champagne coast
synopsis: altan trengsin isn’t all that scary when you get him out of the fighting pits and onto the beds in the infirmary. you know that, he knows that, and frankly, nobody else really matters — basically, your paths cross and you’re shown firsthand how cruel the gods could be.
pairing: second-year!altan trengsin x second-year afab!reader
warnings: established friendship / mentions of violence / alludes to drugs (poppies) / laundry washing / forehead kiss / one idiot is avoidant the other is competitive / altan still has powers (reader doesnt know) / pacing kind of meh but i'm still warming up !! / it’s a nice ending, i swear
a/n yes this is named after the song. i couldn’t think of a different title to the story aaaa
"You're here? Again?"
Altan, with his bloodied eyebrow and busted lip, stretches his arms unceremoniously. "I'm here, again."
An irritated huff leaves your throat. You drop the beat-up clipboard in your hand on the cart nearby, grabbing the small basket usually packed with bandages and antiseptic. You had your head lowered, glaring at him from below while he only offers back a small smile.
It was already quite much considering Altan's usually stoic nature. Still, that smile of his won't excuse another night of fighting in the pits. At least to you it won't.
"How many fights was it this time?" You step on a stool to get on the patient bed. Said patient bed being a mere wooden table padded by a rather flat cushion. You place the basket beside you as well, to your left, while Altan laid on the table to your right.
He shifts on the bed, groaning under his breath. "Didn't keep track of it."
"You didn't keep track of it?" You hiss. Your head snapping to him with wide eyes. He looks away guiltily, willing himself to at least respond by shrugging. "You look like shit now," you scan him, looking over his uniform that had numerous splotches of dried blood. "Any of your limbs broken?"
"No," your brow cocks upward. "I swear."
You've been tending to Altan ever since he began fighting in the pits during first year. During which Enro, the Master of Medicine, had already took you in as a Medicine apprentice. You were the only one that showed any kind of enthusiasm towards the subject anyway.
So, now, you know waaay better than to just take Altan's words at face value. He never admits his injuries. Even when he's limping to the infirmary on a particularly rough couple of rounds at the pits, he'd take himself to the infirmary and tell you it's just cuts and bruises he needs tending to.
Despite that, he stays for hours in the infirmary. He doesn't even do anything. He stays there, staring at the ceiling while you walk around continuously as you do the hundredth task Enro’s entrusted you with.
Humming casually, you twist your body around and look over his legs. You easily decide it looks quite normal. Moving up his body, you put extra focus on the parts with dried blood. You almost almost let his words pass as true until you notice the way his right hand rested uncharacteristically flat on the table.
You reach a hand over, dropping it on his right wrist and there—Altan's nostrils flare and his jaw clenches way too harshly. Two indicators you've grown to memorize the more you tended to his wounds every pit night.
"No broken limbs huh?" You look at him with a deadpan expression. Altan purses his lips as a response. You sigh, "Okay, fine," before reaching over your basket to grab some water, antiseptic, and cloth. Like a routine, Altan ducks down to your level, keeping his mouth shut while you gently cleaned and disinfected the cuts and wounds on his face.
The silence stretches around the two of you comfortably. This kind of scenario now felt like an everyday occurrence.
Altan was never a close friend to you during the start of first year. In fact, you two were in entirely different, yet similar, leagues. Both of you isolated yourselves. You to focus on medicine and its taxing demands, him to… well, you honestly don't know. Just that you saw him most times with Irjah, then Jiang, then Jun. You only sat beside him a handful of times during lunch and dinner, barely spoke during classes, hardly glanced at each other.
If it weren't for one of your upperclassmen waking your entire batch up in the middle of the night to watch some underground pit fight in the Main Hall, you probably wouldn't have seen how vicious Altan actually fought. And without the fights, Altan would have definitely never known how much of the infirmary you actually ran even as a first-year.
Quiet patching up turned into small talks, which then turned into sitting together during lunch and dinner. From there, entirely, everything had simply snowballed.
