Wherever You Are

The nights turned cold, then frigid, and when the snow began to fall they resorted to sharing blankets for warmth.

That first night of snowfall they slept close but not touching in the gray gloom of the tent. And if Albel woke screaming at phantoms again, sweat-damp skin prickling in the cold, at least Fayt wasn't idiot enough to mention it in the pale light of morning, not even when Albel threatened to start tying him up at night if he didn't learn to control his flailing limbs.

Fayt had laughed at that, then frowned as though he couldn't decide if it were meant as a joke. Albel let him worry over it.

The second night, Albel shoved a handful of snow up the back of Fayt's shirt just as he was getting to sleep. Any day he could make Fayt yelp like that was counted productive. And when Fayt glared down at him after shaking the snow from under his shirt, Albel returned the look with a smirk. "Easy mark," he said.

But the next morning they had a tussel in the snow and Albel called it even after Fayt pinned him and rubbed snow in his hair.

The third night, the temperature plummeted and the snow piled up in drifts past their knees. The wind buffeted the canvas walls around them and drafts of freezing air snuck was bred to bitter cold, and it troubled him little as he slipped beneath the blankets that night.

Fayt, however, was already curled up in a ball and shivering. He'd done nothing but complain all damn day. He'd complained about the cold for awhile, then about being lost, then about the cold some more. Albel took as much of that as his meager patience would allow then smacked Fayt in the back of the knees with the flat of Crimson Scourge and sent him face first into the snow. Then the little worm had the nerve to complain about Albel.

No sooner had Albel closed his eyes that night than it started up again.

"I hope we reach a town tomorrow," Fayt said. "I need a real bed in a warm inn."

Albel cracked one eye open. "What you need is a good beating. Enough with your damn whining. It'd do you a service to stay out here a few more days. Traveling in those celestial ships all your life, always coddled by your technology." He infested the word with as much poison as he was capable of. "That kind of living would make anyone soft. Now shut up and don't bother me again."

Albel snapped his eye shut again, but he could sense an insipid conversation coming. The day Fayt Leingod keeps his fool mouth shut when told is the day I throw my sword away and take up as a jester in that Peppita girl's circus.

And sure enough...

"Does the snow make you miss home, Albel?"

Maybe I should try tying him up. And gagging him. "Home? What home?" Albel said, eyes opening to slits.

"Y'know. Airyglyph." Even Fayt's voice sounded shivery. Here was destruction incarnate: a boy equally in love with swords or books, a terror in a snowball fight, and entirely too softhearted by Albel's measure. The incongruity of it was both confusing and endearing.

"That place hasn't been my home since I first left it on that celestial ship." Airyglyph, where Albel had captained the Black Brigade—badly. Always too preoccupied with his own grim distractions to make a decent Captain. Airyglyph, where Vox had stripped him of a title he was never suited for to begin with. Vox's mocking smile as he fastened the manacles to Albel's wrists himself, the way he rested his hand lightly upon the bare skin of Albel's stomach as he murmured softly of the torments, the violations, a traitor might endure.

Some memories were not worth dredging up. And for once…

…for once, the present looked so much brighter than the past.

In the pause that followed, Albel passed an eye over Fayt's shivering form. If the fool needed warmth all he had to do was ask. Did he think Albel would refuse?

(perhaps I repulse him)

I won't get to sleep until he does. Albel wrapped his metal arm around Fayt's waist. He drew them together and was rewarded with Fayt's increasing heartbeat thumping against his chest. All the months of close living suddenly flooded Albel's mind: casual glimpses of each other in half-dressed states, sparring sessions that ended with fierce wrestling in the grass, careful hands tending wounds acquired in their travels. The unfamiliar sensation of a hard, lean stomach pressed against his own kindled heat within him.

Fayt's eyes had gone a little wide, but he recovered from the surprise of it and settled against Albel. "Where…where will you call home if not Airyglyph?"

(home is…)

A reply rose to Albel's lips, one that at once repelled and enthralled him. A long habit of hurling invectives at every opportunity urged him to kill the words, never ever say them, but instead he shed his pride like an old skin, feeling raw and naked without it but oh so alive.

"Wherever you are."

A/N: Short, I know. Hopefully sweet as well. Written after squeeing over Albel's ending in the game. One rough and two drafts.