Warmth Chapter IV: By Secret Yaoi Lover (AKA: Aubrey)

Disclaimer: Dragon Knights is (c) not to me.

-- I'd like to apologize for the ever so long hiatus between now and the last time I updated. I have no excuses. I'd also like to apologize for not getting this up in the last week like I promised a couple of you. But hey, if we stick to the Spanish calendar, Sunday is still a part of the week, so I'm still forgivable, yes?

-- THANK YOU for sticking with me. You have no idea what it means to me when I see your excitement for the next chapter. It's amazing. It's uplifting. It's overwhelming. But enough about you and me. Here's the story.

He woke up in bed again, feeling like he was suffering from a bad case of deja vu. All he felt he'd been doing is waking. Waking up in a new place, fighting your memories for some trace of how you got there and when. Waking on a stone floor, a foreign bedroom, a small corner, the arms of a stranger…

Raamgarnus. Gil slouched further into the covers, feeling resentful. How could Raamgarnus touch him like that-- like everyone else did? Falling to the level of those cruel bastards…

"Good morning." Gil sat up almost immediately, his unwavering eye following Raamgarnus's steps toward him. Raamu folded his legs beneath him and sat down, setting a glass of dark red substance next to him. "Or 'afternoon,' to be more accurate, I suppose." Gil glared at him, obviously not caring for his wit or his smile.

"Sleep well?"

"No." Gil lied.

"That's too bad, it's probably because your sick." The Raamgarnus swiftly pushed aside the anxious, wavering voice that was creeping into him, "Here let me see." He straightened up, pushing Gil's hair back and covering his forehead with his hand. Gil winced, but didn't move from the rebelliously cool touch.

"Your a bit flushed." Raamgarnus stated, "But no fever. You're recovering pretty quickly, considering all you went through last night. Must be all that demon blood in you."

Bite me. Gil snarled back, but didn't have the gall to actually say it.

The visitor-- or rather, the host-- picked up the glass and held it out, "You're going to need to drink this, if you want to get better." Gil let his good eye flick over the glass a few times, and tried to hide a grimace, unsuccessfully. He doubted Raamgarnus would be the type to poison, but just the same, it didn't look too appetizing. Forget appetizing, it looked like blood.

"It'll speed the healing, Gil. Drink it."

"No." Gil shook his head briefly, but altogether remained motionless.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"You have to."

"I know. I don't want to."

"You're getting better at speaking."

Hardly. Gil ignored him, turning away towards the opposite wall. He was becoming very accustomed to that wall. Maybe he could make friends. It would be a pleasant, mutual relationship where he wouldn't have to answer questions and throw around meaningless syllables in an endless waste of breath.

"Listen, you have to take this medicine." Raamgarnus held the glass a full arms length away from him.

Gil faced him, glowering and frustrated that he had to repeat himself. "No."

"Gil--"

A shatter punctuated the end of the name. The medicine was a glittering stain on the wall.

Raamgarnus stiffened, watching the splatter's long red fingers creep towards the floor. A chilling echo seemed to fill the air. Raamgarnus got to his feet with a sigh. Hit me. He raked a hand through his hair, giving the massacre of glass and juices a second flickering glance. "I'm sorry, I guess we'll try again later then, won't we?" Hit me-- goddammit-- hit me!

"I hate you." Gil snarled, rebellion licking into his lungs.

"I know. You told me that last time, remember?" Raamgarnus said, beginning to smile, as he started towards the door.

"I hate you!" Gil shrieked again as he left. So uneventful, it was disconcerting. If he would just beat him then he would be readable-- predictable-- familiar. But with this constant hospitality and seemingly benign poker-face-- god, it was becoming unbearable! Raamgarnus had to be hiding something under that pleasant appearance. Underneath he was just like everyone else he knew-- and Gil wasn't going to let it take him by surprise.

Dammit, just punish me. Punish me for the bitch that I am…

Guilt pushed up from the bottom of his stomach, and Gil fought to keep it down. He pulled his legs into his chest and rested his head on his knees. A soft white shirt was buttoned around him, and his dark scarlet hair was clean and silky. Raamgarnus even bothered to wash and dress him? And while he slept?

Gil pressed a hand up to his forehead, trying to clear his dull senses. His body told him to go back to sleep and let the hot sickness pass away with his thoughts, but…

Gil slid his legs over the short bed and stood with only the slightest waver.

The floor was unsteady. His head hurt with a smoldering pain. He tried to shake it away, but only made himself more disoriented. Gil straightened, took a breath, and stepped rather unconfidently towards the door. The door he had only voluntarily passed through once. The loose ripples of clothing followed behind his steps.

Crossing his arms he began to pull his shirt off, but a sudden chill swept over him, halting his intentions with a violent shudder. The white linens dropped back into their dormant position, warm and soft.

Maybe he would keep them on… just this once.

