Authors note: And here it is. The immediate follow-up to the previous chapter.
Without further ado, enjoy.
The chill lake water is cold against his skin, the droplets clinging to his hair as brisk as they are refreshing. He didn't even bother taking off his armor before he plunged himself into its dark depths, wanting to clear his head, to rid himself of the pervading stench of morbol, its scent a constant reminder of his failure to act when it mattered the most. He's now sitting in the shallows, waist-deep with his knees sinking into the sand. The cool water does nothing to soothe the tightness in his chest nor his fevered skin or aching head. He's aware of his pulse still pounding so insistently he can feel it in his throat, choking him, its beat a distorted rhythm that clashes with his shallow breaths.
In a bid to calm his fraying nerves, he splashes more water onto his face, claws his fingers through the disheveled mess of his hair with a frustrated growl. His nails are a dull scratch against his scalp. Despite his best efforts, it does nothing to quell the storm raging inside.
His tail lashes under the water, disturbing the calm surface. He thought himself working well under pressure by now. After laying the primals low, including Gaius and his Ultima Weapon, but this incident brought to mind a long-buried memory he would rather forget. The Aurum Vale incident happened long before he was bestowed with his current mantle of being the Warrior of Light. He scoffs at himself. What a farce of a hero he turned out to be, who can't even keep one so very dear to him safe in the face of a morbol. The sight of the tentacled monstrosity got to him, made him second-guess himself. He knows that all too well. He faltered and G'raha paid the price.
Even if- when he wakes he fiercely reminds himself, unwilling to think about the alternative, his recovery will take a couple of days at least Y'sato well knows. Perhaps even a week or more. He already knows their planned excursion into the Crystal Tower on the morrow will be postponed and that it is all but certain G'raha won't be allowed to brave it at his side when the day does arrive. He can already see the disappointment on his face, of again being delegated to just being an observer, doomed to follow him in his wake at his mentor's behest.
Y'sato's ears flutter where they lay pinned against his head. Gods, Cid, Rammboes. He has yet to notify them about what happened. For all he knows they probably still think him and G'raha being out and about having the adventure of a lifetime as they usually do. Y'sato's stomach sinks, tightens into tight knots. He really doesn't want to give them the ill-tidings. Not yet. Not until he is certain. He already dreads the possibility of sharing the news G'raha didn't make it. That his untimely death was caused by his-
He clutches at his hair, pulls at the strands with a rough pull to such a degree it stings. No, he won't think it. He refuses. The mere thought of seeing G'raha's pale lifeless corpse before him. It is too much. What makes it even worse is he has yet to hear word from Y'shtola or Urianger or even Tataru. This uncertainty, this awful powerlessness clawing at his heart, he hates it. He hates it so goddamned much-
Resentful tears begin to stir, their raw burn greeted by rising nausea. He curls into himself, his nose but an ilm away from the water's surface as he feels bile crawl up his throat, gasping for air he knows won't come. He shudders, wishing so desperately he could amount to more than just fighting. Is all his hands are good for. Fighting, killing, spilling blood. If not for the antidote he always makes sure to carry on his person his friend would have died in his arms before he could even think about bringing him to the Toll.
He draws a stuttering inhale, it catching in his throat. Moments like this are the worst. He is no stranger to death. To dishing it out. And yet-
Raha I'm so sorry...Please, forgive me.
He opens his teary eyes to the rippling surface. His distorted reflection plays upon the watery surface, but he pays it not much heed, the bloodshot, puffy eyes that stare back at him offering him no comfort. A sharp exhale leaves him, not knowing how it feels to be warm anymore. G'raha's gentle touch, his warm arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. He wants to feel it again. He wants to feel it all so badly.
Choking he swallows thickly. His mouth is dry, his cheeks aren't. Cold dread overflows from within and while he knows it is perfectly within his rights to feel this way he wishes it away. Just like he wishes so badly the accursed memories of that fateful day wouldn't resurface whenever he feels this weak.
A choking sound. A sickening squelchy sound from deep in one's chest has one of his ears twitch, drawing him out of his blind rage. Y'sato blinks just in time to notice the unmistakable crimson frothing around pale parted lips, the young miqo'te before him staggering on his feet, spear slipping from his grasp. Blue wide eyes stares at him in shock, lips moving as if to speak, but only wet, breathy, gurgling sounds escapes.
Another blink, keen eyes coming back into focus. What am I-
Warm, gushing blood slowly trickling down his spear touches his fingers, slicking his hands and with it comes a damning realization.
"Y'sato, I- you-" A choked gasp, a gurgle, pale lips trembling, Y'mitu before him sinks to his knees to the sand, Y'sato's spear still lodged in his chest.
