Ibrahim is not certain, after, what it is that causes him to stir awake. Perhaps it is the shifting of the horses, the wandering of some small insect or other, the very softness of Erik's breathing beside him, peaceful tonight. It could be any one of those things, or none at all, and though he is not certain what wakes him, the very waking is so gentle that he is grateful for it, for the chance to watch this man sleeping beside him.
Erik is so unguarded in sleep, so innocent. Very nearly childlike, in fact, all of the lines, the worries, smoothed away. He tried to insist that he wear the mask to sleep "so as not to startle you if you wake," but Ibrahim would not stand for that. If he wakes it would only be unsettling to see a mask instead of the face he loves, he said (and Erik's ears burned scarlet at his words, and he murmured that surely he must be exaggerating, but when Ibrahim leaned over and kissed him he quietened, and his lips twitched into a soft smile.)
There was no more talk of wearing the mask to sleep after that.
Besides, Darius is in a different tent. There is only the two of them here, and they have no secrets left between them.
Through the crack in the opening of the tent, Ibrahim can see the tapestry of stars in the sky. Twinkling little lights, like millions of burning candles, and his heart flutters in his chest at the sight of them. So beautiful, so far away but if he could he would pull them down and lay them out around Erik to banish the darkness from him forever. He should always know light, and happiness, and so help him but if Ibrahim has any say in the matter he will always know light and happiness and peace, from here on for the rest of his days. He will not let him fall again, will not let him suffer.
This is so new, this flickering, sweet, delicate thing between them, too new to truly define, but so help him he hopes it will endure, always.
Erik murmurs softly, a faint frown creasing his brow, his fingers twitching beside him, and ever so gently Ibrahim reaches over, and lays his hand over those fingers, the stars winking down at them a benediction. It is frowned upon, what they have, worse than frowned upon, but something like this, something as tender and beautiful as this, can only be divine.
Tears prickle Ibrahim's eyes, and he smiles as Erik's face smooths again at his touch. They have a long way to go before they are truly safe, through Russia and most of Europe before they can know restful peace, but for the sake of having Erik by his side, he would walk backwards through a raging fire.
He curls his fingers tighter around Erik's, and squeezes them, and his eyes wander back to the crack of sky, and the stars, and as he watches them twinkling, so far away and beautiful, he knows that they do not compare to Erik, who is beautiful too in so many ways, and right here beside him. There is no point in dreaming of the stars, in trying to touch them, when he already has all he needs.
His lips twitch into a faint smile, and his eyes slip closed, and sleep comes easily again.
A/N: Written for rjdaae who sent me a line from John Denver's 'Rocky Mountain High' and requested Pharoga. "The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullaby"