beating. He gives a push then, just a gentle encouragement, but it catches Norton off guard enough that he doesn’t have the time to protest or question it, and his back hits the mattress with a soft thud. When he opens his eyes, Naib is above him, his hair falling around them like a curtain, protecting the two of them from whatever may be going on in the outside world right now.

He’s beautiful, Norton can’t help but note. It’s not the time nor place for it (well, he would argue the bed is the perfect place for such talk, but he digresses) so he keeps his mouth shut, and waits.

When he speaks, his voice is nothing like the commanding ex-soldier that they all have gotten familiar with. It’s a weak, stuttery little thing, like a fletchling who hasn’t quite figured out how to fly yet.

“Why won’t you say it?”

It all clicks in that moment.

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

The serene air is sucked out of the room, replaced by an overwhelming tension that’s pressing insistently on Norton’s chest, making his heart squeeze in a way that borders on physically painful.

He knows it's his fault. Most everything wrong with their relationship is his fault - or at the very least, he chooses to blame it on himself. It’s easier to deal with it that way, he already knows he’s rotten to his very core, so what’s another good thing that he potentially ruined? But perhaps that’s the thing that scares him into silence; he doesn’t want to ruin this. He knows they are floating in an undefined limbo, dating but not quite, partners but not really and all it would take is three little words to destroy all of it. He had to admit it, for Naib’s sake, that he was scared to make the jump. Too many things could go wrong, there was too much for him to lose. 

If he let himself have this, he would surely destroy Naib in the process. He would drain him for all he’s worth and ruin him for whoever was going to love him next. And the worst thing was that he wanted to do just that; whenever their relationship would go up in flames, he wanted Naib to carry his fingerprints on his bones, like a scar that would never heal, to have his memory be a parasite gnawing away at his heart and for himself to be the only cure.

He didn’t know how to put that into words in a way that wouldn’t piss Naib off though. So he settled on the only thing he could say.

“I can’t.”

Despite his intentions of sparing Naib’s nerves, his brows still drew together into a frown.

“Are you scared of me?”

It’s like a cold shower washing over him. Him? Scared of Naib? The man who constantly holds his neck out for him? Who treats him as a person with actual value, who takes his shit personality and shittier behavior in a stride? The man who saves Norton from himself every single day? He rather throw himself into a rocket chair as a volunteer than let Naib feel like that for even a second.

“No…not you. Never you.”

Naib’s eyes narrow in a way that is familiar to Norton - he’s studying him, taking everything Norton has given him and instead of waving it all off as the blabbering of a madman, he sits down with them like the separate pieces of a jigsaw and he won’t give up until he completes the utter shitshow of a puzzle that is the miner’s feelings. Sometimes he really resents how much patience he seems to have for him, knowing that Norton could never conjure up even a fraction of that in turn - towards Naib, perhaps, but never towards himself.

“...Are you scared of yourself?”

The silence is all the answer he needs.

Something resembling a smile breaks out on Naib’s face, but it is not a happy smile. It’s one of those smirks that Norton especially can’t stand, because it makes him look like he knows something about him that he himself doesn’t, like Naib understands him despite his failures to ever explain himself in a coherent manner. It’s as sad as it is mischievous, a strange mixture of emotions that only Naib would be capable of experiencing.

He gets it. He picks the words straight out of Norton’s brain, like he found the little burrow Norton carved out just for him and moved right in, just so he could understand what he was feeling without needing Norton to articulate it. 

But just because he gets it, doesn’t mean he’ll tolerate it.

“Norton. If you are going to love me, then you better love me with everything you’ve got. I won’t settle for less. You won’t break me. And even if you do…”

There is a hand on the base of his throat, hot and heavy and it makes every single muscle in his body seize up. Not in fear - but in anticipation. This was a position that was intimately familiar to the both of them and Norton's body was reacting to it subconsciously, and perhaps the other knew this well enough, if his next actions were anything to go off of. Naib shifts his weight, lowering himself to sit on Norton’s waist, squeezing him between strong thighs and his blood could not decide between running too hot or freezing in his veins - carnal desires always ran rampant between the two of them and for a moment, Norton fully believed that they would once more resort to such primal tactics to avoid having to confront their emotions head on.

Naib’s words hang in the air, anticipation growing as he leans down, until his eyelashes are tickling Norton's cheek, until whatever Naib breathed out, Norton would breathe in. 

His eyes glew in the dark, like the North star, beckoning him towards something warmer, something kinder, something like home. Drawing his thoughts back to shore, reminding him that the conversation is far from over - Naib’s hand slips further up his neck, until rough hands were gripping too warm his cheeks, forcing him to keep the eye contact until the mercenary was done with him.

“You’ll fix me, just like how I do to you when you fall apart. Glue me back together and leave your trace between my pieces. That’s what I want. Do you understand now, or do I have to dumb it down for you so it gets through your thick head?”

Dear God.

He wants to.

He wants, wants, wants so badly.

It’s killing him.

Holding himself back like this was destroying him. He wanted Naib. All of him, all to himself, right now and forevermore. He wanted them to go down together in a brilliant explosion, to give in to temptation and destroy each other for anyone that may come after them. 

And Naib wants him too.

Naib wants him to admit it. He was tired of waiting for him on the other side and wanted him to finally, finally make the leap and meet him there.

He’d do anything for him.

Norton nods, rendered silent by the air sizzling between them. He somehow finally finds enough of his braincells to get his body moving the way he wants it to; his hands move, up the scarred skin of strong thighs, dragging over a thin waist and spending too much time rubbing little circles into the tense muscle where his shirt rode up a bit too much, worshiping every single inch that he’s allowed to touch. Briefly he recalls a time that Naib did not even let Norton near him during matches, when all the miner wanted to do was to wrap his bleeding wounds in gauze so he could last until they made it out, but Naib would never let his hands near him. He would tear the medical supplies from him and tend to his wounds himself.

Now, even as Norton’s hand was hovering around Naib’s neck, his stance remained unwavering, unflinching. He even leaned into it, pushing his nape into his hold, so Norton could twirl the little baby hairs around his fingers just the way he liked it. He let Norton cup his face, let his thumbs stroke over his cheekbones, coming close enough to his eyes that his lower lashes brushed the very tips of his fingers. 

Naib would let him do anything. But when Norton moved to tug him down, to close the remaining space between them, however small that may have been, his body tensed in protest. Before he could voice any complaints, Naib’s voice, strong as it cut through the air, commanded his attention one last time.

“Say it. I want to hear it. You have to say it, or I won’t believe you.”

Norton swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling entirely too dry. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t get rid of it, no matter how much air he gulps down. His stomach was rolling and twisting and for a moment, he was afraid that he would throw up right then and there.

The last hurdle.

His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

“I love you.”

It’s quiet. Borderline inaudible, made worse by how his voice quivers on every syllable.

Naib tilts his head, lips pulled into a dastardly smile.

“You love me?”

He heard every word. He is just tormenting him.

The moment passes. The numbness melts out of his limbs and his heart stops hammering.

Norton huffs, brows furrowing as he starts pinching at Naib’s cheeks. The man only laughs, a boyish, carefree laugh as he drops himself down on the miner below him, letting all his weight press into his body. His arms wrap around the taller’s neck, pulling them closer, closer still, until their lips meet in a kiss that is too wet not to notice. Norton startles immediately, pulling their faces apart and watching in confusion how the moonlight sparkles across Naib’s face, catching in the pools of his tears. The mercenary only looks down at him, gesturing for him to check his own face before making any judgements; to his absolute horror, as he lets go of the beautiful face above him and drags a finger along his own cheek, he finds his face tainted by tears he didn’t notice he started shedding. His face burns from shame, embarrassment, guilt - and he forces it all down.

He meets Naib’s eyes of his own volition, without having to be held down and coaxed. The mercenary quirks an eyebrow at that, as if daring him to continue, and continue he does, croaking through the tears, the pain and fear.

“I love you Naib Subedar.”

He makes the leap, and seals their fate.

Naib lets out a sigh, disgustingly fond and tired. With that sigh, all the tension seems to leave his body at once. His shoulders sag, his body pressing even tighter against Norton’s, like the only thing keeping them from completely melting into the same being were the layer of clothes between them. It is probably the most relaxed he’d ever seen him in all the time that they’ve known each other. He looks frighteningly human like this, with flushed cheeks and shiny, puffy eyes, with dark lines and imperfections. He cranes his neck, sealing their lips together into another kiss; soft, salty and chaste, but exactly what they needed.

“You made me wait long enough for that.”

“When did ya have your first kiss?”

“Haven’t had it.”

“What? Are you serious? Is that not how soldiers relieve their stress or whatever the fuck?”

“How old are you, 15? Still listening to rumors?”

“Is it not?!”

“God you fucking- you think any of the British wanted to kiss me of all people? Dumbass. When did you have your first kiss then, huh?”

“...Don’t remember, actually. Probably early. It was a prank by the other teens at the mines.”

“Huh…children are cruel. That barely counts as a first kiss. Then, the first relationship?”

“Never had one.”

“What a surprise. Can’t imagine why.”

“What can I say, I’m just holdin’ out for true love.”

This…this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Norton sits in the impromptu medical bay that Dr. Dyer, Dr. Mesmer and he put together throughout the months (how many months has it been? A year already? Two? Three?) they had spent here in the manor. The stool he pulled up to sit on is uncomfortable, way too small for him as he hunches, leaning his weight on his uninjured arm as the other rests on the bed in front of him, a smaller, colder, rougher hand clutched in his.

It’s bad. It’s all so horribly fucking bad and he doesn’t know who he can blame but himself for being weak, for not being able to follow the rules he had set for himself. It was supposed to be a simple fucking ordeal - get in, ignore everyone else, put on that same goddamn plastic smile he had plastered on his face for the better portion of his life so people at least think he’s a nice dude, get the money then get out. A dog would’ve been able to do as much, prance in with tail a-wagging, get the treats then leave the same way he came from. It was that fucking simple.

Yet here he was. Here he goddamn was , his mind a raging battlefield of panic, regret and this sticky, heavy feeling that he can only describe as the horrible taboo that is love. The man laying still like a corpse in front of him had practically flipped his life upside down, everything he’d ever known was being taken into question. Norton keeling over before he got his just deserts had always been his biggest fear, and now he didn't even want to think about a life where he didn't have Naib by his side. Shit, he'd probably go right back into that fucking mine and see if he could blow it up on himself again.

This was terrifying. He hated it. He hated the vulnerability that came with loving someone. This just proves to him that he had been doing the right thing, forgoing developing a single meaningful relationship with his coworkers. 

But if you were to ask him now if he would be willing to give Naib up, he would probably punch you in the face for even daring to entertain that idea.

He couldn’t let go of him now, not when his heart beat to the tune of Naib’s whistling. This man had completely rearranged his brain, leaving his fingerprints even in the deepest corners of his mind - he could damn near hear him even now, scolding him for just sulking around, when he could be doing a number of other, more useful things. When they were in matches, the phantom of the mercenary would follow him around, encouraging him to do more, to be better and he would , every time he would push himself to the limit to support his teammates, to run in for rescues when no one else volunteered, to do his best to be someone others could rely on; he would do it all just so when he got out, Naib would welcome him with a “good job” and a smile, pet his head and it was absolutely fucking pathetic but he soaked it up each and every time. 

No one has ever been proud of him before. After hours spent in the belly of the earth, tainting his body with coal from the inside out, all he’d ever get were demands to go deeper next time. Naib would be happy he even tried. He wanted to make him happy. Norton wanted them to be happy together.

