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The cellar doors are stubborn and coarse against Norton’s palm; his nose crinkles with the effort, but eventually, they give.
It’s a standard fall day, the promise of winter nipping at their ears and turning their noses red. He squints with the sudden light; though it’s cloudy outside, the day is much brighter than the dark wine-cellar-turned hospital. With his shoulder supporting Naib’s shaky, weak moves, they ascend the staircase, surfacing in the manor gardens.
Norton kicks the doors closed, stepping away from Naib for just a moment to pull the grass back over the hatch. Even if the air is cold, he draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, taking a moment to truly appreciate the tingle of cold in his lungs. He loves that hospital and he loves finally being able to help, but he still hates being underground.
With just the effort of standing still, Naib has shifted his weight onto his good leg; it’s subtle, but Norton is attuned to his subtleties. Norton offers his arm. He can see Naib’s internal debate, a thousand endings running behind steeled blue eyes, staring at the outstretched limb.
If he refuses and stumbles, Norton will worry. If he accepts, Norton will still worry. Truly, there is no path Naib can take that will result in Norton not worrying; so he relies on his past encounters with Norton to get a better grasp on his mental state in the present.
It’s Norton; Norton knows Naib is strong, and knows when he needs help. He knows how to offer it in a way that’s free of condescension, and he knows when to lay off. Naib knows Norton asks out of genuine concern and medical knowledge that Naib can’t make the trek back to the manor himself, but with enough respect for Naib that he’ll offer him the chance to try.
In the end, he decides how he always does; he takes Norton’s arm, drawing him close. Norton smiles at the way he fits against his side, like the missing piece he needed.
“It’s cold out,” justifies Naib, but they both know it’s not the full truth.
They begin the walk back to the manor while Norton reflects. From what Vera told him, Naib’s last match was brutal; he rescued a stunning five times and managed to piss Smiley off so badly that rather than chair him, he’d left him on the ground after the others had already blasted off. With a pained heartbeat, he envisions Naib left alone, pressing his last bandage against a wound that just won’t heal, crawling past chair launch spots to a dungeon that’s always so far away.
Involuntarily, Norton shivers. Naib presses closer to him. That’s right; he’s not there any more. Tomorrow, there will be more matches, but tonight he can give Naib everything he deserves.
They reach the manor’s grand front entrance, slowly stepping up stone stairs before they can push open a heavy pair of double doors. They walk past the kitchen; Mike and José are bantering while they cook, laughing loudly and insencerly arguing about something that doesn’t matter. Dinner will be ready soon - it already smells delicious.
“Let’s go to your room first,” says Naib, because he’s always had a sense for what Norton is thinking, “I’d like to change.”
“Then off we go,” says Norton, and they climb more stairs before finally landing in front of a door, the second one from the end of the hallway.
Norton turns the handle and it opens; in the next moment Naib is stepping away from his supportive shoulder and hobbling over to the bed, sitting down on it with a sigh once he’s close enough.
“That modified drill,” he grumbles, wincing when he breathes too hard, “It does what it should.”
“Sure does. Hey, you look tired,” says Norton, making his way to his wardrobe, “You can nap in your room - I’ll wake ya up for dinner, or we’ll just eat late. Doesn’t matter t’me.”
“Mm,” says Naib, slowly blinking as if to confirm Norton’s suspicions, then when he summons up the energy he stands and joins him by the wardrobe, “I should probably sleep. Matches are… they’re getting harder for you too, right?”
“Absolutely,” says Norton, grabbing a clean long sleeve from his stash of many, “The hunters are gettin’ used to us. They know our tricks now.”
Naib says nothing else, instead responding by scowling. He peruses Norton’s shirts before settling on one and pulling it out - it’s a sleeveless black turtleneck, a style Naib likes, but every item of clothing is so specifically tailored to the survivor it’s given to that it might not fit Naib. Norton is about to tell him this, but Naib turns and walks to the mirror, determined.
Naib pulls off his torn hoodie, holding it up for a moment and staring at the long gashes torn by Smiley. It’ll have to be sewn back up by whatever magical seamstress does all their clothing. Naib throws it to the side, then pulls off his shirt and examines the matching cuts on that piece of fabric. When he turns back to the mirror he pauses.
A thousand scars cross his bare back, jagged like lightning. Some are pink with age, others still have their stitches in. Some are pinpricks, and some cross from one shoulder blade down into his hip.
Ever so minutely, Naib’s eyes glaze over.
Norton decides to cut his spiral short. He walks over to Naib and drapes his arms over his shoulders, placing his head on Naib’s, Norton’s chest to Naib’s back. Naib watches Norton in the mirror, his face intentionally expressionless.
“I’m not going to say somethin’ poetic about how every scar is a story,” says Norton, feeling Naib’s chest expand against his, “But I will say that you aren’t your scars. Your past made you, but it doesn’t define you. What you do now does.”
