When it's all over, and friendly gunfire fills the air, he is waiting for you leaned up against a jeep. A rare smile stretched across his lips.
"Well done, son of Mohan. Well done."
He claps his hand against your back and pulls you into a warm embrace and you let him hold you there a moment, grateful for his heat against your icy skin.
He smells like pine and old papers and sweat and home. When you pull away, he grabs the back of your neck, smiling still.
"Come brother, we must celebrate."
And you follow him as you so often did. It was a subconscious response like wolves following their pack leader. This time when you open the door to the jeep and sit next to him, no one stops you. No one tries to push you out of the way and take your place.
For this you are thankful, because with the exhaustion and what you've done and what you feel and what you don't, you might've stuck a knife in their neck.
You take a seat next to him on the stoop of his makeshift safe-house, enjoying the cacophony of sounds. Gunfire, laughter, singing, shouting, and silence. Mostly the silence.
You don't drink because he's not drinking and there's no sense in drinking alone unless you're trying to kill whatever it is inside you that you don't want to feel and in that moment there are two truths:
One, that you are not alone, and two, you want to feel it all. The resentment, the guilt, and the uncertainty.
You can't help the hate you feel in the tips of your fingers for him and how he has used you, but mostly it's how you let him. You couldn't bring yourself to say "no."
No, with his steel resolve and tiger eyes and his orders that didn't sound like orders but left little room for argument, he would have no need for you and you needed him to need you.
There's a fire crackling against the night and somewhere between the off-tune singing and a few of the men dancing with cloth wrapped around their bodies in mock sarees, he laughs. It's genuine and hearty. You can tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges and how they light up and you can't help but follow suit and laugh along with him.
The back of his hand brushes against your own as he raises it to wipe the sweat from his brow, and immediately your skin is electric. When you turn to look at him and he looks back, sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes questioning, you think it's time for a drink or two because in that instant you feel something you shouldn't. Think something you shouldn't, and if his God were to hear your thoughts then, you would surely be damned for all eternity.
"I'm gonna go get something to drink."
Again he has his hand on the back of your neck. "Go ahead brother, you deserve it."
You take longer than you expected returning with the bottle because you have inadvertently become the center of attention despite your pathetic attempts at skirting around the group's drunken festivities. When you do, he's sitting there, elbows resting on his legs, hands clasped loosely between them, and a smile on his face.
He has smiled more today than he has since you met him. Immediately, you take a swig of the liquor, letting it burn the back of your throat and warm your stomach. You offer it to him without a word and when he refuses, you offer it to him again anyway.
"I have taken a vow, Ajay. You know that."
But you know it's because he needs to be in control always, should he lose control of his senses, he might let the parts of him show that no one has seen and he couldn't have that. So you drink on his behalf until the liquid courage silences the voice in the back of your head that keeps you from embarrassing yourself.
"What are you so afraid of?"you finally manage.
"What do you mean, brother?"
"Why do you always have your guard up. What is it that you're hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything."
You're venturing into dangerous territory. You feel it when he tenses up next to you, his voice devoid of the amusement it held moments ago.
"Just what are you implying, brother?"
"I'm not implying anything, Sabal."
The liquid courage falters because it can't shelter you from his eyes. His ever prying tiger eyes. Lay your secrets before me, they would say. I will judge them. And you couldn't help but comply. Always. What is it that he saw in them? Could he see your shame?
"You must've meant something by it otherwise you wouldn't have said anything." His voice is stern. Even. Like he's talking to one of his men, getting ready to lay into them.
But your fingers are tingling and you feel light and your face is flush and warm. There's a laugh bubbling beneath the surface. Your lips twitch ever so slightly at the corners. Had it not been for the liquor, you would have sulked back into yourself, apologizing for being so bold but you don't. You have bad judgment and intoxication on your side.
"Jeez Sabal, why do you always have to be so serious? You look good when you smile."
"Ah is that so?"
His eyes are soft again and the amusement has returned. "I'll keep that in mind." But he doesn't smile because to do so would be to let you win and everyone knew that Sabal hated losing.
"Sabal?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you ever get lonely?"
"Why all these questions?"
You let the bottle dangle loosely between your fingers, your eyes studying the label.
"Because I know nothing about you."
"There's not much to know."
"Do you ever just want to say fuck it and leave it all behind?"
"Ajay…"
You don't let him finish, because if you do he'll talk you down from your madness and you won't be able to blame the liquor later on.
"Why did you look for me when I was in that prison?"
"Because you are the son of Mohan Ghale. You are one of us."
"Then why don't you trust me?"
It's then that he looks at you, really looks at you. And his hand rests on your shoulder, squeezing it.
"What makes you think that?"
And then you do it. You kiss him. Feeling his chapped lips against your own, completely lost to the sensation, sighing like you've been holding it the whole time and finally feel relief from it. But he doesn't kiss you back. Instead, he pushes you back roughly, his eyes wide and alert like the first time you met him and he held a gun to your head.
Instead this time he pulls the trigger, because what you feel in that moment is something worse than death. You feel embarrassed, exposed, angry, and mostly hurt.
"Ajay, it seems you've had one too many, you should go sleep it off," he finally manages.
Again he is distant and cold. Again he is Sabal.
Thank you so much for reading! What do you think so far?