It was such a childish dream of his, being happy with someone, that is. He remembers clearly, when he was still a young boy, laying on the cold bed in his father’s clothes that he had yet to grow into, staring up at the ceiling and dreaming; dreaming of what he will do when he starts earning good money. 

(Hah, yeah. Because there used to be a time he thought he would actually have enough money that he could save. Good times.)

They weren’t grandiose dreams, really. He never yearned for much. A roof over his head that didn’t leak during rainstorms, a mattress with no holes, fresh bread that was still warm and fluffy - the simple life. However, sometimes, he allowed himself to daydream of things much bigger, things that he felt were out of his reach even back then. Things like meeting a pretty lady or handsome man, who would look at him and see a person, instead of a tool for exploitation. Who wouldn’t shy away from touching his dirty hand or listen to his dirty mouth. Who he wouldn’t mind falling in love with, so they could do the whole shebang of courting, dating, then getting married, moving into a little house where they would raise their little family. A kid would be nice, maybe two. Definitely not three. But two would be a good number. And every day he came home from work, his partner would welcome him in the door with a kiss and a loving embrace and lead him inside the house that they owned and didn’t have to pay rent for.

His imaginary partner never had a distinct face. Sometimes they were a blonde with big blue eyes, sometimes they were a dashing raven haired beauty with the most striking eyes, sometimes he didn’t even settle on one specific look, and let the person’s appearance change between scenes.

Suddenly, that faraway figure who only existed in his wildest dreams had a face. A face that he could see, describe and even touch.

He squeezes Naib’s hand, moving his fingers until he can press them over his wrist, just to feel the blood pumping.

What sort of a future did Naib imagine for himself as a naive child? He knew that the jaded adult in front of him was living his life one day at a time, so maybe he wasn’t even thinking of such things as “what will I do after this?” or “who am I going to get married to?” but surely the child inside him had some well protected dreams of his future family, right? Was it anything like Norton’s? Did he also dream of settling down with a small family? Or perhaps he was used to a bigger family, and they definitely wouldn’t stop after two kids. He could imagine that, but he could also just as easily picture a man led by his adventurous spirit, exploring the world now that he was no longer confined to either the battlefield, or the manor. Norton had always wanted to find a nice town and stay there, but if Naib wanted to travel, he would have no objections. As long as they were together, he would be fine with doing whatever the other wanted.

Was Naib as attached to him as Norton was? 

Would he continue holding his hand as they stepped back into the real life, or would he leave him in the dust along with the manor, his memory of Norton fused together with the torture they endured here?

Realistically, he knew the answer. Naib didn’t put so much effort into pulling him up from the floor and forcing him to develop a semblance of a conscience, only to leave him the moment he could. He knew he loved him, loved him more than he even knew how to handle. Naib loved him enough to break open his own chest for him so Norton could dig around in the cavity as he seemed fit and take what he liked as he liked. By logic, he knew all this was true and his first step into the real world would be done with Naib’s hand in his, and so would be the second, the third, and so on. He knew that they were at a point where neither of them could exist without the other, their daily rituals and habits revolved around the existence of the other person too much for either of them to break away so easily. They were hopelessly, fatally intertwined.

He knew all this was true. And yet, yet, at this moment, he couldn’t convince himself to stop being scared. Fuck, he was terrified .

Not terrified of whether Naib loved him or not. Rather, terrified of the idea that they would never get to love each other outside these walls.

The uncertainty was killing him. The very fact that they didn’t know if there would be an “after the manor” in their future was tearing him apart. He couldn’t keep doing this. How much more of this will they have to take? How many more bottles of drugs, how many more stabs, slashes until their host was satisfied? How many more times will Norton be forced to sit here, not knowing if Naib would open his eyes, if they would have the grace of seeing another sunrise together? 

He couldn’t do this. Not anymore. Not another damn day of this awful limbo. He was going to make it out of here.

And if he was going to make it out of here, it was going to be with Naib - or not at all.

“Do you still feel things with your hands?”

“Yeah, some. This one’s worse than the other. The nerve damage is the worst though. I used to be able to sew my clothes, but I can’t do lil’ movements like that anymore.”

“Good thing you got me huh? Sewing clothes isn’t so different from sewing wounds.”

“I’m honestly surprised you can still walk at all. Do you not have anything wrong with your body besides the scars ‘n that eye?”

“Most people would punch you for phrasing it like that, you know?! This is plenty already. I-”

“Sorry, sorry, that’s…not how I meant it. ‘Course it’s plenty. I’m just…asking to know. What…you could need help with.”

“...You know what, actually, I think I may be going insane. There’s no way you just said that.”

“Is this not what you wanted the entire time?! I’m tryin’ to be nice and you won’t even appreciate it!!”

Once again, it starts small.

A tiny sprinkle, a quiet buzz, a mere nuisance that doesn’t seem to want to go away, but as Norton dresses for the day, he finds it is still relatively easy to ignore and he can pretend everything is alright, even though he knows exactly what’s happening in his head. 

He struggled with this often, even before the incident in the mines. It was like a steadily growing flame, feeding itself on his rational thoughts, until it grew into a forest fire that would consume everything; his brain, his emotions, his body and everything he dared to lay a hand on. Everything frustrated him on days like these. He isn’t looking where he’s going and bumps into the table? Someone clearly must have moved it to prank him, or the table, even though it is an inanimate object with no conscience to speak of, clearly had it out for him. He dresses for a clear, sunny day out, yet it rains? Someone lied to him about the weather forecast and ordered rain just to spite him. Someone looks at him for a moment too long? Clearly they are judging him, calling him names in their heads, and the moment Norton leaves the room, they are going to turn towards their friends and laugh over how dirty and stupid he looks.

Those days were always agonizingly long, but at least while he was in the mines, it was easy to distract himself with the knowledge that if he didn’t do his job right, he couldn’t have dinner tonight either. It was hard to face your emotions when you were busy trying to survive. Idle hands really were the devil’s workshop; any moment he didn’t fill with work, was a moment for his irritation to grow and find new things to latch onto to further rile himself up with. He had to stay busy and distracted. It was a bandaid over a gaping, bleeding, infected wound, but its the best he could do. At the very least, those bandaids lasted until he could go home for the day, where in the privacy of his home he could finally let loose and explode however he needed to.

It was different in the manor.

If they didn’t have matches, they had chores. If they didn’t have chores, they had to figure out some way to fill the space themselves however they saw fit; walks in the garden, exploring the manor, reading books, or socializing with others.

Although he had done a good enough job repairing his reputation to a point he was satisfied with, he didn’t feel like socializing with anyone when he felt like this. Too many opportunities for him to misinterpret people’s gestures, hollow them out and fill them with notions that he thought were more plausible and that he could get more angry at.

He didn’t want to go to the library either. He did like reading, yes, because his intellect and literacy were things that he had above the other miners. Being able to read meant that he had access to a source of knowledge that many of his coworkers didn’t. He read to fill his brain with information that he could use to hone his skills, not for pleasure. He didn’t even know what books he liked . He couldn’t imagine reading just to pass the time, just because it was something fun. Not to mention, he would surely run into one of the resident bookworms there, which takes him back to the point that he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that other people exist right now.

All his chores were done too, regretfully. He practically flew through them this morning, desperate to keep his hands moving and doing something productive. Productivity was good, a holy grail that brought him any sense of comfort at all - but there were only so many dishes he could wash, so much laundry to fold and so much floor to sweep. He physically couldn’t do more.

His legs carried him to the dormitory section of the manor before he even realized what was happening.

Seems like even when he was burning alive, he only wanted a warmth that wouldn’t scorch him.

His knocks are unusually soft even to his own ears, but it could just be the fact that he feels like every single sensation coming towards him is blocked by a layer of cotton. His head feels heavy, his limbs feel heavy, his heart especially feels heavy. He doesn’t have to wait long for the door to open a creak, then once the resident inside recognizes who he is, it opens all the way, and he’s led in by a calloused, warm hand.

Naib doesn’t ask what’s wrong with him, he never does. He knows Norton doesn’t have the words to explain what goes on inside his head. By the look he gives him, he’s just thankful that he reached out for help, instead of isolating himself completely.

He leads him to his bed, neatly made, as if he were still in the military and someone was going to check with a ruler how he tucked his sheets in. Norton drops himself on it unceremoniously, wrinkling up the blanket with his weight. He almost hopes that Naib would notice and give him a stink eye for it, maybe even scold him over it - then Norton could scoff back at him, and make fun of him for how clean he kept everything. It would most certainly turn into a fight, and Naib knew that. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t even turn to look at the miner then, going about his business as if he wasn’t even there. 

Part of Norton was thankful that he didn’t bite such an obvious bait, but another part of him only got angrier at that. He really was that easy to read wasn’t he? Whatever reaction Naib wanted out of him, he could get it with a flick of his wrist. It reminded him of the first time the two of them met, that overwhelming, sickening feeling of dread at the idea that Naib knew the moves he wanted to make before he could even formulate them himself, always walking two steps ahead of Norton even when it came to the matters of his own brain.

He didn’t like feeling like this. So volatile, so angry at everything, even at the man who held him so tenderly and made him believe that he was worthy of love. 

This damn place was driving him insane too. It was the same shit every day. He woke up in the same bed, to the same ceiling, saw the same faces, did the same song and dance during matches with no result, went to sleep in the same bed and woke up only to do everything all over again. It was little different from when he used to work in the mines - at least here he had some novelty with the different teammates he could have and the different hunters they could face, and an abundance of strange variations on their usual games with their own unique rules, but it could only do so much when they weren’t allowed off the premises of the manor. At least back in his hometown, he could go places. After his shift ended, he could go to the bar, he could hang out behind the theater and listen to the music, he could go to the bakery to get their stale bread - he could go somewhere. But here? They were confined to this manor with no way out.

Just them, trapped within these walls and the replicas of the outside world. Like little lab rats who would never feel the warmth of the actual sun, only the artificial coldness of fluorescent lights.

How many more days will they have to spend like this here? Cut off from the outside world, not knowing if they would ever see the blue sky again, and not whatever cloudy, foggy abomination was pulled over their heads?

For how many days will he have Naib with him? What if after one of these matches, he just doesn’t return? What will Norton do after that?

His leg was bouncing, faster and faster, his hand that was fisted in the material of his pants earlier now scratching at the edges of his burns. 

Were these rooms always so small?

Why was the window closed?

He wants to see the sky outside.

He wants to feel the wind on his skin.

He wants to be outside.

He wants out of here. He wants out.  

“What?”

Naib is looking at him.

Why?

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you properly.”

Was he talking? Did he start saying his thoughts out loud without realizing it?

Shit. That was bad. He needs to stop . He can’t. He can’t.

He scratched off a scab. There’s a dull pain in its place, sure to scar over and join the rest of the grotesque wrinkles on his face.

There’s blood under his fingernail.

His mouth starts moving and he is hopeless to stop it. The voice that comes out sounds more like the rasp of a rusty cog than the voice of a person, it was starkly different from either persona he had shown the others so far; he sounded crazed, desperate even to his own ears, which only made him even more panicked as his words started slurring together.

“We need to get out of here. This place, this- this prison. What the Hell are we still looking for? It’s obvious by now, there’s no prize. There’s nothin’. We’re labrats to some kind of sadistic freak. We need t’ get out.”

“Norton, hold on-” The bed dips as Naib sits down next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him. It was a well practiced motion, both of them knew that at times like these, when Norton was too lost in the sewers of his mind, he needed a grounding point to pull him back to earth. This wasn’t like usual though. Naib wouldn’t know that though. He did what he thought would help. “Deep breaths. What’s gotten into you?”

It was unfortunate Norton was so difficult to handle and Naib had chosen him as the person to sacrifice everything for. His efforts would have actually amounted to something if it were anyone else.

