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Not for the first time today, Hal wondered how much staring his friend would excuse and how much it took until he’d consider it an offense.
There wasn’t exactly anything different about the way Bolaire sat in the armchair opposite him, a small cup of very strong coffee delicately held in one hand. At least nothing that would immediately catch someone’s eye. Bolaire moved no differently, of course he didn’t, his voice was still the same and his mannerisms spoke of Hal’s dear friend.
But Hal knew. The body across from him was decidedly not the same one it had been one week ago at the café.
Right now, they were situated in Hal’s living room, choosing to forgo public spaces for the time being due to the rather tense overall situation. They were alone in the house, because Shadia was out practicing with some folks from the Round.
The only one keeping them company was Thjazi’s dead body lying on the dining table. It made things more than a little awkward, with what Hal knew now. He considered himself an excellent actor, but he was certain that the vice grip he had on his own cup of coffee gave away his nervousness. Bolaire, on the other hand, appeared perfectly composed safe for the way he didn’t allow himself to sink back into the cushions. It was as if he was on alert, his eyes trained on Hal.
Staring back.
“I can see you still have questions,” Bolaire stated dryly. Feeling caught, Hal gave him a little smile and busied himself with taking a sip.
It wasn’t the first time they had talked since Bolaire had revealed the truth to him. He had already explained himself to Hal, had answered all his questions patiently, though clearly incredibly nervous. Hal understood it better now, even if he wished he had known from the start. But he was aware his brother was not a kind man at times, and seeing the consequences of that in front of his eyes left a sour taste in his mouth.
So did the fact that his best friend relied on murdering people to stay alive. Still, it would be hypocritical of him not to draw the parallel between the two men, and Thjazi he had loved all the same despite the atrocities he had committed.
Nevertheless, some questions remained.
“I’m sorry, my friend. They’re of a rather different nature than last time,” Hal finally answered almost sheepishly. It seemed to ease Bolaire a little, as he crossed one leg over the other and tilted his head.
“Do tell.”
Setting his mug down on the table, Hal contemplated for a moment. “How much of it can you feel when somebody touches you?” he asked, leaning back on the sofa. It was one of the things he had been wondering about over the last few days, seeing as he was a very tactile person and Bolaire seemed rather averse to it with most other people.
“Ah, you’re curious.” Bolaire relaxed a little, which reassured Hal that he hadn’t offended him yet.
“Well, the things the body feels are quite muted at times. It’s not my body, after all. But this– “
A gloved hand traced over the side of the finely crafted mask.
“–I would assume feels similar to what you must feel.”
Interesting. He had assumed as much, but Bolaire always kept such perfect composure that it was difficult to tell how much he hid behind it.
“But is it enjoyable for you?” Hal added, because he felt that to be the most important point. He never wanted to hurt his friend, but the idea of living without being able to enjoy the simple touch of another person was a totally foreign one to him. Bolaire could probably guess as much, as he cracked a little smile.
“Don’t worry, dear, it’s not an uncomfortable sensation. Skin contact with the body feels more like someone’s touching me through five layers of clothing. Which is quite useful in battle, but not so much in daily life.”
There was a little bit of sadness in his voice, and a little bit of resignation. Hal hated it.
When he had read retellings of the Shaper’s War, he had always marveled at the craftsmanship and knowledge that had gone into creating the weapons to kill the gods. The mother of his children was a Lloy, after all. But the thought of a conscious being, brought to life solely for purpose of war, made him hate the forsaken gods even more for what they had done to this world. To its people.
And now Bolaire sat across from him, because he had chosen to leave his purpose behind. Because Hal had given him a new purpose, as he had said.
Offering a soft touch to a weapon…
No, Bolaire wasn’t a weapon. Hal wouldn’t think of him like that. But there were still so many things he didn’t know about him.
“What is it, Hal?” Bolaire gently pulled him out of his thoughts. He was watching Hal, but the expression in his eyes was one of fondness. Which was a strange thought, considering they were nothing more than two bright spots in the dark.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Hal suddenly remembered, glad to find a way back into the conversation without having to give away his thoughts. Bolaire cocked a perfectly painted eyebrow in response.
