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It starts with a match, and a godawful one at that. ‘Golden Cave’, the others had called the arena in passing, though that was hardly relevant to Norton-at-the-time.
( So dark…
A voice, so far away from me. Are you calling my name?
“Campbell, snap out of it. We need you here with us.”
Ah… ‘Campbell’. That is my name, isn’t it?
‘Need’?
What could you ever need me for?
(When have I ever been able to help?)
It’s hard to breathe.
Is this how you felt?
(Is this how I should have felt?)
I see you, I see you, I see you
Please wait for me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t go- )
Suddenly, a pair of sturdy arms wind their way around Norton from behind. He flinches - a massacred corpse, unrecognizable as human - until he notes the warmth that lingers, anchoring him to reality. There is life in the way a chest rises and falls rhythmically behind him, and that’s all he needs.
“It’s okay, Campbell. You’re here, you’re - safe.” An all-too-familiar voice resounds from behind him, although there’s uncharacteristic softness to the tone, and the sound is muffled through the fabric of his clothing.
(In the distance, the White Guard has long since stopped hunting in favour of engaging in small talk with the Seer, although they both shoot frequent and unsubtle concerned glances in Norton’s direction.)
Finally, Norton manages to murmur something vaguely coherent. “S-Subedar?” His breaths are shaky and ragged, but it’s an improvement from his lack of breathing in general from earlier.
“Mmhm.” It’s a small sound, yet it carries so much relief. “Glad to hear you’ve decided to return to the land of the living,” Subedar snarks, but there’s no edge to it as he pings a message to the rest of their teammates.
Subedar stands up - when did they sit down, anyway? - and delicately unlaces his arms from the tangled mess of limbs they’ve created, offering a helping hand in doing the same. Norton accepts gratefully, but something feels off as they pull apart, and -
Ah . The chill that envelops him as his hand returns to his side is jarring, directly contrasting the previous heat. It’s been so long since Norton’s allowed himself physical affection - either receiving or delivering - that, now that it’s been shown to him, he’s desperate to hold onto it and not let it go.
Don’t you leave me too.
It’s a stupid thought - Subedar isn’t
leaving
, just letting go of his hand; he’s still alive and present and functioning and all that but
Norton finds himself reaching out anyway, against his will. His fingertips graze against Subedar’s sleeve, and just as he’s about to thank his lucky stars that Subedar somehow didn’t notice the light brush:
“Did you need something?”
Good god, this man is too good for this world
, but kindness to Norton has only ever been repaid in gruesome death and he can’t, can’t rid the world of this blessing who calls him out on his bullshit and still comes back to save him every time anyway, the man who has thrown himself in front of harm’s way to protect Norton too many times to count, the man who - by all means - should be glad that Norton lost himself for a moment, or at the very least should be going now that Norton is back-
“It’s nothing.” Norton retracts his hand as quickly as he can, praying Subedar doesn’t question him further - which he doesn’t, instead bearing a contemplative expression as though he were a detective and Norton a particularly alluring case. It’s rather unnerving, the thought of his intentions being discerned by those prying eyes - all too observant at only the worst times - and suddenly, it’s like a lightbulb has gone off and Norton despairs, but Subedar only offers a slight smirk, their hands entwined yet again.
It’s humiliating how much Norton revels in the simple kindness.
(They don’t let go of each other until long after the match is over.)
After the Incident That Shall Not Be Named, there’s a subtle shift in Norton’s dynamic with Subedar. Somehow, word must have gotten out to the rest of the survivors about the events of that game: the pitying stares in his direction are near unbearable, but with Subedar in particular - well, they mutually act as though nothing happened, Norton letting himself fall back into teasing jabs and light-hearted bickering, but there’s something damn near fondness radiating off Subedar, a gentleness to his words that definitely wasn’t there before.
It’s… nice, he supposes, to feel noticed; to be cared for like this, even if neither of them says a word about it.
And Norton will absolutely blame it on the sleep deprivation when he decides to head over to Subedar instead of dealing with it himself, like he usually would, upon his next nightmare.
Admittedly, he’s still shaken from that first match in Golden Cave. Phantoms of the past have haunted him for a long time, during both his sleeping and waking hours, but Norton’s always been good at hiding it - or so he lets himself believe, though it’s hard to ignore the concerned looks from the more observant survivors.
(They all keep their distance, though - no one reaches out, provides him the human comfort he longs for.)
Tonight, things are worse than usual. The arena, nauseatingly familiar, draws out memories that Norton himself has blurred out.
(A shriek for help - dwindling down into a prayer, soft whispers and apologies, all too late.