As it stands, Norton, expectedly, jumps at the first opportunity he can to finally release some of this pent up energy in him.

It wasn’t fair to Naib. He knew that. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

“What- what’s gotten into me?! What’s wrong with you?!” He shrugs the hand off of his shoulder easily enough as Naib startles from the sudden aggression. There’s plenty that’s gotten into Norton; the need to scream, the need to take and leave nothing behind, the need to make someone hurt as much as he is hurting. He turns to face the man fully, fingers curling into the sheets to further mess them up. “Are you fine with this? Are you that fuckin’ hooked on adrenaline that you can’t think anymore?! What are we even doing here?”

Naib recovers remarkably fast. He doesn’t seem offended or hurt at being pushed, nor does he back away when Norton bares his fangs at him. He simply looks up at him and reaches his hands out again, like someone who, even after being bit, doesn’t learn that you’re not supposed to pet wild animals. Unlike the miner’s, his tone is level, cold, but not uncaring as his fingers push between Norton’s in an attempt to loosen them up and have them curl around his hand instead.

He’s kind. He really, truly is.

“We are doing what we can, biding our time. Surely they won’t keep us here forever. We’ll have a final game and - ”

He hates that kindness. He hates that it’s being given to him.

“No we fuckin’ won’t!” The physical proximity is too much. Norton screams back, pushing himself up into a stand to put as much distance between himself and Naib as possible. He can’t stand it, can’t stand to see that face that is still turnt towards him with so much tenderness, can’t stand the gentle touch, can’t stand to listen to bogus logic. Biding their time? Give him a fucking break! “You damn well know we won’t! There is no final game! There is no prize! No one’s coming for us! Unless we escape ourselves, we’ll be stuck here to rot!”

Naib almost falls for it. He can see it, the way his brows start to crease ever so slightly, how his gaze hardens as he shifts to sit facing forward again. He sees it in the slight tension in his shoulders and the way he folds his arms over his chest.

He’d managed to make a crack in his walls.

It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying.

He doesn’t want Naib to be mad at him.

But what else can he do? What is he supposed to do?

“And you expect to be able to escape in a state like this? When all our previous attempts ended in disaster? Calm down first-”

Calm? Calm. He can do calm.

“So what, we’re just gonna give up and wait for someone to take mercy on us?! I’m not about to leave my life in someone else’s hands again.” He counters easily, pacing back and forth in the small, too small space. His hands are flying around in wild gestures, as if that would help all this pent up, desperate energy escape him somehow - all it results in is him looking like he’d truly, honestly lost his mind. And he might as well have. 

Something clicks in that moment and he’s suddenly whipping around, falling to his knees in front of the bed and clasping the same hands that he’d thrown to the side mere moments ago in clammy palms. 

“Naib. Escape with me. We can do it, together.”

He must look pathetic. He feels pathetic, for sure.

The mercenary doesn’t flinch. He squeezes the hands in his, searching Norton’s face for any indication of where his consciousness may be drifting right now. Was he being serious? Were these his genuine feelings, or were these just the pleas of a man on the brink of total mental collapse? Norton was unsure himself, honestly. He wished he could help, he really did. 

A strange shadow passes over Naib’s face then - it’s barely even a twitch, gone before he even realized that something shifted, but his eyes were suddenly focusing in on Norton in a way that made sweat bead at the back of his neck.

That expression. He hadn’t seen it in a long while, not since that match on Red Church. But he remembers it well - and more importantly, his body remembers to tense up at the sight of it.

“...What about the others?”

That knocks the wind out of him.

Others? What others? Who else matters besides the two of them?

The indignation must be clear on his face, because Naib stares at his dumbfounded expression for exactly 3 seconds before pressing further.

“What about the others? Aesop, Victor, William, Eli…What about them?”

“I don’t- I don’t care about them-!”

It tumbles out of his mouth unceremoniously, instantaneously even. He barely thinks about it, so he doesn’t have nearly enough time to consider the potential weight of these words, not until they have already made impact and it is too little too late.

The wall breaks down.

Naib’s hand balls into a fist as he yanks it out of Norton’s grasp. He looks at him the same way he had when they first talked in that godforsaken living room - like he’s some sort of dumb idiot he needs to teach a lesson to, like he’s nothing more but another hapless fool who cannot be trusted. Everything inside Norton seizes up at that. He wants to throw up, he wants to run out of this room, he wants to redo the entire day and just lock himself up in his room like how he had planned since the morning, just so he could avoid this very conversation. He wants to punch the mercenary, to show him that the only person who’s out of his mind here is Naib for growing soft, for not seeing what he sees, for giving up on freedom.

The man only glares at him, folding his arms once again to completely close Norton off of himself.

“They are our friends, Norton. Your friends. We can’t leave them- we can’t leave anyone behind. Would you really be fine living your life, knowing that the people who helped you survive are still suffering?”

His hands are shaking. He may be feverish.

He knows he’s right. He knows.

Had this been his first, second, third or even tenth day, perhaps it wouldn’t be true. But now, after months and months of spending time together with these people, regrettably, they have had an impact on him, a largely positive one at that.

Unfortunately, that isn’t enough for Norton to want to sacrifice Naib’s and his own life for theirs.

He averts his eyes, and Naib only scoffs at his cowardice.

“...You’re such a selfish prick.”

Norton only chuckles in response at first, before the words fully sink in. His entire body is quivering from anger, from- from something, he doesn’t know, but he fights against it with every fiber of his being, so he can stand. He needs to stand, he needs to be above the other right now, he needs those eyes to not look down at him, to not be at his feet, groveling like the pathetic mutt that he is.

“Well, yeah, thought you of all people would know by now.”

“I suppose I knew, but I just couldn’t believe it.” He laughs, humorless, empty. He refuses to look at Norton and in that moment, he misses the burning feelings of that glare on him, because then at least he’d know Naib still acknowledges him, that he still cares about him enough to at least give a shit. “So what, you don’t even have an ounce of respect or love for the people who made sure that you’re going to be able to see today? You’re just going to treat them like another obstacle to crush, is that it? What have they ever done to you, besides be patient with you?”

He draws in a breath.

His tone is the most confident it’s been the entire day.

“They are in my way.”

The air is still.

Naib is not looking at him.

Look at him. Look at him.

Please look at me.

The man lets out a scoff and stands.

Norton doesn’t back down.

“...Get out.” An icy command. The hood casts a shadow over Naib’s face, especially from where Norton is standing, so he can’t see his expression, he doesn’t know what’s behind those words except for unfiltered hatred and anger. Like he just stood under a cold shower, every single strand of hair on Norton’s body turns on end and he opens his mouth to- to- he doesn’t even know to say what, but either way he doesn’t get the chance before Naib is already cutting him off. “No. Leave. Pull your shit together and talk to me again when you got your head out of your ass. You can’t be reasoned with right now.”

Really? Really now? He’s the one who can’t be reasoned with? He’s the one who lost the plot?

The anger that’s just been extinguished a mere second ago rears up again and this time, it consumes everything in its wake.

“Fine! Whatever! Fuck you too!” Norton full on screams, turning on his heel and stomping towards the door. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Naib’s figure, not even when he flinches, not even when he turns away from him to walk over to his desk, fully removing himself from the conversation. He all but rips the door open, uncaring of who is going to hear the commotion if he were to keep yelling like this - he was going to get the last word in, no matter who heard it. “Just fucking watch me! Watch me Subedar! I’m going to get out of here, whether it’s with or without you! I gave you a chance!”

The door slams behind him. He is the one to pull it close, but the way it rattles the windows sound so far away, he is almost startled by it.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His hand lingers on the doorknob, gripping it with all his might, like he wanted to rip it clean out, so Naib could never leave the room and he’d never have to face what remained of their relationship. So he would never have to see the ruins of the one good thing he’s ever had, destroyed by his own hands, like the fucking self-fulfilling joke of a prophecy that he was.

The silence is deafening.

He turns around, and marches back to his room, alone.

The traditions the survivors established and held to such a high regard to create some semblance of camaraderie and unity were slowly but surely becoming a mere suggestion, perhaps even an afterthought that was unnecessary to even entertain. Less and less people were showing up for their community meal times, the “designated” seats becoming vacant as they began to succumb to their various demons; depression, skipping meals, coming to eat when they knew no one else would be around, breaking off into cliques and whatnot. Nowadays, only the true sticklers would show up to lunch “on time” but would be quick to clear out afterwards, unable to stand the awkward atmosphere when faced with their waning numbers. Some of them stayed behind, to see who else would come. But otherwise, their group assemblies were being attended by a very small number of people at this point.

Yet even still, knowing all that, when he looked at the empty seat next to his, it felt a little bit too personal. Maybe even a little bit too painful, but he’d never admit that, not even to himself.

Maybe he was a bit too forceful when he moved to spread butter on his still hot toast and did not wait long enough for it to cool before taking a bite. Maybe in his haste to expel at least some of this angry energy out of himself, all he managed to achieve was to burn the absolute God damn shit out of his tongue. And maybe, just maybe, he deserved it a bit.

Scoffing at the toast like it was entirely the bread’s fault that he was in a bad mood, he reached for his cup full of black coffee, hoping to fill himself with something just as bitter as his mood. Just as he was wrapping his fingers around the handle, someone walked past his chair and began pouring warm milk out of a small pitcher into it, before giving him a teaspoon to stir it in with. Seeing the sterile, gloved hands holding the pitcher with entirely too much professionalism and finesse, Norton didn’t have to think twice before realizing that it was Aesop.

He huffs out a half-hearted greeting to his “friend” who nods in response. When he doesn’t leave, Norton sighs, lifting the cup to his lips to take a sip of the coffee that is now much more to his actual taste. Only then is Aesop finally satisfied enough to move back to his seat next to him and tend to his own breakfast. Mornings with Aesop were easy - he didn’t like to speak or put up airs around anyone, which Norton appreciated wholeheartedly.

But he was also notorious for being about as subtle as an elephant in the china store when it came to comforting others feelings, which was a skill he unfortunately wanted to demonstrate on Norton this morning.

“You are fighting.”

He was honestly not expecting the embalmer to start to speak, and it caught him off guard entirely. Turning to Aesop more out of habit rather than an attempt to study his always-unreadable expression, the man in question takes Norton’s silence as an unsaid request to explain himself, which he so graciously does. And the moment the silver haired man opens his mouth, he feels every remaining bit of tranquility and happiness seep out of his body all at once.

“The two of you. You haven’t been sitting as close to each other. Whenever I make coffee in the morning, only one of you shows up. It’s not usual. So, something must have happened. You are fighting.”

God. Of course. Of fucking course he would call him out on it. While Aesop was not good with emotions, he was smart, scarily intelligent, even. He was like a fly on the fall, quiet but observant and nothing could evade his prying eyes, especially not something as sensitive as change in the status quo. While he did not care for being a part of a community, he nevertheless took great comfort in having a set routine and schedule and if anything dared to disturb that, he would know. Perhaps a fly is not even the best analogy for how Aesop behaved - he was much more like a spider, keenly aware of and hyper-sensitive to the smallest vibration that dared to disturb his web and it’s only natural that he would try to seek out the source of the interference. Unfortunately for him though, Norton did not feel like getting interrogated today. He never did, but especially not today.

“Spare me the psychologist bullshit Aesop, I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened?”

This fucking guy. He really can’t take a no when it matters.

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I did. I am choosing to ignore it, however.”

