Chapter Text
The moon was at its highest point in the sky and cast a pale silver glow over the makeshift camp Joshua and Jote rested in. He knelt beside her, his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with some bandages from Jote's medical pouch. The campfire nearby cracked softly, but its warmth felt distant as if it couldn't reach the tight knot of worry sitting in his chest.
Jote sat on a log, having discarded her outer layers, leaving her in only the simple chemise she wore beneath. Her left arm was bloodied, marred by a deep gash that cut across her bicep, and though she tried to hide it, Joshua could see the strain in her face. She always tried to hide her hurts away from him and always wanted to brush it off like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing. Not to him.
"Hold still," he muttered, though his voice came out softer than intended. His fingers worked quickly to wrap the bandage around her arm, but he was careful, so careful not to hurt her any more than she already was.
Jote sighed, leaned back slightly, and watched him with her dark eyes while he worked. "It's not that bad, you know," her light voice said despite the wound. "You're making it worse in your head than it really is."
"You always say that," he replied, frustrated. "It doesn't make it any less true."
Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, but she didn't argue.
"There," he said finally and tied off the bandage with a little more force than necessary. "That should hold until we can get better supplies."
Jote looked down at her arm and flexed her fingers experimentally before nodding in approval. "Not bad," she teased. "You are getting better at this."
Joshua sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on his trousers. "I've had enough practice since you won't let me help you with the Phoenix."
Her gaze softened as she studied him. "You worry too much, Your Grace. This is a small wound, and it'll heal. There is no reason to weaken your constitution for such a scrape."
"Maybe you don't worry enough," he shot back, though there was no real heat behind his words. He reached for a flash of water beside him and handed it to her. "Drink. You've lost a lot of blood."
Jote took the flask without protest and drank slowly before handing it back. They sat silently for a moment as the firelight flickered over them, casting shadows that danced between the trees.
Joshua's mind still raced as he replayed the moment from earlier when the blade of a bandit had sliced through the air, aimed directly at Jote. He was too far away, too slow, and all he could do was watch as she took the blow meant for him. He had cursed himself then, and he cursed himself now for letting her get hurt.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice tight.
Jote blinked, clearly surprised. "Your Grace?"
"I let you get hurt," he muttered as he looked down at his hands. "I should have—"
"Stop," she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind.
He glanced up at her, but she was already shaking her head, a small, exasperated smile on her face.
"You didn't let anything happen. It's my duty to protect you. I know the risks, just like you do."
"But—"
"No 'buts.'" Jote reached out, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "I chose to protect you."
Joshua swallowed hard, his chest tightening at her words. He knew she meant them and took her duty as his protector seriously. But that didn't make it any easier to watch her bleed for him.
"I hate it when you get hurt," he said softly, barely audible. "I hate it more than anything."
Jote's face softened, and for a moment, the weight of duty seemed to fade, leaving only Joshua and Jote, childhood friends who had grown up together and shared every part of their lives.
"I know," she replied. "But you can't always protect me. Just like I can't always protect you."
He looked at her then, his eyes searching her face, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. There was no battlefield, no duties, no expectations—just her.
Her hand was still on his shoulder, her touch warm and steady. Tentatively, Joshua reached up and covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently. "I will always try," he whispered.
Jote's breath hitched slightly, and though she didn't say anything, the look in her eyes told him everything. She understood—she always understood.
Without thinking, Joshua leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, and their breaths mingled in the small space between them. His heart pounded, and he knew he was crossing a line they had sworn not to cross. But in that moment, he no longer cared. He just needed to be close to her and remind himself that she was alive.
Jote didn't pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes and tightened her hand slightly on his shoulder.
They stayed like that for an eternity, forgetting the world outside their small bubble. The crackle of the fire and the chirping of the night insects faded into the background, leaving only the quiet sound of their breathing and the soft press of their foreheads together.