Tears and blood both dry on the face of a mangled body, close enough to touch.)
Remembering is his burden to bear. No matter how cowardly he is, the nightmares have always been his own, personal battle - they’re grounding, they remind him of his place and everything he’s done. He deserves to fight alone.
So how has Norton found his way down the hall over to Subedar’s room?
Everything is hazy, a jumbled blur of colours and shadows. It’s hard to recall why he’s here, only that there is something about being around Subedar that makes him feel safe.
He’s an idiot who insists on sacrificing himself every time, but at least he’s damn good at his job.
Maybe if it hadn’t been some unholy hour in the morning, maybe if Norton had been in his right mind, maybe if he had stopped to think before knocking on the door with the urgency of a dying man - things would have occurred differently; Norton would have turned around and raised his walls again.
The Norton of this universe, however, does not have that kind of willpower, nor foresight.
“S-Subedar,” Norton calls weakly. It’s a feeble attempt to mimic his usual bravado - pathetic. All of a sudden, it occurs to him that Subedar could be long asleep and maybe, on second thought, he should go back to his room and calm down alone like always, so cold and the light in his room went out a few days ago, pitch-black ( what secrets do you hide, darkness? ) -
“Campbell? Is that you?” The voice that replies has an instant soothing effect, though it’s heavy with sleep and exhaustion.
Suddenly, it’s not as hard to remember who he is, where he is.
“Subedar…” Norton breathes out again - such a pretty name - and collapses to the ground.
“Huh?! Wait, give me a second, I’ll be with you in a moment…” Subedar’s voice comes out significantly more alert this time, fatigue replaced by panic. He emerges from his room - looking rather dishevelled, and Norton-of-the-future will curse his past self for not being aware enough to take it in - to Norton slumped against the wall, fending off another panic attack.
Subedar scans their surroundings for any prominent threat, and relaxes minutely when there seems to be nothing, turning to examine Norton for injuries. He exhales ( in relief? ) once he’s sure Norton is in no fatal condition.
“What’s up?”
Norton is struck, not for the first time, by the realization that this was a bad idea he’s going to think I’m stupid and weak look at him checking to see I’m not dying when it was just a nightmare I’m so -
“Campbell, I swear to god if you say ‘nothing’ and run away, I will drag you all the way back here until you talk.” (A more violent threat is swallowed and goes unsaid.)
“You didn’t come here for nothing and we both know it, so spill, okay?”
And there, that’s the catalyst - the realization that Subedar’s already seen him at his most vulnerable and didn’t push him away; that despite his blunt language he’s never once treated Norton with malice; that Subedar, of all people, would understand his need for comfort.
It’s too hard to get the words out, though; too hard to set his pride aside and ask for help.
Subedar seems to understand well enough when Norton interlaces their fingers again, a mirror reflection of the last time.
Norton can’t bear to look up, to see the expression Subedar might be making - honestly, he’s not sure if pity or disgust would feel worse - but it says enough when Subedar squeezes his hand gently, in contrast to the hardened calluses upon his palm.
Then, a single word.
“Stay.”
It’s an offer, a command, a question, a request, a statement: all at once. There’s some unrecognizable emotion that Subedar’s face shows, but it’s not contempt and that’s surprise enough.
Even from afar, Norton has noticed how Subedar has never been a man of many words - he speaks through his actions. Would it not be polite to reciprocate in his language? (Not to mention Norton is afraid of what his voice will sound like, if he tries to say anything.)
Wordlessly, Norton allows himself to be led into Subedar’s room. His hand is overheating and sweaty, but neither of them say a thing. There’s a question in Subedar’s eyes as they approach the bed - you can still run away, if that’s what would make you more comfortable - but Norton chooses to ignore it, because if he dwells on what he wants… well, whatever he does, the consequences can be delegated to tomorrow’s him.
Subedar tucks himself back into bed, and Norton follows. To hell with hesitation and awkwardness, I’ve already come all this way.
Everything in Subedar’s room is so novel, and yet so distinctly Subedar . Drowsily, he inhales the scent of the room - it’s intoxicating, and Norton wishes he could describe the smell, if only to get Nair to recreate it for him in one of her little bottles, a keepsake of everything good and kind in the world.
It’s so dark…
Norton shakes his head free of intrusive thoughts. The night terrors aren’t allowed to come after him, not in front of Subedar - Subedar, who is still holding his hand loosely, as if reminding him of his presence. A kind sentiment, but the thoughts are getting louder:
‘Why are you happy?’
‘You don’t deserve to be happy.’
‘This is all your fault.’