Norton feels his eye twitch, his frustration going from a small spark to a raging fire within the matter of seconds. He can’t help it, he never could, he never had that sort of grip on his anger, even before the explosion he was known for being easy to rile up and push around. It especially didn’t help that his nerves were still raw from his argument with Naib, even though it happened days ago at this point. He really should have been over it at this point, but a wound has little success to heal over when the scab keeps getting scratched off over and over again in a pathetic ritual of self-hatred and pity. He bites down on the flesh of his cheek, counts to 5 in his head, but doesn’t even get to 3 before he ends up spitting out a response.

“I’m going to punch you.”

“No you won’t.” Unfortunately for Norton, Aesop was more than used to his outbursts, most of them were, and even beyond that, the embalmer never seemed to mind people being cross with him. It mattered little to him, which came in handy in situations like these. He is completely poker faced as he calls the miner’s bluff, and even takes a moment to enjoy a slice of his focaccia - Norton knows, he fucking knows Aesop’s doing it to give him another moment to calm down and it drives him absolutely nuts - before turning back to him with the intent to fully ignore his vicious comments and proceed as if he had said nothing at all. Fucker. “What happened?”

Norton has no choice but to give in. He sighs, leaning back with his chair until Aesop’s glare makes him stop and sit properly.

“Why do you think something serious happened? We argue all the time.”

That finally gives the embalmer a pause. He faces his breakfast once more and with his mask off, Norton can see how his lips purse in thought, as if he was working the words over in his mouth in an attempt to make sense of them. He never knows what goes on in this guy’s head, because while he is crystal clear with his thoughts and feelings, it’s an absolute and utter enigma to everyone how he comes up with them and what kind of train of thought he follows. Once upon a time, before everything went to shit, Norton was way more invested in trying to detangle how the younger’s brain worked, but by now he had lost both the incentive and the drive to do so. Aesop would tell him what he needed him to hear and that kind of frankness was honestly, as much as Norton hated to admit it, was a breath of fresh air. So he waited, giving Aesop all the leeway he needed to figure out what he wanted to say. In for a penny in for a pound - now that Norton agreed to talk to him, he had to give him the space he needed to express himself. Eventually, Aesop seemed to find the words he was looking for.

“...You argue, but you do not fight. Your recovery time is remarkable. You usually make up by the end of the day or immediately after arguments. However, this has been going on for days. It leads me to believe it is a fight.”

“Look at you being a detective.” He harrumphs, clearly irritated at the suggestion. Mostly because it was correct. “Doesn’t involve you, so stay out of it.” 

 “...I see.”

And that should have been the end of it, really, shouldn’t it? Aesop was supposed to hang his head, gather his things and take the obvious implication that he should leave Norton alone to wallow in his misery and scurry out the same way he came in. 

However, even as Norton stuffed another egg in his mouth, he couldn’t hear the telltale signs of the chair scraping against tile, or the clicking of silverware being placed on top of an empty plate, nor Aesop’s usual “thank you for the meal” that he made sure to say even when no butler was around to hear it. Sure enough, when Norton finally chanced a peek at his side, Aesop was still sitting there, back straight, meticulously pitting the cherries that they got in the fruit salad this morning, as if the previous conversation didn’t just occur. It’s puzzling - not because Aesop didn’t listen to him, he seldom listens to anyone unless he agrees with what they are saying - but moreso Norton is confused about why . Why would he want to stay in this room with him when Norton’s clearly being a bitch? He takes a sip of his water, seriously considering if he should poke at the issue or not, before realizing he is not going to be able to rest unless he questions the other. If only for his own sanity.

“...Why are you still here then?”

Aesop looks towards him, as if he wasn’t expecting him to speak.

“Whenever I…” He starts, putting his knife down on the plate and reaches for a napkin to wipe off any fruit juice that may have gotten on his hands. Once more, it is clear that he is struggling with finding the right words to express what he is thinking, but he seems determined, even more so than previously. Eventually, to Norton’s surprise, the embalmer moves to turn around in his chair until he is facing him fully, his hands folded in his lap and eyes boring into Norton’s, flickering with a strange sort of emotion that he cannot quite place. “There are times when I get upset, but I do not wish to speak to anyone. However, I have found that merely having someone I trust around, isn’t…as bad, as I thought. Victor tends to sit with me and we both do our own thing in silence. If you are upset, but you do not want to speak, I…as your friend, I want to support you.”

And he hates that. He hates how easily Aesop, someone who came to this manor with perhaps even more baggage than Norton, who struggles with the very basic concept of a healthy relationship, can call him a friend so easily. He hates the warmth that settles in his chest at being referred to as such a word, hates the fuzziness of being reassured - these emotions are the exact ones he had tried to avoid when he first arrived and had to mingle with the others and they hurt him just how he expected them to. It stings his chest, his throat and most shamefully of all, it stings his eyes and in that moment he’s not sure who he hates more; Aesop or himself. 

He doesn’t send him away though. Can’t, not after that.

Because damn it all. That is exactly what he needed to hear.

And fuck, he really, really needs someone right now.

He turns away from Aesop, hiding his face by pretending that he is drinking from the coffee that his friend sweetened for him. He does not get called out on his poor attempts at concealing his emotions, but his desire for company is heard even when it was never voiced. They settle into the same, quiet and quaint morning routine that they both came to depend on, and Norton wordlessly passes a few raspberries over to Aesop’s plate. It’s the maximum gratitude he’s ever going to offer to the man, but Aesop still smiles at him as he pokes them on his fork.

“So? What was your relationship with your colleagues?”

“Bunch of fuckin’ assholes the lot of them. Hated them more than anything.”

“Figures. You are kind of hard to get along with.”

“The call is coming from the house. Cause I bet you were the life of the party in the barracks, huh?”

“Fuck you. You know how the British are. They hated me, yet expected me to die for them.”

“But that’s the thing about you, isn’t it? You were ready to die for them. Cause you still cared about them, at least as people. You’re a fuckin’ softie.”

“Got a list of names who’d probably kill you over even thinking that. I’m not a good person, Campbell.”

“Neither am I. Said so yourself, ‘m hard to get along with, aren’t I?”

“You’d be a good person if you let yourself be one. That’s why people don’t like you.”

They must have washed the carpet in this hallway recently. The patterns and colors are especially vibrant, even to his uneducated eyes.

At least, he thinks so. He had been staring down at his feet for what feels like a century, so he really isn’t sure anymore. He just knows that if he looks up, he is going to have to admit that he’s about to do something he’s never done before.

Norton never apologized for anything. Every one of his actions was calculated to the T - it is not that he thought he was incapable of making mistakes, far from it, he himself may be the biggest mistake there ever was and he was doomed to a life of being forced to make up for the fact that he was stealing oxygen from others. But to outright apologize for something was different than knowing that you fucked up. Admitting it outright meant that he would be placing himself at Naibs mercy, and no matter what he did, Norton would be indebted to him; if he didn't forgive him, Norton would have to grovel away at his feet, begging for some sort of way to make up for his mistakes, and if he did forgive him, Naib would have that over his head for the rest of their lives together.

It was a lose-lose situation. This is why he hated relationships.

He should have listened to his logic the first time Naib had smiled at him. He knew better. Every happy memory, every good day they spent together was only another step leading them towards certain doom. This ending for them has been written since the very first moment they laid their eyes on each other. There was no other way that this was going to play out.

He shakes his head.

None of that matters.

He has to put this self-hatred aside. Regardless of what happens…he was indebted to the mercenary. For everything the man had done for him, for the good person that he was - even if Norton walks away from this hating himself more than ever, Naib, at the very least, deserved an honest apology.

Norton was fine carrying that guilt in his heart for the rest of eternity - but he didn’t want that for the other.

Arm feeling like lead, he finally raises it and raps his knuckles against the door. Just three little knocks, nothing more, nothing less.

“...Naib.”

He feels like he should announce who is standing at the door, although he knows that will definitely influence whether it will open up before him or not. And expectedly, as he waits and waits, no answer comes. 

A sigh leaves him, coming from somewhere deep in his chest. Seriously, this guy just has to make everything so much harder all the time…

His head drops against the door with a soft thud.

“Oi, asshole, let me in, I’m tryin’ to apologize face to face.”

Is it a good idea to insult the very person he’s trying to show his regret to? Probably not - actually, most definitely not. Despite that unchallenged fact and regardless of what he imagined should happen, he hears the telltale sound of the lock being undone and the doorknob being pressed down.

One thing he could always count on was that Naib would always bite the bait he threw out for him.

The man stands before him, hood up, his body blocking the view into the room.

“What happened that you suddenly had a change of heart, huh?”

He swallows, his tongue too thick and heavy in his mouth all of the sudden.

He doesn’t want to do it like this. Naib deserves more. It probably comes across as him testing his luck and trying to take a mile when he’d been given an inch, but he doesn’t care.

“Can I just…come in ‘n sit down with you…”

Naib looks him up and down, as if he was studying a particularly stubborn specimen, before opening the door wider and nodding for him to come in.

Not a moment can be wasted, so he simply nods back, muttering out a strangely soft and somber “thank you” as he scampers in. Naib moves to sit on his bed, lowering himself on it with his arms folded and legs crossed, giving the impression that Norton just agreed to be a part of a military grade interrogation. He doesn’t move to sit besides him, instead reaching to pull the chair away from the desk and set it up across the mercenary, where he finally drops himself down.

If Naib gives him a strange look for not sitting next to him, he doesn’t see it. He is having a hard time looking up from his lap, away from his charred fingers and broken nails. It takes him a while to finally gather the courage to utter the words in his heart, and his silence must have been interpreted the wrong way, for the moment he finally opens his mouth, Naib also speaks up in that same breath.

“...Listen,”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Huh?”

And that, that catches him off guard enough that he is finally able to tear his eyes away from his hands, staring at the way Naib shuffles around, pulling his hood off and lowering his hands into his own lap.

Norton cannot wrap his head around this turn of events. Naib, apologizing? For what? What could have possibly led him to the conclusion that he also owed an apology to Norton of all people? Unable to do anything but gape at the man, Naib simply takes that opportunity to thankfully explain himself.

“I’m…sorry too.” He sighs and suddenly Norton is reminded that they are both closer to 30 than 20. The scars and wrinkles on his face are especially pronounced, like everything the man had been through had suddenly caught up with him and caused him to age rapidly. Like this, the bags under his eyes too were way more noticeable. It made something in his chest clench painfully at this observation. Naib sounded like he was in pain too, for that matter, his voice coming out like nothing Norton had ever heard from him before. Forlorn and regretful, like the weight of the world was pressing on his vocal chords with every single word. He decided right then and there that no matter what Naib ever did to him going forward, he never wanted the mercenary to talk like this ever again. “I kicked you out really suddenly. Didn’t even give you time to explain yourself or anything. Just…it was a lot at once. I never expected you to say something like that, after everything we’ve been through. You…sounded like I used to. It scared me.”

What can he even say to that? What is someone supposed to say to that?

If he wasn’t used to apologizing, he most certainly was not used to being apologized to . It was absolutely unthinkable. No one ever apologized to him. His labor, his efforts, he himself had always been taken for granted, his emotions were never considered even by himself, so why would anyone ever apologize to him?

His body felt light, like his brain was floating somewhere across the manor grounds while his body remained pinned in that chair.

Naib…he really did care about him , didn’t he?

He was sweating. He could feel it, dripping down the back of his neck and staining his collar.

He really, really fucked up. And despite that, despite the absolute and utter disaster that he was, destroying and hurting all those around him, Naib was still here, in front of him, giving him a second, third, fourth chance. It was in that moment that it really sunk in for him; this wasn’t about either of them trying to keep the other in debt or have them owe something, it was just…a genuine attempt at trying to repair something that was broken, because their feelings for each other ran deeper than surface level. It was such an obvious, stupid thing to realize so late into his life, he didn’t even dare open his mouth and articulate this grand revelation.

