Work Text:
Khun isn’t a fan of public displays of affection.
He’s affectionate with his friends, sure. It manifests in the form of head pats and cheek-pulls and hip-checks in hallways. In small stuttered gasps, a scandalised ‘Mr Khun!’, and a matching giggle as Bam squirms away from Khun’s questing fingers. These isolated incidents occur in small gatherings and get-togethers— Team Bam, in all shapes and sizes, finding themselves sprawled carelessly on the living room floor. He remembers Floor of Test. The slow dip of the room as it sways to his inebriated breaths, as Rak stuffs his face with chocolate bars, and Endorssi rambles about protecting designer shoes. The heavy press of a shoulder, flushed cheeks, a soft smile that lights up like a flame.
Khun and Bam.
Bam and Khun.
They were the last two awake, as the rest of the crew lay snoring away in a dreamless oblivion. Lucky bastards.
Something shuffles beside him.
“Mr Khun?” Bam asks, eyes aglow with the warm wash of sun-kissed gold. “Are we friends?”
“What are you talking about? Of course we are.” What a silly question. What’s Bam up to, now?
“Then, Mr Khun,” Bam shifts his weight, anticipatory. “Can I hug you?”
A hug…? Khun’s never been a fan of hugs. As a child, displays of affection often held hidden knives, stained crimson in the half-light. To gain intel. Find weaknesses. Exploit and bleed them dry. But watching Bam, with his soft smiles and gentle laughter…
Khun moves to face Bam, arms outstretched.
“Sure,” he quirks his lips upwards, revelling in the way Bam brightens another 200 gigawatts. “Feel free to hug me, anytime.”
Right now, they’re standing in front of hundreds, no, thousands of soldiers. Here they are. In the epicentre of the battlefield. All thanks to the miracle boy in a red-and-white jumpsuit.
The same red-and-white jumpsuit is shaking in his arms.
“Bam.”
Bam has changed.
He’s no longer the idealistic child from Outside, with stars in his eyes and a summer breeze in his hair. He’s stronger, prouder, more stubborn than ever. Bull-headed to a fault. But there’s traces of the Bam from before, as he stares death down, unblinking. Brave. Selfless. A lost boy with an abundance in empathy and a willingness to bleed, wishing desperately to save everyone. (Falling short.)
Back then, Bam had come to Khun for advice, for comfort. Haloed in pastel blues cast from the lighthouse above them, Bam would talk and Khun would listen, until yawns twisted their mouths and bared teeth at the rising sun.
It’s a privilege, being Bam’s confidant. His pillar. His support. After all, that’s the role of a Light Bearer, was it not?
Sometimes, Bam would press his ear against Khun’s chest. Tapping his fingers, da-dump, da-dump, he’d trace out Khun’s heartbeat like an electrocardiogram.
“Bam, what are you doing?” Khun huffs, a small smile playing at his lips. “My heartbeat isn’t anything interesting, you know.”
“It’s nice,” Bam admits, face pressed against Khun’s chest. “When I count them out, it’s calming.”
Da-dump. Da-dump. Da-dump.
“Alright, then.” Khun laughs, low and rumbly, and Bam’s nose scrunches up at the vibrations. “Tap away.”
Bam is here, in his arms.
He’s grown since that time on Floor of Test. They both have. Bam has witnessed the death of hundreds, deduced that Khun’s been collecting up souls for White to absorb. Friends. Foes. Drifting aimlessly in space, cooling puppets cut from their strings. And now, here Bam is, shaken and distressed, conflicted and confused. Grieving for what was lost.
Khun could hear Bam, in his mind. “I did this. I led them to their deaths.” And, “I burnt the souls, to save the Cage. I felt them disappear.”
It’s times like this, where Khun wishes he could be more eloquent. Why is his silver tongue failing him now?
So Khun speaks, through his actions. He pulls Bam close, hides him away. – I’ll protect you. – Pats Bam’s head – I’ve got you, okay? I’m here. – cards his fingers down Bam’s half-ponytail, untangling the knots in the taller man’s hair. He presses his lips against the crown of his King, feels the answering shudder, and sighs. Tightening his grip, he brings Bam in, hears the thud-thud of his pulse in his ears. Bam smells …older. Like dust and sweat, tinged with copper. But underneath the layer of dirt and grime, there’s a spark of something warm and sweet, and it sings on Khun’s tastebuds like their first shared kiss under the sheets.
The world is cruel and unforgiving. Khun resists the urge to snatch Bam away, hide him like the priceless jewel he is. A diamond in the rough, being processed from all sides. Being scrubbed down and polished until it glows, clear and pure. It’s all too easy, to ask Bam, ‘stay’, but deep down, they both know it’s futile.
So instead, Khun stands firm, and provides Bam with what he needs.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
Khun taps out his heartbeat against Bam’s hunched back, and smiles at the answering reply.