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Varadha sat up in bed, gasping, his heart racing, when he felt Deva’s hand on his shoulder. His grip was firm and steady, and for a moment it seemed to be the only thing grounding him to reality. Looking at Deva, he saw the concern in his eyes, and underneath it a sadness that had appeared far too often since he returned to Khansaar.
“Hey, I’m here,” Deva said. “Lie down.”
Varadha closed his eyes and took a deep breath. These nightmares had become much more frequent recently. Nothing seemed to make them go away. He didn’t want Deva to see him like this.
Deva squeezed his shoulder and shifted closer. His hand was warm on Varadha’s bare skin, and he realized that he was shivering slightly in the cool air.
Why was Deva even here, he wondered, in his bedroom? Not that he wanted him to leave…
Deva moved to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the blankets up and wrapping them around him, and the familiarity of it made his heart ache. Despite all the time that had passed, despite the years of separation, he fit back into Varadha’s life like he had never left.
Remembering the day when they were reunited, remembering how it felt to have Deva’s arms around him, he wished he had the courage to ask for that now. But he didn’t.
It started to come back to him—the night before. Drinking with Bachi and his friends. Resting his head on Deva’s lap. Deva’s hand stroking his hair, his arm draped over Varadha’s chest, his palm resting over his heart.
Deva must have carried him back here afterwards, and the thought made Varadha’s face hot. It didn’t help that Deva was sitting so close to him, looking down at him with that same quiet concern.
“Will you be able to go back to sleep?” Deva asked.
The light coming through the window showed that it was early morning, and Varadha sighed. “Maybe for a little while. Can you wake me up in an hour?”
Deva nodded, but made no move to get up. He just sat there, absentmindedly rubbing circles on Varadha’s shoulder.
Then he got in bed (Varadha’s bed) (uninvited) and leaned back against the headboard. “Why don’t you have any pillows?” he asked.
He said it in such a complaining tone that Varadha couldn’t help but smile. He was still trying to comprehend that Deva had just climbed into bed with him when he started adjusting the blankets again. He wrapped them more snugly around Varadha and then pulled him closer so that he could rest his head on Deva’s thigh.
“We need to get you some pillows,” he said.
Deva (in his bed) (real and not imaginary) was much better than a pillow, Varadha thought. His eyes were already drooping closed. Deva’s arm settled against his back, and he drifted off to sleep with Deva stroking his hair. It was the most peaceful he had felt in a long time.
Varadha slept without dreaming. When he woke up—warm and relaxed and trying not to think about how close he was to Deva, who had not woken him up after an hour—he put on more clothes and followed him outside. They sat in silence for a while, looking out over the city.
“I’m worried about you,” Deva said.
Varadha handed his cigarette back to him. “You don’t have to worry.”
Deva just gave him a sulky and judgmental look that communicated very clearly that he was going to worry anyway.
It was strange, missing him for so long, then suddenly having him back again. Was it possible to miss someone when they were right there in front of you?
Deva met his eyes. “You’ll tell me if this happens again, right? You can come and wake me up. I don’t mind.”
Deva always seemed to know what he needed before he could put it into words himself, and Varadha wanted so much to cross the distance between them right now and wrap his arms around him, nestle his head against his chest, tell him how much he missed him all these years.
But he didn’t.
There was another problem, which was that Deva’s shirt was unbuttoned almost to the middle of his chest, and his sleeves were rolled up tightly around his biceps, making it difficult not to look at all his bare skin. He kept remembering how it felt to have Deva’s arms around his waist, Deva’s hand clinging to his back like he wouldn’t, couldn’t let go.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He needed to focus. The little bit of extra sleep hadn’t alleviated his bone-deep tiredness, or gotten rid of the tension that never seemed to leave his body. He could only hope that he would be exhausted enough tonight to fall asleep and not dream again.
He sat up in the dark, panting. Every nerve in his body was on fire. His heart wouldn’t stop racing.
It was just a nightmare, Varadha told himself. It wasn’t real. But the fear he felt—that was very real. A part of him knew the nightmares would never stop, not until everything came crashing down and Khansaar was dripping red. He could lose everything.
Getting out of bed, he walked to the door and stepped out into the hallway, where the air felt a little cooler. He took a long, slow breath.
“Varadha?”
Hearing his name in that deep voice sent longing washing over him. Deva’s silhouette was visible in the dim light, standing in the open doorway of his own room.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Deva crossed the empty space between them and put his hands lightly on Varadha’s arms, and for an agonizing moment he wanted to pull him into a hug, until Deva did it for him. “I told you, I don’t mind,” he mumbled into Varadha’s hair. “When are you going to listen to me?”
Deva was tall enough that if Varadha stood on his tiptoes he could get his chin over his shoulder. But since he wasn’t on his tiptoes, he found his face pressed against Deva’s collarbone instead. Instinctively, his arms came up to wrap around his back, and Deva just held him like that for a moment, a moment which Varadha never wanted to end.
But he didn’t want to admit to himself, or Deva, how much he needed this, and he stepped back. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he looked up and saw the soft look on Deva’s face.
