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The collar around Naib’s throat is too tight, and he hooks a finger under the fabric to pull it looser. The sunshine overhead makes the cool autumn air bearable, but he drapes his overcoat over his shoulders anyways in a subtle attempt to comfort himself. He was more than happy for the damned thing to sit, nicely folded and unworn, for the entirety of his tenure with the British military, but of course....
Someone places a hand on his shoulder, and though the contact surprises him, he doesn’t flinch. It’s as though his body has given up just like his mind has—there’s no need to react, to fight and cling to life, if this is all life is going to be.
(He recalls a story he heard once, about a man stranded on an island with no way to get home. There was a line from it that had stuck with him: the man, desperate and near death, had asked, “If this is life, where is the exit?” The man had been saved, eventually. But there’s no way to be saved if everyone around you is damned from the start.)
Naib glances over his shoulder to see a face mostly swathed in bandages, his right eye visible and dull. The sight stirs something in his chest, but he quells the violent feeling that threatens to rise up and break him. There will be plenty of time for all that after the ceremony, he’s sure. He doesn’t bother to glance around before reaching for Norton’s hand on his shoulder, meeting his one-eyed, steely gaze for as long as he can bear it before he turns away.
The feeling in his chest flares again. “Norton.”
“Mm.” The way his voice rumbles is a song, an oncoming storm.
“If I told you to leave, would you do it?”
The question clearly catches him off guard, and he pulls his hand away, wincing as he steps back. “I—what do you mean?”
“You have family in London, right? They could find you work—you could make a life there.”
“What life is there in London for a half blind, shredded up piece of shit like me?” he chuckles, but he can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. It must be worse for him. Naib sports his own bandages below the uniform, but it’s nothing compared to the layers of gauze covering Norton’s face and hand, reminding them all of their last mission. If Naib lets himself go for long enough, his wounds don’t even hurt.
Focus on the pain, he thinks to himself. No other way to keep yourself together.
“Norton, what’re you gonna do if it’s me in the casket next time?”
...Maybe don’t focus on it that much.
But the fire in Norton’s eyes is burning once again, and he realizes he’s right. Naib’s old hat at putting his emotions aside for later (much, much later), but Norton’s have always run closer to the surface. It’s just a matter of time before he does something rash, and even if their relationship is a mess at the best of times, it’s still there. What would he do if it wasn’t?
Norton turns away, and Naib steels himself for his response. “You think I care about you that much, huh?” he snaps, balling his uninjured hand into a fist at his side. “You—”
“You wouldn’t be lashing out if I was wrong.”
That shuts him up.
Naib smiles, for just a moment. He’s the leader of their unit, and he’s had more than his fair share of hard conversations. It almost reminds him of the times he’d convinced the younger recruits to leave while they were ahead. He was sure someone higher up would throw him out for it eventually, but at least then he’d be free with a moderately smaller guilty conscience.
And just like that, a lightbulb goes off in Naib’s head.
“If you don’t put in your resignation tomorrow,” he murmurs, looking Norton dead in the eye, “I’m doing it for you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
In a split second, Naib turns and grabs Norton’s collar, his calm facade all but gone as the look in his eyes turns hollow. “I fucking would, you idiot,” he hisses. He knows it’s not the time to make a scene, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “My best friend is dead, half of my unit is dead, and you’re a half blind and shredded up piece of shit. If I lose you, then what do I have left?” Naib waits for an answer until he’s sure he isn’t getting one. Norton’s expression is unreadable as Naib lets him go, biting down hard on his cheek until he stops thinking. He’s silent for a long moment, refusing to look Norton in the eye again. “Put in your resignation tomorrow or I’m doing it for you,” he repeats, and then he’s gone.
It’s the closest he’s ever come, and probably ever will come, to saying that he loves Norton. And he does love him, more than anything in the entire godforsaken world.
He stands silent and alone as the ceremony begins. The casket reads, “Kurt Frank.”