They’ve formed an uneasy truce, a frayed fragile trust that rests on a knife’s edge. They travel together, bound by this strange undeath that they share, but rarely turn their backs to each other. Even at night, they sleep on opposite sides of their campfire, glaring at each other through the flames. When they fight, they always keep the other in view, just in case.
But, once, after many months of this, they are driven by bandits into an abandoned shack. They heave in breaths, clutching their swords as they slump together against the single door, holding it closed while the enemy pounds on the other side.
Blood splatter covers most of Nicolò’s face, his clothes, his sword. His eyes are wild and he looks like a madman. Yusuf knows he must look the same.
Yusuf tries to crack a smile, to lighten the mood of certain doom that permeates the air as bitingly as the iron scent of blood. “Not sure we’ll get out of this one alive.”
Nicolò casts him a withering look, which makes the joke worth it. Yusuf feels a little crazed in the face of such danger. He wants to laugh. Almost does, until Nicolò says, “They might separate us.”
Yusuf’s body clams up suddenly, like whiplash, entirely rejecting the words. “They can try.” He can’t help his growl.
Nicolò’s face, impossibly, softens.
Outside the bandits pound on the door. Soon, surely, one of them will think to just burn the shack down. This is not the ideal place for a step forward, for budding kindness, for maybe more... yet, they are here just the same.
Yusuf’s heart stirs. Is this man not his longtime enemy? Yet here on the edge, Yusuf would crawl from his own grave with his bare hands to keep them together. “They will not take you from me.”
“You’ll be dead,” Nicolò says, brow pinched like the words pain him.
“Death will not stop me.” Yusuf clutches Nicolò’s arm, clawing through the blood.
“Yusuf.” Desperation tightens Nicolò’s voice, and Yusuf has never heard his name said so sweetly.
Yusuf drops his head back against the door. The pounding has subsided, and, as he suspected it might, a hint of smoke fills the air.
“Terrible time to fall in love,” Yusuf mutters to himself, but Nicolò must hear, because his bright eyes widen further and snap to Yusuf’s face. But Yusuf returns the gaze with no embarrassment. Maybe he wanted Nicolò to know, for him to truly understand the lengths Yusuf would go for him. For them.
Nicolò swallows hard. “I will go first and draw their attention to me.” It’s not the exact words, I love you too, but no less a declaration of such.
“You will not,” Yusuf says.
“While they kill me, you must kill them, Yusuf. All of them.”
“You aren’t listening -”
“If they take you, I swear I...” He licks his lips, takes a strong breath. Smoke wisps between the boards of the ceiling. They haven’t much time. “I will find you. I will never stop searching.”
What a foolish man, to think Yusuf will let him fall first. “Nicolò -”
Nicolò dips forward and presses their foreheads together. His eyes close. It is the gentlest touch they have yet shared and steals the air from Yusuf’s lungs.
Too soon, it is gone. Too soon, Nicolò moves away and reaches for the door. Too soon, he throws it open and Yusuf chases after him into danger.
They were strong warriors before, but in always keeping each other in their line of sight, they limited themselves, stretching themselves too thin, expecting betrayal from every angle.
Now, with trust strengthened and love blooming, they only fight outwards, not within. Nicolò turns his back to Yusuf, and Yusuf to Nicolò. They are two swords, one being, and cut through their enemies with a relentless fierceness that only comes from the desperation to protect.
The last enemy falls. Tall flames swallow the shack. A billowing smoke cloud plumes into the air.
