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There was a man in Yusuf’s dreams.
Unfortunately, he existed in real life as well. Yusuf realized this on the battlefield, as he met the man’s multi-hued eyes, narrowed with concentration and hatred. Before that moment, Yusuf had appreciated those eyes, odd as they may be.
Now, he wanted to make them close forever.
Fate had other plans.
Yusuf gasped back to life, coughing as he scrabbled at his stomach, trying to find a trace of the stab that had killed him.
There was nothing. Blood on his clothes and tears in the fabric, but his skin was unblemished.
He heard a gasp a few feet away and swung around to see the man with the eyes the color of a torrential ocean come to life as well. He clutched at his throat, trying to find his wound. But it wasn’t there.
Their eyes met.
The man opened his mouth, perhaps to speak. Yusuf sprang forward, shoving his knife into the man’s chest.
“Stay dead this time,” Yusuf snarled at him, watching as his eyes stopped seeing.
He staggered away from the man, reunited with his fellow defenders.
Those eyes wouldn’t leave his head.
Yusuf saw them again and again as they continued to find each other on the battlefield. They fought, they died, they came back.
And still, those eyes haunted him.
He tried to sleep less, to avoid dreaming of them. But then he tossed and turned, seeing them in his mind’s eye. Finally, he gave up and reached for his pack and pulled out his charcoal and a piece of parchment. He didn’t have any pigment, but maybe if he could just put the details of the man’s eyes on paper, he would finally be able to forget.
The paper was filled with the man’s eyes, the wide-eyed look from when Yusuf managed to slice open his neck, the glare of concentration as he fought, the closed, peaceful expression he wore before gasping to life again.
The sun rose and Yusuf threw the sketches into a nearby fire, watching as the paper caught and blazed.
He was no closer to forgetting the man or his eyes.
Yusuf was tired of fighting. Tired of all the blood. All the death. He and the man killed each other once more, only to wake together at the base of the crumbled wall of the city Yusuf had been trying to protect. Staring at the smoke filling the sky, Yusuf heaved a sigh. He was so tired.
He turned his head as he lay there, his body still knitting itself back together, and made eye contact with the man in his dreams. His eyes weren’t filled with hatred at the moment.
Yusuf saw the same bone weariness that echoed within his body in the man’s eyes.
Heaving himself to his feet, even though his body wasn’t fully healed, Yusuf turned to the man, who stared up at him. He didn’t make any effort to protect himself from an attack. Just looked at him steadily, those eyes fixated on Yusuf’s face.
Yusuf held out his hand to the man to help him up. He was almost surprised when he took it.
Together, they walked away from the battlefield. They had been traveling together ever since.
The man - Nicolò, he had said - was a quiet, introspective man Yusuf found. There would be days that they barely spoke, just passed the water skin between each other and gestured what direction they should go and when they should stop for the night.
That changed after they were attacked.
While he and Nicolò were on foot, their adversaries were on horseback. They galloped towards the two of them, who quickly pulled out their swords and stood back to back. In a moment, they were surrounded. Yusuf saw the red crosses on the men’s chests and tensed.
They yelled something and Nicolò responded. Yusuf understood about two words a sentence, they were speaking so quickly. The men were asking Nicolò what he was doing with a- well, with Yusuf. Nicolò said a word that might have been “guide” but Yusuf wasn’t sure.
All he knew was that one of the men raised his crossbow and shot him directly in the chest.
He heard Nicolò scream his name as he fell, already dying.
When he gasped to life, the men around them were dead. Nicolò was bent over him, anguish in those kaleidoscope eyes.
“Are you well?” Yusuf asked as soon as he got his breath back.
Nicolò’s mouth twisted and his eyes dropped. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just a few scratches.”
“On the bright side,” Yusuf said, looking around at the carnage, “we now have horses.”
“ Santa Maria, Madre de Dios , save me from optimists who find positives after dying,” Nicolò muttered, getting to his feet.
“We die frequently, Nicolò. If I didn’t find positives during these moments, I fear I would have gone mad long ago.”
“What positives were there to be found on the battlefield? Awakening amongst all those bodies?” Nicolò demanded, rounding on him.
“Not many,” Yusuf admitted, getting to his feet. Grinning at Nicolò, he teased, “At the time, I thought getting another chance to kill you was a positive.”