Naib would probably guess it anyway. That man could read him like a cheap book.

But now came the hard part. Despite the assurance, despite realizing the true purpose of this exchange - he doesn’t even want to call it an exchange anymore. It was no exchange. It was just an interaction, with the clear goal of mending things. However, habits, and world-views especially, could not change at the drop of a hat. While the logical part of his brain was screaming at him to just open his god damned mouth because the world was not going to explode if he said sorry and genuinely meant it for once in his life, another, instinctual part of him that was raised and sharpened by the world kept his lips sealed shut and all his muscles tensed up. 

It was his turn. Whether he liked it or not, how the rest of this conversation was going to go depended all on him and how he would react to such a situation.

His fingers felt numb. He couldn’t help but keep cracking and curling them.

It was really nice and sunny outside, wasn’t it?

The sunshine felt warm on his face. He liked that.

Honesty came hard to him. But for Naib, no obstacle was too hard to overcome.

“...Yeah, I- y-yeah. You don’t need to apologize to me. You didn’t…do anything wrong. You kicked me out ‘cuz I was being a dick. Honestly, I kind of needed that to realize what I was implying with my words. I knew I was being selfish, I just…didn’t care.” He’s rambling. He not only feels like he is, he knows, for a fact, that he is rambling, words tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or reason, his tongue getting tangled on every syllable. He was a notorious overthinker, so in this moment, he just wanted to say whatever came to his mind as it happened, even if it made him look like a fool. Honest or not, he would look like an idiot anyway, so might as well just lay his heart out on the table right? That’s what Naib wants right now - and that’s what Norton himself wants. When his leg starts bouncing, he doesn’t pay it any attention initially, not until there is a gentle hand resting on his knee and suddenly he feels like throwing up for an entirely different reason. “I…I wasn’t. Havin’ a good day. Y’know, I told you, some days are just…harder than the others. It was. A really, really hard day. I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t think like that. I was in flight or fight mode the entire day, all I could think about was my own survival.”

Their eyes finally meet. Nothing more is said for those few seconds, but an understanding is reached.

Norton stands up, pushing the chair back in its place. When he next sits, it's on the bed, next to Naib.

They were going to do this huh?

Naib puts his hand back on his knee, the ice melting away from his face. He’s expecting Norton to continue, so he does. They both know at this point that Naib can guess just about everything that bounces around in that useless brain of his, but that’s not the purpose here. The goal is to have Norton say those words and admit them to himself. It’s about clear communication.

His hands clench into fists before relaxing again. He slips one of them over the one on his knee, studying Naib’s expression for any indication if this is too far, too fast, too forward, but Naib’s response is quite the opposite; he turns his hand so they can press them palm to palm, uncaring of the way they are both beyond clammy and sticky.

It feels just right. Better than anything Norton has ever felt before, almost, if only because it makes him realize just how empty his hand had been feeling recently. It’s like getting back a part of him that he didn’t know he had lost.

“It’s hard. I only ever had to look out for myself - that’s how I was raised ‘n that’s how everyone else acted around me. I can’t just flip a switch and suddenly want to sacrifice everythin’ I ever had for someone else. That’s…terrifying. That’s the same as giving up completely in my head. Cause I can’t trust that anyone will do the same for me. Why would they? I just can’t…swallow the idea that we’re in a community. That I have you. I still have the fear that one day you’ll just realize that ya had enough of me and walk out.”

Naib nods, understanding, pushing to interlock their fingers and move their hands to rest beside them instead. It’s more comfortable and allows for their shoulders to brush, for there to be even less space between them.

“One good relationship is hardly enough to undo three decades of trauma huh?” The mercenary comments more to himself than to Norton and really, it makes sense. They are no miracle workers and each of them have their own battles to fight. Naib lets out a sigh, shoulders dropping like a puppet whose strings have been cut and if Norton really pays attention, he swears he heard a few of his joints pop. “I’m not going to hold it against you. I can’t pretend to be perfect either. Where you are a selfish prick, I’m a selfless idiot. My mind immediately jumped to how we would be able to get away with the least amount of casualties. I…have enough blood on my hands as is. The blood of good people who had good lives. I didn’t want to be responsible for another friend’s death. But that’s not what you needed to hear at that moment. I’ll do better to listen to you next time, but you have to try and listen to me too, understand?”

Norton can only mimic what the other had done earlier and give a nod of his own, overwhelmed by an odd mixture of comfort and shame. Naib can really sound like an army general when he tries. Or even when he doesn’t try. Whenever he gives out a command like that, his hindbrain overrides all rational thought.

Naib squeezes his hand and he squeezes back. His heart is beating in his throat, but he feels a strange lightness overwhelm his body at the same time. It takes him a few good, long seconds to be able to place that sensation as relief. Next time. So there will be a next time. Naib wants to keep talking to him, wants to keep their relationship and wants to keep Norton in his life.

He missed him. He missed him so much.

Three days were three too many without him. It really makes him question how the Hell he’d gone his entire life without the mercenary by his side. He knows he will never be able to go back and that thought alone terrifies him beyond reason.

But that’s okay. Because it wasn’t a reality he had to entertain. If they were going to get out of here, they were going to do it together. That, he knew for sure and he could find comfort in the fact that Naib would never abandon him either.

The silence that settles between them is comfortable and soothing and Norton basks in it like a lizard on a hot stone. Naib’s steady breathing is like a metronome and he finds himself subconsciously trying to match its rhythm with his own breathing. Personally, Norton would have been content to leave it there and he was expecting Naib to do the same - it was a lot of emotional talk for one day, maybe even one entire week for two people like them, so he wasn’t imagining going any further than this. Maybe they would finally be able to cuddle again and they could have the first good sleep they’ve had in days together. He knew Naib had a hard time falling asleep around people, but Norton soon became an exception, and it was a title he wore with way too much pride.

While one of them was calming down, it seemed like the other still had too many thoughts raging in his head.

“...I was thinking about what you said that day. About escaping.”

He could barely believe his ears. Was Naib actually, genuinely considering it? He shifts in his place, unable to meet Naib’s gaze momentarily as he struggles with having to be reminded of his ramblings.

Norton himself had barely thought about it beyond the core of an idea, the base blueprint with the bare essentials and whatever had spilled out of him during his breakdown was fueled not by a solid plan, but by his anger and claustrophobia. To think that despite all that, Naib was still taking him seriously was as embarrassing as it was flattering and reassuring. He could not imagine where he was going to take this, but he, at least, trusted his partner to not bring it up with the sole reason to make fun of him. Surely he had actually thought about it and had something of substance to add to it.

Surely. He had to remember Naib was nothing like Norton.

“Oh?”

“You are right. We can’t…keep sitting here, expecting a miracle. If we want anything to change, we have to do it ourselves. I just…you need to promise me something Norton. Then and only then will I agree to this.” Naib turns towards him, clasping both of his hands in his own. He isn’t crazed, nor is he angry like how he had been during their argument days prior. There is a certain sense of clarity in his eyes that wasn’t there then. Norton's assumptions had been right - he had genuinely thought it through and this was the careful, measured culmination of days of pondering, not a sudden demand born out of rage. “Promise me that we will come back for the others. If this goes through, if we really make it out of here and get to safety, promise me that we will help the others escape too.”

And who was Norton but a slave to Naib’s wishes.

Would it be anyone else asking, he would not have thought twice about refusing. Days ago, he refused even Naib when he questioned him about the very same thing, in this very same room.

There were no clouds in the sky today. It really was a beautiful day.

He wanted to go outside.

“I…promise.” He squeezes Naib’s hands in reassurance but finds that such a simple gesture is not enough and before he could stop to second guess himself, he was tugging Naib forward until the fell against him, wrapping his arms around the smaller body in a too tender hug. This felt more right, more appropriate for the situation - and it was a simple excuse for him to hold the other closer, to remind himself what it felt like to embrace him and have his heart beat against his own. He never wants to let go. He keeps the hug like this for a few seconds, the two of them soaking in the affection that they've been depriving themselves and each other of for days. But of course, he can never let things rest without a stupid comment. “We already said that we would help Aesop with his wedding right? I wouldn’t give up embarrassin’ him in front of his own wedding party for the world.”

“You ass.” A laugh. Naib laughs. Norton hadn’t heard that sound in what feels like an eternity. He wanted to keep making Naib laugh, today, tomorrow and forever onwards. It was a sound that put the best of wind chimes to shame. The man, with laughter-flushed cheeks, leans closer to Norton, closer still until his head is resting on the miner’s shoulder and he could cry. The weight is familiar and warm and suddenly the two of them are the only people in the entire world and Norton would give up anything to freeze this moment in time. “...Thank you. That makes me feel better. Let’s get out of here and rescue everyone else, yeah?”

“Maybe this will finally satiate your savior’s complex, hm?”

“I already satiated it, I think. I did a pretty good job on you after all, didn’t I? This is the first time I ever heard you genuinely apologize for something.”

“...You deserved it. A genuine apology, I mean.”

There are warm hands on his cheeks, turning him towards Naib. The man just looks at him for a while, a dumbfounded yet smitten expression on his face, before he breaks out in a smile. Their lips meet in a soft kiss and Norton can breathe again.

“...And I'm so proud of you for that, Norton. I love you more than you can imagine.”

“ What was your hometown like?”

“Run of the mill miner settlement. Can’t say I feel particularly homesick for it. What about yours?”

“...It was a small village, so everyone knew everyone. We were like a big family.”

“Do you miss it, then?”

“I do. A lot, honestly.”

“...Do you think yer gonna go back? Once this is all over, I mean.”

“If I could, maybe. But that’s not a possibility for me.”

“Why not? Bet this big family of yours misses ya.”

“They miss the boy who left. If I showed up now, no one would recognize me. I can’t kill my mom’s baby boy like that.”

Naib’s lungs were burning.

They have been running for - he doesn’t even quite remember. Based on the way his knees were starting to lock up and his thighs pulsated with every new step taken, they have been at it for a while, definitely longer than what their bodies would usually be able to take. One would have thought that spending almost half a decade doing nothing but sprinting around buildings, jumping over windows and performing whatever godforsaken acrobatics they had to for survival, their cardio would have improved at least a little - especially his, considering how he lived and breathed drill exercises for the better part of his adult life.

Every second was a test of endurance, if they would be able to keep going, just another meter, then another, and another. Their bodies were rocketing towards the brink of exhaustion, getting closer and closer to total collapse.

Not yet. They were not safe yet.

He squeezes the hand in his, and Norton squeezes back.

He really had to give it to the man, despite his failing body and weak lungs, he was doing everything in his power to keep up with him. Of course, he didn’t really have a choice but to do so; Norton didn’t want to die, it was perhaps the biggest fear of his life, so all he could do was to keep running, even if his chest were to cave in on itself. But still, he was proud of him. He always would be.

Hopefully he will be able to tell that to him himself, once they were out of this mess.

There were probably better ways to go about escaping the manor, and in normal situations, they would both be considered extremely intelligent and cunning men who had the capability to devise intricate plans and execute them accordingly. But this was no normal situation, nothing about this was even remotely normal; escaping through a seemingly never-ending forest that also appeared to loop back onto itself while being tracked down by flying cameras and hunted by a deer-headed behemoth was anything but a normal occurrence that most would know how to prepare for. This was their best plan, no matter how much they thought about it, there was no other way to get off the premises. There were no hidden tunnels within the manor itself, Eli had checked once, and whenever they tried escaping through one of the “maps,” the drugs given to them would usually start taking effect before they could make it past the gate, so that was a no-go too. Murro had tried escaping through the forest before, much like how Naib and Norton were doing now, but he had stopped when noticing the spiked walls and bear traps, fearing for his companion’s well-being. 

