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They had left together when nothing else seemed to make sense, after the slaughter of Jerusalem. Years had passed, but not once had the possibility of taking different paths crossed their minds. A lot of their beliefs had been shattered on that battlefield, but one thing was sure for both of them: they were meant to find one another, meant to stay together and to find the two women that still visited their dreams at night. They had risen from hatred and blind opposition and become companions, then friends. Years passed, yes. And while they still didn't find the two women, they embarked on another quest, unspoken but shared nonetheless. Their search was one for redemption, penance for the worst things their first life had made them blindly do. They did not speak of it, not really, for they did not need it. But they spoke ; they spoke of so much more. Even when they didn't understand the other's language, they still spoke. With their eyes, and their hands, then their smiles slowly started to come into play, and they even started laughing together, sometimes about the silliest of things. Then words were learned, and added to their conversations while their bodies kept on telling as much as the actual sentences.
They spoke of habits from their homes, of customs and practices, sometimes to make them look grand and sometimes to get a laugh out of the other. They spoke of great art, of family left behind, and dreams that couldn't be anymore. They learned from each other, so much more than they could have learned in a life spent among their own people. But then again, they soon had spent more than a lifetime together.
And Nicolò got wrapped in it, without even realizing. How he still looked at Yusuf's hands when he didn't really need it anymore, how he still searched for his eyes as if they could tell him more than his mouth did. How he immensely liked his outward nature, but still noticed instantly the most elusive changes too, like how he held his head or how much tension there was in his shoulders. He got wrapped in the sweetness of his voice, in the velvet of his deep laughter, in all the subtle variants that lit his eyes and the passion that often burned there. It was natural. Normal. It was only Yusuf and him, after all. It was but a testament of how close you could become to someone, after a hundred years spent by their side.
Then, one evening, Yusuf's lips were on his.
Yusuf's.
Lips.
How they got there, Nicolò had no idea. As to what was happening, Nicolò had no idea either. Well... yes, he had some idea, but... For a second, or maybe two, he simply stood there, a little taken aback, surprised by the sudden gesture as much as by the realization that.... it was... not bad? Or was it? Was...? He didn't know the answer, and frankly he'd forgotten the question, if there had even been one.
He blinked. Twice. Forced his brain to do its thing again. You know. Thinking.
Yusuf pulled away from him at that moment, which could have helped the matter greatly but did not because.... because he was still feeling the lingering touch of his lips, still thrown by the overwhelming gentleness of their caress. If he had been more calm, more true to himself, surely Nicolò would have seen the battle raging in his companion's eyes. But alas, he was lost in his own confusion, and fighting a battle of his own. One that he knew he could not possibly win or lose in the state he was in. Yusuf soon started talking, sliding back in the soothing familiarity of Arabic, but Nicolò answered without really listening to him, for he had too many voices overlapping in his own head already.
“ Please don't. I- I need-....” He needed to be able to calm down. Think. Regroup and form a plan. He finished his sentence in a gibberish kind of way while he walked away, tense and confused.
- - - -
What was that?
Did he like that?
Was that okay?
Some things are easier to ponder than others. And some of them come with unsettling or at least surprising realizations that make you ponder some more. When the sun set, the moon shared her quiet light to help him carry on. To help him find his own path while he sorted through memories, feelings, and values. Reminiscences had a new taste to them. The taste of Yusuf's lips on his own, to be exact. The kiss shed a new light on a lot of things. The smiles and the gazes from the last years and decades. The odd way Yusuf sometimes acted or the way he shifted topics. Nicolò could have asked himself if it was merely desire or something more profound, but the question did not linger much, for he was led to the realisation that he felt something quite similar.
He quickly decided that he had liked it. He had liked the kiss, he even liked the idea of it.
What was troubling was that he never was one to even consider it. He was not abstinent because he was pious. Taking his vows made sense for several reasons, but also because he always lacked the desire to marry a woman, or do anything remotely sinful with someone (anyone, let alone a man). At some level, he had unconsciously thought it was God's way to show him that it was indeed the right path for him. But now... Now he suddenly had these feelings in his chest, and a burning urge in his veins that he did not know could exist there. What was he supposed to do with that?
