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Without another word, Duncan wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. And it is a hug, alright – just not a very good one. Your nose smashes into his shoulder painfully, and it would almost be enough to break you out of your crying spell, had you not been caught off by the sudden movement.
This is… the first time you’ve ever gotten a hug. Actual human contact. His touch sends a soft ache spreading through your chest - a sweet warmth that your brain recognizes as affection. Security. The need to make you feel safe.
It’s the hug of someone who has never hugged before – truly, if you were going to be honest, it was probably one of the worst hugs you have ever experienced; Duncan’s form is awkward, arms just a bit too tight and angled weirdly.
You realize that he’s hugging you out of his own volition - that he wanted to let you know that he cared about you. And it’s the thought of someone comforting you, rubbing your back (which he is doing, albeit the motions feel stilted), that makes the bubble in your throat grow, chokes your own words out of your mouth, makes you cry even harder .
Your hands clutch the back of his robes, clenching it between your fists as if he would disappear if you ever let go. You want to say something, hug him back, offer support, but you can’t. Your tongue feels like cotton, and your brain blanks out on the words needed to speak. Just the thought of someone hugging you was enough for another round of tears to leak through, and after everything you’ve been through crumbles in a matter of seconds.
“Run away with me.”
The words are flying out of his mouth before he knows it, before he even has a chance to logically think.
Run away? To where? Duncan wasn’t dumb enough to think that whatever calamity crawls out of the darkest parts of the spiral would simply stop because the Wizard wasn’t going to take care of them.
Even so, he doesn’t take back his words. They hang heavy in the crisp, muggy air of Triton Avenue. A storm rumbles above his head, and the thunder almost serves as a warning; a sign from Raven – to take back what he said or he would regret it. Regret trying to take her champion.
He knows you must feel his heart thudding fast and hard in his chest, arms still wrapped securely around your shoulders. Your face is still tucked in between the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and your hands are still clawing into his robes–it doesn’t hurt, by any means, but he’s caught off guard at how surprisingly.. clingy you are.
He wonders if you heard what he said.
“Did y—”
“I heard you.” You cut him off. Your voice is quiet and soft, but has a rough and scratchy quality to its tone that had been heightened from your crying session.
There’s another agonizingly slow moment of silence, and in it, Duncan feels the gentle rustle of the wind brush over your figures. He never quite believed Suzie or Artur when they told him that Triton Avenue was cold, but the wind brings a chill that he can’t quite blame necromancy for.
And when you speak, this coldness sinks further into his stomach.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Duncan furrows his brows. "What do you mean you can't? "
When you pull back away from his chest, the descent is slow–like molasses. You don’t see a point in being discreet as you wipe the remaining tears away from your eyes, for he had seen it all, and sucked in a sharp breath. And when you meet his gaze, your eyes are red-rimmed and bright.
For a moment, the breath catches in his throat.
“I can’t. ” You emphasize, this time. Your voice is more even than it was before. It sounded like the Wizard he recognized, and not the one that had been bawling into his robes moments ago. “I have responsibilities.”
“Are you dumb?” Duncan says, and he can’t amend the way it comes out of his mouth–clunky and harsh, like a hammer striking iron. “It’s killing you! Look at you!”
He grabs your shoulders as he says this, and the touch is almost too much to bear with something like this.
“I’m aware. ” Your voice is bitter as you spit out the reply, but there is no denying the exhaustion in your voice. “I… don’t have a choice.”
Duncan’s lips press into a thin line.
“I just can’t. ” You repeat, and a watery tone edges your words. “I have duties, I’m… I’m a savior now. There’s no room for what I want and my desires. They wouldn’t let me.”
“‘They’?” Duncan quirks an eyebrow.
He sees the way your gaze drifts over his shoulder, eyes glazing as if searching for something off in the distance. He thinks you must have found it, the way your pupils dilate, and stare for a long time.
“I used to think it was just Raven and Spider.” Your voice dips into something quieter, whispy. Like this conversation was just for him. “There’s something else out there. I’ve never seen it, or heard it, or.. smelled it. I can only… feel it. ”
Duncan takes a chance to glance behind him, following your gaze—he expects to see a figure at least, and it only furthers his confusion about the entire thing.
It must be his eyes playing tricks on him, because he does see it—a vague shape. A human-like figure.
He blinks and it’s gone.