He curled his fingers around the door frame, aware of his nervous curiosity that was drowning out the burning hatred and rebellion he'd been overcome with once before. He furrowed his brow, blocking it out. Now was not the time to be getting caught unawares. And that dull throbbing in his head… Gil briefly closed his eyes again before stepping out into the wilderness of the living room.

It was a small area, with only the simple pleasures to fill it. Gil slipped along the room, staying close to the walls and warily searching for Raamgarnus. His eye fell upon a book with a title he couldn't read. Intrigued, he brushed his fingertips down the cover and along the spine. He thought he'd seen one similar to it before, as if in a dream. He lifted the cover revealing a page with more unreadable characters, and then the same on the next page. But despite their indecipherable scrawl it was somehow recognizable, the code resting somewhere in his subconscious. That letter there; was that a… "G"?

"Like books?"

Gil dropped to the floor with an audible thud, out of sight behind a large chair. He winced at the light laughter that followed. "If you want it, you can have it. You like fiction?"

What the hell is that? Bitterness began to fill Gil chest again making him weary.

"Don't hide."

"Let me alone."

"But… wasn't I?" Raamgarnus slowly began to circle towards Gil, a childish air playing about him. "You're the one who's not leaving me alone."

Gil floundered at Raamgarnus's statement, scrambling away from him. "Let me--! Leave me--!"

"All right, all right." Raamgarnus said, holding out his hands, "I'll leave you be, but--" His brow furrowed, "Are you hungry?"

What the fuck sort of question--? Gil glanced up at him through the fingers that were netted over his face incredulously. "Well are you?" He didn't answer, still slightly baffled at the spontaneity of the question. "N-no." He finally replied, shaking his head.

Raamgarnus sighed, "Hopefully you'll change your mind once I start dishing it up. You haven't had a decent meal in… say… a week, maybe longer?"

Gil just shook his head again, trying to numb the feverish headache that was lifting steadily. Not hungry, not hungry, not…

Raamgarnus set a plate in front of him on the floor.

Lamb. Cucumber. Bread.

"Cucumber's special since they're hard to come by in the winter time," he smiled, "But then again, what's not?" Gil didn't give him the satisfaction of a glance, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor-- but not on the food. Raamgarnus turned from him, lifting the book Gil had been mildly interested in before off it's bed. He carried it with him to the table and began to serve himself lunch (or dinner; whatever it was). Gil closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the provocative meal, hiding in the dark while breathing in the desirable scents.

Eventually, he sat up, eyeing Raamgarnus to make sure he wasn't watching. He stretched his hand towards the plate, hesitating several times. Last time he had been offered a good meal his waiters swept the food from his bloodied hands, laughing. Gil's anger could not drown out the suffocating hunger that made even bleeding tiring. That was one of the first times that happened. He vaguely remembered feeling pathetic while he cried. Gil hadn't responded to large meals well ever since. That was until now.

Gil shot up another suspicious glare at Raamgarnus. He didn't seem like too much of a threat, sitting placidly at the table on the other side of the room. His fingers graced the edge of the plate and then gripped it, pulling it in protectively towards him. Gil lifted the steak from the dish and tore off a small piece between his teeth; then swallowed.

All hesitation vanished almost as quickly as the first bite. Gil took another, and another as the hunger of the past two weeks crushed down upon him, causing an unquenchable-- almost lecherous desire to fill himself with the food he had been deprived of as long as he could remember. He didn't care if Raamgarnus was watching him make a fool of himself in an act that must have been gluttony. He didn't care if he tried to take it away. This was a dinner worth dying for. Worth killing for.

Much to Gil's dismay, the food disappeared in under a minute. Even the cucumber. He thought he didn't like cucumber. He lifted the plate off the floor and began to lick it's smooth center. A distinct chuckle resonated briefly from the corner. Gil ignored it.

It was more-- much more-- than he was used to eating. That wouldn't be an issue however. His line of sight wandered towards the table, where there was even more food piled high and smelling better. He averted his eyes, not wanting-- not ready to approach Raamgarnus to beg for more. It was better not to ask at all than to risk being denied and humiliated. Not hungry. He reminded himself, Not hungry then, not hungry now, not hungry. Denial, however, can be a fleeting thing.

Gil began to stand, then stooped to retrieve the plate. He approached the table cautiously, keeping opposite from Raamgarnus, who pretended to be engrossed in his book. "I--"

Raamgarnus glanced up at him, not bothering to hide his smile.

"I-- would like--" He hated the sound of his own voice. It was low and dark like a man's but struggling and apologetic like a child's. Gil stopped and glanced down at the floor awkwardly, frustrated with himself.

"More?" Raamgarnus inquired rhetorically, "Go ahead and help yourself. Take as much as you like."

Gil's eye flicked over the shallow dish of meat. There weren't many pieces, but each cut was generous. "As much as I--?"

"That's right. I prepared everything for you anyway." Raamgarnus tried to keep his nonchalance, but had to press the book against his face to hide the grin. Seeing Gil shocked in pre-happiness easily made up for the destroyed glass of medicine.