He was no priest anymore. And while he remained deeply religious, he had learned the hard way that God's message could not be entrusted to be delivered by men. He had learned to lean more on his own heart and less on what he had once blindly followed. But his heart.... His heart was now a shivering mess drowning in a pool of unanswered questions. And hours of pondering and reciting psalms did nothing to help him decide on how to answer them.
Time flew by, while he lost himself more and more in his introspection, and when the first rays of the morning sun graced him, so did the sound of feet cautiously coming up towards him. It was not like Yusuf to stay silent for long, to hold whatever thing he felt or thought. Nevertheless, he sat with him without saying anything, and watched quietly as the sun woke to what would without a doubt be a new era for the both of them.
Silence had never really been an unpleasant thing between them, but this one was laced with unspoken words that burned through their skins.
“ What are we doing, Yusuf? ” Nicolò asked, in a pained murmur.
And while he did not expect an answer, he was still graced by one: “ Whatever you want.”
And the sheer simplicity of that statement took him aback once more. Except this time, it did not fill him with confusion or dread, but it flooded his veins with the warmest, strangest thing he had ever felt. So much so, that Nicolò finally turned his head, his eyes, only to be met with Yusuf's, staring intently at him. And there, in those dark pools he had learned to know, he read so much more than what was said. He read all the things he'd been too blind to see before. Still, he was as scared and lost as he'd been a minute before, if not more. And it must have shown, because the oddly silent man seated next to him opened his mouth again. The same mouth with which he had kissed him hours ago, Nicolò thought, just before the sound of his voice shattered something in him. “Please don't leave.”
Despite the hurt in his chest, Nicolò exhaled a calm breath, then stood up and unsheathed his sword.
How could he leave? How could he leave, when God made it so clearly obvious that they were meant to stay together and... when Yusuf had slowly become his world in the last hundred years. The idea that he could even think about it, and the hurt that he read in those -oh so beautiful- eyes shook him to his core.
Still, the blade glistened in the dark.
Looking straight at Yusuf as he also stood up, Nicolò murmured in prayer to his God: “ Ostende mihi viam ”. Only He could show him the way, as he had done, so long ago now. He had taken the wrong path, misguided himself, but all of it had led him to Yusuf. Led him to a better understanding of His will. Today, he was lost once more, but his faith was strong still. That was why...
He cut swiftly, without hesitation. Yusuf barely had time to take a shaky step forward, dumbfounded. Pain already struck and blood poured out.
The only thing Nicolò was sure of in this whole thing was that he wanted to kiss him again. That he would not be able to hide it. Not be able to control it. Just as much as he was not able to control the feelings that had already made their ways into him, without him even noticing. He also knew there was only one way to put a stop to that.
Nicolò didn't say anything, didn't even move as he extended his arm as an offering, bleeding dark red streams on the ground.
If God was opposed to what was raging in his heart right now, He would have to stop him. He would have to take back the gift of Life He had bestowed on them. That same gift that was responsible for their companionship, for their friendship, for their...
Love.
Nicolò's eyes stayed on Yusuf, as his own heart throbbed and pulsed, rushing blood through his veins. Then, after several fateful seconds that felt like an eternity, the pain subsided and the wound closed. Relief washed over him. His face softened, as he had his answer. Yusuf, on the other hand, looked at him very uncertainly if not worryingly. Nicolò gave him a small smile, crossing the distance that separated them. He spoke his name with a tenderness never witnessed before, as his bloodied hand cupped his face delicately. There, for the first time in many lives, Nicolò kissed him. It was gentle, and warm. Full of all the words he did not know yet, but that he would hear from his lover soon enough. When he finally had to part from his lips, Nicolò tried to explain “ Seems like God - .”
He would never end that sentence, for Yusuf had already pulled him in for another kiss.