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The tears started again and wouldn’t stop. Jestro gathered that blankets tighter around him, biting his lip and trying to muffle any sound he dared whimper, for fear of waking anyone up in the Fortrex. It was kind of the knights to welcome him into their group. It was kind of them to give him his own room. It was kind of them to stop their whispering when he entered the room. Jestro dug his face into the pillow. He didn’t deserve the sympathies and shelter they extended him, but he also didn’t know how to convince them to like him either—they were just being polite to him. Jestro felt pity and distrust through the knights’ sidelong glances, lingering stares and awkward one-word answers, as if all of them couldn’t wait to get away from him as quickly as possible. Well, except for one knight, of course.
Clay.
Jestro inhaled shakily, recalling the warm, enveloping, suffocating hug Clay gave him when he awoke at the hospital after Monstrux’s defeat. He was told he was found unconscious, but the last thing he remembers was witnessing that finishing blast of magic and power from Clay—it was strong, pure, and warm, just like him. Cured of Monstrux’s influence, Jestro’s mind finally felt unclouded and all the wildness that invaded his soul was at last locked away. Sure, he had residual cosmetic effects, like his hair staying pure white and an even paler complexion even without his makeup. But thanks to Clay, he’d been cured. And despite all that Jestro did in his monstrous state, Clay still was kind to him. Sure, he seemed more cautious around Jestro, and Clay’s eyes seemed to linger on him longer, but it was out of worry. Jestro appreciated the friendship, but he didn’t deserve it. He sniffled at the thought, clenching his eyes shut to let tears rush over his face.
Clay was everything he couldn’t be—headstrong and courageous, loved by everyone for all of his strength and kindness. He was a beacon for everyone, and Jestro wanted to always be near that light. Clay was the one thing he could focus his wild mind on when he was under Monstrux’s control. And even through all that, Clay radiated thoughtfulness and patience with Jestro. But Jestro was just a shallow shadow behind him. His ears burned at the delusion of Clay as anything more than a friend who’d just end up looking sadly at him. He had hoped he occupied a space in Clay’s heart, just as unshakeably as Clay had rested into Jestro’s own heart.
Jestro’s tearful episodes had become a common nightly occurrence, suffered in silence and definitely alone. He’d dream of terrors from the past few months, or the welt of guilt would deepen in his soul and the tears wouldn’t stop until he slept of exhaustion. Fighting himself to stay quiet in the deadly silent Fortrex, Jestro bit down on his lip and turned to the wall in a self-pitying whimper. He found himself circling back to the one solution he always considered on these sorrowful nights: he should just leave, stop bothering the knights. Stop bothering—burdening—Clay. If he wasn’t such a coward, he’d have left by now.
But the thought was shoved from his mind as the sound of a door—his door—clicking open behind him shot to his ears. Jestro froze, his eyes wide open to a blank wall, the wall unsympathetic to his terror. Were they going to tell him to pipe down, ask him if he was okay and deepen the well of pity and shame he already felt from the knights? He didn’t want them to see him like this, and all because he couldn’t keep his pathetic sniveling quiet. What a weakling, what a coward—
“Jestro?” a light, muffled step approached behind him.
Clay’s whisper resounded like thunder through Jestro’s head. The door clicked closed and he heard a few more steps coming to the bed. Jestro squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep his breathing measured to no avail. He was caught by the last person he wanted any pity from. Jestro knew that Clay, despite all his goodness, was just going to ask him if he was alright, Jestro would whimper a paltry “yes,” Clay would leave, then forever look at him like a broken doll, slowly distancing himself until Jestro would finally leave him alone.
Jestro felt, heard, internally screamed as the far side of the bed creaked—Clay sitting at the very edge.
“Jestro,” the bed ached again as Clay leaned towards Jestro’s small, curled up back. “Could I—“ Clay cleared his throat through the whisper, “lie next to you?”
Jestro’s eyes shot open and his face burned. This was not what was supposed to happen. Why was he asking that? He must have flinched at the question because he heard Clay lean back again.
“Uh, o-okay,” he squeaked out, punctuated by an uncontrollable sniffle.