After weighing their options, Naib figured the forest was their best bet. They had a better chance at climbing over the walls and dodging the two hunters than gritting through being drugged. They had no idea what was in those concoctions, so it’s not as if they could take anything to counteract its effects, and the butlers kept an incredibly close eye on them to ensure that they took their doses before each game diligently. They had managed to convince Aesop to try refusing once, and it had only ended up in him receiving twice the dosage, which knocked him out for several days after. So, by all means, getting nicked on a few spikes and avoiding a few traps should have been way, way easier. 

The timing was also important. During the night, Burke would be hyper vigilant and catch them sneaking around immediately. They had to pick a time when the staff would be particularly busy, either during the early morning when they would be making them breakfast, or preferably right before nightfall, when they had to both cook dinner and oversee the matches that were still taking place. Naib kept a close eye on schedules for a few days, waiting for the perfect opportunity to arise - leading them to this fateful evening, when both Bane and Burke were in their own matches. They didn’t waste any time on saying goodbye’s, on bringing any of their belongings with them. It was just them, the clothes on their back, Norton’s axe and Naib’s kukri. They scaled the walls, dismantled the traps and ran. 

Unfortunately, their little mission was noticed quickly. They barely made it a few yards before a flying camera went whizzing past their head, alerting Burke to their location. And if Burke knew where they were, Bane would be quick to follow.

Their only option was to be quicker.

They already almost caught them once, a few miles back. All it took was one wrong step, and Norton was being walled off in a tiny little square, screaming out to him to keep running and leave him behind. Naib could barely believe his ears at that moment, that Norton Campbell of all people was begging to be sacrificed. Of course, he didn’t stand for that shit. Wedging his foot between two spikes, he hoisted himself up into a stand on the fence and reached through for Norton’s arm. The blades were digging into him, tearing up his shirt and leaving behind angry red scratches on both of them, but neither of them cared - Norton gripped into his hands and pulled himself up and over, heaving until the two of them fell on the foliage in a miserable little pile. With no time to waste, they were quick to pull themselves together and back on their feet. No need to check their injuries, no need to wipe the blood or ask if they were okay; if they could walk, they could run, so they were okay. They have been holding hands since then.

It’s a good security system, keeping them together and ensuring that if another wall comes up, they can yank each other out of the way.

He squeezes his hand.

But Norton doesn’t squeeze back.

His hand is empty.

Naib comes to a screeching halt and whips around, but he’s only greeted by the oppressive silence of a forest at night.

What? What the fuck? Where the Hell did Norton go?

They were together just a second ago. They didn’t take any sharp turns, didn’t have to jump over any streams or rivers or holes, there haven’t been any traps in a while either. There are no walls or yellow glows signaling the proximity of a camera. Nothing, absolutely nothing happened. Yet it’s like the earth had opened up and swallowed Norton whole, this time with no intention of giving him back.

He can’t panic. He can’t.

He has to find Norton. Now.

Going through all this shit is not worth it without him. There was no point in surviving this alone.

Naib does the one thing he knows is the stupidest possible thing in their current situation and turns around.

He’s going to find Norton.

All his field knowledge is coming into play now. His eyes survey the forest floor, looking for traces of disturbed bedding and immediately picks out their two sets of footsteps. Norton is both bigger and heavier, so his boot leaves a deeper imprint, which makes it easier to follow back. The longer he goes, the stranger it all becomes - they have been running next to each other the entire time, there is not a single section where the two of them had strayed from each other, so how? How did this happen? There was no physical way that Norton should have been able to disappear on him like this without Naib noticing. He picks up his pace, walk turning into a jog as his eyes stay glued to the path they left behind. If it is this easy for Naib to find and follow, then surely for the experienced hunter-

His foot snags on something.

There’s a snap.

And then there is only white hot pain.

He crumples to the ground immediately, teeth clamping down on his tongue until the taste of warm metal fills his mouth. It takes him too many precious seconds to blink enough tears away from his eyes to be able to see, even though by sensation alone he could take a pretty damn good guess at what just happened to him. Yes, the pain of a beartrap clamping down on his ankle was something that all of them were familiar with at this point, so there was no surprise when those rusted fangs glinted the rays of the moon back at him. This was a weapon that all of them have been hurt by more times than they can count - but unfortunately for Naib, this time is different. 

The manor will no longer magically repair his broken bones and torn muscles for him, he cannot simply go “ah, whatever, next match we’ll do better” - back in the real world, there is no next match, there is no next opportunity to make up for his mistakes.

Good thing that he was shaped by the cruelties of said agonizing reality. Like an old friend he hadn’t seen in ages yet was still all too knowledgeable about all its quirks, not even knowing that he could really lose his foot here phased him. 

It helps him keep his cool to know that he doesn’t have time for this, not right now, not with whatever they’ve got on their tail. He still needs to find Norton.

God, seriously, where the fuck could he have gone in such a short time?!

Focus. Focus.

He needs to breathe. That’s number one. Number two is figuring out how to get himself out of this trap without tearing up what remains of his hands. He curls his fingers once, twice, trying to will them to stop shaking so he can finally start doing something about his situation. Taking his already tattered jacket, he starts tearing strips off of the bottom, wrapping them around his hands until they are nice and cushioned, but still nimble and usable enough. A deep inhale and he braces himself, heaving his body up and around to sit on his ass, wincing at the cold clatter of the chains that seems especially loud against the silent night. 

That spurs him on to act quicker, knowing that there is no way their pursuers did not hear that giant fucking ruckus just then. 

Leaning forward, he shoves his padded fingers between the claws, inadvertently flinching as the metal rips through the first few layers. His entire body tenses as all his exhausted muscles work in tandem at trying to pry the trap open. It’s an absolute mess, made even worse by how his blood makes everything slippery and hard to grab properly, but his life is at stake - their lives are at stake, so he keeps pressing on. 

He doesn’t think about what is going to happen after, about how he is supposed to keep running with a fucked up ankle. About how he still doesn’t know where Norton is, how he probably has to fully walk back into the manor’s territory to find a trace of him. What if Bane catches up with either of them? Military training be damned, he won’t be able to hold him off with a foot like this - especially if Burke’s cameras find them between the foliage too, they will be like pathetic, trapped little sheep waiting for the wolves to come gobble them up.

None of that. Absolutely none of that.

His foot is almost free, the trap opening up enough that he can start to wiggle his leg, but not quite loose enough to pull the entire ankle free. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he doubles down his efforts, uncaring of the way his impromptu gloves are starting to fail him and he can feel the metal starting to dig into his skin enough to hurt, his sight is going blurry around the edges from blood loss and pain and -

What was that?

Like the prey animal he had been reduced to, Naib stills, all his senses on high alert. There, between the trees, just a few feet ahead of him, he heard something. He swears he heard something and it wasn’t just his fucked up brain playing its fucked up tricks on him.

He waits. He even starts to hold his breath.

Then he hears it again. Closer this time.

A screech.

Not of a person or an animal - it's the lifeless screech of stone sliding against stone.

A rockslide? No, there were no mountains nearby.

The trees start moving. It’s coming closer.

Naib’s fingers twitch, as if trying to spur him back into action, so he can actually be prepared to face whatever is about to emerge from the darkness. He doesn’t respond to his body’s pleas though, entirely too focused on the familiar figure that slowly starts to take form in front of him.

Long, too long legs. Arms made of stone, held together with a strange, unnatural magnetism. His partner’s face, disfigured and worn like some sort of masquerade mask by a creature not from this world, and that creepy hole in the middle of his torso that no one could look at for too long.

Fool’s Gold.

It happened sometimes, under the years that they spent in the manor, that a few of them “survivors” would appear as their designated hunters during matches. It was confusing and led to a lot of tension between them, turning friends into foes and digging up issues that they thought they had long solved. Norton often fell prey to this specific scenario. They have seen him as a hunter enough times that they have started giving his other persona a name to distinguish him from the actual Norton, with the hopes that it would help keep their actions separate and divert some of the animosity off of the miner.

What was going on? Why was he seeing Norton like this now? Unless…

The drugs.

Shit. Fuck. They did not account for this to happen.

Could that bastard baron have engineered the drugs in a way that if they don’t take the next dose, it will start wreaking havoc in their minds?

If so…what could Norton be possibly seeing right now? Does he know who is lying in front of him? Whose blood is filling the night air with a warm, metallic stench?

Fool’s Gold jolts, his neck jerking from left to right. His eyes are trained on Naib, but he’s not sure if he actually sees him, or if he is just looking through the mercenary. His limbs are starting to go numb from the tension of keeping his current position for too long, but he can’t risk sudden movements right now. 

The hunter’s hand tightens around the handle of the ax.

He steps forward. Slow, purposeful.

Naib finally moves in turn too, yanking his ankle free from the trap. The trap falls back on the ground with a loud clatter, along with his leg that is now officially useless. He can’t move it and every drag of his knee sends another, sharp spike of pain through his spine.

Norton won’t hurt him. He knows he won’t. If he recognizes Naib, he won’t raise a finger at him. He knows this. It’s been like this since the first time he’d seen Fool’s Gold in a match. He would be chased only as a game, only because Norton knew he would get bored otherwise and that he would take any opportunity possible to not have to stand next to the cipher machines.

Yet, the primal, animalistic part of his hindbrain that is still somehow able to recognize what is a threat he can overcome and what is a threat that can end him starts setting off all his alarms, seizing up his limbs and rendering him unable to move, as if he stayed still enough, he would disappear.

Norton won’t hurt him.

Leaves and branches crunch as the amalgamation of rocks and crystals tramples through the trees, uncaring of whatever gets caught in his path. His goal had been made clear; he wanted Naib. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he did not feel like finding out.

His body is in overdrive. The adrenaline, blood loss, drugs, overwhelming pain and exhaustion were rendering all his finely tuned senses useless. His kukri - where was it? Even if he can’t stand, perhaps he can dissuade Norton from striking, if he could only wedge the blade between the rocks making up his wrist, perhaps he could detach it from his arm? It was worth a try, if only he could find that damned thing! He always had it on him, he knew he attached it to his belt when they left, he had it just a moment ago, where was it?!

He looks around the ground, between the leaves and vines and branches and he notes with alarm that the edges of his vision were starting to go blurry. The grip he had on his consciousness was slipping as his body was running out of energy to keep up the fight. 

Not now. Anytime but now!

Norton won’t hurt him. He won’t hurt him.

The rocks squeal as the hunter stops in front of him, and for a moment, as reality fades away from him, he swore it sounded like a call of his name.

The metallic snap rings through the night like a gunshot, and Norton knows immediately what had happened.

He curses under his breath, struggling to stand, but pushes on, as he’d always done and will continue doing. 

All he can do is rely on his fucked up hearing to try and trace Naib down. He can’t call his name out, can’t risk giving away their location more than they already have. It was a miracle they managed to shake the two hunters off of their tail in the first place and Norton knows that nothing good ever lasts, so they have to make these precious few seconds count.

How the Hell did this even happen? One moment they were holding hands, fingers interlocked and gripping into each other as their pseudo-lifeline, then in a blink, he was alone.

A traitorous voice pipes up in the back of his mind.

But unlike before, tonight, he’s able to squash it down.

Naib wouldn’t abandon him. There is no way he left him behind. There is just absolutely no way.

That’s when he heard the tell-tale sound of the bear trap.