Nicolò stared at him a moment, disbelieving. Then he snorted, a smile gracing his face for the first time. It was small but it was there and Yusuf was momentarily dumbstruck.
“And now?” Nicolò asked, sobering.
Yusuf stared at the man with whom he had created a tentative alliance.
“Now, I think I would rather cut off my hand than raise it against you,” he said plainly.
Nicolò’s eyes widened. Surrounded by the bodies he had killed for hurting Yusuf, he nodded.
“We should go.”
They made good headway that day, seeing as they were no longer on foot. Once they called a halt and set up a tentative camp, Nicolò mentioned seeing a stream nearby.
“I should get some of this blood off of me,” he said, staring at his hands.
Yusuf was thrown when he came back clean shaven. In the time of knowing Nicolò, he had been… well… disheveled. Unkempt. Kind of disgusting.
This Nicolò was a different man altogether.
Yusuf was glad he had the excuse of washing himself as well to get away from this new version of his traveling companion.
Once he was clean and back at camp, Yusuf elected to take first watch. Nicolò nodded, silent once again, and curled up by their small fire, facing Yusuf.
Cocooned in the quiet, Yusuf found he couldn’t stop thinking about Nicolò’s look after his admission earlier.
It was the truth, he couldn’t deny it. In the time they had been traveling together, Yusuf had noticed a change in his travel companion. Before that even. On the battlefield, they had fought, but the look in Nicolò’s eyes had changed as time went on. He had seemed angry, but Yusuf didn’t know where the anger was directed. At the situation? At Yusuf?
At himself?
Since they had left the fighting, Yusuf had seen signs that the latter was the truth. Yusuf prayed every morning, whether he had been on watch at the time or not. Nicolò looked away as he did so, but never disturbed him. Nicolò stopped walking throughout the day, as it came to the next time to pray, to the point that Yusuf didn’t have to ask to stop after the first few days.
Yusuf saw him praying as well, quietly folding his hands as he knelt. He, too, looked away.
Then today, there was a look of anguish in his eyes as Yusuf came alive.
Yes, his companion was changing. But so was Yusuf as he admitted that, should the situation be reversed and Nicolò had been the one killed instead, Yusuf would not have hesitated to attack those who had hurt him. They were no longer adversaries, but something else.
He just didn’t know what exactly he would call them now.
Shaking himself, he got out a piece of charcoal and paper to distract himself from his thoughts. Only, his gaze fell on his sleeping companion and he couldn’t stop himself from starting to sketch him. The lack of tension in his face was better than when he was dead. He was relaxed, not lifeless. Yusuf found he far preferred this.
A branch in the fire snapped and Nicolò’s eyes flew open. Their eyes met.
Yusuf felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as he sat there, stunned at the concern and care he saw in Nicolò’s gaze.
“Apologies,” Nicolò muttered, shifting and breaking eye contact. “I thought I heard something and had to ensure you were safe.”
Yusuf filled his lungs only to let out a shaky breath. “I am well. Thank you,” he said, clutching the paper in his hand.
Nicolò nodded at him, then closed his eyes once more.
This time, Yusuf didn’t feed the papers he filled with drawings of Nicolò to the fire.
Nicolò’s hair was mussed from where Yusuf’s finger had been running through it. Yusuf revelled in the fact that he could touch Nicolò like that. This new stage of their relationship was so new that every kiss felt like a revelation.
Yusuf kissed Nicolò’s lips one more time, then pulled away to look at him.
“Let me draw you,” he blurted, unable to keep the request to himself.
“Now?” Nicolò said, eyes wide. He reached up to fix his hair, but Yusuf batted his hand away.
“Yes, exactly how you are. I’ve drawn you so many ways before, Nicolò, but never like this.”
Nicolò paused, staring up at him. “You’ve drawn me? When? How many times?”
Yusuf paused, wondering if he wanted to answer that fully. He sighed, hanging his head. “Many times, starting shortly after our first time fighting. It’s your eyes,” he said, looking up and staring into them. He reached up and caressed Nicolò’s cheek. “They captivated me. I could not get them out of my mind.”
“Even as I-” Nicolò said, but stopped, unable to list the number of offenses he had done against Yusuf and his homeland.
“Yes, Nicolò, even then. And after. I thought I would run into a tree the first time I saw you clean shaven and well, clean , I was so distracted. Finally, the rest of your countenance matched those eyes.”
