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Two figures stumbled over the ruins of the battlefield, stepping over the broken corpses littering the ground, which was stained a deep, dull red. They kept their eyes forward, willing themselves to look away from the twisted horror seared onto the people’s faces in their last moments. They were all horribly disfigured in a multitude of ways: limbs bent at an unnatural angle, organs spilling out from the insides, heads torn from the original bodies; coupled with the stifling stench of death stagnating in the foul air, it was enough to drive anyone insane.
Suddenly, one of them keeled over, his hand immediately moving to clutch his stomach. The other quickly caught him and laid him on the ground to inspect the gash that had reopened.
“Bam!” he cried, voice hoarse and cracked. He tried to hold the edges of the wound together, but the blood didn’t stop seeping out and all he could see was crimson.
“I’ll be fine, Khun,” the other replied, but his voice was faint, as if he was uncertain himself. He placed his hand over Khun’s own trembling one. To Khun’s immense relief, he managed to stop the bleeding once more.
“Just a little more, please, Bam, we’ll get there soon,” Khun pleaded. “Hang on until then.”
They’d won the battle at the nest, but they had gotten separated from their teammates. Bam had suffered a blow to the stomach and he was losing a lot of blood. Their only hope was that before Khun’s lighthouse had gotten disconnected, they had received the coordinates to where their teammates were at, which was where they were currently heading towards.
“I can keep moving, Khun,” said Bam, this time more firmly, trying his hardest to reassure his companion. Khun was unconvinced, but he knew that the more time passed, the more Bam’s condition would worsen. They couldn’t afford to be idle.
He clenched his teeth and helped Bam stand, wrapping his arm around his shoulder to provide support. They traipsed through the lifeless land together at a slow but steady pace, teeth clenched in agony.
How long had it been? How much time had they spent? More importantly, how much time did they have left? How much more until Bam—Khun squeezed his eyes shut, willing his thoughts away.
That was what he felt like. Too many questions with no answers, his brain running in circles over and over again to come to the same conclusion, praying and praying without knowing who he was trying to enlist help from. He remembered he once told Bam that pointless struggling didn’t suit him.
It seemed laughable now, when all he was doing was that. Khun’s head felt heavy and his swimming thoughts were dizzying. He was so useless, unable to help Bam when that had been his one job as his lightbearer and his friend.
“...Blaming yourself. I can hear you think.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Khun blinked and shook his head.
“I said, don’t keep blaming yourself. None of this is your fault, Khun.”
And to show that he meant it, he smiled through the obvious pain his face was contorted in. Khun felt a pang in his heart. Bam was always so kind, so selfless. If anything, it made him feel more worthless, because he’d found an amazing person who was genuinely good, a rare, priceless treasure in the merciless and cutthroat Tower, and he couldn’t even keep that safe.
“Bam,” he choked, unable to suppress the rush of emotions that was stirring and swirling up a storm in him, “I don’t deserve you.”
Hearing his words, Bam immediately snapped his head towards him to look at him straight in the eyes. Khun didn’t miss the wince of pain that flashed across his scratched and bruised features.
“Don’t ever say that,” he said as loudly as he could in hope that Khun would get it through his head. “You mean so much to me. You’re my most precious person.”
It was Khun’s turn to look at Bam. Staring at his earnest smile, he felt wet tracks trail down his cheeks. Khun’s eyes widened in shock. He furiously swiped at his face, but the tears kept coming.
“I’m—I’m sorry you have to see this. I don’t know what’s come over me,” he sobbed, then laughed dryly, which turned into hacking coughs.
“It’s alright.”
Khun didn’t understand many things about Bam. He didn’t understand how he could smile even when he was experiencing excruciating pain. He didn’t understand how he could say something so—something that meant so much so easily, and he didn’t understand how Bam could be so accepting of him, how he still regarded him as someone worthy of him despite having seen him at his worst. But Khun supposed he should have come to expect that from him by now. From the moment he met the innocent, lost boy on the Floor of Tests, standing weakly in a defensive stance swaying among the grass yet holding a needle belonging to the infamous Thirteenth Month series, he’d known that there was something extraordinary about him.
Bam was an enigma. Khun informed him of it, to which Bam laughed sweetly. The sound was blissfully melodious, but then he unconsciously reached for his stomach and Khun was brought back to harsh reality.
“That’s okay. You can keep wondering.” He replied cheekily, probably to lighten the mood.
Khun didn’t remember the last time he cried, but he was sure he hadn’t been received with anything remotely similar to the same kindness Bam was showing him. Instead, he’d been taught not to show weakness, to bottle everything up because anything of that nature would be used against him. To show human emotion would be exposing his Achilles’ heel. It was as good as handing his opponent a knife and baring his neck to them. It would be his downfall.
Bam, however, managed to evoke those weaknesses in him like no one else could. He taught him so much—he taught him to trust. Bam never stopped giving.
Khun smiled back at him through tears, tried his hardest to convey what fabricated words couldn’t, and let himself cry.
It was a while before Bam spoke up again.
“Khun, do you think we’ll get there soon?”
Khun felt his veins pulsing at an alarming rate. They had to be. Even though Bam had done his best to hide it, he knew that no matter how tough he acted, he was not unaffected by his injury. He’d already had to comfort him even though he was the one with the gash on his stomach. Bam deserved so much more. Khun didn’t want him to suffer any longer. So, to give him hope, he lied.
“Yeah, Bam, I’m sure we will.” he stated firmly, and tried his best to pick up the pace.
When Khun saw Bam’s relieved grin, small but enough to express his joy, he averted his eyes and tried to suppress the guilt eating him alive. It was for Bam. It was better if he didn’t know that Khun was just as lost as he was.
“I know they’re waiting for us,” Bam continues, much to Khun’s turmoil. “They must be expecting us soon.”
How could he stay so optimistic? Bam’s unwavering faith was another thing about him that never failed to mystify Khun.
He continued to talk with conviction about what they would do when they got back. Hearing his declarations echo off the eroding rocks of the wasteland only succeeded in increasing the weight of remorse in Khun’s chest. His heartbeat sped up, thumping loudly in a mocking rhythm that served to remind him of what he had done.
Hope seemed to arise in their hearts as the air cleared and the sky brightened. It took flight in the form of life—a small weed growing between the cracks in the ground. It was the pinnacle of insignificance, yet to them it was a dream come true. It was that sweet solace that drove them forward. Their steps were sluggish, but they were moving forward at a steady pace.
Hope was a fickle thing. When it seemed nothing good was left, all that remained was hope. That alone was enough to keep people going in the midst of sorrow and despair. Hope itself didn’t amount to anything. It didn’t guarantee anything. All it promised was that it would remain constant and unchanging. It was the one thing you would never lose control over.
Hope was a fickle thing.
Just when everything seemed to be progressing for the better, Khun collapsed on the ground.
“Khun!” Bam screamed in horror. The sound was gut-wrenching, torn from his throat before he could properly react. He dropped down next to him, and panic welled in his throat as he found that the other was unresponsive. He began to shake. What went wrong? They were going to make it, see their friends again, celebrate their victory; this wasn’t supposed to happen.
The beating of his heart grew to a crescendo as he began examining Khun to find the cause of his sudden unconsciousness. When he had finally found his answer, the feeling of dread inside him had grown until he could barely breathe.
“No, no, no,” he said, his voice frail and feeble. “Khun, you idiot.”
Khun’s left leg was utterly mangled. It was evident that the neglect of care had resulted in a massive amount of blood loss.
“How could you hide this from me?”