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They’re bathing in the river, and Yusuf is doing his best not to stare at Nicolò. It’s difficult to resist— Nicolò is turned away from Yusuf, and he wouldn’t even know where Yusuf’s gaze is stuck.
Still though. Yusuf has no right to be ogling his friend like this.
It’s been harder lately. They came to a truce years ago, but more recently, something… more has been between them. Or maybe it just feels like that because Yusuf has only recently realized his own feelings for Nicolò. That he wants more than Nico’s friendship, as wonderful and important as that friendship is.
Yusuf has never loved lightly or gently, and with Nicolò— oh, with Nicolò. Yusuf is certain that all the love he’s holding back will spill over one day, and that he’ll drown them both in the flood of it.
He can barely stand it, when they hold each other to sleep at night for warmth. Or when Nico speaks to him in that gentle, earnest voice, always with an endearment at the ready, Yusuf could vibrate out of his own skin.
Yusuf never wants it to end, though, wants to go on at least pretending that Nico means any of it beyond the friendship they’ve built so carefully. But Nicolò has never said anything of the sort, and when it comes to this, Yusuf is too much of a coward to take the first step forward.
He tries his best to stop staring, and focuses on gathering sand from the riverbed to clean his skin instead. Soon though, he’s unable to resist, and glances up to see Nicolò doing the same thing, trying to clean his back. Nicolò keeps missing a patch of dirt, unable to reach— probably because of his broad fucking shoulders, Yusuf’s mind supplies unhelpfully.
Yusuf’s mouth works faster than his mind when he asks, “Would you like me to help?”
Nicolò turns, and the sight of water dripping down his throat and chest isn’t doing anything to return Yusuf’s heartbeat to a normal pace. He can only be grateful that they’ve waded out far enough for the water to come up to their waists.
There is a bemused tilt to his smile when he asks, “With?”
“Your back.” Yusuf gestures behind himself unnecessarily, “You missed a spot.”
Nicolò’s smile grows, and he wades through the water towards Yusuf. His heart beats faster, stomach fluttering. Nico comes to stand in front of him, their bare chests inches away. If Yusuf leaned even a little closer, their noses would brush, their lips would—
“Yes,” Nico interrupts his thoughts, “If you wouldn’t mind.”
He turns around again, and Yusuf sucks in a breath. He imagines lifting the hair off the back of Nico’s neck to place a kiss there. He longs to know that Nico would want him to.
It’s a thought that makes him ache, deep in his chest.
He uses some sand to clean Nicolò’s back, and tries to let his mind go blank as he feels Nicolò’s skin under his hand. He’s unsuccessful, but he somehow finds it in himself not to linger.
Yusuf clears his throat, and steps back. “There you go, Nico.”
Nicolò turns back around, and Yusuf wonders if he’s imagining the tender, fond look on Nico’s face.
“Thank you, darling.” He cups Yusuf’s jaw, thumb stroking across his cheekbone. When Nicolò leans in and kisses the tip of Yusuf’s nose, his eyes flutter shut unconsciously. He doesn’t open them, even when Nicolò asks, “Maybe you could show me how to oil your curls today, and I could return the favor?”
They kiss each other all the time— cheeks and foreheads and noses. Once even on the lips in the high of coming back to life after a particularly brutal death.
But this kiss is— it’s cleaving Yusuf open.
He bows his head, can’t quite meet the clear green of Nico’s steady gaze. He thinks about how good it would feel: Nico’s broad fingers twisting through his curls, brushing against Yusuf’s scalp. He would be so thoughtful, Yusuf knows, so gentle.
Even the thought makes a tremor break out over Yusuf’s skin.
He shakes his head. “Maybe not today. Thank you, though.”
Nicolò drops his hand to squeeze Yusuf’s wrist once, smiling easily. “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ll get the fire going.”
They fall asleep that night curled around each other, as usual, because Yusuf doesn’t know how to tell Nicolò that it is best that they sleep apart without showing his whole heart, and how it calls out Nicolò’s name with every thump-thump-thump in Yusuf’s chest.
When they wake, their legs are tangled together, and they’re curled into each other like kittens. Yusuf blinks his eyes open, finds Nicolò watching him, expression open and sweet. He is so beautiful, and the early morning light makes him look so soft, Yusuf feels as though they could just melt into each other.
Nicolò brushes a few stray curls off of his forehead, runs fingers through his beard, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Yusuf is still tired, and helpless but to lean into the touch. He realizes he’s clutched Nicolò tightly against him in their sleep, and continues to do so, but doesn’t let go.
Nicolò asks, voice deep and husky from sleep, “Did you sleep well?”