Did he hear Clay loose a breath? Clay shuffled under the covers, shifting the mattress under Jestro and finally settling. Although Clay was no where near Jestro, he felt Clay’s undoubted gaze in the dark, like a weight pushing him down deeper into this embarrassment.
Sure, Jestro had passingly wondered about sleeping next to Clay for the quickest moment, just innocently forced by circumstance to be close, perhaps on some great, heroic mission together. For just one peaceful night, Jestro could have that warmth all to himself. But that fantasy was the farthest—the very opposite—of the abject horror and confusion roaring through his brain now. Clay hearing his pitiful muffled sobs was not how he’d hope to be closer to his dearest friend.
“Jestro—“ Clay whispering his name was all at once becoming Jestro’s favourite song and the dirge that would surely end him here and now. “Would it be okay,” Jestro tensed at Clay’s torturous pausing, “if I held you?”
The roaring in Jestro’s head rushed to a stop. His lips parted, his eyes widened somehow even more, and a ragged gasp whispered through the silence between them. Jestro tucked his chin in and curled a little tighter into the blankets, making himself as small he felt. He let out a small “mm-hmm” with a nod.
The fabric of the sheets seemed to rustle so loudly now. It took Jestro a moment to register what was happening as a warm hand came up from between his side and the mattress and wrap around his middle. His eyes darted around in the darkness, trying to see any hint of Clay without moving an inch. He silently gasped as the wall of Clay’s chest cradled his back and a heavy, strong arm came over Jestro’s front, enveloping him in a shelter of power and kindness. Clay nestled his nose into the nape of Jestro’s neck, his breath a furnace against the freeze of Jestro’s tense muscles.
He couldn’t move—he forgot how to move. Breathing was the only function Jestro had now that all of his faculties were focused on unraveling how he came to find himself in this situation. Clay was in his bed, holding him like he was a precious treasure. Even though his high strung nerves couldn’t process this predicament, Jestro’s heart swelled in his chest. The warmth he’d basked in from afar, savoured from every rare hug, and the lasting tenderness of a simple hand on a shoulder, all paled. Clay’s strength fit around him like a cloak in the winter. The tears of just moments ago were dry and tender on his burning cheeks, his seldom sniffles breaking through the tension between their bodies.
Clay tightened his embrace, drawing Jestro closer into his chest and resting his head on the smaller frame of his friend. The arm that was wrapped over Jestro rose up, and Clay’s large hand rested on, and enveloped, the jester’s shoulder. Clay stroked his arm with a methodic gentleness, coaxing Jestro’s nerves to the surface.
Jestro’s brow, knotted with worry, ached while he frantically tried grasping at thoughts that wouldn’t stay down. The storm that had stilled was picking up again as Jestro started to fear Clay’s thoughts in the thick silence. Was he pitying him? Was Clay regretting this? Was this just some stupid gesture that Clay just wanted to be done with? Did Clay think he was just feeling sorry for himself? Was he shameful in front of Clay? Was he disgusting to Clay? The knot tightened, Jestro curled inward, away from the warmth.
“It’s okay,” Clay whispered, “it’s okay now.”
That did it.
He could hear the smile in Clay’s voice. Not one of happiness, or of mockery, but comfort. Jestro released a quiet noise as the tears that had built up against a dam of shame and fear burst forth. He shook slightly, but released the tension of his whole body as he sank, fell into the warmth of Clay. Clay tightened his embrace again, bringing his face right behind Jestro’s ear.
“It’s okay, Jestro,” Clay stroked his arm, peppered with empathetic squeezes. “Everything’s okay now.”
The tears were just as constant and heavy as before. The feelings and guilt were still there. But so was Clay.
Jestro cried until soft breaths were all that were left, heaving a few quiet sobs until he drifted off quietly for another night. Clay lay wrapped around him, awake until he was sure Jestro slept and his breathing became heavy and measured. Clay settled deeper into the embrace, fully securing his arms around Jestro and nuzzling into the clean scent of his soft white hair. Clay too, finally drifted off, a gentle smile drawing on his lips.