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Griff wasn’t stupid. In fact, he could guess he knew exactly what Lave and Shale were saying to Keir right now, in low murmurs behind a closed door.
He’s sulking.
But he wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t. How could he be sulking if he could feel the strain burning its way up his arms, hear the sloshing of well water in brimming pails? How could he be sulking if he elbowed his way through a series of half-ajar doors and made it to the kitchen, all while only cursing three times?
Well, four now – when he’d dropped the pails with a great thud, some of the water had rolled up and over the sides onto the floor. Griff scowled at the spreading puddle, and somehow, it seemed to use his face in its reflection to stare back at him accusingly.
You fucked it up again, Griff. You always fuck up.
The gash beneath his ribs seared and stung at the very thought. He’d probably torn some of his stitches open with all of his fucking around. He was probably bleeding, blood welling warm and wet. Lave probably wouldn’t say anything if he showed up despondently at her door with a big red stain on his white bandages, but he knew she would ask herself why he’d been let on such a big job after all, if all he’d had to show for it at the end was a smattering of bruises and a big, painful cut.
Stars above know he asked himself that every night.
The wound throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat. He willed it to calm down. Then he willed himself to calm down. His heartbeat only got faster.
Somehow, he’d stumbled his way through lighting the stove and filling his kettle. Luckily, he’d already set it atop the flame before a knock at his door bodily startled him.
“Griff? Are you in there?”
“Fuck!” His heart was making a valiant effort to outrace itself with every second. Somewhere in the rush of adrenaline, he registered that it was Keir’s voice, and sighed.
“I’ve just brought some things for you to clean up with.”
“Alright.”
“I can come back later if you want.”
“No, just wait a bit.” Griff’s side ached anew as he moved the pails to beside the stove, rather than smack dab in the middle of the floor. There was nothing much to do about the puddle, though. “You, uh, you can come in now.”
Keir’s frame was massive in the doorway. He had to duck to get in. It was unbelievable. It was unbearable.
It was unbelievably unbearable.
He was frowning at the puddle on the floor. “Is that water?”
“What? Do you think I took a piss in the middle of my kitchen?”
He was still holding the sackcloth bag he came in with. Griff wished he’d just put it down and go away, instead of saying, “I’ll leave this with you. Where’s your bedroom?”
Griff shifted awkwardly. His bedsheets were still balled up, spotted with blood, and on the floor where he’d thrown them after he’d stripped them off his mattress. “You’re not going in my bedroom.”
“Sure. Where’s your storeroom?”
“Can you get out of my house?”
“Yeah. But I won’t, because I need to put this down somewhere where it won’t get soaked. And if you won’t tell me where things are, I’ll have to guess.” Keir strolled confidently over to a door; before he could pull it open, Griff scrambled over and snatched the bag from Keir’s hands, acutely aware that he was probably red in the face.
Then, he hissed and almost doubled over; Keir was somehow already there to steady him by the elbow and gently retake the bag from his grasp. Griff didn’t look at him, though. He was more focused on the knife of pain that had zipped right up from his ribs and torn at his arm.
“I’m sorry.” And Griff couldn’t even tell Keir to fuck off, because he genuinely did sound like it. “I should’ve warned you that it was a bit heavy.”
Griff’s ribs twinged again with pain. “What the fuck did you put in it? Stones?”
“Close enough.”
“Seriously? Are you serious?”
Griff sucked in a big breath between clenched teeth and straightened to meet Keir’s eyes. Well, Griff had to look up. Because Keir was just that unbearably massive.
“Keir, what is in that bag?”
He shrugged. “Well, a lot of gauze. And a towel. And a few things – straight razors, whetstones, a leather strop – for your peach fuzz, if you wanted them.”
Griff felt himself swell with indignation. “My –”
“Come on, you’re still, what, eighteen? You’ve got plenty of time for the scruff to grow into the goatee of your dreams. I’m sure the ladies will love it.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.” Griff looked away from Keir, and directly at a closed door. “Storeroom’s behind you, by the way.”
“Oh, good. Thanks.”
As Keir pushed open the door, Griff trudged to the table and took a seat on one of its two rickety chairs, trying very much to convince himself that he wasn’t sulking.
And then, Keir came to sit in the chair opposite him.
“Griff.”
Griff sighed.
“It’s fine if you’re sulking. But it doesn’t do anybody a bit of good if you let yourself bleed through your shirt and lock yourself in your house.”
“Yeah? Because it didn’t do anybody any good when I was out of my house.”
“Are you talking about the job?”
“Of course I’m talking about the fucking job.”
“It wasn’t –”
“Spare me your bullshit. It wasn’t my fault? Is that what you were about to say? I was the only one who forgot our exfil route, and the only one who got grabbed by one of the guards and almost stabbed in the heart because of it.”
“Griff –”
“Oh, and I was the only one who started bawling my eyes out after you had to double back and club that guy over the head so I could run out of there. Maybe you should’ve left me there, Keir. Solar God above knows everyone’s probably thinking it –”
“Griff, it wasn’t a big deal!”
For once, Griff shut his mouth.
Keir sighed. “I can promise you now that however massively you think you fucked up, I’ve fucked up just as badly. Or worse.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m not proud of it, obviously, but things happened. And they’ll keep happening. We just have to roll with the punches and make sure we don’t keep making the same stupid mistakes.”
Keir looked as if he was going to reach towards Griff, perhaps for a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but stopped the motion mid-air.
Instead, he said, quietly, “Do you still want me to leave?”
Griff shook his head. And really, it wasn’t even that much of a lie.