Doranbolt needed alcohol. He needed the burn in the back of his throat, the rush as the liquor infiltrated his bloodstream. He needed the numbness back.
Doranbolt's mouth opened, only to clamp closed again. He felt amethyst eyes on him, and that was enough to halt the plea in his throat. Doranbolt had but one thing to cling to and that was his pride. There was no way that he would let his superior know his weakness.
"Doranbolt, is everything okay? You look upset." Lahar inquired, stopping abruptly and sending a cloud of dust into the air.
He remained silent, eyes fixated on the swirling motes of powder that flit about the air. It was amazing how such small things could rise up and create a lot of mischief.
Doranbolt felt his throat tighten, memories of a time he'd rather wash away with alcohol surfacing amid his sentient mind. Damn, he really needed liquor, just enough to burn away the fire building in the back of his skull.
A large hand landed on his shoulder, startling him into action. Using direct line, he bolted about a hundred yards off, eyes darting about warily in order to assess any possible enemies. He panted heavily, eyes widened in a wild manner, uncharacteristic of his usual self. When he finally saw Lahar, his posture slumped and the animalistic terror fled, replaced with exhaustion. His throat was still tight and, to his horror, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill at the slightest provocation. He managed to choke out through hollowed breaths. "D…don't touch me."
Lahar, to his credit, took the whole incident in stride, the worry that pinched his eyes the only sign that he was disturbed by this rash behavior. "Sorry. You seemed…out of it. I'll be more considerate next time." He stated, gesturing for the other man to come closer. Warily, Doranbolt obliged, eyes darting about as he approached his superior.
"Sorry." Doranbolt's tone was clipped, formal politeness forced into every syllable. "I am just a little more on edge than usual. It has been a while since I have been on a formal mission, after all. I will do my best from now on, Lahar."
A forced chuckle escaped Lahar's mouth, short and cynical. "Relax, Doranbolt. We're friends after all, are we not? I may be your superior, but we can still hold a conversation without this stiff formality."
"I guess so." Doranbolt replied tersely, the slightest bit of a pout seeping into his tone.
The two of them walked in silence once more, the sound of their boots against the road and their labored breathing the only break in the oppressive silence between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Doranbolt observed Lahar. As always, he was well put together, his forehead not even dotted with sweat. Doranbolt drew a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He quickened his pace, attempting to subtly leave his superior behind.
A sigh registered behind Doranbolt, followed shortly after by Lahar's soft voice. "Doranbolt, you really can relax. There's nothing wrong with the two of us talking after so many years apart."
"I know." Doranbolt refused to look behind him, knowing that Lahar would be looking at him with pity once more. He hated that look, the way that Lahar thought of him as some lowly idiot, caught up in Fairy Tail's antics. A throb at the base of his head had him craving alcohol once more.
"So, how have you been spending your days? I'm sure you haven't been sulking all this time. There must be something you've done, besides drink the hours away."
There was that damn berating tone. Doranbolt scowled, shooting back angrily. "I haven't done anything else. There's nothing else for me to do. What use is a civil servant that can't even save 1 little girl. Why would I waste my time ruining everyone's lives?" The silence was back, stretching itself between them. Doranbolt chanced a look at Lahar, then instantly regretted it. The other man had his gaze cast at his feet, his eyes glassy as he thought Doranbolt's words over. Guilt began to set in and Doranbolt found himself softly saying, "I tried to visit once."
That caught Lahar's attention. Purple eyes shot up, boring into Doranbolt's skull. "You did? When?"
Doranbolt tried to answer, but his throat felt too tight. His mouth gaped for a few seconds, useless. Finally, he was able to choke out, "About a year ago. I…I waited outside the guild hall, but I couldn't go inside. I didn't want to deal with…" His voice trailed off, guilt burning in his stomach.
"Doranbolt." Lahar approached Doranbolt once more, this time keeping his actions slow. With over-exaggerated movements, he eased his hand closer to the other's shoulder. Doranbolt eyed him warily, but didn't have the will to move away. "It wasn't your fault. It was an unavoidable tragedy."
The hand clasped on his shoulder, the heat searing Doranbolt's shoulder. The urge to push the weight from him burned inside of him, yet he let the hand remain, head turned from Lahar's searching gaze. He knew Lahar was waiting for his response, but he remained silent.
A few moments passed before Lahar withdrew his arm, freeing Doranbolt from its weight. But the warmth still burned on his shoulder, try as he might to ignore it. Unsettling as the proposition sounded, Doranbolt missed the weight on his shoulder. It made him nervous, so he chose instead to shake the feeling off and walk forward once more, focus upon anything but Lahar's presence behind him and the remnant heat on his shoulder.