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Lightning chattered at the three apes following him. He swung his arms, hooting at them. It took a few swings, and eventually the younger apes got the message and backed off. They screeched at Lightning, who proudly returned the disgruntled sound at an even higher octave. He grunted under his breath, falling to walk on his knuckles. Whilst Lightning was glad the young hunters looked up to him, he wasn’t all that fond of the way they followed after him. The thought was slightly hypocritical, because he himself was currently following after another ape.
Almost as soon as they had returned from the hunt, Sylva had disappeared. That wasn’t typical of the silverback, usually he ensured that the kill was secured and all the horses were hitched before he wandered off. The rest of the hunting party hadn’t paid it any mind, or they were too nervous to question Sylva. Questioning Sylva often resulted in a less than favorable response and a bruise or two— or three. Lightning, however, had an advantage that the other apes didn’t. He knew Sylva and he was far from afraid of him. He took great pride in his closeness to the high-ranking hunter, not only that, he had attached himself to Sylva subconsciously. Sylva had given him every sign that he felt deeply for him, and Lightning wasn’t about to let that go.
That was what had driven him to follow after Sylva when he had disappeared. Lightning knew where to find him. Sylva never liked having other apes in his personal quarters, though Lightning was the exception. The brute had never explicitly said it out loud, but he allowed Lightning to be in what was his own personal space. As a matter of fact, in their down time they spent much of it there together. The near-hairless chimpanzee approached the door of Sylva’s quarters. He stood to his two feet and peered through the porthole on the door. As he suspected he found Sylva hunched nearby in the room.
Knocking wasn’t an option. Lightning turned the handle of the metal door and let himself in. The only warning of his arrival was the sound of metal on metal and a series of breathy hoots. Almost immediately Sylva turned around from where he was sitting to face Lightning.
“ Close the door !” Sylva hissed, his teeth baring when he spoke.
Well, he didn’t tell Lightning to leave. That was a plus. He shoved the door shut, pulling the handle down to lock it. Sylva was already turning his back to him.
He was hiding something.
Almost immediately, concern wiped across Lightning’s features. He bounded over to the larger ape with worry bright in his eyes. Lightning attempted to sit ahead of Sylva, however the gorilla was keen on keeping Lightning away. Lightning wasn’t having any of it. Sylva’s arms reached out, lightly swatting at the smaller chimp. In retaliation Lightning returned that same gesture, lips curling back in a sneer as their arms momentarily batted at one another.
That only lasted for a few moments before Sylva suddenly flinched, retracting one of his arms. His hand quickly raised to press against dark, curled fur.
There was no use hiding now. The gorilla knew he couldn’t get Lightning to leave— quite frankly, a part of him wanted him to stay. Sylva was used to tending to his wounds in private. He was the strongest ape in their kingdom, he was the apex of all hunters, he was a skilled killer. To be weakened by such a pitiful injury was demeaning in every way to Sylva.
His head lowered slightly at the thought of it. Sylva chuffed, his hand raising from his fur. Against his palm was the stain of fresh blood. That was when Lightning realized that Sylva’s muscled bicep was caked in a deep red, it seemed as if it had only begun to bleed now.
He noticed Lightning’s hand reaching for his arm, he bared his teeth once more in a final attempt at pushing the other away. Lightning remained adamant, hissed at him through parted teeth as his fingers met the bloodstained fur. It was too late now. That side of Sylva that ached for the other’s company had won him over, and he no longer made an effort to retaliate. Rolling his eyes slightly, the hunter allowed Lightning to examine the wound.
During their hunt, Sylva had taken a hit to the arm when he cornered the massive buck he had been tracking. The sharpest point of the creature’s antlers had pierced his skin; perhaps he’d make a good trophy of the thing’s antlers later. Maybe then he could shake this feeling. To be wounded by a prey animal was nothing short of inglorious.
Lightning hadn’t witnessed Sylva get injured, all the more reason for him to raise concern. His fingers grazed over the cut, just hovering over the wound before he hooted out quickly. The chimp gave Sylva a scolding look before he fell to his knuckles and shuffled aside. He had been in Sylva’s quarters enough times to know where he kept things. Sylva’s arm fell limp as he watched Lightning go through some of the baskets that lined the wall. In these baskets Sylva kept his own personal stash of medicinal roots and leaves– because he would rather die than let someone else tend to his wound, yet here he was, allowing Lightning to do just that.
Maybe he was dead.
With a handful of leaves, Lightning returned to sit with Sylva. In vibrant eyes, that same scolding look remained. Sylva hated the way Lightning looked at him like that, though he supposed it was a taste of his own medicine. Often did he gaze at Lightning with that same look when he did something foolish. Despite having been put in the same situation, he couldn’t deny that he almost enjoyed the attention. Knowing that Lightning cared about him too was reassuring as much as it was conflicting.
“You do not need to do this,” Sylva murmured. His actions went against his words, as he allowed Lightning to examine the injury once more.
Lightning scowled at Sylva, “But I want to.”
At this the silverback froze, already struggling to find words. His amber gaze averted to the floor. A light feeling in his chest arose, like moths swarming his lungs. “It’s confusing,” he murmured.