Nicolò narrowed his eyes at Yusuf. “I don’t know if I should be offended for my former self or take that as a compliment.”
Yusuf laughed. “You were very dirty before, in my defense.”
“Granted.”
“So may I?” Yusuf asked.
“What do I do?” Nicolò asked, looking uncertain.
“You don’t have to do anything at all, just sit there. Give me one moment.” Yusuf hurried to his pack and retrieved his art supplies.
He turned back to where he had left Nicolò and was struck once again by the man in front of him.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed.
Nicolò ducked his head, a blush rising in his cheeks.
“Nicolò…” Yusuf had to kiss him. Just once more before he started to draw him.
“Okay, okay. Just sit there, okay? You can talk and breathe and all that, just try not to move too much.”
“So glad that I have your permission to breathe,” Nicolò said with a completely straight face.
Yusuf snorted, then got to work.
He couldn’t wait to draw Nicolò in all the different situations that they would come across in life.
When he made that optimistic, loving thought, Yusuf didn’t have a full grasp at just how devastating some of the situations they would find themselves in would be.
He didn’t know Andromache the Scythian when he had thought that. He didn't know Quynh. He didn’t count them as sisters and fellow warriors. He didn’t see their love for each other and for him and Nicolò and for the world.
He hadn’t yet seen the devastation from the loss of Quynh on Andromache’s face. Hadn’t seen Nicolò’s face go cold and distant as he was told what had happened.
Yusuf hadn’t felt the agony of losing his immortal sister to the waves.
Now that he had, he could barely pick up his art supplies. Still, he wanted that mindlessness that came with being immersed in a drawing, when his mind was so focused on the art in front of him it forgot the world around him. He put charcoal to paper and line after line, tried to capture Nicolò’s face. But the longer he drew, the more he realized.
It wasn’t Nicolò’s face staring back at him on the paper.
It was Quynh’s.
With a shout of rage and desolation, he swept his drawing supplies off his meager desk.
He felt Nicolò’s hand on his shoulder and almost didn’t turn to himself toward his love. But in the end, he collapsed into his arms and felt as Nicolò gave into his anguish as well.
They held each other as they fell apart.
Nicky was reclined in a cloth chair on one of Malta’s beaches, sunhat saving his complexion from the sun’s rays. Though any sunburn would heal, it would soon be back, starting a vicious cycle that the hat helped avoid. He was relaxed into the seat, eyes closed as he lounged.
Joe was having a hard time keeping his eyes off his husband. His everything.
It was their fifth day in Malta and the first that they had made it out of their small but cozy house. Joe knew part of the reason Nicky was so relaxed, and had to redirect his thoughts before they betrayed him.
Nicky’s eyes squinted open and glanced at Joe before he sighed and handed him the bag they had packed for the beach. In it, they had some food, water, sunscreen, and Joe’s drawing supplies.
“Grazie, ya amar,” Joe said cheekily, reaching for his sketchbook and pencils.
“Prego,” Nicky murmured back, eyes once again closed.
Joe began to sketch Nicky’s relaxed pose, being sure to include the hat and the slight redness that was present on his nose anyways. If Nicky didn’t look so comfortable, he would mourn the fact that he couldn’t render his eyes to paper.
As if hearing his thoughts, Nicky’s eyes opened and looked over at him without moving his head. Joe was lucky that Nicky had a sniper’s patience, to sit and not move for long periods of time. Throughout the ages, he had become quite a competent model.
“You’re beautiful,” Joe breathed, taking in the man who had become his everything.
Nicky flushed, just as he did every time Joe said those words so reverently.
“Would you like to swim with me, my love?” Nicky asked.
“Two more minutes and then absolutely,” Joe said, hurrying his hand.
“Take your time,” Nicky replied readily and it was good that he did, because his eyes stayed open, staring at Joe. Joe couldn’t miss this opportunity to put those gorgeous eyes on paper. It had taken him many, many years to perfect the pigments necessary to perfectly render them into his art.
Now, he could draw Nicky sightless. But the experience of drawing Nicky never felt invariable. Even though it was such a normal experience that Joe’s art supplies were packed amongst food and water, Joe himself never felt unaffected by the trust and patience Nicky showed each time.
Much longer than two minutes later, he nodded his head. “Alright. Swim?” he asked.
“May I see?” Nicky asked, holding out a hand.