Y'mitu gasps, sputters."I-"
It happens so quick. With a twitch running through his frame blue eyes go unseeing as Y'mitu goes limp, head falling back. Horrified Y'sato lets go of his spear as if it physically burnt him, the limp miqo'te just slumping over on his side to the ground growing still, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Horror, dread, icy yet burning cold coils around his heart, chills him to the very pit of his stomach. He-he didn't mean for this to happen. True he had hated his guts and Y'mitu did provoke him, attack him, forced him back into a corner holding him at spear point, but still...
Y'sato's tail falters, curls low in between his legs. Pain, remorse, it's all so clear in his eyes.
I just wanted the ceaseless bullying to end, but this-this...
Trembling he looks down into his shaky hands. Blood slick his hands and there is so much of it, sticky and hot against his skin. It gets under his nails, into the crevices of his fingers, his palms. The feel, the stench of it is nauseating. Bile creeps up his throat...
"I-" Remorse chokes him. He shudders, swallowing hard. Once more he looks to the pale face before him and what draws his attention the most are the eyes. Sunlit slit pupils akin to his own slowly dilate, not a spark of life to be seen, jaw all slack. There is no doubt about it. He has taken his life. Killed him.
In that moment he is sure he's going to throw up.
"I didn't mean to kill him."
Y'sato squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers digging further into his scalp. No, not that memory. Not again. I can't- I didn't mean to. Please make it stop. Make it stop!
The telltale familiar chime of his linkpearl going off halts him from succumbing to a full blown panic attack. He gasps, tears slipping free as his eyes snaps open. Without hesitation, he brings a hand to his ear to complete the connection as he straightens. He channels just the tiniest amount of aether and a voice comes through crackling on the other end. Y'sthola's.
"Y'sato you there?"
Y'sato struggles to find his voice, tight as his throat is, but he manages. "Yes."
"Thank the Twelve. I grew concerned when Tataru told me you just stormed off without a word. Not that any of us blame you. Riled up as you were."
Y'sato almost scoffs, tail whapping the water's surface. I still am.
He tries not to cling too tightly to hope, afraid learning the news will have his heart shatter, but he needs to know. He sucks in a breath, chest so tight it hurts, his heartbeat thrumming in his still drawn-back ears. His voice is a broken small tremulous thing as he at last voices what he is dying to know. "How is he?"
If Y'shtola heard the poorly hidden distress in his voice she doesn't voice it. "We managed to stabilize him. The toxins. They no longer course through his veins."
Her words, they have such warm relief wash over him. He shudders but not from the chill of the lake still lapping against his clothed body. Another tear slips free, streaking down his scarred cheek as he breathes out a relieved sigh.
Raha, he will be alright...
"I should inform you however he has yet to wake, and his breathing is labored, but both I and Urianger are confident he will come around given time. For now, he just needs rest."
"Thank you." Y'sato says, his voice thick. He needs to say no more.
"Return to the Rising Stones when you feel up for it all right? Also forgive me if I came off too harshly with my words earlier. Time was of the essence and I needed to concentrate."
"It's alright." Y'sato says simply, still overwrought with emotion.
There is a softness in Y'shtola's voice as she continues, "And Y'sato? You did well. He would have died if you hadn't brought him to me so swiftly so please, you needn't be so hard on yourself."
Her words bring him pause, his breath hitching. The Scions, Y'shtola. It is plain by the caring in her voice she cares for his well-being more than he initially thought. It takes him a moment, but he finds his voice. It is still a murmured thing, fragile.
"I..will try."
He can hear the smile in her voice as she speaks. "Glad I am to hear it. We will talk later at our headquarters when you are ready. As for your friend, there is no need to worry. He is in safe hands."
"I appreciate it. Thanks."
With a crackle the connection dies off. For a moment Y'sato just sits there, stunned. His hand falls back into the water, the sedate splash having one of his ears twitch. A huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders, the tight vice around his chest loosening its iron grip. Finally, he can breathe. The world around him, slowly it comes back into focus once more. Piece by languid piece.
His eyes fall closed as he lets himself just be, to just breathe. His head tilts back slightly. His ears perk up, attentive, flicking and swiveling as he tracks any sound in his vicinity, tail swishing gently under the water. The gentle, slow lapping of waves hitting the shore he detects first followed by the low hum of aether coursing through crystal. It's a comforting sound, only interrupted by the shrill cry of a hawk circling overhead. The gentle breeze rolling in from the lake brushes against sodden blond strands and tear-streaked cheeks, the wind offering a cooling caress. It feels good. Soothing.
He has no idea how long he sits like that. How long the waves have been lapping at his prone form before his body seems to register that there is indeed air entering his lungs.. His head hurts, his chest hurts, but its more of a dull ache now. Passive.