The two of you sat beside each other in the Mess Hall, in the library, in the training grounds. Notes and assignments were exchanged. He helped you with combat, you helped him memorize the numerous diseases one could contract from rusted blades.
It was unnoticeable at first, but the comfortable shift of the atmosphere became more apparent the more he came.
Sometimes he came with food. Chewing on some meat bun he scourged around the kitchens for after beating a fellow second-year to unconsciousness. You always wondered if he ever got in trouble for bringing you food—or stealing from the kitchens in general.
"Was it Tobi again?" You ask quietly, staring at the nail marks all over his right arm as you walk over to the other side of the bed. The way his face sours gives you enough answer. "He's got sharp nails, damn. Do you think he lets them grow for his tiger claws?"
"I think he lets them grow because he's an infuriating son of a bitch," Altan spits.
He's never liked Tobi. Even during first year. The tao has had bad blood from the very first day. To be frank, you didn't like Tobi either. He always seemed to find himself knocked out on a random patient bed somewhere in the infirmary—Not in your corner, though. He's knocked out in another medicine apprentice's corner, but not yours—after swearing how that night is the night he beats Altan Trengsin.
Unfortunately, it never is that night.
You don't believe it will ever be that night.
Tobi's good at fighting, you admit, but Altan's just in an entirely different level. He's inhuman. He's simply not meant to fight normal people.
"I thought sharp nails aren't allowed?" You bring up, carefully handling his broken forearm now.
"Aren't they?" Altan asks back.
You shrug, sending back the same confused yet intrigued look. "Tobi really did a number on you. These look bad," you hover your hand on his, "Marked you up and broke your arm."
"You should've seen him," Altan scoffs. A slight hint of cockiness on his usually dull voice. "He lost so much blood at the start of the match that it stained the ground." You grimace even from just imagining it, meanwhile he's drawing on a smile from reminiscing. "Pretty sure you'll hear about it from your friend tomorrow."
Looking up at him from where you had been fixing a splint on his arm. "Please stop looking so enthusiastic about it. You're practically giving us more and more work."
"Enro’s still not giving you a break?" A snort-like sound leaves his lips.
You shake your head, pursing your lips, "How could I catch a break with the pit fights happening every night?"
Altan shifts on the bed, sitting up until he can lean forward, watching your movements closer. He didn't look the least bit sympathetic. In fact, he actually looked amused at your verbal jab. You shake him off, focusing on bandaging the splint when you feel a flick on the crown of your head.
"What the fuck?" Your head snaps up, knitting your eyebrows when you see Altan's lip curled at the corner.
"You complain too much," he responds coolly. Reclining until the back of his head rested on his left hand. Said hand bent at the elbow. "You should get used to it. You can't complain during wartime."
You squeeze his forearm, watching the very second his features strained. "Don't you tell me what to do, Altan Trengsin. I could leave you here right now. Let Enro tend to you tomorrow morning."
"You won't dare. I have training with Jun tomorrow," Altan warns. Then, as if realizing something, he springs up. You quickly press two fingers to his left shoulder, dropping him back down. "I have training with Jun tomorrow," he repeats, this time staring blankly at the ceiling. You feel him shake his head. "No, I can still train. I've trained with a cast before."
A yawn leaves your lips, clipping the edge of the bandage as you finish. "Just don't use your right hand."
"That's like telling me to walk on one leg," Altan's voice raises slightly. The kind of tone you normally attribute to irritation.
You lean your head on one knuckle, sitting on a stool a few feet away from him. "You can't walk on one leg?"
Altan's head moves to the side, glaring at you from where he laid. A few chuckles leave your lips, laughing at the look on his face as he rolls his eyes, muttering very funny underneath his breath.
For a moment, the two of you enter a state of comfortable silence. The soft hum of air coming in and out of the latticed wood slowly making you sleepier and sleepier. You don't normally fall asleep during your rounds. Most of the time you even have enough energy to advance study some topics for your classes the next day. There was just something in the air that seemed to cradle you right then and there.