Lightning parted Sylva’s fur, using his palm to brush away the blood. “Confusing how?” he grunted, a brow raising with intrigue.
“I should not… let you do this,” Sylva continued, his eyes flickering back to Lightning. “But I feel… I don’t know .” His words fell short. This was the kind of feeling that he could not find the words for, nor could he neglect.
Between the two of them, Lightning had always been more bold with his emotions, though even he struggled to find words sometimes. Lightning shrugged slightly, crushing leaves in his palm.
“I know how you make me feel,” he mused idly. “I feel safe with you.”
Sylva had never heard any ape say that to him before. Much less, Lightning. His eyes widened ever so slightly, only for him to force a stern gaze. Lightning could see through that, though. “Let me do the same for you, Sylva,” he added.
He set the crushed leaves on the open wound. Sylva flinched slightly at the sting, then settled. Sylva’s lips pulled together in a tentative expression. “I do feel… safe… with you,” his words were a low, rumbling murmur.
Lightning began to retort, “ Well, you–” He paused. “You do?”
Sylva growled out, pulling his arm away from Lightning to look at the wound. He gazed upon, not to assess Lightning's work, but to assess his own emotions. He touched it once before giving his arm back to the other. “I should want you gone, but I do not,” Sylva grunted again. “You do not see me as… lesser?” he then asked, a curious, uncertain look casted towards the smaller ape.
Lightning resumed tending to Sylva’s injury. “Because you’re hurt? What a foolish idea,” he scoffed in disbelief at the notion. Sylva was the strongest ape he knew, he looked up to him more than he’d ever openly admit. “You never saw me as lesser.”
“Besides, you once told me wounds… and scars– they show strength,” the chimp added with a slight, devious smile.
Sylva rolled his eyes, his teeth baring slightly as disgruntled chuffs left him. “Using my words against me, cruel.”
Lightning chuffed back lightly, patting the last of the leaves onto the wound. They’d stay there until the wound dried. “I think this will scar good,” he spoke proudly.
Sylva wouldn’t mind another scar. He only wished this one had been gained from something more glorious than a close encounter with his own kill. In the end, he supposed it was not a complete loss. That buck would feed more than a dozen apes, and had it not torn through his skin, he would not be sitting here with Lightning. He felt less ashamed of the injury, that feeling replaced with something far softer. The moths still flew in his lungs, but didn’t mind them either.
Long ago, apes never spoke with words. Apes of the old world did not need words to express themselves. They spoke with their gestures. They showed how they felt. Perhaps that was all they needed right now.
Lightning shuffled awkwardly before he began to stand. He supposed his time here was over. Sylva had been tended to, and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome– before he could stand completely, he felt a firm hand around his wrist. Without much thought Sylva had reached with his uninjured arm, taking Lightning and pulling him to sit back down in one swift motion. Shocked and bewildered, the smaller ape’s eyes widened. He was completely wordless, as was the gorilla. A few quiet chuffs of confusion left the other. Sylva did not let go of his wrist, and Lightning did not resist. If anything, he was curious about what Sylva intended.
For a few moments, their eyes locked, hoping one or the other would make some kind of move. Letting go of Lightning's wrist, Sylva leaned forward. His forehead met the other, his eyes remaining on his before he closed them shut. A guttural rumble sounded from him, a peaceful sound that he seldom made. Lightning had only ever heard it a handful of times, usually when they were quietly enjoying the sunset, or when Sylva found some foliage he enjoyed eating. But like this? Never.
Lightning grumbled softly, closing his eyes as well.
When Sylva pulled away, he looked troubled. Sylva couldn’t resist but to smirk slightly at the other’s reaction. It was endearing to him. Of course, Lightning wasn’t going to let him get away with that either. Just as they had before, the chimp lightly battered his arm against Sylva’s– his good arm this time. Raising his injured arm to his chest, Sylva gladly returned the gesture, pulling Lighting closer once he had a good grip on him. Chuffed laughter erupted from the two apes as they teasingly shoved one another.
Once they had subsided, Sylva’s hand nudged Lightning’s cheek. “Thank you, Lightning.”
Thank you .
Had Sylva really just said that? Lightning’s eyes widened more. A series of quiet hoots left the chimp and he shoved Sylva, just a little harder than he had before. “Like I said, I wanted to do this. Don’t thank,” he mused sheepishly.
Now that the awkwardness had seemed to fade– for the most part– Sylva felt more bold. He didn’t want to think about how he got this injury, not anymore. The silverback’s elusive smile grew. “Once this heals,” he began. “I’d like to fight. This was… a decent scar,” he grunted. “But I think… you can do better than this.”
As if he had never been shy at all, Lightning perked up. He grasped Sylva’s good arm and made a sound of excitement. “Of course I can!”
Sylva batted Lightning playfully once more, and the two resumed their harmless, playful scuffle.
Scars were a show of strength. Sylva wore them proudly. Every scar had a story, and this one; he’d never tell the story of this scar. Not because of how it was inflicted, but because of how it was treated. That was a vulnerability he would save for himself and Lightning alone.