Deva didn’t fully let go of him, though, still holding onto his arms and stroking them ever so slightly with his fingertips in a way that was making him want to melt back into his embrace. Deva’s expression showed the same gentle concern as before, and underneath it a vulnerability that Varadha was afraid would destroy whatever semblance of self-control he still had. When Deva looked at him like that, he almost started to believe that he could have everything he wanted.
If he was being honest with himself, he knew that Deva would do anything for him. But that was why he couldn’t ask. He had already asked so much of him to come back to Khansaar...
His train of thought was interrupted when Deva led him back into his bedroom, and, selfishly, he began to dread the moment that Deva would leave and he would be alone with the darkness and his thoughts. He wanted to say something, anything, to get him to stay, but the words stuck in his throat.
But Deva didn’t leave. He tugged Varadha toward the bed and lay down, stretching out his long legs as Varadha tried to ignore his pounding heart. Everything was cast in deep shadows, and he could just barely see the outline of Deva’s body.
“This is what you wanted, right?” Deva murmured. “Will it help you sleep if I’m here?”
Just the thought of sleeping next to him, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, loosened some of the tightness in Varadha’s chest. And looking at the way Deva had sprawled himself on the bed, he laughed quietly. “Move over, there’s hardly any room for me here.”
Rather than move over, Deva pulled him snugly into his arms, and while Varadha was still trying to adjust to this new development, Deva distributed the blankets over them and then pulled him in closer, nestling his cheek against the top of Varadha’s head.
“Comfortable?”
It was more than comfortable—it was everything he had been wanting and unable to ask for. He pressed his face against Deva’s chest and wrapped both arms around him, desperate for as much physical contact as possible. Eventually, the arm that was trapped under Deva would probably lose sensation, but he didn’t care about that right now, just needed him closer.
The feeling of Deva’s arms around him, the intimacy of the near-total darkness, the way Deva knew exactly what he wanted and offered it without hesitation—
There were so many things he wanted to say.
Why didn’t you come back all these years?
Did you miss me?
I missed you.
Please don’t leave.
I’m afraid of losing all the people I love.
I’m afraid of losing you.
Instead, he tightened his arms around Deva and closed his eyes. It was difficult to worry about the future when being held in Deva’s arms gave him such a sense of calm.
Varadha woke up a little later in the night, warm, relaxed, and strangely immobilized. That was because Deva was half on top of him. His chest was pressed against Varadha’s, one of his arms lay against his side, and the other was loosely draped over him. His thigh was between Varadha’s legs. It was like being pinned down under a Deva-shaped weighted blanket.
He wanted to remember this moment, how comforting it was, how good it felt to have Deva’s whole body pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and squeezed him, and Deva, still asleep, sighed and nuzzled his face against his neck. Varadha stroked his hands up and down his back and brushed his fingers through his hair.
“Are you alright?” Deva mumbled.
Varadha froze. So he was awake.
Deva raised himself slightly on his arms, but it wasn’t as though they could see each other in the darkness. Which was good, because Varadha was sure his face was burning. Deva’s voice, not to mention his closeness, was doing things to him that he would rather not think about right now.
He realized belatedly that Deva was waiting for his answer.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t know why I woke up.”
Deva would get off of him now that he realized the position they were in, Varadha thought—but seconds passed and he stayed where he was.
“No nightmares?” Deva asked.
He smiled. Deva was always so attentive to what he needed. “No, not this time. If you stay here, I might even get a full night’s sleep.”
“Good.” Deva settled down on top of him again, resting his head next to Varadha’s, so that his mouth was next to his ear. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine anyway.”
Varadha breathed out a little laugh as he pulled Deva closer. He wasn’t so much lying on the bed now as much as on him. Not that he wanted to question it. He wanted to keep holding Deva in his arms like this forever.
“What’s so funny?” Deva asked, and he could hear the amusement in his voice.
“You complained about not being comfortable last time.”
He felt Deva laugh too, the sound of it resonating in his chest, and it was such a rare and pleasant thing that it made Varadha’s toes curl.
“I take it back,” Deva murmured.
Varadha turned into him, pressing his cheek against Deva’s and sighing. He didn’t want the morning to come. He ran his hands over Deva’s shoulders and his fingers tightened around them. “Deva. Thank you.”
“Hmm? For what?”
“For being here.”
Varadha didn’t know how this could feel any better—except—
He had been trying not to think about it, trying to put it out of his mind. But it would be so easy now. He could just turn his head a little bit, and kiss Deva’s cheek. And bury his hands in his hair, and kiss his mouth, and show Deva how he felt, instead of saying it.
But if he crossed that line, Deva might leave, and he couldn’t lose this. Not when he had just gotten him back.
Deva’s arm was loosely curled on the bed next to him, and he reached up and brushed his fingers against Varadha’s cheekbone, just a ghost of a touch. “You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he said. “Just rest.”
Part of him didn’t want to fall asleep again. He wanted to lie here all night holding Deva and listening to his breathing. But Deva’s weight on top of him was so comforting that he couldn’t resist much longer.
He pulled Deva even closer, and Deva, for his part, didn’t seem to mind being crushed against Varadha’s chest. He exhaled slowly and buried his face against the spot between Varadha’s neck and shoulder.
Only I get to see this soft side of Deva, Varadha thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep. No one else.