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To say Reyn knew what he was doing would be a blatant lie. His armor rubbed uncomfortably against his skin- or maybe it was just his own teething anxiety manifesting. Things felt empty, a quiet whisper of what life had been before the attack on Colony 9. Lonely was a good word for it.
Shulk had been a ghost lately, reserved in an entirely different way from his usual. Reyn had been so preoccupied with training; endless hours of briefings on defense, rebuilding efforts, drills that pummeled him into the ground until he fell numbly into his bunk. Then there was Dunban. It both surprised and motivated Reyn to work harder when he would catch a glimpse of him bent over a table with the Colonel in a deep discussion over strategies.
Yet everything they were doing felt empty. Lonely as if it were something to bury themselves in instead of talking. If there was one thing the redhead needed it was his friends. Conversation. Anything that kept him from milling his thoughts into mush. He couldn’t say he was big on the whole figuring things out- a fact Fiora would bully him over endlessly- but that only made his worked up thoughts that much worse. And he needed someone.
Shulk might have been a more obvious choice. But he was Shulk. Reyn was supposed to protect him, be his unbreakable support no matter what. He couldn’t just dump his internal monolog on him; not to mention the blonde was probably the one taking Fiora’s…passing the hardest other than Dunban.
But Dunban was a pillar of strength in the colony. He didn’t show his pain, didn’t hide away when he was needed. Reyn wanted that, needed that. So here he was, standing with a deep rooted itch under his breastplate and about to bite through his tongue instead of knocking on Dunban’s door like he had planned to. It was quiet on the other side and if he hadn't already asked where the dark haired man was he would have thought the home to be empty.
It was a noise- something heavy thumping to the floorboards and a raspy curse that made him cave. His knuckles, calloused and dry from work, rap against the familiar and well-used door. It felt strange in a way. When he had been younger Fiora had been so frivolous with this door. She easily dragged her two boys into the house with cheeky warnings to not mess up anything in her kitchen; learning how to prepare and cook some of the best meals Reyn had ever eaten. That’s what Shulk and he had been- her boys.
The door opened on him in his hazy-eyed memories. Dunban’s face, all strong features and lines of a soldier in the dimming light of the evening, startled him out of it. The taller man cleared his throat, dropping his hand back to his side once he realized it was still in the air. He gave the other man a quick once over, thrown off again when he saw his broad chest peeking out from a loose, linen shirt. It wasn’t often Reyn saw him dressed down.
Dunban seemed just as surprised to see him. His dark gray eyes widen just enough for Reyn to notice before falling into a cautious but friendly look. “Reyn? What brings you by so late?”
“It ain’t even dark yet.” The words flopped out of his mouth before he could pull it back. Instantly his traitorous mouth fumbled out more words that just didn’t come out right. The beginning of a rosey blush touched his cheeks. “Not that you don’t know that. You’re not old enough to be losing your sight. You’re not, are you?”
“My eyes work perfectly fine, Reyn,” Dunban humored him. He leaned a little heavier on his open door, like he was settling in for more than just a quick chat.
“Of course they do.” Dear Bionis this had been the stupidest idea Reyn’s brain had concocted. At least in terms of something that didn’t cause bodily harm. But it was doing a number to his pride!
Dunban’s eyes, the ones that so obviously worked as well as a hawk’s at times, lifted away from the younger man. They glanced over the horizon behind Reyn. Looking at the late sunset, or maybe watching for something that shouldn’t be there. An idea that caused Reyn to reflexively shoot a look over his shoulder too.
With his gaze turned, he missed the way Dunban’s gaze cast him an understanding, pitiable look. It wasn’t Shulk on his doorstep first, but a small, very quiet part of him was glad it was Reyn. As evident when he inhaled deeply and took a step back, opening the door fully with a welcoming, “I was cleaning up a little. I wouldn’t mind the company if you have time to spare.”
Reyn whipped back to face the older man, remembering where he was and what he was doing. “Yeah!” He tried to snatch back the eagerness in his voice with a cough. “I mean, yeah. I’m pretty good at movin’ things if you need it.”