“I never sleep better than when I am in your arms,” Yusuf blurts, then cringes when he sees Nicolò’s eyes widen, his cheeks pinken.
Yusuf realizes too late that he’s never said anything so close to showing the truth of his feelings. He tries to backpedal, to tease. “Though, I’m sure you’re happy we’ll make it to the next town today and you can have your own bed.”
“No,” Nicolò shakes his head, then buries his face in Yusuf’s shoulder, “I only ever want to be here.”
Tears push at Yusuf’s eyes.
If only Nico were not so easy to fall in love with. If only he was not everything Yusuf has ever longed for: kind, steady, and unfailingly thoughtful. If only he had remained as brash and uncouth and idiotic as he had been when they first met. If only their shared experience of immortality did not seem so much like destiny, like they’ve always been meant to be with each other.
If only Yusuf did not always fall so hard, so fast.
Nicolò snuggles closer in his arms, strokes Yusuf’s back.
Yusuf falls, and falls, and falls.
Yusuf is grateful for the noise and chatter of the next town they come into. His thoughts have been exhausting, running wild at every glance Nicolò sends his way, reading into the way Nicolò tangles their fingers together as they walk.
They split to gather food and supplies, agreeing to meet back at the inn in a few hours. Yusuf is grateful for the distraction, for the distance, especially when Nicolò lifts his hand and kisses the back of it in parting. Yusuf spends a few moments standing there dumbly, hand and wrist tingling as he watches Nicolò walk away.
He shakes himself from his reverie and walks towards the market. The inn should provide their supper for the night, but they need some foods that will keep for their journey.
He does his best to not think about Nicolò while he’s at the market, taking his time to wander and haggle just for fun, but when he comes away with his arms full of Nicolò’s preferred foods, including a ridiculously overpriced sweet-cake, Yusuf admits defeat.
He’s hopeless.
He returns to the room to find Nicolò puttering around, brightening when he sees Yusuf. He takes the food from Yusuf to pack away, and exclaims over the sweetcake. He suggests that they spread out a blanket to eat on the floor between their beds.
They sit cross-legged, knees knocking as they make do on the small blanket. The stew is plain, but it is warm and hearty, and that is better than what they’ve been eating on the road so Yusuf does his best to savor it. It all tastes better with Nicolò’s knee brushing his own, his voice telling Yusuf about his day anyway.
“I found a man to sharpen my sword,” Nico says, “We can stop to have yours done, as well, before we head out tomorrow.”
“That’d be nice.”
There is a beat of silence before Nicolò continues, almost hesitant. “There was a jeweler nearby. I bought something there too.”
Yusuf tilts his head. He’s never seen Nicolò wear jewelry before, not even anything plain. “Really?”
Nicolò’s cheeks are pink, like they were this morning. “Yes, I— well, let me show you.” He sets his bowl down and reaches for his pack. He pulls out a silver ring, and holds it in the flat of his palm for Yusuf to see.
It is well-made, with simple, clean detailing. Yusuf can imagine Nicolò picking it out so carefully and it brings about a rush of fondness for his friend. “It’s lovely, Nico. It will suit you nicely.”
“No, I- I purchased it to give to you.” Nicolò shifts, and he seems like it’s taking him effort to meet Yusuf’s gaze. “The jeweler told me that these gifts are in fashion around here.”
Yusuf is still stuck on ‘to give to you’ and it takes him a moment to respond. “In fashion?”
“Yes. He said that many people in town buy them as a token of affection, for their dear ones.” He shifts again, “So of course, I wanted you to have one from me.”
Dear ones.
Words have escaped Yusuf. “Oh,” he says quietly.
Nicolò looks up at him through his lashes. “Would you wear it for me, Yusuf?”
“No!” Yusuf is as taken aback by his own exclamation as Nicolò is. He tries to soften, “I am sorry, I cannot.”
A flash of hurt crosses Nicolò’s face before he can hide it. He closes his fist around the ring, and leans away from Yusuf.
“I am the one who should be sorry. I have done this all wrong. I apologize,” Nicolò says, quietly, “for offending you.”
His hurt knifes at Yusuf. He knows then what he must do. The thought of Nicolò thinking that he’s committed some sort of wrong sits too heavy in Yusuf’s heart.
“No, it is no offense. You have done nothing wrong. That ring— well— It is only that,” Yusuf sighs, trying to steady his words, “if I accepted that ring from you, and wore it as I want to, I would not be doing so for the right reasons.”
Nicolò is clearly confused. “The right reasons?”
Yusuf wishes there was a way for Nicolò to understand without having to say the words out loud.
