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Only the sound of galloping filled the two men’s ears. They narrowly escape death once again and count their blessings. As the road stretches on ahead of them, the eldest man allows his mind to drift. To numb. The only coping technique he knew. Forget about the vendetta. Forget about the throbbing in your shoulder. Ride until you and your partner are safe. Partner.
He hasn’t heard anything from his partner but the smaller man clings to him for dear life. Burning white knuckles around his waist is all the older man can see as he peers down. The fight was brutal. A lot of blood was spilt, mostly on the opposition’s side. The young man has probably never seen anything like this.
“You with me?” The eldest inquires. Silence.
“Johnny?” His voice is sharper this time. This causes small fists to flex against his shirt. Silence again.
The eldest sighs. The youngest sniffles.
The sound plunges a knife into the Italian’s heart.
Sooner rather than later, the pair are able to stop somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. The eldest turns around to see puffy red eyes along with a nose and cheeks to match. He hasn’t been able to get much from those eyes but this wasn’t what he had in mind.
The younger man is in visible distress and he does not have the energy to hide it. He trembles. He whimpers. But most importantly, he never steals his gaze away from the Italian. This is his way of communicating “I’m not okay.”
The eldest makes the executive decision to set up camp right where they are. No objections come from the American.
Once a campfire is made and the younger man is safely off of the horse, the pair sit in silence. The sparkle of tears streaming down freckled cheeks distracts the Italian from his disturbing lack of thoughts. He can’t take it. Without thinking-
“Gyro-"
Strong arms pull the smaller man into an embrace he’ll never forget. The warmth. The scent. The prickly sensation of uneven facial hair against his temple. The way his heart flutters in his chest.
This only made the tears fall faster.
“Do you want to talk about it?” The Italian inquires.
“No.”
The eldest nods in understanding, his hand aimlessly rubbing over a taut back. The more his fingers move, the more he felt tight muscles unwind. A small puff of breath tickles his neck. He smiles.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah.”
The pair linger in each other’s grasp until the tears stop. The shivers melted away. The young American has buried the images from earlier. His face rests against the only sliver of skin the Italian exposes. Soft lips brush against the surface innocently.
“Careful, Jojo.”
“I’m just resting here.”
“Tell that to your mouth.”
The older man has no problem teasing the one in his arms, his fingers now tracing over that tear stained cheek. A thumb settling into the corner of full, relaxed lips. A flinch. Settlement. Then he leans in.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“I’ve dealt with worse.”
The American falls silent, not wanting to imagine what his partner has experienced. He just stopped crying, he didn’t want to start again.
“My cape took most of the blow.”
“Thank God for that.”
The young man lifts his hand to examine for himself, what he feels sends the fresh memories back into his mind.
A loud bang. His partner’s guttural scream. A thud from him falling off of his horse. Neighing. His own voice screaming his partner’s name. Another bang. His head throbbing. Red. Wet. Dripping. Not from him. A cape casting a shadow over him. Hiding him from the enemy. A gruesome hole embedded in tanned skin. Bits of fabric and leather torn and jagged.
“Gy..?”
“I’m okay, I told you.”
“I know but...”
“What, Johnny?”
“You distracted them from me.”
Silence from a rare party.
“I was protecting you.” The Italian now pulls away just enough for green eyes to meet blues.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? We’re partners.”
“Rivals too.”
“Eh, we’re partners first. And always.” The Italian emphasizes the last word with a golden smile.
The young man feels the dams break again. He can’t hide his face. He can’t wipe the tears away before they’re seen. He openly breaks down in front of his partner. His friend. Hopefully something more.
The older man simply cups those warm cheeks and delivers a firm kiss to a half covered forehead.
“I’m sorry that I scared you back there.” An unnecessary apology but it forces the eldest to acknowledge what happened. The young man shakes his head.
I’ve never seen him cry...
This is scaring me.
Soon enough, the two are thanking God and the stars that they made it out alive today.
Johnny is happy to see Gyro alive.
Gyro is happy to have a reason to be alive.
Something he never considered before.
A new promise he makes to his partner.
They seal it with tearful smiles.