The storm is over. Now he just needs to deal with the aftermath.
For each calm measured breath, his pulse slows. The sun's rays are warm on his face, a contradiction in how the rest of his body feels. Finally, he grows aware of how cold the water he sits in truly is, and in response, he shivers. The feel of it against his skin helps ground him at last and opening his eyes he takes in the view before him. Of the crisp, dark blue lake, of the Keeper of the lake keeping his silent vigil, and further in the distance he sees the Crystal Tower, its blue gleaming surface ever refracting the sunlight. A smile lights up his tear-streaked face. He can almost hear G'raha's teasing remarks of him getting a cold if he stays in the water any longer. Can almost see the mirth glinting in mismatched eyes, ears following suit wiggling joyfully. He should bring him down here again once he is recovered. To swim amongst the submerged crystals once more.
Y'sato's smile falters. G'raha, he needs to return to his side, to see for himself.
Without hesitation he splashes more water on his face in an attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable. At the very least it will wash away his tears, ease the redness he knows still clings to the corners of his eyes.
He feels completely and utterly drained, a numbness clinging to his frame as he pushes himself to his feet, the cold long having settled into his bones. He pauses to shake some feeling back into his stiff limbs, one of his knees giving a loud pop before he turns to return to the Toll. To simply be on the move again will do him good he well knows. To have a set destination in mind. Something to focus on.
His eyes glints with steely determination. G'raha. He needs to be there when he wakes.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
He is a right disheveled mess as he pushes the door open to the Rising Stones, lake water still soaking through his clothes, his hair damp sticking out in odd directions. The long fur of his tail drips water everywhere as he enters, but he pays it no heed. He tries not to seem as rumpled and downtrodden as he feels as he strides forward with purposeful steps, head held high and as a small comfort he reeks less decisively of morbol than he did before. The putrid stench still follows in his wake, but he knows it will take more than one rinse in the lake to truly rid himself of the noxious odor.
"Ah, Y'sato. You have returned. I was so worried."
Keen eyes that still burn and are puffy and red around the edges look up to see Tataru rushing towards him. Y'sato offers her a weak, tired smile, still feeling anxious and much too worn to greet her as he usually does.
"Tataru."
She looks at him with not just a little concern as she slows to a halt before him, eyeing him up and down. "You are soaked to the bone. Did something happen?"
"Just went for a dip in the lake to clear my head. I'll be fine."
Tataru doesn't seem convinced. "So you say, but you should change out of those clothes before you catch a cold. Not to worry. I will see them washed for you just like I plan to do with G'raha's."
Y'sato's eyes widen, ears perked at the mention of his name. "Is he still in the Dawn's Respite? Has he woken up yet?"
"He still is yes, but he has yet to wake. Y'shtola and Urianger are still with him to make sure he-Hey wait!"
He is already on the move, brushing past her as he crosses the room with hurried strides. He pushes the doors open to the infirmary with enough force to have the doors slam into the stony walls, startling two of the occupants in the room who seemed to be in the middle of discussing something of great import by the gilded sizeable oval-shaped wooden table to the far side of the room.
"Y'sato. Quite the way to make an entrance." Y'sthola says once she finds her voice, startled perked ears relaxing alongside the tense swaying of her tail. Urianger whom she was clearly talking to also finds his ease, the enigmatic Archon still a man Y'sato finds hard to read.
"I'm sorry, but Raha he-I need to see him. Please."
"He's doing fine all things considered." Y'shtola's expression softens upon seeing his sodden bedraggled state. "If you would follow me."
Tail flicking anxiously Y'sato does not hesitate. He falls into step behind her and Urianger. The walk isn't far, but for Y'sato time slows to an agonizing crawl, moments stretching on for malms. Before he can agonize over it further he finds himself by G'raha's bedside. And there he stays, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.
They have moved him to a different bed he notices, and they have cleaned him up judging by the lack of green morbol blood coating his skin, his hair and the fur of his tail and ears are less muddy, as well as his braid being undone, his hair spilling out over the pillow, the deep, vivid red stark against the muted white in the low candlelight. They have even gone through the effort of having relieved him of his gear, dressing him in a simple black thin cotton shirt and gray baggy pants. His eyes are still closed, him being completely out of it from the looks of it. His breathing is still labored, a thin rasping sound passing parted lips. He is so pale, the stench of morbol still clinging to him, but he is alive, stable so it has to amount to something. Still, Y'sato remains unconvinced.
"Thine companion is doing well. Mine and Y'shtola's ministrations proved sufficient in stalling and ridding him of the toxins. I believeth he will wake ere long."
One of Y'sato's ears twitch. You call this doing well? His breathing...He can barely-
Y'sato bites his teeth together with enough force he trembles. He knows Urianger means well, but to see his friend still being this weak. This unwell. He can't stand it!
