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Despite how long it's been and all the time the two have spent together, 4cvit would never dare to claim that he knows knows Nom.
In the grand scheme of things, it has only been a year, after all, and there was only so much he could know by just following the knight around like a shadow while hiding in his shadow, never mind the fact that Nom was all smiles and no truths. The only reason why 4cvit knew as much as he did was because he was literally there for it.
But despite that fact, when Nom told him he'd like to be alone—
4cvit did not believe that for even a second.
He's not the brightest or the sharpest. The world has made that abundantly clear a thousand times over by now but even he can tell when Nom is lying.
To be fair, though, the knight was never particularly good at it. If there was one thing that 4cvit knew for certain about Nom, it would be that. That much was apparent in the countless instances in which he winced through Nom's half-baked explanations over their relationship and how they met.
How ironic, that it's because of that inability that this whole thing is kind of falling apart now.
The shadows of the forest greet him even as daylight remains with the sun's slow dip beneath the horizon. Leaping from branch to branch silently, cloaked in the invisibility of the offered shade for security, 4cvit followed Nom as he stalks through the underbrush in a way he can't quite figure out how to describe.
He's tense, yeah, and there's purpose to every step but… There's something about it that makes 4cvit feel like he shouldn't make himself known. Some primal part of his brain recognizes Nom as a danger right now and he's not exactly keen on testing that theory on the off-chance that it's right.
Not that he thinks Nom would hurt him, just… 4cvit doesn't know what Nom would do in his current state.
It's uncomfortable, how much the air around Nom reminds 4cvit of that night when he was saved. If it was any darker, 4cvit would swear that he could smell the iron tang of blood from fifteen knights.
As Nom comes to a stop before the statue of Old Unfaithful, 4cvit takes shelter in the shadowed branches of the tree closest to him where he takes a moment to think about everything that just happened moments before.
He didn't… think of much, when he was told that Nom was looking for him. At least, not until—
"Graecie?" 4cvit had never seen the elven knight so upset. "Are you okay?"
She stopped, mouth twisting like she's tasting out the right words for what she wants to say. 4cvit waited, unsure of what to make of her current countenance.
Exhaling a heavy breath, Graecie shook her head. "No, I'm not."
4cvit frowned. "What happened? I'm— Well, I'm about to go talk to Nom but—"
Something in Graecie's eyes sharpened yet sadden at the same time. 4cvit stopped talking abruptly to stare at Graecie instead, trying to make out how best to read her expression.
"Is…" 4cvit hesitated. "Is there something I needed to know?"
Graecie was quiet for a long, long moment until she appeared to deflate with a sigh.
"…Just be careful, when you're talking to him." She finally said. "He's…"
A bit of motion drew 4cvit to look over her shoulder at the splash of blonde and soft blues that approached, attention caught on the look on Scott's face more than anything.
Neutral but with an undercurrent of agreeing concern in the press of his lips.
"…not really himself right now." Graecie finished, crossing her arms as she looks towards the Blue Kingdom gates where Nom was.
Somewhere.
A crash of metal shatters the quiet, causing 4cvit to jump.
He refocuses, only to find that Nom has thrown all of his weapons and tools at the foot of the statue and is staring at them for a moment that feels like it lasts for an eternity before he pivots on his heel.
In that single motion, 4cvit catches sight of the dark, desperate gleam in the knight's eyes right as they lock onto the base of an unsuspecting tree, opposite the clearing to the one Nom is currently hiding within.
4cvit's heart drops into his stomach.
No. No it can't be—
But it is. In the context of all of the knight's abandoned weapons and tools at the foot of the statue, 4cvit knows exactly what Nom is staring at. He freezes in place, tensing in the shadows, hoping against hope that he's wrong despite already knowing that he's not.
He's not.
In all of his cluelessness in the time since he was rescued by Nom, 4cvit knows that he's never been more sure of something than he has been now—
Despite the fact that he's never quite been able to know as much as he probably should about… how should he put it.
All of this.
All this… Blue Kingdom stuff about oaths and whatnot.
That much is apparent anytime he spoke to Katie, the perpetual confusion that plagues him with every minute he listens to her describe all these different things about knighthood and oaths and whatever else because he just can't wrap his mind around how these things could matter.
It obviously does— That much is apparent in the wild look in Nom's eyes as he tells 4cvit that someone told Katie, in the fear in his form, the settled determination of someone looking to survive one way or another— 4cvit just… can't.
He doesn't understand how.
But if there is something he understands. Far more than he'd like, actually.
Pain.
Pain is something that's synonymous across all living things. It doesn't require 4cvit to have grown up in the Blue Kingdom or in a culture that isn't slime culture to understand.
He knows what pain is.
He knows pain to be the strain required for someone as kind as Nom to raise his weapon even as his shoulders set with the determination of someone who's already made up his mind long before his heart could follow.
It's the days in which 4cvit watched as Nom wielded his sword with the same kind of mastery that anyone would expect from a Blue Kingdom knight, if not always with a bit more force or heft than necessary.