He doesn’t think he’d ever run that fast in his life. He felt like his lungs were about to explode out of his chest and every step felt like he was getting closer and closer to collapsing, coughs wrecking his entire body as he struggled to keep them down and take deeper, slower breaths. He was like a goddamn steam engine, sputtering through the forest with no way of keeping their location concealed. Really, it was a fucking miracle Bane had managed to lose track of them like this, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Every second counted.

The longer they were separated, the more danger they were in. They couldn’t fall here, not when they had gotten so close to escaping, when freedom was right at the tips of their fingers and all they had to do was reach just a bit farther to fully grasp it and take it as their own. They were right the fuck there! So why! Why now!

The cold, crisp night air nips at the corners of his eyes as it rushes past him. He may be tearing up - he doesn’t know and doesn’t have the time to think about it. He needs Naib, he needs to know if he’s okay, needs to know what happened to him, needs to know if he’s going to have to go on ahead alone, again all alone, and he doesn’t want to , he doesn’t want to keep this stupid game up if he’s going to have to return to his shithole of a life all alone . There is no life for him out there that’s worth this trouble, the very reason he wanted to escape in the first place was the possibility of starting over with someone who actually gave half a shit about him and wanted the best for him. That’s why he can’t, he just can’t do this by himself. 

Naib was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s going to fight for him tooth and nail until his last breath.

The toe of his boot hits something then; something heavy and decidedly not organic, if the clatter of chains was anything to go by. He loses his balance for a moment then, having to throw his arms out to steady himself so he doesn’t tumble forward and fall face first into the forest floor, where now he knows there would be a bear trap waiting to clamp down on his tender flesh. Only - as he follows the length of the chain with his eyes, there is no trap to be seen anywhere. In fact, it seems that the chain disappears somewhere between the bushes.

He takes a deep breath, wincing at the way it shakes and whistles inside his body.

This is his best lead, so he follows it without giving it much thought. He doesn’t stop, even when the crunching of the leaves beneath his feet is slowly but surely drowned out by chain rattling, thrashing, and most alarmingly of all - whining.

Inhuman, animalistic whining. Whatever the trap had caught, it was clearly in a world of pain and was struggling to free itself from its grip, no matter the cost. There were branches snapping, leaves and bushes rustling and roots tearing. Fear had little place in Norton’s life, but even he knew that approaching any unidentified sound like this in the middle of a forest, especially during the night, was surely a bad idea and he was, at best, risking his life by deciding to investigate. But once again, this was his only clue that could potentially lead him towards finding Naib. So even if he died trying, he had to try. For him, for the both of them, for their future together.

Parting the branches in front of him, he finally steps to a new area, where most of the foliage had already been trampled.

His breath catches in his throat and he has to slap a hand to his mouth to conceal any further noise.

The beast writhing in front of him hardly looks like any animal he’s ever seen before.

Black fur coated the thing’s limbs that turned lighter towards the paws - paws that sported some of the biggest, sharpest claws he had ever seen. Those things hardly looked like they belonged to an animal and rather made him feel like this was a demented child’s drawing, where they drew knives and daggers instead of a cat’s claws and that abomination had somehow come to life to haunt him. The strangest thing though was that the creature clearly wore some type of clothing, human clothing at that. But with how dark it was, and how tattered the clothes had become from the creature’s thrashing, he had very little luck guessing what sort of clothes they must have been. There was something strapped to the beast’s thigh too, on the leg that was caught in the trap. Despite every single part of his body telling him to turn tail and run for his fucking life, Norton, being the absolute idiot that he was, decided to step closer to see what it was exactly that the thing was carrying.

The beast whined, his leg twitching as he kept clawing at the trap, trying to lodge his strange blades between the teeth of the contraption to pry it apart. As it writhed, the moonlight flickering through the trees managed to land on the strap and highlighted what it was that it was carrying.

He could recognize that gleam anywhere. The sharpness of the blade, the shape, the handle, even the belt that was holding it.

A kukri.

That was Naib’s kukri.

He places his weight wrong and a branch snaps under his foot.

The beast yanks its head up, its cold, blue eyes glowing like two headlights in the dark.

Realization hits Norton like a truck and he has to grip into the tree next to him so he doesn’t stumble backwards.

Was this Naib?

He knew this was a possibility - he had seen it with others and it often happened to him too, that because of the concoctions that they were forced to drink, they would see each other as grotesque monsters. However, Naib was never one of them, the ones with hunter personas that is. But to think that it would happen right now, when they were so far from the manor and its damn drugs and damn matches and were about to step over the threshold was just simply unthinkable. He knew, based on testimony from others, that whenever the so called “Fool’s Gold” emerged, it would usually take at least a week for him to “go back to normal,” and for that week, everyone would see him as a hunter and would interact with him as such. If the same was happening to Naib, what did that mean for him? Would he also stay like this for a week? Even longer? How would this affect him interacting with others in the outside world? Would he be captured again and experimented on to figure out what sort of crazy drug he had been administered?

That last one may have been an exaggeration. He couldn’t help it though, not with how his thoughts were racing through his head a mile a minute. He didn’t know what to do and he was panicking about it. Any other time, if they were still back in the manor, he knew that he could count on Naib to be there for him, take his hands and help him settle down until he could think straight again. God, was that not embarrassing? Norton had spent his entire life doing everything by himself, yet now when he finally needed that skill, all he could do was throw a fit that Naib wasn’t there to keep him calm and think for him? What a fucking disaster. He was a disaster.

No. None of that.

He had to do this. He had to be okay.

Naib needed him. He had to do this for him - and for the two of them. For their future together.

He needed to focus on the facts and work from there. Regardless of everything else that was happening, the most important thing was that he had found Naib. The biggest hurdle of the two of them being separated was behind them, so what was the next, most prominent threat to their escape? The bear trap. He had to get rid of the bear trap somehow. To do that, he had to get closer to the contraption and more importantly - he somehow had to get closer to Naib without risking him tearing his head clean off.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he looks ahead, and begins taking slow, careful steps forward.

While he was busy detangling the shitstorm in his brain, Naib had either forgotten he was there, lost interest in him, or figured that he was a threat so he needed to get the trap off of himself by his own two knife-paws, as by now, he was once more turned away from Norton, all his efforts going into prying the teeth of the trap open. 

Although he was not familiar with this Naib’s behaviors, he knew more than enough about regular Naib to have something to work off of. Right away he knew sneaking up on him would equal a death wish - the mercenary hated people standing behind him, tiptoeing around him, anything that was even remotely sneaky behavior. It put him on edge like nothing else, flipping some sort of switch in him that put him in survival mode and it was really difficult to get him out of that headspace once his body had convinced him that he was in danger and he had to protect himself. So, risky as it may have been, he had to make his presence and intentions clear to this beastly version of his partner. Inch by tortuous inch, Norton lowers himself into a crouch as he gets closer to Naib’s writhing form, knowing that even his height could be a trigger for fear right now.

He was close enough that he could smell the stench of fresh blood wafting off of the other. This was bad. How long had he been here and how much blood had he lost?

He couldn’t waffle around for long. Their clock was ticking.

“Naib…?”

The beast jerks its head up with a whine, before peeling his lips back to flash the man a set of razor sharp fangs in a warning snarl. 

That wasn’t a good sign. That was quite the opposite of that, actually.

Still, Norton was undeterred. Gently, he lowered his ax to the ground, keenly aware of the way Naib was watching his each and every move, following the ax with sharp eyes. Even when it was finally dropped and Norton’s hands were free and raised in front of himself as a clear sign of peaceful intention, he was unrelenting in his glare, snarl taking a turn into constant growling.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, shhh…” 

Norton tried his best to sound soothing but by default his voice was not one people listened to and then felt better afterwards. That being said, somehow, Naib was reacting to it positively. Upon hearing his coos, the strange amalgamation of man and beast stopped growling, its ears dropping into a more relaxed position. Like this, Norton could tell that with his mouth closed like this, some of Naib’s fangs were too big to fit in his mouth and were protruding from his bottom jaw like two trunks - they were definitely large enough to shatter his skull if Naib felt like he was a threat. All he had to do was keep at it and make himself appear as small and harmless as he could.

It appeared to be working so far, so that was a good sign.

“It’s just me, Norton. You know who I am, right?”

He was scared, terrified even, that much was clear. Even though he no longer looked like he would bite Norton’s head straight off of his neck at one wrong move, he still drew away from the approaching miner, backing himself further and further against the tree. Norton had to get to his side before that could happen - the moment Naib felt trapped, negotiating with him would become nigh impossible. It was questionable even now if he even understood what was being said to him, or if he was just responding to the perceived tones and intonations. 

It felt like a century by the time Norton was squatting right next to Naib. He could feel the heat radiating off of him, like he really was some kind of wild animal whose blood was running too hot in an emergency situation. His large head was turned towards him, his hot breath washing over him in an almost uncomfortable manner, but he knew better than to show that. At least he was close enough to finally get a good look at what he was working with; Naib’s body was more human-like than his limbs and teeth and the clothes he had been unable to identify earlier turned out to be a soldier’s uniform, torn in places where he assumed Naib had gotten stuck on branches and thorns while running. He was almost scared to look at his ankle, but he knew he had to - he was no stranger to serious injuries and now was not the time to be a coward. Eyes flickering down, he surveyed the damages. Thankfully, his foot was still attached and he couldn’t see the bone yet, so that was at least a little hope for them in an otherwise seemingly hopeless situation.

He briefly noted how from this close up, he could see that there were strips of cloth wrapped around Naib’s paws, and some of that same cloth was stuck between the teeth of the trap. 

They had to pry it open. Naib would definitely not be able to stand on it, but that didn’t matter. If Norton had to carry him on his back the rest of the way out, well, it’s the least he could do for him really. 

He moves to stand, but Naib whines. For a moment, Norton worries that he’d done something wrong, that he moved too fast and undid all the progress he’d made in calming the man down, but he makes no effort to attack him. Instead, his whines turn shrill, almost begging as his ears droop. Before Norton could question it, there’s a twitch and the trap breaks into two, letting go of Naib’s ankle as it falls to the ground, limp and bloodied but still in one piece, at least. As soon as he’s free, the man leans in, placing his head in the miner’s lap and his heart absolutely shatters. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing when he reaches up and starts petting the beast, paying close attention to the nape of his neck, where he knows Naib likes it the best - and sure enough, the hunter is pushing into it, his whining melting into quiet, shy little purrs.

More alarmingly, his breathing is turning heavier and more labored by the second. It’s clear he wasn’t looking for cuddles - he was looking for a distraction, an escape from the pain.

“Shit, Naib…it’s okay, don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna find the first doctor in town ‘n you’ll be right as rain, you hear me? We’re gonna make it out. I’ll make sure. It’ll be fine.”

His comforts fall on deaf ears, as the man only continues to whine, burying his head deeper into Norton’s lap. He can feel the way his heart is hammering from the adrenaline, pain and blood loss, his uniform sticking to his body from sweat and blood and Norton is overwhelmed.

He has to help him. He has to. He has to make it up to Naib.

He can show him that he can be good too. Not just a good teammate or a good person, but a good partner who he can rely on.

Gently, he cups Naib’s face in his hands and ignoring the grime coating him, presses a kiss on his forehead. The man in his lap trills, his entire body shaking and it's clear to Norton that he only has a few more minutes at best where Naib is conscious. He has to address the wound first - what can he wrap it up with? Carefully he starts moving the hunter’s body, paying close attention to any other wounds that may be on his body and thankfully he doesn’t protest. Perhaps he’s recognized that Norton won’t hurt him, perhaps he’s too tired to react, perhaps he’s already passed out. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care at the moment, as long as he can still see the rise and fall of his chest he doesn’t care, hyper focused on the man’s battered leg. He can’t see really well, his shitty sight made even worse by the pitch darkness swallowing them whole, but he sees enough to assess the situation with remotely accurate results.

