Work Text:
Bam straightened out his back and massaged his fingers. The evening sun peeked through the curtains of his bedroom bathing the foot of his bed where he sat in a soft orange glow. It had only been an hour since he started sewing but his hand ached from holding the thin needle. Sewing never got easier no matter how many times he had done it. Bam had been sewing for what was now quite literally hundreds of years but for some reason he could never get used to holding such a tiny instrument. He once joked to Aguero that he would be able to master sewing easily because he was good with needles, but to no one's surprise the immense size difference between needles meant for combat, and needles meant for sewing proved to be a sizable hurdle for him. He was never good with fine intricate movements; Aguero was a lot better at these things. Bam even went as far as taking private lessons from a renown seamstress but he just couldn't figure it out. There were just some things that couldn’t be copied no matter what, and for Bam sewing was one of them.
Bam looked back down at Aguero whose head laid on Bam’s lap. His periwinkle blue hair was draped across his face, ever so slightly concealing his sleeping form. Aguero’s hair stopped just below his chin, framing his delicate features perfectly. Aguero was perfect, and he always had been. Bam wanted to brush the hair out of Aguero’s face but decided against it. He knew how difficult Aguero could get if Bam disturbed him too much— especially while he slept. Bam instead opted to admire Aguero from where he was, from his hair, down to his pale, almost translucent skin. Each part of Aguero was perfect, but Bam especially loved his hair. He loved what a gentle blue it was, cold yet inviting. His hair suited his eyes. Aguero’s eyes were probably his favourite feature. He loved the way they reflected the sunlight. Each time he saw them it felt like he was seeing them for the first time, bright, confident, and beautiful. Before entering the tower there weren’t many beautiful things in Bam’s life, and Aguero was quite literally one of the first things Bam saw that made him understand what the word ‘beautiful’ meant. It felt like an eternity since Bam had seen his eyes, but he knew he would see them again when he woke. He wanted to wake Aguero up right now and to see him bathed in the soft evening light, but he knew he couldn't.
Bam smiled and continued to sew. What he was sewing now was for Aguero, it had to be done perfectly, not a stitch could be out of place. Slowly and carefully he pushed the needle back and forth, weaving the pale periwinkle blue thread between the delicate material.
After defeating Jahad, Bam and his team had somehow acquired near immortality. This meant that the time that was so precious to them before now flowed between them in abundance. Bam smiled and laughed quietly to himself, remembering the moment when they both realized that they could quite literally spend all eternity together. Time was finally kind to them. It might have been just this once, but just that once was all they needed. An abundance of time meant they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. It also meant that material wealth and their material possessions gradually lost their meaning. This only made the small handmade things they passed between each other all the more valuable. Every quiet love letter, every note Aguero had hastily scrawled out, every single hand embroidered scarf, every word whispered between them— they were all stored between the folds of Bam’s heart. And he figured it was the same for Aguero.
The aching in Bam’s fingers started feeling unbearable, his back also hurt from being hunched over. It was around then that Bam decided to take a break and rest next to Aguero. Bam carefully repositioned Aguero’s sleeping body next to his and he stared at Aguero’s face. He looked so peaceful, so serene. Seeing him now, it was hard to believe that there was a time that both he and Aguero would be woken up in the middle of the night by nightmares. Now they both slept soundly and quietly through the night. Bam tapped Aguero gently on the nose hoping that would stir him awake, but Aguero remained asleep. Quiet breaths filled the silence in the air.
Aguero slept a lot more these days, often leaving Bam’s mind to wander and think about their past together, and the more Bam thought about their past the more he loved and was grateful for Aguero. No matter how hard things got for him he had the reassurance that Aguero was always by his side— no matter what happened, and no matter the situation, Aguero was always there to support him.
Then and now.
Always and forever.
Bam eventually fell asleep. And he dreamed. He dreamed of the moment right before Jahad’s death. Jahad’s final words to Bam were not of hatred or even anger, but of amusement. What was the most perplexing thing to Bam was the smile on Jahad’s face as the life flickered from his eyes. Jahad was not scared, or angry that Bam had killed him— he was relieved. It was also the moment when Jahad died that a sudden rush of coldness filled Bam. It felt suffocating, it felt like he was drowning. His lungs screamed in pain as the coldness took root in his heart. The pain gradually ebbed away, but the coldness that had taken hold never left. It latched on to his heart, and from there it worked its way through the rest of Bam. He wanted to scream in pain but his mouth wouldn’t move. He wanted to call for help but the words would not leave his throat. The iciness in his heart remained as his dream whisked him from place to place, like doors of old memories opening and closing— only allowing Bam to catch brief glimpses of old memories. He saw Aguero laugh, and he saw Aguero cry. He felt Aguero’s embrace, he felt Aguero’s soft lips on his own, he felt the warmth of Aguero’s body against his, he also felt Aguero’s lifeless body in his arms. He saw him lying in a glass casket surrounded by delicate flowers. He felt the coldness in his heart grow.
He woke from his slumber. Unbeknownst to Bam his dreams were not as peaceful as he thought they were— he just simply forgot the contents of his dreams when he’d wake up. It was now well into the night. The soft evening glow was replaced by the cold moonlight. He would have to continue sewing tomorrow. He went back to sleep. This time it was a dreamless slumber.
When Bam woke up Aguero was still sleeping. Despite Bam's fatigue he decided to continue sewing. As bad as he was at it, and as much discomfort and pain it caused him, it was still one of the few things that he enjoyed because it was one of the things that made him feel closer to Aguero.
Bam paused and frowned. He had made a small mistake. He knew he shouldn’t have started so early in the morning. After all these years he still wasn’t a morning person. He sighed and decided to continue despite the mistake. It was a small one and Aguero probably wouldn’t notice the mistake, and even if he did Bam knew he wouldn’t mind, but he was disappointed in himself, he wanted this time to be perfect. Bam sighed again (quietly as to not disturb the resting Aguero). It had been a long time since Bam had sewn with this type of thread and despite knowing how difficult it was to work with, Bam, in all his early morning clarity, decided to sew while he was still groggy. Reluctant to restart, Bam continued. He was only a few stitches away from finishing anyway. He continued sewing, this time with frustration. His fingers ached anew as the cold reality settled in. Bam held onto the needle even tighter, he could see the skin under his fingernails turn white, he could feel the anger rise from his chest. Nothing he did could keep Aguero as perfect as the day they first met. When Aguero first fell asleep, he was perfect and Bam held onto that. Bam preserved his sleeping body with shinsu , but no amount of shinsu could stop the quiet march of time and decay. And so Bam supplemented that with his own craftsmanship, or lack thereof.
Bam continued to push the needle in, and out. Weaving the periwinkle blue thread between Aguero’s scalp. Bam tied the final knot and he set down the needle. He repositioned Aguero on the bed and arranged Aguero’s hair one more time and smiled. Bam kissed Aguero’s cold lips. He looked perfect.
With his hair laid like this, partially obscuring his expression, hair stopping just past his chin, Bam couldn’t see the tiny gaps between the stitches holding his rotting scalp together. He was so close to getting it perfect this time. He would just have to try again next time.