wow i'm not dead?

also yes i believe thomas is real. i mean i hope he is. and if not then he's real here, fuck you canon


heartworm

n. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

- the dictionary of obscure sorrows.


Thomas.

He tips his head up, wiping at the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and meets the boy's eyes. Thomas? he asks again, his voice so quiet and so soft, too quiet and soft. He scolds himself for it. Father would hate him for his quiet. Cal would look away and say nothing because he has no care to. Neither of them are here now, but he has to train himself anyway, or else he'll get trampled.

"Yeah, Thomas," the boy says. Though 'boy' isn't really the best word to describe him. Maven is just fourteen, and the boy is much taller than him - maybe just a little under six foot - but he still has slightly boyish features; he's probably seventeen or eighteen. "That's me. 'n what about you?" he continues. His voice has a slight accent, the smallest, littlest drop in his rs. He is probably from Harbor Bay, or nearby there, because his accent isn't so thick, Maven guesses, though he's never been to Harbor Bay so he probably couldn't say anything about that.

He's probably been staring too long. "Maven," he tells Thomas.

Thomas blinks at him and then grins, rather crooked. He's missing a tooth in the back, but besides that, his teeth seem shockingly fine. "Pleasure," is all he says, and Maven nods back. It's weird how Reds can converse in so few words. It's so nice to meet you, Silvers say. Pleasure, is all the Reds need. His bunk creaks and he lifts his fist to his mouth, coughing into it. Thomas looks at him strangely, as if coughing into your fist isn't too common around here. Then again, Maven bets that it probably isn't. Silver habits die hard, and out here Reds have no reason to be concerned with being polite.

"You're down with somethin', huh?" Thomas asks. They're the only two in the medical tent, surprisingly, though there are a lot of medical tents they could go to. 'Down with something' is common term for being sick; everyone knows that.

Maven coughs again before he can stop himself. It racks the smallest shiver through him. "Goes without saying," he mumbles, avoiding Thomas's eyes. He doesn't want to be weak at all. This is a Red, who cares, a tiny voice inside reminds him, but for some reason their blood color doesn't seem to matter now. "What's with you?"

He tilts his head at Maven. His skin is light brown paled by blood loss, his hair a darker chestnut. "Isn't it obvious?" he asks, and he lifts his leg to show a deep gash running from the top of his calf to right above his ankle. Thomas is bandaging it by himself, no healer to help him, and his shirt is ripped with more bloody wounds. Red stains him all over now that Maven's actually, really looking at him. "Got, erm, some... nasty cuts. Thrown in here because, it, uh, might be infected." Maven cringes; there's some puss too, now that Thomas's brought it up.

"Hope you get better, man," Thomas adds. He wraps bandages around his leg wound and pulls, tightening them. Maven watches the movements, surprisingly fluid for someone operating on themselves. For a moment he doesn't even realize that Thomas spoke, but he almost jumps when he does, looking awfully surprised. Maven is excellent at picking out liars, yet Thomas seems horribly genuine, too genuine. It makes him sick to his stomach. He doesn't deserve to be spoken to so kindly, not by a boy bleeding and infected. Almost as soon as he thinks the words he wants to take them back - weakness like that could get him killed.

"Thanks," says Maven quietly, the tiny little part of him that just wants a friend taking over. "You too." He's surprised by the genuineness in his own voice, surprised by the smile he flashes in Thomas's direction.

The Red boy smiles a little, green eyes directed to the ground.


"We are ever so sorry for the inconvenience, Your Majesty." The title brings a rush of power and joy to him that he'd been missing while he was ill. "But your vitals have almost recovered completely. You are doing very well."

Maven nods at her. He has no reason to thank her; it's her job to heal.

"In all probability, you'll be released tomorrow or the day after," the doctor guesses, tapping her clipboard nervously. "But we'd like to run a few more tests, just to make sure. You are the prince, and your safety is our highest concern." Maven nods again at her, too weak to smile, and she grins instead before hurrying off. While he's mostly content with his outcome, the small part of him that talked to Thomas hisses, What about the others? The weak of all blood types? Why don't you care about them? He grimaces to himself. He's been trying to silence that little voice for so long, but around the dead and the dying and Thomas it seems to not want to quell itself.

Speaking of Thomas, he hasn't seen him since yesterday. It's not really worrying but it's become kind of a daily routine for him to talk to one of his only friends, like he plays chess with Cal every night (though he hasn't seen Cal in forever; he knows his brother is on the front, but a while without Cal has been kind of a nice reprieve). Maven had tried not to look when the doctors examined the infected wound, and he tried not to hear either, so he didn't know then and doesn't now.

He dozes. The fever broke a while ago.

"Maven." The tap of a finger on his shoulder. "Hey, you awake?"

He blinks blearily. Perhaps he slept for longer than he thought.

He looks up. A surge of relief fills him. It's Thomas, he thinks to himself, almost excited to see his friend again. "Hi, Thomas," he says. His eyes first notice the other's crooked stance, then trail to Thomas's hands, which are clutching crutches. "Are you doing better?" The leg with the biggest gash is all bandaged up, and Maven can notice a few white wraps on his side, too. Seems like he's been all taken care of. Might as well ask anyway.

Thomas nods. "Sure am," he says, grinning crookedly again, so excited about it. "There was an infection, but they got rid of it. Told me to wear bandages most of the time. They had a lot of spare crutches, and I was limping, so they gave me some." There's a moment of silence, and Maven opens his mouth to speak, but Thomas interrupts him with, "You look better. Has the fever broken?"

Maven nods. "Yeah," he mutters. "Says they'll probably let me leave tomorrow." He's not sure when his tone became so casual. He assumes that it's the sickness and he can't be bothered to speak formally; that's it. "Just gotta run some checkups."

Thomas frowns, as if the idea of checkups is confusing to him. Then he looks away. "Where will you go then?" Thomas asks.

"What do you mean?" Maven says.

"We might not be able to see each other again." Thomas looks so upset.

That's the way war is, a large part of Maven wants to say, but a deep sadness begins in that very little part of him and rises, swallows up all his other parts, fills his whole with deep dark sorrow at the fact that he's losing a friend.


Deep dark sorrow

(he's bleeding he's bleeding)

at the fact that he's losing a friend.

(he can't get up)

"Let me GO!" he screams and he thrashes and cries, kicking endlessly at the guard behind him, and when they fall more guards surround him, pulling on his arms, holding him down, preventing him from going further. "Thomas," he wheezes, trying to kick and failing. "THOMAS!" he cries again, so loud and so painful and it hurts him, aches him to the core. "N-No, please," he whimpers, and the bang of the gun rings again and Thomas falls again. "Let me h-h-HELP!"

"It's not worth it, kid," the guard says roughly, and he sobs and sobs.

There's blood everywhere, that same stupid red that once stained the bandages Thomas wrapped around his own leg with no Silver to help him.


"It's time to say goodbye, Maven," his mother says.

For a split second he can't rearrange his features

if he squints enough at Mare, she looks like an old friend he lost long ago...

(What about Thomas, why Thomas, you don't need to bring him up to me.)


also yes i totally ship thomas and maven nobody is fucking stopping me. although its just platonic here