"Leave me be." There is a warning laced in his tone, voice dangerously low. He doesn't look up at any of them, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. "I need a moment. Just me and him. Leave."
"...We understand. Take all the time you need. I will be nearby should you have need of me." He feels a warm hand land on his shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly. Y'shtola. She understands his need he can tell from the softness of her voice, she being a fellow miqo'te knowing his tells enough to know what the pin of his ears portends, as well as the low tense swaying of his tail. He still doesn't look up at her, but he is grateful. So immensely grateful for everything she has done, she still having his back even after everything.
He stands glued to the spot not looking up from G'raha as he hears their soft retreating footsteps dissipating to the other side of the spacious room, leaving him and his stricken friend alone behind the surgeon curtains put up to divide the room to offer much-needed privacy. Once he is sure they are out of earshot Y'sato lets out a shuddering breath, eyes closing.
This day has been more trying than most, and a part of him wants nothing but to collapse right where he stands, to succumb to dreamless sleep. Yet he can't bring himself to relax, not until G'raha wakes, until he is sure he will be all right. Doing nothing to hide the worry he feels for him from his gaze he pulls a nearby chair up to his bedside. Here he will stay until he wakes, come primal or beast men or even the blasted Empire he won't move. In this he is resolute. Unshakable.
His tail swishing, anxious, he reaches out for G'raha's hand like he did before, squeezing it slightly. His skin is warm to the touch, alive. There is no response, not even a twitch of an ear or a finger. The lack of it has the familiar cold dread grip his heart, sinking its icy claws in. Y'sato swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat. He knows G'raha isn't listening and yet he feels compelled to speak.
"I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better." He says in a hushed voice, knowing his words fall on deaf ears. "You are my dearest friend Raha and I...I got you into this situation. You're like this...because of me and-" He chokes, throat locking up. His hold around G'raha's hand tightens, begging, praying he can somehow hear his plea. "I just wanted to show you something I found, so please, wake up. Come back to me."
There is no reply, no response, his labored breathing all that fills the silence. A cold comfort. In the face of it Y'sato bows his head, ears drooping. His eyes they burn so fiercely, but he refuses to let more tears fall. There is still life in him. Hope, he can't lose hope.
I wish...I wish it had been me. Then you wouldn't have to suffer like this.
His unspoken wish grants him little comfort. Time slowly passes in the dim candle-lit room, agonizingly so. For how long Y'sato doesn't know, the labored sound of his friend's breathing the only thing keeping him company, keeping him awake, tethering on the brink. He doesn't let go of his hand, doesn't care how his still-drenched clothes from his dip in the lake stick to his skin. G'raha's well-being comes first. Everything else comes after, be it food, water, even sleep.
The low murmurs of voices can be heard in the distance outside of the infirmary. One of them he faintly recognizes as Y'sthola's, she and Urianger having left the room from the sounds of it. He can tell they worry for him, and deeply so. Never before has he been this riled up in their presence, preferring to keep his relations professional and diplomatic. The only Scion he can say he has grown closer to aside from Y'shtola is Thancred, but it is nothing compared to what he is feeling for the man lying stricken before him, how his heart aches seeing him like this. It is a feeling he can't quite explain, but it feels like he has known him for years already. A kindred spirit. Never before has he met a soul so much in tune with his than G'raha's. The thought of losing that connection. Of losing him...
His tail lashes agitatedly, the realization squeezing the very air out of his lungs. He can't- He hopes so dearly it won't happen.
A gasp, raspy and labored draws his attention. Ears perked his head shoots up just to see mismatched eyes blink open, staring blearily up at the ceiling. G'raha's chest heaves, muscles tensing, him trying to move but clearly being too weak to do so. Worry and fear churns low in Y'sato's stomach. He is up on his feet in an instant.
"Raha!" Without thinking he grabs onto his shoulders, voice desperate, hands trembling. Quickly his eyes searches his face. He is still so pale, but his eyes finally focuses on his. There is recognition in them this time, lucidity. The sight of it alone has the tight coil wrapped around his chest lessen.
G'raha blinks, clearly confused. He looks around briefly, his breathing already less labored. His brows rise slightly as realization dawns on his face. "Wh-what happened?"
A coughing fit escapes him as he speaks, his voice so hoarse, something that does little to ease Y'sato's worry, his fear.
"You...you were hit by its vile breath." Y'sato explains, still hovering above him, hands glued to his shoulders. G'raha is awake, even talking, and yet Y'sato's anxiety grips him in an iron grip. He can see it after all, how exhaustion still clings to his gaze, how he is slow to stir. He is still so weak. He might yet- No he shouldn't think the thought. Feeling his eyes on him he fills him in on what happened. It is the least he can do.
