Chapter Text
Razor gripped the big claw and hesitantly attempted to pick it up.
It was a lot heavier than he anticipated. It clunk to the ground unceremoniously before he took a deep breath in frustration. Lisa giggled softly and stepped away from the tree she was currently hidden behind. Razor watched as the witch bent down and stared at him, as if he was a peculiar project worth studying. She closed a book in her hand and smiled kind and genuinely, unlike the one she wore for others.
“Don’t worry about it. One day, you’ll get strong enough to hold it, and perhaps even wield it. It’s my job to get you there so leave it to me, okay?”
The boy stood silent, but he nodded in understanding. In a way, he did manage to catch wind of what she was trying to say.
A claymore, much heavier than the one he was given that day, clunked to the ground as he found his master on the ground, eyes closed and lips stretched into a thin and tired smile. Her chest barely rose as she drew in a breath. Razor staggered closer to her side and pulled her upright. He allowed her to lean on him as he held her tightly.
Lisa quietly spoke as lightning stirred between them and rain began to pour.
“Razor… I…”
He couldn’t catch the rest. He couldn’t make out her last words before she fell limp in his arms. All Razor could feel was the burning sensation of electric charges, shocking him intensely.
For what else could the breathtaking feeling inside of him come from?
_________________
Bennett, still stunned from the news, didn’t budge. How could he? Prior to receiving notice of her death, he was still convinced his best friend would be at the brink of death, or something close. Finding out he was alive and in one piece was a relief he’s never been more grateful for, but just before he can gather himself, he’s already struck with another lightning bolt of knowledge. It strikes him without mercy, or warning, and it tears through him at a pace so seemingly slow, one would think time stopped.
How could this possibly happen? How could Lisa Minci, one of Teyvat’s most powerful mages, fall from the hands of another? Who could have possibly managed that? Such a incident is unheard of!
…Yet, it made sense.
Bennett had to bite his cheek hard in order to stop the tears flowing as he recalled Jean’s current state. It’s no wonder she was so terribly distressed. Lisa was everything to Jean. To think Bennett was almost glad it wasn’t Razor. Oh, and what of Razor! Lisa was his—
Oh, Razor.
“Hey, buddy… You okay?”
Razor paused for a moment, as if confused, and then responded. “I am… fine. Okay. Except for my claw. It is broken.”
In all honesty, Bennett couldn’t have blamed his best friend for that response. So, all he did was suck in a deep breath, and pressed his eyebrows together in frustration. He should be glad Lisa’s… death isn’t too hard on him. This was Razor they were talking about. He’s strong and tough, certainly not built with a sensitive heart. Of course he isn’t too hurt.
Bennett pats his back a couple of times and takes the cracked claymore in Razor’s hand. He widened his eyes at the unmistakable sight of blood, as it stained the weapon. The handle itself was also particularly roughed up and slightly red… It gave reason enough to examine the wielder’s hands. At the mere sight, Bennett nearly drops the weapon right then and there.
Razor’s hands dripped with blood, and they glowed a bright pink as electricity still slightly lingered around the palms. Because of the brunt force he must’ve been using to swing the sword around, it was no wonder it tore through his gloves and skin so brutally. His fingers, purple and also leaking blood, seemed as if they had been holding the claymore so tightly it threatened to separate the joints keeping his hand together. Although he planned on commenting about the ridiculous state Razor was in, he keeps his concerns to himself. What did he expect? For Lisa to die and have Razor not die trying to save her?
Oh, of course he tried!
Bennett frowned and clutched the claymore close to himself. He set it down beside a table and gently lifted the other’s hands to his cheeks. There, he examined them and pressed a ginger kiss to the wounds. Razor studied his moments with curiosity, ever so slightly wincing every time he made contact. Eventually, when there were no kisses left to give, Bennett withdrew and pulled the boy into a hug.
“I’m so happy you’re alive.”
Razor was quiet for a long time, but even Bennett wasn’t so oblivious as to ignore the way his breath staggered and his hands quivered.
He regretted things. And that was okay, it was normal.
Bennett holds him tighter.
“I wish I could have been there. I’m… I’m sorry for not being there.”
He remains silent a few moments more. Then, he steps back and nods. “Not Bennett’s fault.”
Bennett was about to dismiss Razor’s reassurance, but was interrupted as he continued.
“I couldn't protect my Lupical again. Even with steel claw and lighting teeth. I’m…” The boy’s hands scrunch into fists as he presses his teeth into a grimace, and snarls. “I’m…!”
“Razor?”
He eases his hands and forces his expression to relax. A wasted attempt at restraint, Bennett thought. Still, his best friend seemed insistent on keeping his feelings shunned away. If that was the case, he would respect his wishes. He will come to him when he needs to.
At least, hopefully.
Clearing his throat, Bennett spares a glance at the wounds on Razor’s body. “Did you want to get those looked at?”
He shook his head no. “Home. I want to go home.”
“Okay, we can go home. We can do that.”
Razor’s voice goes low as he mutters a tired “thank you.” Bennett makes a puny attempt at ignoring his bit of gratitude as a result.
_______________
The walk back to Wolvendom is quiet. Bennett gathers wolf hooks that he, at some point, stops Razor for—in order to apply them properly. The sun beats softly on their backs as they stroll, almost careless in their endeavor. Anxiety crept upon Bennett as he slowly grew more tense. It wasn’t until there was a rustle in the bushes that he haphazardly unsheathed his sword and swung.
Awkwardly enough, it was just a boar.
Behind him, Razor collapsed without a word, breathing out a sigh of relief. Bennett watched as he glanced precariously at the sky and raised a hand, as if he was reaching for something. The scene doesn’t go unnoticed by the adventurer, but he does decide to ignore it in favor of not overwhelming his friend.
Eventually, the wind grows harsher on their way and Bennett knows immediately that they’re almost there. It’s the pup that races to Razor’s side that alerts both of them that they’ve arrived. It’s his expression, however, that tells Bennett something’s off.
The smile pulling at his friend’s face is not genuine. It does not shine as bright as it normally does, nor do his eyes. They don’t soften upon laying their sight onto the smaller wolf. Something in his stomach stirs silently, as if in warning. A bead of sweat drips down his neck as he continues observing Razor and how he interacts with his lupical.
It’s not real. None of it is real. His eyes are too creased, his cheeks lifted too high, and he refuses to look at any of them in the eye.
Bennett, with all of these concerns, forces them into a ball—a ball that shifts into the lump in his throat—and he tells himself there’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing wrong.
It’s those ruby eyes, normally happy when he’s with his family, that silently tell Bennett an untold story. It’s the lack of emotion in those eyes that tell him…
Something’s wrong.