Before you could feel yourself fall fully into sleepland, you hear a loud clang. Your eyes snap open, a snickering Altan coming immediately into view.
"You're an asshole," you glare at him, the steel cart he had just pushed into the neighboring patient bed still rolling away with a high-pitched creak.
"I need water," Altan coughs, slyly forming a grin. "I'm thirsty."
You throw him a cushion, landing straight in his hand as if that was what you aimed at in the first place. Not at his inhumanly handsome face. When Altan places the cushion underneath his head, slightly shuffling his shoulders trying to get comfortable, he sighs loudly, "Fine. I'll let you sleep since you offered me a pillow."
"Let you sleep my ass." But he’s throwing you back the cushion, resting when you shut your eyes for the remainder of the night.
The entirety of second-years were composed of thirty students. Twenty-eight of which were male, the remaining female. With that astonishing number, it was only right that every student were accountable for each of their laundry. After all, Sinegard Academy is a military school financed by the Empire of Nikara. It didn't have the luxury of personal washers that private academies had.
So every seventh day, the administration allowed the entire class to be brought down to the skirts of the mountain where they're then allowed to wash their own laundry for exactly one hour and thirty minutes. Any minute exceeding that would risk getting left out of the gate.
You, unfortunately, was a pretty generous person when it came to changing clothes. Having your own medium-sized basket filled to the brim with uniforms and undergarments. Of course, you didn't have to worry about carrying it though. Altan carried it. His three pairs of clothing placed gingerly above yours.
The entire stream was manned by students crouching over the water, scrubbing their linen clothes while chatting casually with others. A lot of the students had their own little group when doing their laundry, delegating tasks as if it was their own little home.
Both you and Altan weren't any different. Usually, you'd be the one soaping and rinsing the clothing while Altan would wring them out dry. Using his hard-earned muscles from day-night training to make sure every piece is dry and ready to be hung. Unfortunately with Altan's injury, he's set aside to carrying the clothes, handing you the dry, dirty clothes, and taking the freshly cleaned ones.
"Look at 'em, they're just lounging around," you nudge your head towards the group of four a few feet away from the two of you. They were Tobi's group. Surprisingly the boy was able to walk now considering his state the last time you saw him at the infirmary.
Altan spared them a single glance. His forehead creased heavily with the bright sun. "Is this your way of telling me we should change places?"
"Of course not," You roll your eyes at him, wringing out one of his tunics and handing it to him. "It's not everyday that Altan Trengsin's too injured to wash his own laundry." You smirk at him, grinning when you see the familiar look of irritation.
"Fine. Get up," he huffs.
"What?" You ask innocently.
It's his turn to roll his eyes. Arms crossing over his chest after setting the basket down, lowering to a squat beside you.
You look at him weirdly, inching away, "I was just kidding, Altan."
"I'm not," he says flatly. "Now move before I throw you in the water." His left brow nudges up, giving you a look that says he'd very much do it.
"But your hand," you pause, a sense of concern washing over you. Did you tease him too far? Was he genuinely offended? Is he insecure about— “You're doing this so I'll redo your bandages after, aren't you?"
When the familiar curve his lips appears, you suddenly feel a splash of water on the side of your face.
Altan Trengsin just splashed you with water. From a stream of water that was just used to clean liters of sweat off of your classmates' tunics. You two were positioned somewhere near the start of the stream but there were still three or four students washing in front of you two. The water wasn't all that clean.
Tonguing at your cheek, you slice your hand through the water and douse him. The cold water drenching the entire front of his face, some on his clothes. Before you could even relish the sweet taste of victory, coldness washes over you in such large amounts that you freeze, dumbfounded.
The stream wasn't all that deep, but it was still deep enough that you could submerge yourself underneath.
And now you were submerged underneath thanks to Altan Trengsin.
You scramble for a second before getting your footing. Swimming up to the surface only to see Altan continuing on washing both of your clothes as if he did not just pushed you into the water. The students near staring at you with shock.
"You asshole!"