"It...was a morbol. I have seen- You almost-" He chokes, unable to bring himself to say the words as he looks away. G'raha was so close in sharing their grisly fate. So goddamn close. He never wants to see him like that again. Seizing and convulsing in his arms, unable to even breathe.
G'raha says nothing, stunned into silence from what Y'sato can discern when he looks at him again, judging from the widening of his eyes, his mouth ajar. He can't bear to watch, knowing he almost lost him. Averting his gaze he still trembling sits back in his chair.
"I couldn't get to you fast enough. You-you were choking, completely seizing up and-" He refuses to look up from his lap, his bare hands tightening around the fabric of his pants so hard he fears he might rip the coarse linen. "I used an antidote I had on me to try save you but...you didn't stir, barely even breathing. I rushed here with you as fast as I could but you stopped breathing and-"
He tries his best to sound strong, to seem reassuring, but his voice falters. Now a broken thing, filled with the immense fear that still rubs his nerves raw, the terror crawling under his skin. His eyes refuse to stray from his lap, his ears pinned flat against his head. Still G'raha says nothing, still stunned by his account by the sound of it. His silence, it compels Y'sato to continue.
"Luckily, Y'sthola wasn't out on a mission and thanks to her timely assistance and Urianger whom she called to her aid they managed to stabilize you."
He leaves the words hanging, his heartbeat a loud steady thrum in his ears. So much for calming himself down earlier. Now everything surges unbidden to the surface. His breath catches sharply in his throat and he feels it, a traitorous tear slipping free. It lands on the back of his hand, but he pays it no heed. Eyes closed tight he tries his damnedest to steady the rapid rise and fall of his chest. G'raha, he has just woken up, has barely recovered. He doesn't want to worry him more than he already is, burden him with emotions he should have learned how to control ages ago for Azeyma's sake!
"Sato I..." G'raha finally breaks the silence, but he stops, clearly finding the mere effort of talking a struggle. His voice still sounds so hoarse, his breaths still coming out too raspy and weak and-
It is a reminder. Of what he almost lost. Of what he can still lose.
Something within him, breaks.
"I thought I lost you...I feared you wouldn't wake..." His voice sounds so small, broken, and he still doesn't raise his head, his white-knuckled grip trembling around the fabric of his pants. Another traitorous tear escapes joining the one already on his hand. His throat is so tight it hurts, his pulse an aching throb, his head pounding. He can't- He doesn't understand. G'raha is awake. He should feel more relieved, but the guilt, the crushing guilt. It floods him, threatening to drag him under, to tear him apart in the undertow.
"Sato, I'm fine, truly. All thanks to you."
G'raha's voice despite still being hoarse is light, jovial almost, carrying warm reassurance. It does nothing to quell the storm churning within, to lift the crushing weight off his heart. His kind words. He does not deserve them.
"I would surely be dead if you had not come to my aid, so truly, thank you."
"I almost got you killed!" His voice comes out harsher than he intends, trembling. G'raha didn't see. He doesn't know how it feels to see someone almost die like that. The cold realization of there being no breath, life ebbing away...
"I know. I well know the Tangle is notorious for its morbols, and yet I thought...I thought we would be fine. That I could protect you in case we were attacked, but again I faltered. I failed you." He chokes, the guilt strangling him, its crushing weight hanging over him like a heavy cloud. He's unable to look him in the eye, but he finds his voice, forcing out. "I'm sorry."
He said it, apologizing for what it is worth. He doesn't expect forgiveness. Not readily. Still refusing to look up one of his ears twitches as he hears a breath, a small inhale followed by the shifting and rustling of clothes, the occupant on the bed clearly moving and it has his already frazzled nerves flare with a new wave of anxiety. He will endure them, any words G'raha deems fit. It is what he deserves for failing his friend when he needed him the most. He bows his head further, still trembling.
He expects words laced with scorn, but in their place, calloused-tipped fingers comes to rest on his cheek. It's a gentle touch, filled with warmth, with care. Eyes wide Y'sato's head snaps up to finally look at him and he sees it, the warm reassurance in mismatched eyes as the touch lingers, his friend having pushed himself into an upright position. G'raha smiles, it lightening up his features, eyes thinning in the way Y'sato always finds so charming. The firelight from the candle on the night stand catches in his Allagan eye setting the unearthly red aglow. His smile, the way he looks at him with such fond gratitude. It pierces through the anxious fog like nothing else. Just moments ago he had thought- He had feared he would never see it again.
"Tis all right. You have nothing to apologize for." G'raha says, his gaze never straying from his. Y'sato doesn't dare look away, in case this is all but a figment of his imagination. G'raha's touch lingering on his cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of one of his Seeker arrows under one of his eyes reaffirms his friend is in fact not upset with him, the full weight of his palm pressing lightly onto his cheek this time, covering his old scar.