No matter how many centuries of practice, Joe had to say each time he shared a piece of his art, “It’s not perfect, there were a few places I wasn’t happy with-”
“Yusuf?” Nicky said, not looking at him, just staring down at his drawn face.
“It will never stop astonishing me, the way that you see me. There is love in every stroke of your pencil. Therefore, every drawing of me that you create is perfect,” Nicky stated, looking him in the eye to press his point.
Joe let loose a breath, unable to look away from his love.
Not breaking eye contact, Nicky closed the sketchbook and placed it to the side, then stood. He pulled Joe into his arms, running his nose against the curls of his beard that graced his jaw.
“Potrei fissare i tuoi bellissimi occhi in eterno. Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno, ” Nicky murmured. I can gaze into your beautiful eyes forever. I could watch you all day.
He leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Joe’s.
“You may love my eyes,” Nicky said softly, “but yours captivate me as well. Not just their beauty, but how they see the world.”
“Nicolò, ya hayati, baciami per favore,” Joe breathed.
Nicky obliged, hands cupping Joe's jaw as he pulled him into another kiss. When they broke apart, they didn’t go far, just rested their foreheads together. Those beautiful eyes were right there, and Joe found himself getting lost in them.
“Swim?” Nicky asked after a while.
“Sunscreen first,” Joe said, pulling himself together.
He grinned. “I’ll get your back.”
Nicky was reading on the chair, so of course, Joe was drawing him from over on the couch.
Nile plopped down next to Joe with her own sketchbook.
“Do you mind if I join?” she asked, holding up her own art supplies.
“Please! Nicky deserves to be put to paper as often as possible. I would never claim that honor solely to myself.”
Nicky smiled at him from over his book, then went back to reading. The whole time, he didn’t move his pose.
Truly a great model. Joe was so lucky.
“Awesome! It’s been forever since I’ve been able to do still life drawings. Jay used to pose for me sometimes in our downtime, but we could never do it too often. Thanks, Nicky!” Nile called.
“My pleasure,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her from behind his book.
Once Nile got started, they fell into silence, each concentrating on their own task. Nicky turned the pages with his thumbs, so as to not disturb his pose. It was a move, Joe knew, he had perfected for especially these situations.
“Ugh, I just can’t get his nose right,” Nile said suddenly.
Joe glanced over at her work and did a double take. He had known that she was an artist, she had told the group how she had wanted to go to art school after her tour, but he hadn’t seen any of her artwork yet.
Her style of drawing was different from the way that Joe drew Nicky, there was no denying it, but she had captured the concentration in his brow, the strength in his shoulders.
There was also a massive erased space where his nose should be.
“I would make a Tangled joke, but I know you guys wouldn’t get it,” she said, pouting slightly.
“Lol,” Nicky said, straight faced.
“Oh my God,” Nile said, rubbing her forehead.
“It took me many years to be able to render Nicky’s profile as well as you have here. Well done, Nile! May I show you how to portray his nose?” Joe said, smiling at her.
“Sure,” she said, leaning on his shoulder to get a good look at his paper. “Whoa, Joe,” she breathed when she saw the sketches on the page. “These are incredible.”
“Years of practice,” Joe said, throwing a wink Nicky’s way. “Okay, so for his nose…”
They continued to draw as the day passed by. Nile sometimes hummed a song without seeming to realize she was doing so, Joe and Nicky sharing fond smiles. The fact that she was comfortable enough to draw with Joe, let alone lose herself in it enough to absentmindedly hum, made Joe’s chest warm with affection for his new immortal sister.
He sensed Andy before he saw her. She emerged from the patio where she had been sitting as the day progressed and was staring at the scene in front of her. He could see the smile in her eyes, even though it didn’t grace her lips.
“Here, you two, I’ll give you a real pose to draw,” she said, before she flung herself horizontally on top of Nicky, who scrambled to save his book and cursed her affectionately in three languages.
Nile’s laughter rang through the room and Joe didn’t want to stop himself from joining her.
Andy grinned from her sprawled position on top of Nicky, who looked resigned to his fate.
Joe switched over to a new piece of paper and saw Nile doing the same. Sharing a smile, they turned back to their little immortal family and began to put them to paper.
Joe made sure to emphasize the look of long-suffering love in Nicky’s eyes as Andy began to snore on top of him.
He did always love to draw Nicky’s eyes, after all.