Work Text:
For a long time, Nicolo di Genova are the only Italian words Yusuf knows.
When Nicolo speaks, Yusuf listens to the music of his words, the sound flowing like cool water over his ears. And then Yusuf speaks, saying things like I don't understand this at all and I can't say the same for you but my aim was true, every time and I have never seen such eyes. And he knows that Nicolo is doing the same, hearing without understanding, and yet the man pays such careful attention every time Yusuf opens his mouth. Yusuf starts to wonder if this savage might be smarter than he looks.
"Yusufal Kaysani," Nicolo begins every time, joining the words together in the wrong places, before speaking slow or fast, saying things that Yusuf is forced to imagine. Maybe he's saying some of the same things that Yusuf is: What the hell is going on? or What are we going to do now? Yusuf soon tires of these questions, however, since it's obvious that neither of them have the answers. He begins to tell Nicolo about his family instead, and about his childhood, and his experiences in the army. Anything he can think of, just to spend another moment in the company of his impossible enemy.
Nicolo seems similarly intrigued. When Yusuf's voice cracks dry in the hot air, Nicolo just passes over a waterskin and takes up the conversation. Yusuf imagines that maybe he's talking about his family as well; he certainly has a wistful look that speaks of faraway love. Perhaps a wife and children. Hopefully just parents and siblings.
Yusuf watches Nicolo as the man tells him all these unknown things. He watches the Adam's apple bob in his throat, the light in his eyes, the expressive hand gestures, and he thinks, I am here for a reason. Yusuf doesn't know what that reason is, but he knows what he wants it to be.
When he reaches for Nicolo, fingers brushing his shoulder, Nicolo draws his sword faster than Yusuf can blink. "I wasn't trying to kill you this time," he insists through gritted teeth, clutching the stump that now terminates his arm. Despite the language barrier, Nicolo seems to understand, and this is how Yusuf learns the Italian for I'm sorry, repeated again and again.
They watch together with grotesque fascination as a new hand blossoms in place of the old. Nicolo lays his sword on the ground, deliberate and slow, and then raises his empty hands. He murmurs something that Yusuf swears could be, Please try again. So he does.
This time, he reaches for Nicolo's hand, and Nicolo gently closes his fingers over Yusuf's. Nicolo shifts his grip to Yusuf's wrist and draws the hand to his lips, lightly kissing each finger. He says those same words again, I'm sorry, as he gazes into Yusuf's eyes, and Yusuf feels that he could forgive this man of anything.
Yusuf shifts closer, but it's Nicolo who closes the distance between their faces, kissing him with a sweet, reserved passion. He tastes of sweat and dirt and salt and blood, and it seems to Yusuf that the richest honey could not have been a more pleasurable taste. Yusuf is overcome, and deepens the kiss so abruptly that he knocks both of them off balance. Nicolo laughs as he tumbles to the ground, pulling Yusuf close again, and Yusuf can feel his smile as they press their lips together.
Nicolo rolls them over and sits up on Yusuf's hips. He looks Yusuf over and says something in a serious tone, before leaning down to resume their fraternizing.
Years later, once they have shared their languages as well as their bodies, Yusuf asks Nicolo what he said in that moment.
Nicolo tells him: This was meant to be.