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It was something Yusuf did not notice at first, something he hardly cared about when it came to the dirty Frank next to him. Their early days were rife with resentment and a hatred so blinding that it often gripped Yusuf’s heart and led him astray, committing small cruelties against the man he’d felt forced to travel with.
Not that such treatment was one-sided but where Yusuf was unable to hold his tongue, the Frank had eyes that pierced him with their mistrust and dislike. He was a man of few words, even once they had discovered a common tongue, something that only served to incense Yusuf further, wishing to provoke a reaction from the man, to be justified in killing him once more.
Those were the months that saw them traversing the hostile desert, uneasy travel companions who simply had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to turn to. Such things, Yusuf knew from his mother’s many teachings, were simply not sustainable. Anger itself was exhausting, was a drain to the soul, the sense of self and it was not long before he found himself faltering in his conviction that the Frank was a barbarian, a demon from a far away land.
Particularly as their travels revealed him to be kind. Unfalteringly, unwaveringly kind in a way that made Yusuf ashamed of himself and his small pettiness.
Yes, those days were long gone. They had stumbled into something of a weary friendship, a slow, fragile trust building between them with each blade they stepped in front of, each night they talked around the fire, each joke that no longer ended with a cruel punchline.
Yusuf found himself unable to imagine being parted from the man, could not bear the thought of wandering the world, forever alone. The realization was not altogether unpleasant, and Yusuf simply sank into the other man’s presence with newfound comfort.
Which was when he realized the strange habit of his companion.
Nicolò, he discovered, did not like to be touched.
It was a subtle thing, the way the man carried himself with a sliver of distance between them always, the way he moved so gracefully out of another’s reach so that you forgot why you’d lifted your hand to begin with, the way he smiled so disarmingly, as though nothing could possibly be wrong.
If Yusuf had noticed this in the early days, he would have simply assumed it was an act of revulsion, that Nicolò hated his people so fervently he could not bear their touch. He was grateful he had not noticed, that he hadn’t thought to impart his touches on the man because the damage of such an assumption would have been disastrous.
Now, as they sat next to each other by the fire, Yusuf felt his heart ache. He was a tactile man by nature and as his love for Nicolò grew, so had his casual touches…or at least his attempts. A pat on the shoulder was missed by the other man stepping away, pretending there was some work that needed to be done. An offer to share a bedroll, even for heat, saw Nicolò offering one of his own blankets and keeping his distance. A helping hand when the other man tripped saw a full-bodied flinch, as though he’d rather tumble to the ground then endure Yusuf’s touch.
In each case, his eyes were haunted, uncertainty and shadows filling their usually bright depths and Yusuf could feel his soul twinge. It had been nearly two weeks since he had noticed and Yusuf could not bear it any longer, so…he did what was perhaps the least sensible thing. He asked.
“Nicolò?”
He glanced over from where he tended to the fire, tossing the stick aside and settling those too intense eyes on him with his undivided attention. Nicolò was like that, committing his entire being to a moment, to a task, even if it was one as simple as listening to Yusuf. A comforting warmth filled his body.
“Yes?”
Pursing his lips, Yusuf debated how to begin, how to bring up something that was likely an unpleasant topic of conversation for the other man, “I wanted to ask you a question.”
Nicolò shrugged and sat back further against the stone they’d sought shelter against, “you can ask me anything Yusuf.”
The urge to grab his hand was powerful, some form of comforting touch, forcing him to clench his hands into fists to avoid doing that very thing, “I have noticed…that whenever I go to touch you, whenever others get too close…you move away or avoid it. Sometimes I have even witnessed you flinch as though a hand were a hot-iron.”
Nicolò looked away from him abruptly, his gaze moving to stare into the dancing flames and Yusuf felt himself go cold with the absence of it. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he seemed to ponder what had just been said, a stiffness having overtaken the man’s usually relaxed posture. It felt, quite suddenly, as though he may have stepped over an invisible line in the sand and Yusuf found apologies tumbling from his lips, wishing not to offend his friend.
“I’m sorry Nicolò, I had no right to ask. I simply wondered but I do not expect an answer. Please forget I said anything.”
The silence that descended between them was an acute kind of hell. Usually, their moments of quiet were mutual, comfortable, friendly, this felt far too much like the early days for any of that. Yusuf, clenched his jaw shut, did not want to risk saying anything that might make this worse than already was.
Finally, after a small eternity, Nicolò sighed.
He did not turn to look at him but when he spoke, Yusuf could not detect any anger or offense in his voice, “Yusuf, we are to spend forever by each other’s side. You have the right to ask anything of me, whatever you wish to know.”
Despite himself, Yusuf felt his breath catch.
Nicolò finally looked back to him, his eyes shadowed with some unseen memory, “I have not known many kind touches in my life. It is…difficult for me to expect them to be anything but harsh, to do anything other than cause pain.”
Yusuf’s stomach twisted at the knowledge, shame at his own behavior rising like a tide inside him, no matter his early justifications. The thought of Nicolò being afraid of him, of his touch was unbearable.
Some of this must have shown in his eyes because Nicolò shook his head abruptly, expression twisting, “I do not tell you this seeking pity Yusuf. I am at peace with my past and do not fear the future. Pain was a constant companion for much of my life…but I am learning that it does not have to be. I simply ask for time,” a smile finally crooked his lips. “You are teaching me much and I do not believe you would ever hurt me. I trust you Yusuf and I hope you believe that.”
Just like that all of his worries disappeared, slipped away from him in the face of Nicolò heartfelt sincerity, and as though to prove a point, a jolt when through his body as Nicolò slipped a hand into his, as though it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Nicolò you don’t have to,” he began, voice coming out strangled.
“I know,” he said simply, shrugging. “I want to. It is not easy, but it seems a good place to start no?”
Not for the first time, Yusuf found himself staring at the other man in awe. He could not imagine what a lifetime or more might hold between them, what things were left to discover about each other, about them together, but he found himself eager to find out.