"And please, don't blame yourself so. You kept its attention on yourself well enough. It was I who chose to walk within its range, not heeding your warnings. I choose to join the fray. I am the one who was not fast enough, so really I should be the one to apologize." G'raha punctuates each word, holding Y'sato's gaze as he speaks. He smiles again. A bright smile, an earnest look in his eyes. "So forgive me, Sato. For frightening you so. It is clear it struck deep." He chuckles nervously, bowing his head. "In a sense, I suppose this makes us even. Don't you agree?" The honesty in his voice, his attempt at lightening the mood. His kindness. It is too much.
Raha I-
With a shuddering breath he leans into G'raha's touch, eyes slipping shut as his face crumples. Tears streak down his cheeks, hitting the side of G'raha's thumb. His throat is still so tight and he feels sobs threatening to wrench free but he bites them back. He's not one to have his tears fall before others to see, but this day has already chewed him raw and spit him back out for good measure, and G'raha, he can feel he genuinely wants to be there for him, to comfort him in any way he can. He has already burdened his friend enough, but this, this comfort he so readily offers. Y'sato takes it.
Wordlessly he leans forward, his forehead coming to rest against G'raha's shoulder. Warm strong arms wrap around him without hesitation holding him close. A hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, fingers running through his hair so gently, so soothingly. Y'sato feared he would never feel this closeness again and here it is, and given so freely to him, he can't-
A sob wrenches itself free from his tight throat before he can stop it, and he clings to G'raha's frame with all he got. He trembles, tail curling close to his leg. He feels so small, so broken as he buries his face further into his neck, but G'raha says nothing. Just holds him tighter as he gently starts to scratch him behind one of his drooping ears, aiming to soothe in any way he can.
And right now this closeness, him being there for him, is enough.
Silence stretches between them for what feels like an eternity. He stays in G'raha's embrace until he has no more tears to spend. Sniffling he slowly pulls away. Already he feels lighter, the crushing weight around his heart gone. He quickly runs a hand over his puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks to wipe away his tears as he turns away, feeling self-conscious. He can't remember the last time he has cried this much, the last time he felt this raw.
G'raha doing this for him means more to him than he will ever know.
"Thank you." He finally says, meeting G'raha's eyes a bit sheepishly. Still, a comforting warmth settles on his shoulders upon seeing his smile. His friend is still sitting upright which is a good sign, but the sight, it has worry gnawing at his heart. G'raha he still looks so pale, and yet he smiles at him so brightly, eyes shining.
"Think none of it. You would have done the same for me."
Y'sato searches his face. Despite what he has been through he looks hale enough. Well enough to sit upright at least. There is a slight tired droop to his proud ears but other than that...
A tremulous smile graces his lips, one that touches his still-shimmering, teary eyes. In this moment he knows.
G'raha, his dearest friend. He will be all right.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
"He was hit by a morbol's breath!? And how is he doing now? Will he be all right?"
"He's sleeping," Y'sato says simply, his voice hushed, trying his best to sound reassuring to the worried man on the other side of the linkshell call, G'raha's mentor, Rammboes. He thought it only proper after all to notify him, seeing they won't be able to return back to camp this eve. Not too long after G'raha comforted him he claimed being in dire need of rest. Y'sato did not doubt it. Despite having looked hale enough, managing to sit upright talking for a time after their touching reunion the shadows of his exhaustion steadily crept more and more into his eyes, weighting his gaze. Of course he is tired. His body having seized up like that, him almost dying. It would take a toll on anyone. In the face of it, Y'sato urged him to sleep, and he now finds himself outside of the Dawn's Respite, standing in a shadowed secluded corner of the Rising Stones facing a wall next to some storage boxes.
"I'm sorry for being the bringer of such worrying news, but he will recover I assure you." He bows his head. The guilt, it still claws at his heart. "I...I wish it didn't have to be so."
"It's all right lad. You did everything you could. I am just relieved to hear he's safe and will recover is all. Thank you for being there for him. You saved his life Y'sato. Never forget that."
"I won't." It is all he can say. Even though he knows G'raha told him not to blame himself, that it isn't his fault and went so far as to even apologize, he still feels responsible.
"As for the expedition don't you worry. We will postpone our foray into the Sycrus Tower until you both are recovered. After all, you both play an important part in this mission. You yourself being the key to our success most of all."
One of Y'sato's ears twitches. He knows Rammboes says this only because he is the Warrior of Light. A title that ill befits him. Even more now since he put his dearest friend in mortal danger. A dear friend who wants so badly to join me, to fight by my side...