“Is it enjoyable if someone touches you, not the body?” Hal elaborated and was pleased to see his friend straighten and avert his eyes. It was a gesture he had long ago managed to identify as the equivalent to blushing.
“Yes Hal, I like it just as much as the next person,” Bolaire mumbled, obviously embarrassed by the question. But Hal still basked in this new bit of knowledge. It was no secret he liked to be close to his friends, but with Bolaire that had always felt a bit like venturing into unknown territory. Not anymore, hopefully.
“Are there any other embarrassing questions you want to torment me with?” Bolaire demanded to know, clearly playing up his exasperation in order to hide said embarrassment. Though it reassured Hal that he was on solid ground with his friend again.
“This is nothing you have to be ashamed of,” Hal replied with a smile, “but I do, actually.”
“Shapers, go on then.”
The expression on Bolaire’s face made him chuckle, he wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. If it actually made him uncomfortable, his friend would no doubt tell him so.
“Have your bodies always been men?” Hal thought it to be a reasonable question, now that he had gotten somewhat used to the whole situation. There was no way Bolaire could afford to be picky, and he did wear a lot of layers to hide what lay beneath after all.
Something akin to discomfort flickered in Bolaire’s eyes then, and for a moment, Hal wondered if he had made a mistake. There was a tense pause before his friend sighed.
“I have had to use a woman’s body on occasion. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience, though,” Bolaire admitted, looking down at his folded hands. Revealing just enough to make Hal want to keep digging. It was so like him to wait until someone coaxed it out of him. Never did Bolaire give things away on his own, he always needed someone to prompt him to do so. And Hal did him the favor every time.
“Were you bothered by the physical aspects?”
His friend scoffed. “Not in the way you probably think right now,” he replied, eyebrows drawn together in irritation.
“How do I explain this… The clothing, the wig, they are ways of expressing myself. I try to get them as close as I can to the way I see myself in my head, but every body is different. Some have a frame closer to what I imagine, some I have to tinker with a lot. But a woman’s body is beyond even that.”
It seemed like Bolaire was gauging his reaction, eyes focused on his face. Hal had heard people describe similar experiences before, it wasn’t an entirely uncommon thing. Even though he hadn’t known that his friend had to deal with these feelings as well, it made sense.
For maybe the first time, he realized that living this way, regardless of any ethical concerns, couldn’t possibly be easy. Hal was about to form a reply as Bolaire, in a very uncharacteristic fashion, cut him off.
“It just feels wrong. And I really try to avoid it.” It sounded a little forced, and a little breathless, like the words would have died in his throat if he hadn’t been fast enough. Hal smiled.
“So you are a man, then.”
For a split second, Bolaire’s features relaxed, before his face turned into a grimace.
“I’m an object, Hal.”
It was familiar sentiment, which was telling if you considered how short of a time Hal had known of his true nature. It also tugged at his heart in a way that was hard to put into words.
Besides, he refused to believe it to be true. The man he had gotten to know over the last year was sharp-witted, protective, a passionate admirer of the arts and Hal’s dearest friend on top of it all. He was a person like no other he had ever met.
“You know, if you insist on putting it that way, I’m also just skin and bones. But that doesn’t mean what resides within can’t have an opinion about its vessel.”
As Hal spoke these words, he felt them ring true in his heart. They seemed to move something in Bolaire as well, as a vulnerable expression flickered over his features before he managed a tiny smile.
“And you are a poet with all your being, Halandil. Thank you,” Bolaire replied in earnest.
Itching to give his friend a little more comfort, Hal finally gave in and stood. Bolaire’s eyes followed as he walked around the coffee table, coming to a stop just before him. Up this close, their blue light gave away a depth of admiration Hal hadn’t been prepared for but welcomed all the same.
He raised his hand and softly put it on the side of the mask. The porcelain was almost too smooth to really feel it under his calloused fingertips, until his friend finally let go of his caution and pressed into his hand.
Hal was certain his own admiration showed on his face just the same.