He tries to explain: “You give that ring to me as someone who is dear to you, as my dearest friend. But if I took it, I would wear it and pretend that I was more than that to you. And that would weigh too heavily on me.”
“Nicolò,” Yusuf looks him straight in the eye, “I know this will change everything, and I am sorry, but you must know this: I love you.”
This declaration doesn’t bring the reaction Yusuf was expecting.
Nicolò’s brow remains twisted in confusion. “Well, yes. Of course. I know that.”
Yusuf sighs. This is going as terribly as it possibly could.
“No, Nico—” Yusuf holds Nicolò’s hands in his own, trying to convey the heaviness of his statement, “I’m in love with you.”
“Yes,” Nicolò says inexplicably impatient, “I am in love with you too. We are together, in every way. What does this change? I don’t understand.”
“You’re in love with me?” Yusuf is beyond bewildered, reduced to echoing back what Nico’s just said. “We’re together? In every way?”
“Wait.” Nicolò’s eyes go wide, shocked and horrified. He drops Yusuf’s hands. “Are we not?”
Yusuf gapes. “Since when have we been together?!”
“We kissed!” Nicolò gestures wildly, “after those bandits gutted us! And we sleep together every night, even though the weather has warmed. What did you think it meant when we stood naked together in the river last night and I called you ‘darling’ after you washed my bare back?”
“Well.” Yusuf’s cheeks heat. “When you say it like that.”
“Yusuf,” Nicolò sighs and brings a hand to hold Yusuf’s nape, bringing them close to knock their foreheads together, “Did you really not know how deeply I feel for you? What you mean to me?”
He leans into the touch, grounds himself by breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of Nicolò. “You never said anything. We never kissed after that. I didn’t know, I didn’t want to…hope.”
“Yusuf, I never said anything, never kissed you after that, because I wanted to do this right. I didn’t want to scare you away with all of me, all at once.” Nicolò’s eyes close, “I know I’m not a poet, not an artist, that my attempts to court you could never live up to what you’ve known. But I thought I could try.”
Nicolò laughs, eyes still closed. “Clearly I did an even poorer job than I thought.”
Yusuf can’t laugh. Can’t do anything but let the tears he’s been holding back spill over. How much has he missed? How inattentive has he been? How much time has he lost?
He raises a hand to cup Nico’s jaw, “What do you mean, ‘live up to what I’ve known’?” The thought is incomprehensible— Yusuf has never known anyone like Nicolò, never loved anyone like Nicolò.
Nicolò finally opens his eyes, “You told me, remember? Your first kiss, how special it was to you. He wrote you poetry, brought you gifts, waited months to kiss you in the courtyard.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles sheepishly. “I wanted to do the same, wanted to do better. To love you slowly and gently, as you deserve.”
Yusuf barely remembers that kiss. Barely remembers telling Nicolò about it. The fact that Nicolò has kept it in mind—Yusuf can’t take it anymore.
He surges forward, and kisses Nicolò with all the emotion he’s been holding back, every bit of love and adoration he’s been unable to share. Nicolò kisses him back, one hand twisted in Yusuf’s tunic, the other gripping Yusuf’s jaw hard enough to bruise.
Yusuf pulls back just enough to gasp between them: “Don’t. Don’t love me slowly. Don’t love me like him. Love me,” he breathes, “like you. I want all of you. There is nothing about you that could scare me. I love every part of you I know and all the ones I don’t.”
“In that case,” Nicolò says, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. “Let me tell you now: I love you, Yusuf al-Kaysani. I love you in life, in death, in immortality. I will love you—”
Yusuf cuts him off with another kiss, tipping Nicolò onto his back with the force of it. Nico laughs when they break apart, and the sound of it, the pure joy of the moment makes Yusuf feel as though he could float.
“You asked for words!” Nicolò exclaims, playfully dodging Yusuf’s attempts for more kisses. He grabs Yusuf’s chin to hold him still, kisses his bottom lip fleetingly and smirks. “I’d hate for you to misunderstand me. To think that this is all just… platonic.”
Yusuf groans, drops to bury his face in Nicolò’s neck, “I’ll hear about this for eternity, won’t I?”
“Yes,” Nico says, carding a hand softly through Yusuf’s curls, “I think so.”
Yusuf huffs, then kisses the skin of Nicolò’s throat, his jaw, and finally his mouth. He looks down at Nicolò, who looks back with dark eyes, mouth swollen.
“I think I could still use some convincing.” Yusuf runs a thumb along his bottom lip, reflecting Nicolò’s earlier smirk back at him. “I’m sure you’re up to the task.”
Nico nips at his thumb, then rolls them over, landing Yusuf back onto the blanket. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”