His tail twitches next, swaying low at his feet. He is tempted to say they should find someone else. Someone more suited than he, and that G'raha is stronger than he thinks, but he bites his tongue.
"I'll be sure to inform Raha once he wakes."
"And I appreciate it. Once I get a free moment on my hands I will pay him a visit."
"I'm sure he will be delighted." Y'sato keeps his tone civil, calm, but on the inside, he is screaming. All he wants is to rejoin G'raha's bedside and fall into a deep dreamless sleep. His head is still achy and standing here with someone talking in his ear through static isn't helping. "Look I'm exhausted. Perhaps we can talk later?"
"Oh is no problem at all. I did not intend to keep you from your rest. Send G'raha my regards when he wakes."
"I will. Farewell." And with that, he cuts the connection. His hand drops to his side with a deep sigh, his eyes closed. Gods how he had dreaded taking this call, knowing how worried everyone would be, but he knows he would have worried them even more if he said nothing, him and G'raha not turning up for the night, at all. This was the proper thing to do, he knows that, lest everyone would send out a search party. Even G'raha would agree he is all but certain, but for once he just wants to shut out the entire world. Gods he is so tired, and no matter how much he blinks in vain to relieve them his eyes still burn, his eyelids feeling like lead.
Before he can stop it a jaw-popping yawn escapes him, his ears drooping sleepily before twitching in annoyance. He has yet to change out of his sodden clothes, the sensation of them clinging to his skin starting to irritate, prodding him in all the wrong places. He tugs at the offending fabric, looking down at himself with a frown. He should really follow up on Tataru's advice, and change into something dry. What he would give for a drink, then a bath. A proper bath sounds so nice...
Later. I will have a bath later. First change, then sleep, then food. Anything else comes after.
He ignores the worried glances following him from Scion and Doman alike as he stalks towards his meager dresser in the small side room delegated as his chambers. The room is barely large enough to fit the simple cot forced in there and the dresser with just a tiny sliver in the wall serving as a window. As luck would have it he didn't bring all of his clothing to his dresser in the camp in the tent he shares with G'raha. Pulling out a simple black thin shirt and black baggy cotton pants, he wrangles himself out of his sodden, still morbol-reeking armor. It is a relief, at last, to peel them off his skin, first now realizing just how irritating the sensation of wet fabrics clinging to him truly was. It's as he hurriedly towels himself off with a handkerchief he first takes note of how sparse his chambers here in the Toll really is, and how something is missing. One tentative sniff in the air makes it abundantly clear to him what is lacking. G'raha's scent.
After moons sharing a tent with him in their nest of furs, it is a given he would notice its absence he thinks. Not that he has spared it much thought. Until now. It again solidifies to him just how close he was in losing it all. How close he was in losing him...
Not able to bear the thought he finishes toweling himself off quickly. He redresses just as fast, and already feeling much refreshed he picks up his armor intending to deliver them to Tataru to have them cleaned alongside G'raha's clothes.
He has but taken a few steps when a friendly face comes into view from around the corner, a face framed with white, silvery locks belonging to a man with a certain swagger in his step. A silvery dagger fastened to a hip glints in the dim light. Y'sato pulls on a mask, really not feeling like socializing more than absolutely necessary.
"Thancred." He greets, a faint smile gracing his lips. One that doesn't reach his eyes. Despite himself doing his best to wrangle in his emotions his tail still twitches in annoyance.
"Just the fellow I hoped to see. I heard you arrived but bells ago." With an amicable smile Thancred reaches into his bag. "I thought you missed these so while you were otherwise preoccupied I went ahead and fetched them for you." The telltale silvery glint of the sleek blades handed to him is unmistakable. His daggers, the ones of true Far Eastern make he recklessly tossed aside when rushing to G'raha's aid. They look pristine, cleaned, with not a smear of morbol blood or mud to be seen.
"Oh, I also found G'raha's gorget. Give him my regards when he wakes, will you?."
"Thancred I-" Y'sato blinks as Thancred adds the gorget to the armor pile held in his arms. His kindness, that he went out of his way to not only fetch his daggers but also clean them including G'raha's gorget, moves him beyond words.
"I...Thank you." He bows his head, the proud set of his ears faltering. Already he feels them prick his already burning eyes. The warm tears borne of gratitude. He rapidly blinks them away. There has been enough tears shed this day.
"There is no need. We Scions always look out for each other, besides I owe you, my friend."
There is a comforting clap on his shoulder, Y'sato already knowing what he is alluding to. The Praetorium, of him ripping Lahabrea out of his body with the blade of light...
"As for your friend and our fellow colleague, it is clear you care for him a great deal. The sight of that morbol...You truly held nothing back. Let me just say I count my lucky stars I'm not one of your enemies."