Altan ignores you, holding up a familiar looking tunic of yours and wringing it out with one firm twist. He throws it behind him, shooting it right at the basket.
You take large steps towards the land, holding up your pants as heavy driblets of water dripped from every part of you. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, the cool breeze of the air willing your arm hairs up.
You stand over him, intentionally letting the water dripped on him. You pull your leg up, not bothering to think twice when you thrust it towards him.
It would have hit him. It should have hit him. You moved so fast that he shouldn't have been able to register what you were doing—but he did. He twisted his injured arm behind him, blocking your kick as if he had eyes on the back of his head.
He cranes his head back, looking at you. His brows had that lazy kind of raise that made his face look even more boyish than usual, as if mocking you all the more.
You would've cursed at him. Heck, the curse was already at the tip of your tongue but damn. He looked so… endearing like this. The usually dull cloud that surrounded him now gone as the sun shone down on his skin, making him look even more regal despite the mundane task he's currently doing.
Altan had always looked different; with his intimidating crimson eyes you knew from his Speerly heritage, and his features that seemed just as sharp as the silver three-pronged trident he yielded in Jiang's gardens.
He was always the only person you'd see even in a sea of people. Even when you were first brought to the main hall for the onboarding, a grand number of sixty students gathered, he was still the only one you saw.
Probably the only one you'd ever want to see.
But you don't let him know that, though. You'd never hear the end of it.
"Hey. Did the water freeze up your brain or what?" Warmth seeped in from your ankle. Specifically on that part where his arm came in contact with your now-dry skin.
"What?" You say, breathless. The way your chest heaved felt foreign, along with the rapid beating underneath.
This is weird. This is very weird.
The warmth at your ankle now disappears as his back turns to face you.
"I said you're gonna get a cold," Altan responds, as if he wasn't the reason you're drenched right now. Resuming whatever it was he had been doing a second ago. The dirty clothing slowly decreasing with each one he takes and washes. "You should head up and get changed. I'll just bring these up."
Feeling a weird churning in your stomach, you find yourself unable to form words in your mouth. Whatever voice it was inside your mind, it won over your body as you turn around and walk away.
The days that followed the incident by the streams were grueling.
It felt like some higher being had played a cruel, cruel joke on you because now, you can't look at Altan and not have your heart in your throat. Even when you two are just studying beside each other, a mountain of books separating you two, you still find yourself giddy with each glance you try to steal.
Each one felt like a crime. One that you shouldn't be doing against your only friend in Sinegard because you know what the consequences would be.
You try your best to busy yourself. Filling your head with things other than Altan Trengsin and his infuriating stoic charm. You've put in extra efforts in the infirmary, shocking even Enro herself when you personally volunteer to oversee the soldiers that were being aided in the academy's grounds just so you wouldn’t have to see him in your corner of the infirmary.
When you slept, it was simply because you'd exhausted every fiber in your being studying topics that would probably be discussed months from now. Not because you chose it in the first place.
When you studied with him in the library, you were focused the entire time. Your nose basically one with the books already. Nothing but small talk, questions of do you understand this? exchanged between you both.
When you ate beside him, you all but shove every piece of food into your mouth and usher out. When it’s the day of the month to wash your clothes, you sneak out a day early to wash yours alone.
That act of yours, plus a whole lot of other subtle avoidances, did not go unnoticed by Altan. However, he didn’t just call you out on a random day, or asked you while the two of you headed to the Mess Hall; no, he let the days pass first because Altan, ever the calculative and strategic man that he is, made sure to speak to you in a place you wouldn’t be able to leave.
So you couldn’t just walk away from him like how you’d been acting the past week.
He cornered you in the infirmary, in such a manner that seemed so much like a déjà vu with how he laid there on the patient bed, bloodied cuts and bruises littered all across his face, his clavicle suffering a minor fracture.
And at that moment, you couldn’t find that same voice in your head yelling at you to avoid him and save the friendship.
You couldn’t find the strength to just turn away from him and have a classmate tend to him, solidify that wall you’re building up around your heart. You just couldn’t. Not when he’s lying there, face to the ceiling, letting the air suffocate you both—him, especially, in physical pain.