“Good, you can help move the rice into storage for me then.”
When Reyn stepped into the house he almost recoiled. It was too late to turn tail and run, but if he had thought he felt empty before it was nothing compared to Dunban’s home. The feeling of loss rattled through the open space like wind sweeping over an exposed skeleton. His eyes immediately went to the kitchen and it hit him full force. A place that was once bright and the heart of the home was gutted.
The nails, where herbs hung to be dried, were wrenched in odd angles like someone had tried to rip them out but when they bent they had gotten frustrated and smashed them down. The shelves, usually overflowing with oils and spices were empty save for stained rings where the bottles had sat and crumbs that hadn’t been swept up in years. One of them, the highest one, looked as if it had been jostled from it’s spot and could come crashing down if anyone were to touch it.
The brick counters were barren of life as well. Scuffed in someone’s haste to clear heavy crates of salt, the stem of some forgotten vegetable or fruit shoved into the corner- the planter box in front of the window and the cloth under it were missing too. The only evidence there had been anything there was a scattering of dirt on the windowsill. One of her tea towels, something she guarded fiercely from dirty hands, was now lying on the ground in front of the sink. Reyn had to press his nails into the palm of his hands to stop himself from running over to pick it up.
The stove though, was what broke him. The top of it had charred bits of food sticking to it. Carelessly left to blacken from the heat of an unattended fire. A single pot sat on the furthest burner, tipped over and glaringly used. Nothing warm simmered under a lid, no mouth-watering smell curled from the oven. It was a husk. Cold and lifeless. She would have been furious. Face red with her anger while she pulled all three of them by the ears until they confessed. Well, maybe not Shulk. He was the only one who had fully learned his lesson to keep his hands to himself in her kitchen.
The presence of Dunban at his side made every muscle in his body coil up tight. The warmth of the other man had jarred him from his staring. Reyn swallowed thickly before asking, “W-Where’s that rice?”
Though he was younger, Dunban was the shorter of the two. Not by much, but Reyn was still able to see over his head when he gestured to a large burlap sack sitting behind the now closed door. “Right.” He said. The word was an escape from whatever had happened to the kitchen.
It only took a minute for him to open a lid of one of the wooden barrels and settle the bag into its new home. His rough fingers worked to open it too, just as an extra courtesy so Dunban wouldn’t have to do it later. And from there he put himself to work. Dunban only had to direct him a few more times to things that needed to be done before he fell into the familiar chores.
He moved furniture for Dunban to sweep away any dust bunnits that had collected there, took the time to check the chimney for buildup before tossing a few logs in to start a fire to warm the house some, reorganized the pile next to it so it was a little neater. Then he went outside to gather more, only to see that the supply outside was low as well so he split what he could. When he came back inside, arms heavy with wood he caught Dunban standing in the middle of the kitchen.
The dark-haired man started, looking at him as he placed the new wood in the pile. His thick brows pressed towards the bridge of his nose slightly. It wasn’t much, hardly an expression but Reyn recognized it immediately. It was hard to miss something he had seen reflected back at him since it had happened.
He waved a hand at the sink, a pile of dishes looming over the brim of it, “Wanna tackle that tonight too?”
“It’s well past late, Reyn. You should go back to the barracks and get some rest. You’ve done more than enough already,” Dunban’s voice was automatic. Though it sagged heavy with the offering to flee.
Something Reyn didn’t want to take. “Nah, no skin off my back.” Still, he was slow to approach. All too aware of his bulky size and often clumsy hands.
It was Dunban who broke whatever sanctity Reyn held for Fiora’s kitchen. His hand was warm, more calloused than the redhead’s when he placed it on one of Reyn’s biceps when he was close enough. It took everything Reyn had to not lean into it. It was there, only long enough to give him a gentle push towards the sink. The tea towel was no longer on the floor in front of it, he noticed while he drew the water.
