Title: To Fall Together
Rating: T
Summary: He has never comforted anyone in his life and he's afraid. Because all his life, it has been Guy that comforted him, and now, he is deathly afraid. Guy/Luke

Warnings: OOCness (hopefully not too bad), mistakes, no spoilers I'm aware of

Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of the Abyss or any of its characters in anyway. I only write to entertain others and for my own strange, twisted, yet lovable amusement. (Plus, if I owned Tales, Guy and Luke would most certainly never leave the Fabre Manor…or Luke's room for that matter.)

A/N: Such a trite idea and concept for a story .__. Can be seen as friendship or as hints of Guy/Luke, although while writing it, in my mind, there was Guy/Luke. But it's entirely up to you.


To Fall Together

Green eyes watch carefully as Guy clutches the comforter in a tight fist. He is nothing but a mess of rumpled clothing, bloodshot red eyes, and tousled hair, sitting calmly on the bed with his feet touching the ground as though completely unaware of his own appearance. Or rather, uncaring, like it made no difference to him whatsoever.

But Luke knows better.

He notices the subtle way Guy's jaw clenches as he bites down on his lower lip every now and then. He notices the slight trembles in his fingers that the blond is not quite able to stop. He notices the slump of his shoulders that usually always stand so tall and broad. He notices the uneven breaths being exhaled and inhaled without the soothing rhythm that Luke is so used to hearing. The whitening knuckles do not escape his eyes, either, as he watches Guy fall apart without ever losing his composure.

It is a truly frightening sight, and Luke can do nothing but stand in front of the closed inn room door, hand resting back on the knob while the other remained by his side, unconsciously clenching and unclenching with each offbeat breath Guy takes.

Outside, Luke can hear the laughter of the inn patrons and the hushed whispers of their own teammates. It unnerves him slightly and his hands grow uncomfortably sweaty.

He could walk. He could just walk out the door and pretend that he never saw anything, pretend that everything is okay because Guy only looks like he had rolled out of bed, exhausted and ill. But he doesn't. He doesn't because Luke knows that he could never forgive himself, never live with himself if he walks out on Guy right then and there. When Guy needs him the most.

He has never comforted anyone in his life and he's afraid. Because all his life, it has been Guy that comforted him, and now, he is deathly afraid. Deathly afraid that every word he says will be wrong and that every touch will be unwanted. Deathly afraid because he has never seen Guy so fragile as he is now, and he doesn't know how to bring Guy back. He doesn't know how to make it all better and fix everything.

Luke bites his own lip, taking hesitant steps toward the blond who remains completely still. He is neither encouraged nor discouraged by Guy's lack of response and gingerly sits down next to his former servant, unsure of whether what he is doing is the right thing. But he doesn't stop to think, because thinking only hinders him, and before his brain can protest, Luke gently touches his arm with a shaking hand. He wishes he wasn't so tremulous, but he cannot help it because Luke is just as afraid as Guy is.

Swallowing thickly, he lets his hand roam downward, fingers lightly sweeping against one of Guy's hands, the one not heavily clutching onto the pale periwinkle comforter, before grasping it. He doesn't try to intertwine their fingers; not until Luke feels the tremors slowly come to a halt. And Luke knows that his hand is all clammy and sweaty, but Guy does not say a word as he loosely wraps his own fingers around Luke's.

The breath that Luke does not even know he has been holding slowly releases, and tentatively, the redhead shifts his body to face Guy, biting his lip for a few brief seconds. He's not sure where to go from here, but just allows his body to move to its own will, praying that he is not doing this wrong.

Slowly, Luke hooks his free arm around the swordsman's neck, breath hitching as he pulls Guy close; close enough to feel his intermittent breaths, his blond hair tickling his skin, his beating heart, and his silent crash, like the burning destruction of Hod.

"Gu—…" His voice fails him, sounding entirely too much like a scratched fon disc, grainy and weak. It makes his throat dry and Luke tries to swallow again, licking his lips before trying to speak once more, "G-Guy…"

Luke lets out a small squeak as Guy sudden disentangles their hand and instead wraps his arms around the younger boy, pulling him closer and closer. He tries not to stutter while calling out to Guy, but fails miserably, "G-Guy? W-What—"

His voice stops, mouth dry and words dying on the tip of his tongue, when Guy only clings onto him like he is the last anchor to the world. Luke chokes, the feeling entirely too familiar and the desperation entirely too real. It is oddly reminiscent of the night when he had first found out he was a replica, and Luke shivers. That night, Guy had comforted him, let him stain his shirt with shameful tears and held him in his arms for the rest of the night. He vaguely wonders if Guy had been afraid that night as well, because despite the disorientation, he still remembers the unusually tight grip on his being and the trembling of the soothing hand moving to touch his hair after wiping away the tears.

He has never thought of Guy as anything other than strong and his pillar of support, and to see him otherwise, broken and crumpled, kills Luke as much, if not more, as it scares him. Luke wishes he could make the pain ease away, but knows that it is impossible and just a child's wish. It makes him feel useless.

"I'm sorry," whispers Luke hoarsely, too unsteady to speak any louder. The words are light as they drift despite sounding entirely butchered. He knows they are the wrong words to say and that on any other day, Guy would be the first to scold him, but he doesn't know what else to say and hopes that Guy understands. And when Guy says nothing, Luke knows that he does.

Luke can still hear the laughter, the merriment, the anguish, and the yells and whispers from outside their room, but for now, it is just him and Guy, and the rest of the world does not matter. He sits there with Guy holding him tight, and the world around them falls apart.

He is still afraid. Deathly afraid that everything he is doing is wrong. But Guy is not just his servant. Guy is much more than just his servant or his teammate. To Luke, Guy is his best friend, the one person that means the most to him in his life. The one person that sums up his entire life, however brief. So he only takes in a shuddery breath, letting Guy hold on to him and feeling the much too erratic palpitations of his—of their hearts, beating in sync.

Because no matter how afraid he is, Luke knows that he can never let Guy fall on his own. After all, Guy is his servant, his teammate, his best friend, his entire world. And neither of them can ever let each other go because everything they do and every moment they spend has always been, and will always be, together.