When you grab the basket for bandages and antiseptics, Altan’s bringing himself up without a word. Letting you work your hands on his face. Warm breath ghosting over your skin. He had his eyes on you the entire time. You, you had yours on his nose, eyebrow, lips—everywhere but those crimson ones of his.
“You’re avoiding me,” Altan spoke, voice rough and firm, like a soldier. His tone offered no rebuttals. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not,” you suck your teeth tightly, breathing out a chuckle to make it seem believable.
“Bullshit.” His eyes narrow, forehead knitting together as he dips his head. Trying to catch your gaze which you stubbornly tried to keep on his collarbone. The bare skin so smooth, it felt unusual considering how roughly Altan treats his body.
The air feels even heavier, impossibly so. Starting to think how you couldn’t possibly get past this night alive and still friends.
You work the cream medicine on his skin, blinking constantly, body working on autopilot. Desperate to get this over with. The hammering in your chest grew stronger by the second, the longer you felt his eyes boring into the side of your face. Almost like he was daring you to look his way even just once.
When you didn’t, you hear his voice again. The very tone of it sending shivers down your spine. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”
Wiping off the leftover cream on your uniform, you stake a step back. Finally finding the courage to look him in the eyes.
And gods, did you regret it.
“You’re overreacting, Altan,” you try to sound casual. It obviously failed because his face twists even more. “Make sure not to put anything heavy on your shoulder, okay? The fracture’s still there even if it’s just a minor.” You put on a smile too, tight lips stretching.
The way Altan looked at you then was a notch stronger than whatever you felt in your stomach. Something way harsher, like it was the first and only time he had ever felt offended. His eyes weren’t narrowed now. They weren’t staring at you as sharply as they had been before. His forehead had smoothed over, lips pursed into a singular line.
Now, his face held no emotions. Nothing. Blank.
Like the Altan you had first seen, the Altan that spoke to no one, looked at no one, interacted with no one, had come back.
To you, this was worse. Way worse.
When his mouth parts, he delivers the final blow. “You’re my friend.”
No, actually, it wasn’t him that delivers it.
“And that’s what I’m being.”
It was you.
“I’ll be heading off now!” Mei, the only female student aside from yourself, waved loudly as she left the door. Going back to her home province for the seasonal break.
You were going back home too, though you still had another night to spend in the dormitories since your parents would be coming by tomorrow morning. It wasn’t a problem though, staying in it alone. You’re used to it anyway. After all, you had spent the past month doing all of your work alone.
That night at the infirmary did leave you alive, but it took your only friend though.
Altan took it upon himself to reciprocate the avoidance and more. He didn’t even just avoid you, he was practically a ghost.
You couldn’t see him in the general classes for medicine, you couldn’t see him in the Mess Hall, and you couldn’t even see him in that spot you both claimed as yours.
Every night when the fighting ensued in the fighting pits, he never showed himself at your corner of the infirmary. Actually, he never showed himself in any part of the infirmary. It was like he took whatever beating he got and just shunned it away.
The desperation to catch even a mere glimpse of him reached its maximum when you, of all people, went down to the fighting pits. To where Altan Trengsin ceased to be a second-year student, presenting himself as nothing but a fighting machine ready to take down any and all of his opponents.
When that happened, gods, you forgot how suffocating the fighting pits were. How barbaric it was. How gruesome and hateful. Even still, despite all that red and violet across his body, Altan Trengsin still glowed the brightest in it; in the blood of his challengers, in the loud roars of the crowd.
Your eyes locked with his pulsing crimson ones when he’d knocked down a particular third-year opponent. The entire sea of students seemingly disappearing at that short second.
For a moment there, your heart stopped. The urge to risk it all reaching its all-time high.
But then Altan looked away. His nose scrunched, eyes reverting back to its blank ones as he thrusts his arm in victory.
You never came back to the fighting pits again. And still, he never came back to the infirmary.