There is a nervous laugh, but Y'sato still doesn't look up. He still feels so raw after the day's events, so utterly drained all he can muster is a tired smile and a weak nod.
A look of sympathy crosses Thancred's face, his eyes softening. "But enough about that. Take care of yourself all right? Get some rest. We can talk more on the morrow if you feel like it, and perhaps over a drink. You really look like you could use one, and I wager G'raha does as well."
"I'll take you up on that offer. Thank you, Thancred." Smile brightening his features he finally does look up. Thancred grins, giving his shoulder a last reassuring clap before he is off, heading somewhere down the hall.
Thancred, he can tell he truly cares for his well-being. Has done ever since his run-in with Ifrit. Of all the Scions, Thancred is the one he trusts his back with the most.
Yes, I could really do with a drink, and if G'raha feels up to it... His tail flicks, an uplifting eagerness in the movement. It would be nice he thinks, and maybe it will finally give him the opportunity to ask how well the Archons know each other. He can already tell Y'shtola, Thancred, even Urianger seems to know him in some capacity.
Renewed vigor in his step, a hopeful glint in his eye he heads for the room where he knows Tataru to be waiting. His armor, and G'raha's gorget handed to her with few pleasantries his feet takes him back to G'raha's side of their own accord. He knows he can sleep in his chambers but it doesn't feel right. The mere thought of sleeping in that cramped cold room has a lonely, empty feeling already settle in his heart. G'raha, he needs him at his side. There are enough free beds in the infirmary. Certainly, he can occupy one of those if needs be.
Y'shtola is in the Dawn's Respite as he enters and she looks up from a book she is reading upon his arrival, seated at the gilded wooden table but Y'sato conveys to her wordlessly with a telling pin of his ears and a tense flick of his tail he really doesn't feel up for talking right now. She arches a brow at him but says nothing, a look of understanding in her eyes.
Y'sato nods, grateful, making sure to tell her so with a swish of his tail. He has always liked that with her. How he can convey what he is feeling without words, and she understands his tells so readily.
He doesn't linger and walking past the surgeon partition he finds G'raha just where he left him. He is already fast asleep, curled up on his side facing him. Taking care to mute his steps to not make any undue sounds Y'sato gingerly seats himself back in the chair still standing by his bedside.
And there he stays. From the slow, even steady breathing and the gentle rise and fall of G'raha's chest, he can tell his friend already breathes easier than before. It is a good sign, the Elixir and the expert healing of Y'shtola and Urianger having done their wonders. Y'sato makes a mental note to thank them properly in person later, but for now he takes comfort in that G'raha is alive before him. He just needs rest. A long good rest.
And so do I.
A warm smile lights up his eyes from the serene display before him. Of how the soft candlelight gilds G'raha's silhouette, how his ears twitches in his sleep. Aside from that and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he doesn't move, tail curled, resting atop his legs pulled up to his chest like Y'sato has seen many a time before both in their tent and when catching him having a nap in the shade of a crystal. The way he sleeps like nothing happened does good things for Y'sato's battered heart. At last, he can relax.
After all he is in the presence of the man who has attuned to his very soul, who holds his heart...Y'sato hopes G'raha views him in the same way too, that he is allowed to hold his heart as well, cradle it tenderly to his chest like the most treasured thing in the world.
Warmth from the thought alone encompasses him, fills him with bliss. It reminds him he has yet to ask him if he feels the same, and yet Y'sato feels it doesn't need to be voiced. Not yet. What they feel for each other lies between them, unspoken. In every furtive glance, in their smiles, in every lingering touch. Nevertheless, he knows he will need to ask him one day, but today is not that day, and neither is the morrow.
A Hero to the people he may be, but when it comes to the matters of the heart he is still standing on uneven, foreign ground.
In time he will figure it out he hopes. He but needs to embolden his courage.
One of G'raha's ears does another sleepy twitch, him sleeping on, oblivious. The sight of his friend being so at peace, the sound of the soft fall of his breaths akin to a most soothing lullaby has him already feeling the drowsy pull tug at his senses. The weight of the day finally begins to drag his eyelids shut, and he sinks against the back of the chair. With hardly any resistance Y'sato gives in to the somnolent call.
He is asleep before he knows it.
Authors note:
This chapter was one of the harder ones to write, but still I hope I delivered. To tap into my WoL aka Y'sato's emotions caused by the previous chapter isn't an easy feat.
Also sprinkled and fleshed his background trauma out a little more in here. Is something I wrote down and planned years ago when I first drafted out his background story upon his creation, and will explore in depth further as well as how he will deal with it, as well as G'raha and the Scions helping him in the future.
As always thanks for reading, and hope the more fluffy moments at the end helped balance out the angst.