Naib watches Norton’s expression, looking for any hint of insincerity. He doesn’t find any, because Norton means every word of what he says; his expression is warm and kind, so much so that Naib almost melts.
Finally, he says, “You said you wouldn’t be poetic,” Norton chuckles. Naib places his hand on Norton’s, “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
Norton steps away and Naib pulls his stolen shirt over his head. It’s loose on him - while Norton is strong in an obvious, muscular way, Naib’s strength is more discreet. Naib doesn’t seem to mind, however. He makes his way back to the bed, flopping back onto the pillows, kicking off his shoes and kicking them under the bed.
“You movin’ in, Subedarling?” asks Norton, joining him on the bed. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like an awful idea.
“Just getting comfortable,” says Naib. He looks up at Norton expectantly. Getting the hint, Norton lays down beside him, “We have dinner in a few minutes, anyway.”
Norton makes a noise of acknowledgement. Naib’s exhaustion is wearing off on him, “If you wanna sleep, I get it. You can head to your room, it won’t bug me.”
“No, I enjoy being here. With you.”
And, well, if that doesn’t set Norton’s heart into a flutter. Naib is so rarely openly affectionate - he doesn’t blame him in the slightest. Knowing what he’s gone through, knowing the life he’s lived, Norton’s just glad that Naib felt safe enough with anyone to get to a point where he can lie in peaceful silence with them, and the pure happiness he feels at that anyone being him is enough to make him want to frolic through the gardens.
Norton’s not sure what he did to deserve someone like Naib, who’s now readjusting his position to curl up in his arms, tired eyes trained on the ceiling. Maybe it’s all one elaborate ruse, one last punishment by the universe designed to tear Norton Campbell apart and Naib will leave him in the end, but if he has to endure a lifetime of hurt so Naib can be this relaxed forever, he’d gladly take all that pain and more.
Norton brushes a stray lock of hair from Naib’s forehead, grazing a thumb under a now closed eye. He looks so peaceful, the corner of his lips just barely curled into a smile, leaning into the touch by a minuscule amount. Distantly, he recalls Naib’s words from a night a few weeks ago.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” says Naib, looking at the ground, one hand on the doorknob, “I want to stay here, spend the night with you, I do, but I just can’t fall asleep beside people. I get in my head, and I get panicky, and then I start remembering and I can’t sleep. I don’t think I’m ever going to trust again. Not that I’ll never trust you, but that I’ll never trust anyone. I… I’m damaged goods, Campbell. Some things just don’t get better.”
“First off, you’re not goods. You’re your own man,” Norton wants to close the gap between them, to kiss that sad expression away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm Naib, so he just focuses on leaning closer, “And you’re not broken. You can heal, and I’ll wait however long it takes. Doesn’t have to be tonight, doesn’t have to be in a week, or a month, or a year. It doesn’t even have to be ever if you don’t want it to be. But if you want it, I want it, and I am more than willing to get you there.”
Naib breathes for a few moments, not sure of what to say. His blue eyes are running those calculations again, but now his analytical mind has been hijacked by the two halves of his heart, one shouting trust, the other shouting fear. Each calculation seems more promising than the last; distantly, he smiles as he considers having a life he never thought he’d deserve. His hand twitches on the doorknob - he tries to grab it, to run, but he stays.
Eventually, with a voice just barely above a whisper, he settles on, “I want to get better. With you. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Then let’s get better, Naib.”
Now, Naib’s heartbeat is slow. Lub… dub. Lub… dub. His breathing is slowed too, everything rendered sluggish by sleep. Finally, his body’s realized that he’s not running from Smiley or immersed in the scent and memories of a glorified war hospital, but that he’s genuinely safe, and the taut string that kept Naib awake snapped. He’s fallen asleep in the one safe space he has in the manor - Norton’s arms.
Norton is someone he views as safe. Even after he told him everything, told him about how his desperation to live a life where he doesn’t have to choose between rent and breakfast lead him to commit acts he’d never dream of and will always regret, Naib still views him as safe. Even after every match he’s lost and every rescue he’s failed and everyone he’s hurt and everything he’s done, Naib still came to him. He trusts Norton. He…
He can’t wake Naib up. Norton bites into his hand to muffle his shaky breath, rubbing at wet cheeks. Naib is peacefully asleep in his arms, the first genuine good sleep Naib’s had in a short eternity, and he’d fight every hunter in the manor to give him this life forever. He’s not going to wake him up with his unexpected overflow of fondness.
Norton readjusts, shifting so that Naib’s neck sits at a better angle. He’d hate for him to wake up sorer than he already will be. With the movement, Naib groans, but doesn’t wake up. Norton admires the almost-smile on his lips, placing a kiss to his forehead.
“I enjoy being with you too,” says Norton, and hell, now that Naib can’t hear him he might as well say everything he’s been scared to say, “You motivate me to be a better man; I want to be half the person you think I am. I want to be someone you deserve - I’m getting closer, I think. I want to be yours.”
Quietly, he breathes out, “I’m so in love with you.”