Dunban, his dark hair pulled away from his face by a thin cord of leather, returned to his side a moment later with soap and a sponge in one hand. They were quiet for a long while; Reyn’s back bent slightly to be able to reach the dishes while Dunban patiently waited at his side to take them once they were clean to dry with a cloth before putting it away. It was slow going, and awfully domestic for the two.
“I can get the stove tomorrow, if you want,” the offer came from Reyn in a casual tone. Something a friend would offer to another friend.
“You’ll be exhausted after the Colonel has you running laps around the colony.” Dunban didn’t pause from wiping one of the plates dry. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips though, and Reyn felt one of his own in return.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” He reached over the older man, just barely brushing his arm with his to snag the pot off of the topic of their conversation. It’d need to be really scrubbed to get clean. Then, before he could stop it, words tumbled out of his mouth again, “She’d kill us if she saw it.”
To his credit, Dunban barely flinched. The exhale that followed though, was one that lowered his pinched shoulders and soothed the crease between his brows. “I wouldn’t be allowed to so much as look at it, if she saw it like this.”
That emptiness, the one that had fallen quiet while he had busied himself with chores, wormed its way back into Reyn’s chest. It thickened his throat, making him wary to talk again. Quickly he wanted to snatch those words back up and pretend he had never said them.
“You don’t have to tiptoe around her name, Reyn.” That warm, calloused hand came back to rest on the taller man’s shoulder. “Not for my sake at least.”
There it was. That diligent, unwavering pillar of strength. The thing that Reyn had been seeking out when he stood outside the front door. His shoulders, that had wound up tightly, relaxed under another’s touch. He dropped the sponge in the now lukewarm water and rested his palms on the lip of the sink. The weight he had been hefting, the grief he had pushed under a mountain of distractions finally called out its demand to be acknowledged.
His nose burned, still fighting off the watery feeling in his eyes. “I ain’t- It ain’t like that.”
“Fiora gave her life protecting us, protecting Shulk. It doesn’t do her justice, or you, any good to speak about her as if she’s a ghost.” His voice held that strong lilt to it that it always did. The firm set of his jaw spoke volumes about his conviction.
“It just ain’t fair Dunban.” The tightness in his throat cracked his voice. Betraying just how close to breaking he was.
They both knew that. War wasn’t fair. Death wasn’t fair. Saying it out loud wouldn’t change it. So instead, Dunban lifted his hand from its spot on Reyn’s shoulder to lightly tap the underside of his jaw with a knuckle. A silent chin-up gesture he had used on his sister countless times while she was growing up. However, unlike Fiora, Reyn leaned into the contact and turned those sad, tired eyes on him. The shorter man carefully ran a comforting hand over the crest of his cheek.
“I miss ‘er,” Reyn’s voice breathed slowly.
“I miss her too, Reyn.” The answer was just as quiet.
The space between them settled. Things were achingly different without Fiora. Out of all the things hollowed out by Fiora’s death, the warmth of being cared about was the most aching one. She noticed when Reyn was being too oblivious for anyone’s good, or when Dunban was too stubborn to eat because he couldn’t use his right arm. She kept Shulk from wasting away over his notes about the Manado and brought him out in sunlight when he needed it. She kept them alive, in her own way.
And she had died keeping them alive.
“Let’s finish up these dishes,” Dunban’s sturdy timber grounded them both back to the here and now. Without being fully aware of it they had huddled closer together, water-wrinkled hands coiling together, seeking out something to hold onto. And just as slowly they uncoiled. Reyn’s larger hands dipping back into cold water to drag the pot back up from the depths.
“Thank you, Dunban.” The words were soft for the big man. Thanking him for more than that pause of comfort, but rather, for the night of it.
Dunban only hummed in answer. If there was anyone who needed to be thankful it was him. But this? This did not need one. No thank yous, no profound words, nothing. The older man found whatever peace he had needed in the scratch of a sponge against a pot and in the warmth of the fire lit behind them.
Found it in the new soul in the empty remains of his house.