Norton inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to shield himself from the cruel words. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared - I don’t want to sleep if it means I have to relive it again, I don’t want to see your faces, I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, I should be there with you…
Subedar, ever perceptive, opens his eyes abruptly, effectively halting the chorus of terror and self-deprecation. My hero , Norton thinks drily, berating himself for needing to use Subedar again.
“Sleep, Campbell,” Subedar huffs.
If only it were that easy.
The moment Subedar shifts to turn back around, Norton allows himself to drown again. It gets easier every time - a shadow in the corner, almost like a ghost: its movements so similar to someone from a different life, someone who Norton vaguely recalls genuinely laughing with.
I miss you all so much.
‘If you miss us, why aren’t you here with us?’
I’m sure I’ll be there soon -
‘If you miss us, why did you leave us behind?’
‘You have no one to blame but yourself.’
“
Norton
.” His name, his first name - how quaint. In heaven or hell or wherever he’s going, will he remember his name? (Will he remember how wonderful it sounds from Subedar’s mouth?)
Quietly muttered: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Norton hums something unintelligible, reaching out to a nonexistent phantom - Subedar snatches Norton’s free hand, cupping his hands together in his own. There are tears streaming down Norton’s face, but neither party seems to notice, Norton opting to stare in wonder at their hands joined together.
Subedar takes one and presses his lips to it gently. “Don’t be scared to sleep, Norton. I’m here.”
Aren’t I going to lose you too?
“I’m not going to die so easily, don’t underestimate me. Rest easy, okay?”
I want to believe you…
“Then do. Let’s sleep, Norton.” Subedar makes a final move, scooping Norton up in one fell swoop and wrapping his arms around him. It’s hot, but Subedar’s soft breaths in his ear - soon evening out in a rhythmic cadence - serve as sufficient protection from any demons who try to come after him that night.
(There’s a spot on the back of Norton’s hand that burns with a different kind of heat.)
Norton wakes up to Subedar, fully dressed, sitting on his half of the bed and watching him. He raises a questioning eyebrow, duly ignoring the memories of the previous night that are already resurfacing - dying from embarrassment is for the privacy of his own room.
“Just wanted to make sure you woke up before I left,” Subedar says in explanation before propping himself up and out of bed. “I checked, and you don’t have a match until this evening, so stay here and rest, okay?”
I’m not a child
, Norton wants to protest, but there’s some warm bubbly feeling inside him, a part of him that is happy to be coddled. It’s too hard to say anything when there are two different parts of him contradicting each other with their desires, so Norton simply nods in absent compliance.
“There’s a good boy,” Subedar snickers, wearing a rakish grin - ignorant to the jolt the words send down Norton’s spine. “Ah, and before I forget-”
Subedar picks up Norton’s wrist, dangling limply from where he’s seated on the mattress. Startled, Norton doesn’t know how to react -
what is he doing
- and watches in fascination as Subedar joins their hands together once again, squeezing his wrist once.
“Wish me luck for my match!” With that, Subedar strides away, not without confidence - probably for having beaten Norton at his own game, which Norton resents because it’s been a rough few days and how do you expect me to react properly when I woke up not five minutes ago and what even is this ‘game’ .
(Had Norton been paying better attention, perhaps he would have noticed the bright red hue adorning Subedar’s face, and the victory pose he donned immediately after exiting Norton’s field of vision.)
It feels as though that night is the one to set everything in motion - all at once, Norton is never left alone with his mind. Subedar seems to be everywhere, all the time; a hand never too far away to hold. Certainly, it’s flustering the first few times - especially with the smug air Subedar exudes, disconcertingly similar to his own usual manner - but it’s… nice, to be able to allow himself to be vulnerable. Though he’d take this secret to the grave, Norton likes being protected the way Subedar does it.
They’ve developed their own system of communication, wordless and subtle - a tug on the sleeve, and Subedar takes Norton away from prying eyes and into his arms.
If Norton let himself stop and think about it, he would probably have long since died of flusteredness. Thankfully, Norton has few enough thoughts to spare in the first place; there’s hardly enough time for him to think about how, within the span of mere days, Subedar has turned into Naib and Naib has become his safe place, the first person he turns to for help.
(Much less how, for whatever reason, Naib manages to turn him into a blushing mess with a single smirk.)
No, Naib most certainly does
not
take up more of Norton’s thoughts than he should. The teasing the two receive for disappearing together so often is based entirely on rumours and speculation, and Norton would never dare hold onto Naib for longer than is probably socially acceptable while using his nightmares as an excuse to savour the warmth.
Nope, never.
Still, for all Norton relishes the comfort Naib brings with him, there’s part of him that wonders whether he feels the same.