After struggling with himself for a while, Gil outstretched a deliberately steady hand and began to serve himself. This wasn't supposed to happen; no one would, or was allowed to, give him anything. And here he was, taking what he wanted from someone else. He never would have imagined this ever happening. But if that was true, why did he ask for more food in the first place?

Standing, Raamgarnus crossed to the living room to put another log in the fire. He plopped himself down onto the sofa, covering his smiles. Avoiding Gil was working better than approaching him. As long as Raamgarnus attempted to steer clear of him, Gil would-- in theory-- get closer. With time, that is.

The room was getting quiet. Gil stood from his new hiding place under the table, and warily moved deeper into the kitchen. The hungry was gone, leaving pleasant satisfaction in it's wake. The contentment did not ease his misgivings, however. He stepped lightly, hoping Raamgarnus wouldn't hear him, or worse, hear him. The kitchen was beginning to darken with the early winter dusk. He found a sink with several utensils sleeping on the bottom. Fork, knife… knife. Goosebumps lit over his arms. He backed away, forcing his eyes away from it. Just a blade, just a tool for--

finding blood in anyplace

--vegetables so one could cut--

between the fingers

--cucumber for--

laughing at pictures drawn in red paint

--dinner.

Gil put a hand halfway through his hair, just enough to cover his eye with his palm. He was back at the table now, sinking against it's legs and fingering the scars along his cheek and jaw, and then down to the side of his neck. He found three familiar cuts there. Cuts that he himself had planted. He pulled away, half in disgust and the other half in regret of failure. If he had succeeded he would have been spared two more years of suffering. If he had succeeded he would not be here today.

But was today worth missing?

His eyes flicked over to the living room where the back of Raamgarnus's head barely peaked over the sofa. There was a glass of water next to the chair-- a twin to the broken one still languishing in a corner.

The medicine, the glass, the burning anger that sent it flying across the room. What had happened to that spite that was driving him so confidently?

He's manipulating me. Gil reminded himself, Just like all the others. Just like Shydeman. But somehow Raamgarnus's smile could not match the icy smirks of his memories.

A laugh of sincerity, not sarcasm.

A touch of compassion, not control.

A smile of…

A smile of… of…

"What… is that?"

Raamgarnus was startled at the soft-spoken voice at his shoulder. "A-- a book," he answered, glancing up and behind at Gil, who shied back with a cold glare. Raamgarnus turned his attention back to his novel, flipping the cover into view and listing the title, "Ever heard of it? Read it?" Gil slipped further out of the firelight, shaking his head roughly. "Can't."

"Can't?"

"Read."

"Oh." There was a short pause, then, "Well, that's all right. I can just read to you, if you're curious. Besides, I'm sure you've just forgotten how to read. It'll come back to you." Gil shook his head in response, and Raamgarnus wasn't quite sure which comment he was denying. "Sit down over here, Gil. I'll read to you." Gil shook his head again, his wolf like eye glinting in the firelight. Raamgarnus turned his attention back to his book again, "Fine, I won't read to you, but sit down anyway. It's warmer near the fire."

The silence beckoned him to look over his shoulder once again. Gil was glowering at him with an eye that could only express suspicion. Raamgarnus smiled—

that beautiful stirring smile

"Hopefully now you realize I'm not going to hurt you," a moment of anxiety flickered over his face, but he bit it down, "But I'm not going to force you to accept me." The gold eye stayed fixed on him, masking any thoughts or responses Gil had on the matter. Eventually the eye disappeared with the rest of Gil's face into the dark ocean that surrounded the shores of the fireplace.

It became silent, as though Gil had never even questioned Raamgarnus's book in the first place. He was obviously becoming more trusting, but not enough to keep his head above the waters of his trauma induced isolation. Raamgarnus began to read where he left off, but found himself skimming the same line several times before remembering it. Taking care of Gil was like housing a ghost; whispering darkly in forgotten corners to avoid and haunt.

Yes, a ghost. A ghost that bled dark circles on the floor. A ghost that cried himself asleep at nights. A ghost haunting only himself, trapped in the nightmarish pleasures of others. He was the expendable one—the unknown soldier who was never missed because to everyone else, he never existed.

Just a wandering spirit that yearned to live one more time.

In one continuous movement, Gil passed Raamgarnus on his left, and sat pointedly next to the fire. He stretched out his hands towards the flames, each scar standing out stark white on his copper skin. Raamgarnus watched as Gil closed his eyes, breathing in the smoky warm fumes that wafted towards him. His shoulders softened, every muscle relaxed.

And for a moment, Raamgarnus thought he saw a sliver of a smile.

So the last half of this chapter was done about three months after the first half, so it's quite possible my style might have changed, for better or for worse. What really matters is how much ya'll like it. So… did I live up to my name?

My goal is to have the next chapter up before Christmas. It's a pretty easy goal, so hopefully it won't be a problem.