The wound is deep, but not deep enough to reach bone. That’s something he’d already noticed earlier, but it still feels good to reassure himself of that. It gives Naib a better chance of keeping his foot once they make it out of here. Without thinking twice about it, he tugs his ascot off and starts wrapping it around the wound, making sure he applies steady pressure as he does so, doing his best to stop further blood loss. It’s not perfect by any means, they have no way of cleaning the wound, nor does he have clean gauze that would be preferable in the moment, but he’s just going to trust that a man who had been shot with more bullets than he could remember will survive this one too. 

He had to survive. There was no other option for them.

One ascot won’t be enough to stop the bleeding completely. He needs more.

His eyes are instinctively drawn to the blade strapped to Naib’s thigh.

When he reaches for it, the man doesn’t flinch. He must be unconscious, Norton figures, but when he straightens back up, kukri in hand, those eyes are trained on him, their light bouncing off of the cold steel. A shiver runs down his spine; the soldier’s kukri was something that Norton was never allowed to touch. Naib had kept it on his person at all times, even when he went to sleep this thing would be under his pillow, attached to him as if it were a third arm. He waits for any sort of reaction, any indication that Naib doesn’t want him touching such a personal, precious item, but nothing comes. He simply closes his eyes, trusting Norton to do whatever he thinks is right.

He almost passes out under the crushing weight of such a revelation. But he grits his teeth and carries on, determined to prove that Naib was right to trust him.

He will save him. He will be the one to save Naib.

He cuts away at his shirt, leaving shallow cuts to make tearing the fabric easier. Strip after strip he peels off, until the cheap cotton wrapped around Naib’s ankle stops bleeding through. He doesn’t waste another second, sliding the kukri back in its sheath and as he pulls away, he puts his hand under the shorter’s nose to check if he was still breathing. The same hot, almost humid air washes over his bare hands, letting him know that while he’s unable to move, he is, at the very least, still alive.

Now came the hard part.

He had to remind himself that Naib wasn’t actually a strange amalgamation of a mountain lion and boar and it was most definitely just his mind playing tricks on him. So despite the appearance of a wild beast made of nothing but muscle, Naib was still Naib; stocky and well-built but short, and Norton knew for a fact that he was able to carry his weight, having done so time and time again during their time in the manor. It was hard to believe the logical, sane part of his brain, when the other part swimming in drugs was doing such a good job convincing him of what he was seeing was real, complete with the sensation of rough, coarse fur under his fingers, and a weight that was definitely not human keeping him pressed to the ground.

No time to dwell on that. Even if Naib weighed a thousand pounds, he would rather break every bone in his body while trying to pick him up, than to leave him for dead in the forest.

So that’s exactly what he does.

Taking the man’s long, feline-like arms, he turns around and drapes them over his shoulders, until Naib’s large head is resting on top of his. If he really focused, he could feel the way the beast-sized heart beat against his back, hammering away at a steady pace and that was good. He would have a constant reminder that he was still alive and hanging on. Reaching down, he wraps his arms around the massive thighs, until they are resting on each side of him for a comfortable hold - well, as comfortable as it could be to handle such a strange creature, at least. Finally, he heaves, pushing himself into a stand.

Every single scratch, wound and bruise pulses from pain at once, and the world around him goes white from pain for a terrifying moment. It doesn’t last, and through gritted teeth, he chases it all away. The strain on his joints, the weight threatening to crush him, the air that was not filling his weak lungs quite enough, the blood coating his hands and making them slippery as he struggles to keep a hold on the fur covered leg. He pushes it all down and takes the first shaky step forward. Then the next one, and the next one, and so forth.

One step at a time. They will make it out of here. 

Someone’s talking and it takes him entirely too long to place the voice as his own, worn and tense from exhaustion. All he can do is plead. Plea to himself, to some higher power, to Naib, to let them escape in one piece.

“It’s…it’s my turn to save you. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove it to you that you chose right…so please, just, hold on…”

“Have you ever planned to get married?”

“Man…realistically? Hell no. With what money? Even t’ elope I’d need a fortune.”

“Is money seriously all you can think about?”

“You kinda need money to live don’t you?! Especially when we talk ‘bout frivolous luxuries like marriage! What the Hell! Why are they so expensive?!”

“What kind of weddings have you been to?! It doesn’t have to be an expensive thing!”

“Sounds like you got ideas for your ideal wedding that doesn’t cost thousands then?”

“I do, actually! I always imagined it like…just a big family get together. We throw up some shitty, handmade decoration and everyone brings their own food and drinks. It’s not about the ceremony, but the company.”

“...That…actually, doesn’t sound that bad at all…Hah, whoever you end up marryin’ you better invite me if the party is gonna be like that.”

“In your dreams, Campbell! I wouldn’t invite you to my wedding if you were the last person alive!” 

Norton jolts awake to the sound of viciously overjoyed barking and the ever-so-pampering feeling of a rough tongue lapping at his ankle. He remembers when the sensation used to send him scrambling from bed, screaming bloody murder that a monster was attacking him, trying to eat his shins, but by now he is more than used to this morning ritual. In fact, he is so used to it, that he is no longer surprised or agitated by the fact that when he moves to push the snout out of his face, his arm remains unresponsive, pinned under the weight of his still asleep fiancé.

Actually, scratch that, the fucker. He knows he is wide awake, if that smirk was anything to go by.

Waking up had become Norton’s favorite time of the day, once he realized that from now on, this smirk would be the first thing he sees every time he opens his eyes.

Naib doesn’t need to know that though. Or at the very least, he is not going to grace him with a reminder now when he is being so awfully uncooperative and leaving his poor, poor soon-to-be-husband to the whims of their furry beast of a child.

“You could help me, you know.”

“Nah. She just loves you. Who am I to stop her from loving her dad, hm?”

He just really had to fall for that snark, didn’t he.

Collecting all the resolve in his body with a deep sigh, Norton finally manages to free his arm from the confines of his partner so when he pushes himself up to sit, he has both arms free and ready to wrestle their 7 month old rottweiler into a hug, just to really make her regret waking her parents up so early in the morning. She yaps, reaches for Norton’s hand in a playful nip, tail wagging hard enough to shake her entire body as the two of them somehow end up in a “scuffle” on the floor.

“Why’re ya up so early huh? Huh? You like when I don’t get enough sleep? You lil’ devil, you like when dad is tired don’t you?” He heckles their dog, Mrs.Hunk, in a low, but affection-filled tone as she throws herself down on the wooden floor, belly up, expectant eyes watching the once miner as he makes sure not an inch of her body is left without ample attention. 

“She’d probably gotten used to us waking so early.” Comes the defense from up above in a voice that is still gruff from sleep. When Norton looks up, Naib has moved to lay horizontally across their bed on his tummy, sheets tangled between his legs so he could rest his cheek against his folded arms and watch the two of them cuddle-fight. There is undeniable fondness in his gaze that shakes Norton to his very core and it takes him a few seconds to realize that Naib is still talking. “She has no concept of vacation, so she was probably wondering why we aren’t up and busy in the kitchen yet.”

“God. Why did we have to open a bakery. Why couldn’t we have started somethin’ that doesn’t require us to wake up at 5 in the morning. Worst plan ever.”

“You say that, but you have the most fun baking, don’t you?” 

And he can damn near hear the smirk in Naib’s voice even if he’s no longer looking at him, as he has already stood up and started to move around their bedroom. There’s the shuffle of bare feet on the carpet, the sound of curtains being drawn and all too suddenly the pleasant little flicker of sunshine coming through the windows turns into a blinding ray beaming straight into Norton’s fucking eyes and he groans, rolling over along with their dog to escape the assault. He lays there for a few seconds, mourning the loss of his eyesight and permanent damage to his retinas while Mrs. Hunk slobbers all over his face, before a foot pressing into his hip rolls him to lay on his back.

“Alright, enough theatrics, time to get up. We have to cook for like twenty people.”

Ah, isn’t that right? But he quite likes his place under Naib’s foot.

“Don’t give me that look. Get your head out of the damn gutter and help me. If you’re nice today, then I’ll play with you?”

Who is he to say no to such an inviting proposal - but Norton will always be Norton, so it is in his nature to take a mile when he’s given an inch.

“Promise?”

“You fucking baby.” Naib rolls his eyes, but there is such overwhelming fondness in the action that it's practically melting off of him in waves. He holds out a hand for Norton, who takes it without question, and pulls him up into a stand. They have done this song and dance enough times that as soon as they are (somewhat) eye level with each other, both of them are leaning in to meet in the middle for a chaste kiss, morning breath be damned. “Yes, promise. Now get up and get going.” 

One more kiss and Naib is leaving him to his own devices as he walks into their bathroom with their dog in tow.

Norton lets out a yawn, stretching out his back. A symphony of satisfying pops follow, and he moves right on, dutifully making their bed and opening the windows, letting the countryside air in. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful, sunny day, not too hot but not too cold either - it really is the perfect weather for a wedding. They had the right idea, asking Eli for a weather forecast. Even if he put up a fuss about using his foresight for such trivial matters, when it came to his friends, he’d do anything they asked of him. And it wasn’t even for anything selfish! They had a completely noble goal in mind.

If they didn’t volunteer to arrange Aesop and Victor’s wedding themselves, venue and catering and all, those two losers would have probably just eloped and none of them would know anything about it until months later. As the loyal friends they are, they simply couldn’t have allowed that. He was already doing Aesop a huge damn favor here, letting him marry his boo before him.

He sighs, a soft little sound, easily carried away by the crisp morning breeze. He can still barely believe that this is real. It’s only been 2 years since they managed to escape the manor, yet it feels like it had already been a decade or so, the memory of that darned place blurring into but a distant nightmare. It was a miracle that they survived not only escaping, but practically running back and busting the place, just so everyone else could return to their lives too. They never dared to talk about what their plans would be if they ever managed to make it out alive, so when they finally stumbled out of that forest in one piece, Norton was lost. What would become of them now? There was no way on Earth, Heaven and Hell and everything inbetween that he was ever going to put his foot in another mine in this, or any other lifetime.

Turns out, he was greatly mistaken about how much mercenaries make. Naib just laughed at him and paid for a house out of pocket in the first neighborhood where Norton had pointed. He even had the gall to suggest that Norton could finally retire and be a housewife whose only responsibility was knowing what theater productions he wanted to see.

He hated this guy. He really, truly did.

They went to the theater that same week.

As much as he enjoyed the stay at home mom lifestyle, old habits die hard. Norton was a working man, had always been and will probably be one until the day he physically can’t move anymore, so he was quick to grow antsy at home. After putting their heads together, they could only come up with one solution; why not open a bakery? It was labor intensive enough to satisfy even busybodies like the two of them, but was far removed from the life-threatening environments of either of their old jobs. Norton wasn’t sure about it at first but Naib was right; between the two of them, he definitely enjoyed it the most. 

What they had right now was everything that he ever could have wished for. Somedays he was scared to wake up, afraid that if he were to open his eyes, he would find himself back in that dingy manor room, forced to go through yet another day of torture and testing - or even worse, he would be back in his old, decrepit wooden hut that was falling apart at the seams, with his coworkers already waiting for him at the entrance to the mines. But whenever those fears crept up on him, there Naib would be, steady, warm and perfect as ever, holding him tight and filling his head with sweet little nothings, until there would be no more space in there left for anxiety.

One day, he will be able to properly repay Naib for saving him. Until then, he will just have to settle for loving him a bit more each day.

“Are you coming already? The dough isn’t going to knead itself!”

“Coming!”