The wind whistled into quaint four walls of your dormitory, blowing the neatly stack of your clothes that was on Mei’s futon. You groan, sliding off of yours to rearrange it again. Then, the wind whistles again. This time, it blows away the two lamps you had lit since it was night time already.
“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath. You stand up fully, rushing over to the windows to shut it. Once shut, you grab the remaining lit candle and use it to find the bundle of matches you had stashed.
You bend slightly, match in hand, the thin wooden stick already burning at the tip when you notice the lamp lit up even before you touched it.
“What—“ your body freezes.
There’s someone by the door.
“Mei? Did you come back?” You keep your eyes on the fire. Praying to every god there is that it was just Mei and she forgot something.
“She left already,” but Mei didn’t have the voice of a man. She didn’t have Altan’s voice. This one did. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”
Your voice betrays you the moment you open your mouth. “What’re you doing—woah, hey, calm down now,” you lunge forward, his entire body weight falling onto your shoulders as his legs just give out. The two of you falling down the cold floor.
Confused, you try to look at him but his head was all over the place. Sweeping side-to-side in a kind of drowsy way that you had never really seen him do before. His hands were as jelly as his head, weighing down your shoulders as if he had no strength to hold him up.
You had to bite back a scoff at your thoughts. Altan Trengsin having no strength? That’s funny.
But he did have no strength. If it weren’t for your hand grabbing his chin and tilting his own head, he probably wouldn’t be able to lift up his on his own.
“Altan—What’s wrong? What happened? Why’re you so… why’re you acting like this?” The questions leave your mouth continuously. Each one more concerned than the last.
Your eyes were practically begging his to answer, meanwhile he seemed to be on cloud-fucking-nine.
“Hello? Trengsin?” You raise your voice. “Did you fight in the pits again? I swear—wait, but that’s impossible. The others already left, you wouldn’t have anyone to fight with, and Sonnen already—” You knit your eyebrows, growing even more confused.
His eyes blink slowly, never really leaving yours. His lips stretching into a strange smile.
You sniff out of instinct. An earthy, almost medicinal, and weirdly floral scent infiltrates your nostrils. A kind of smell that you had only encountered once when Enro made you smell every possible known drug for your own awareness and research.
It took you a second to distinguish it out of the numerous ones you smelt before.
It was opium. Poppies.
Altan had been smoking poppies. Was smoking poppies.
“Oh no,” your arms wrap around him before you could even second guess yourself. The realization of what happened washing over you like ice cold water.
His body softens underneath yours. The heat from your body seeping through his black clothing. You feel his arms moving, but you feel nothing in your body, already suspecting his hesitation.
You let the moment settle before you pull away, eyes now looking at him with worry more than anything else. You see that lazy, restful look still on his face. Features eased so much that it made him look younger, more innocent, more boyish.
He surprises you with his next words. “I missed you,” his voice was shaky, “Fuck, you don’t understand—I missed you so much.” You feel his hand come over the one you had placed on his right shoulder, his usually warm palm was now icy.
No words could come out of your mouth. Hell, no words were even in your head when you registered what he said.
“I thought—you said… You said you’re my friend. You said you’re being my friend,” his voice held no weight to them, though you know it was only because of his state.
“I am,” you tell him softly. “I am being your friend.”
“Then why?” He barks out now, body surging forward. But he softens, again, and his voice drops softly, gently, stripped off of the military firmness he always carried, “Why are you avoiding me?”
You couldn’t hold yourself to lie anymore. So you speak, “Because I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore if I didn’t, Altan.”
His brows curl upwards, the crimson in his eyes pleading at you. “I’m not following.”
A heavy sigh leaves your lips.
Slowly, you inch forward. Shutting off every voice you hear as your lips press onto his hairline. The hand you had in his left shoulder slowly snaking up to the back of his head, pushing him ever so gently until his forehead touched your shoulder.
“Sleep, Altan. Sleep.”
A beat passes.
“But you’d be gone,” he mumbles.
You lick your lips. A singular tear falling down your cheek.
“I won’t.”
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