Is
Norton just a burden to Naib, someone to pity and make him feel better about himself?
Logically, Norton knows that it can’t be true - that would contradict everything Norton knows about Naib, who gives him secret smiles when he thinks Norton isn’t paying attention; Naib, who has never hesitated to call him out even while wearing the fondest expression Norton’s ever seen directed towards him.
(Norton isn’t particularly logical when he’s in distress, though.)
There’s always a slight seed of worry in the back of his head as Naib embraces him like it’s second nature - I have nothing to offer you, so how could you ever care for me? - that threatens to consume Norton.
Which is why it genuinely comes as a surprise to him when Naib is the one to come to his door the next night.
To be honest, Norton makes more late-night visits to Naib’s room than he’d care to admit. It’s gotten to the point where it feels near uncomfortable to lie alone in his bed, without the heat of another living soul radiating off the man next to him. Tonight, though, is one of those nights - one where, in spite of the darkness facing him, Norton wants to try and fight alone, like he used to be able to.
(Recently, he notices it’s harder to cope when Naib isn’t there to hold him, and that is… a thought, and not necessarily a welcome one.)
He’s about to fall asleep when there’s a panicked-sounding knock on his door. For a single spiteful moment, Norton considers not answering - anyone visiting this late at night can’t be up to any good - but the knock repeats itself again, and this time is accompanied by speech.
“Campbell - Norton,” Naib’s voice, unstable but still identifiable, calls out. “Please let me in.”
Any thoughts of abandoning the poor bastard immediately dissipate. “Hold on, I’m coming.” Norton practically rips the door open, revealing Naib, all but on his knees.
(Norton feels the sudden need to commit murder against everyone who has ever had the audacity to hurt Naib when he sees the tears in the corners of Naib’s eyes.)
Well , Norton thinks, this is awkward . Unsure of what to do, Norton averts his gaze and offers Naib a hand, which, to his surprise, Naib grasps hold of with fervent energy, actions spurred on by some frenzy.
Norton’s body practically acts of its own will as he presses himself against the man whose position he himself has been in so very many times.
Neither Naib nor Norton have ever been men of many words, but when it comes to providing genuine verbal support, Naib’s always come out on top; Norton can only hope that he can show how much he cares for the mercenary through his actions.
They don’t make it far past the door before Norton, off-balance, crashes down again. He curses himself for his horrid motor functions, but what’s startling is that, despite everything, Naib is still holding onto his hand like a lifeline, though Norton knows his instincts are fast enough for him to let go in time.
Ah .
Something inexplicable in words clicks there - even as they sit in a tangled mess on the floor, Naib’s grip on his hand never falters, Norton nuzzling hushed apologies into his neck.
And doesn’t it say enough that Naib’s panicked breathing slowly calms in Norton’s presence, in spite of every blunder Norton apologizes for? Doesn’t it say enough that - though Norton’s never noticed until now - Naib melts as much from tight hugs as Norton does?
Doesn’t it say enough that Norton recognizes the reverence in Naib’s murmured ‘thank you’?
(Hindsight is a fascinating thing - Norton finds himself looking back into the past, wondering how many times Naib has hugged him out of the blue because he was the one who needed it; wondering whether, all this time, they’ve been using each other to an equal degree.
Something about the thought of being needed knocks the breath out of Norton
and when his eyes meet Naib’s-)
There’s overflowing tenderness in Norton’s chest when he leans in to press a feather-light kiss to Naib’s head.
That was for both of us , he thinks, as Naib blinks at him slowly in wonder.
At what point did physical intimacy become their secret language, just for the two of them? It’s relieving, being able to say everything he can’t express in words through a soft touch. Tears that have long since dried upon Naib’s face leave stains, and Norton brushes at them gently.
There’s a burning question in his actions that he hopes Naib can read as he presses their foreheads together.
An answer: chapped lips, firmly pressed against his own; a kiss that ends with joyous laughter ( just for you, because I haven’t felt this happy in years ) and how do I say it, how do I put it to words…
Naib may not speak as well or as much as Norton, but when he does, his words are as honest as can be:
“God, I love you, you beautiful bastard.” Norton, lightheaded (and indignant, but that can wait), thinks that's a pretty apt description of the way he feels for Naib.
(But doesn’t he know that, don’t they know that - haven’t they known that forever?)
In the game, they are the Mercenary and the Prospector: names without faces, just another pair of survivors doing their best to see the light of the next day.
But in the privacy of indigo-hued twilights, they are Naib Subedar and Norton Campbell - scared and vulnerable and weak, but as in love as they could be; hand in hand no matter what.