“As fun as running away sounds,” Your voice brings him back to the present, back to your now neutral expression. “I don’t have a choice. Truly.”
Really, there are more silences now than you care to admit, and it’s only when you make the decision to stand does he know your final answer. It doesn’t stop you from holding out your hand to help him up from the wet, muddy ground, and it doesn’t stop him from taking it.
And even when all is said and done, you’re still grasping each other’s hands. Your fingers press against the pulse of his wrist, which beats heartily underneath your touch.
“We could go somewhere new.” Duncan says. He doesn’t want to admit that he sounds desperate. Lonely. “The spiral is big. We could find some place where they don’t need us. Where no one ever gets the chance to take advantage of us.”
You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face, bleeds into your voice. It sounds too good to be true, even for you. “Oh?”
“We don’t have to stay wizards. We could even swallow our pride and become pirates!”
“You love necromancy, Duncan.” You say, and he does. He does. With every bit of his mind, body, and soul. “I’ve heard rumors on the shore that they’ve outlawed all magic. It would kill you.”
His lip curls.
“Admittedly, it would kill me, too.” Your hand slowly slips from his. “Even throughout all these years… I’ve come to love magic far too much to let it slip out of my fingers.”
“...Will you come back?”
Duncan’s voice is far too vulnerable for his liking–it had only been today that he expressed his feelings of ostracization, of needing to feel wanted. He had made his first, real friend and it had been you , the one he had been previously sent to get rid of.
He doesn’t want to see you go if it means there’s a chance you won’t return.
Still, a smile spreads across your face at that question.
“Of course.” You say. “Nothing’s killed me yet—I consider that sign enough that I’m on the right path.”
You pause.
“And I want you to come with me.”
He’s not sure if he heard you right. Either that, or this was your idea of a prank.
Or you’ve finally lost it.
“Do you hear yourself?” Duncan says, because he finds himself reeling . Of course he wants to join you—but also, are you crazy? The blood is roaring loud in his ears. “This is—this isn’t even my journey to go on!”
“Who cares?” You reply, and he both hates and loves how flippant you’re being about the entire thing. “I didn’t exactly get the wizarding book of rules when I first got here. We’ll be fine, I think.”
“I couldn’t even beat you!”
“To be fair,” You say, and the smile on your face is a little bit too cocky for someone like you—someone meant to uphold the pedestal of light wasn’t meant to look so smug . “No one has been able to beat me yet. I can protect you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried about that! ” He hisses out, but there is a semblance of an embarrassed flush creeping over his features. “And besides, I can take care of myself!”
“Then we don’t have any problems.”
There’s a long moment where he just— stares at you. Like he’s trying to figure out your goal for this, your angle.
“.... Why? ”
He feels conflicted. He feels lost. And most of all, he feels confused. Was one, heartfelt conversation all it took to get on your good side? It’s no wonder why anyone with bad intentions, but a good mask, was able to twist your promises of companionship and turn it into something else.
“...You know me the best.” You say, after a while. The sky rumbles above you once again, the final warning you receive, before a torrent of rain begins to pour down on you both. Your robes are soaked before long, bleeding into darker colors.
The two of you don’t move.
“Saving the world gets a bit lonely, too.” You continue on, and he recognizes that look on your face—it had been there at the beginning, when you had shown up unannounced in this field, and sat next to him without another word.
“You’d say we could start over as friends… but I’m a very busy wizard.” Your smile is sad, this time, when it pulls at your lips. “We’d become strangers before long. A something that was there, but could never happen.”
“...And you think taking me along a dangerous quest will fix that?”
He hates how it, once again, comes out of his mouth wrong. He had never been good with dealing on how wonderful it felt to be wanted at someone’s side.
“I said I’d protect you, didn’t I?” Your face tilts upward, and allows the drizzle to wash over your face. It feels almost holy in nature—your soul feels cleansed.
“I don’t care what Ambrose thinks. I’m not his student anymore. I don’t care what the Arcanum thinks. They don’t trust me.”
And when you open your eyes and face him, they open slowly, as if savoring this one singular moment. And the gradual motion of your hand as it reaches up from your side, before holding it out for him to take, is measured.
You are in no rush.
“I think I can trust you.” You say, softly. “Don’t you agree?”
His hand as it slides into yours is cold and wet. But it still makes your heart soar nonetheless.
“Yeah. You can.”