It's the nights that came after, the countless times 4cvit hid in the rafters above Nom's bed, listening to him gasp for breath upon waking.
It's—
A flash of motion snaps 4cvit out of his thoughts. He refocuses right as Nom suddenly breaks out of his reverie, whatever it was, to move, striding forwards with focused intent. 4cvit automatically leans forwards at the motion, trying to see past the knight's shoulder to see if he's really about to do what he thinks he's going to.
And for a moment, Nom stops. He stands and he stares at the ground.
Heart pounding as he hopes against all hope, 4cvit could almost fool himself into believing that nothing's going to happen.
But then, Nom falls to his knees and plunges a hand into the moss and dirt at the base of the root.
The moment he starts digging—
4cvit doesn't hesitate.
With adrenaline in his veins, he leaps off the tree and upon bouncing off the ground when it rises up to meet him—
He uses the momentum to crash right into Nom's back.
~~~
What does it actually mean to mean something to someone?
Truly, what does it actually mean to mean something to someone?
Is it… the way time is spent together?
The afternoons spent in the streets of the Blue Kingdom, with 4cvit slipping a hand into Nom's pocket only to get smacked away with a burst of laughter and the curses to his name that sound impossibly and ironically like affection.
The evenings spent in dimly lit taverns and the rattle of dice cupped between two palms with a whispered prayer beneath one's breath until they're thrown, only to be followed by groans or cheers alike.
Or even the countless hours spent running just a little bit slower than 4cvit knows he can, just to make Nom think he has a chance at catching up.
Is it the manner in which one is connected to another?
Such as Nom's relation to almost everyone in the Blue Kingdom, even those who have only just arrived: The nature mage, who he speaks to so regularly just outside the mage's cottage, sharing warm smiles and easygoing laughter, the camaraderie of knights between Nom, Owain, and Graecie.
The way he extended his hand to 4cvit in that cell, covered in blood and with eyes haunted with nightmares to come but still with a smile, no matter how small, on his face.
Or is it the things that they've actually done for the other?
It's hard to say, one way or another.
For 4cvit, all the things he's ever done never amounted to much; At least, not in the way he wanted it to.
A hand in the wrong person's pocket left him in a cell with death breathing down his neck— Even now, he fears every time he slips a hand into someone's pocket even as he remains absolutely clueless about how else he might indicate that he sees significance in someone or an understanding in someone besides acknowledging the importance of an object to another by taking it.
As for Nom—
The things he's ever done only ever ended with a weight that stays with him even after he's buried his weapon, heavy as it is by design, deep into the roots of this tree.
There's a poetic irony to that, really.
Burying a weapon he refuses to ever wield again if he can help it in the base of a tree, right in between its roots; If Nom were a more artistic person, he'd probably say something more about that but as it stands, it just serves to make him feel worse about himself for just how fitting it is that this weapon and the violence that it carries—
It's just another way that it stays with him, isn't it?
The ground is cold beneath his hand. The moss gives way easily during the first handful, the second, the third, and—
His heart is pounding in his chest but it feels distant: Like he's clear across a room as someone bangs rhythmically against the door. There is a feeling in the air that's far too familiar: A tension drawn taut and held in careful balance.
It reminds him of the feeling that comes with standing on the ledge with the wind blowing against his back as a tangible force that's urging him to jump.
And maybe that's what this is.
Retrieving his weapon and therefore reclaiming violence as a form of security— It's standing on the cliff edge with every intention of jumping.
That is, until a weight suddenly crashes against his back out of nowhere and pulls.
"Nom!" A voice shouts. "Don't!"
He startles, whipping around to find a dark cloaked figure of blue just over his shoulder with eyes wide with alarm. Something within him lurches violently, ripping through the distance at the interruption, leaving him painfully, painfully aware of what he was about to do.
And the awareness that 4cvit of all people is here to witness this.
"4c?" Nom says breathlessly. His thoughts stutter, tripping over itself in confusion."You're still here?"
4cvit pulls back, eyes wide with disbelief before he squints, lips twisting in a frown.
"I mean— Yeah!?" 4cvit exclaims, like it should be obvious. He throws his hands up."And good thing I did, too! What were you about to do if I didn't, Nom?"
Nom blinks languidly. None of 4cvit words fully went through his head, processing more as noise than anything else. "I told you I wanted to be alone."
4cvit recoils, mouth falling agape as his hands go up to worry at the fabric of his cloak. Nom turns to better face him, with that distant awareness of being perceived buzzing just beneath his skin.
There's a strange hush to everything, as Nom waits for 4cvit to respond— A kind of underlying tension akin to holding one's breath in anticipation because he really didn't expect to be disturbed. He didn't think there was anything left to stop him once he made up his mind about all of this.
So now that he's been pushed to stop and reconsider again—
"I… I'm sorry Nom but I just." The sound of 4cvit's voice interrupts that thought before Nom could finish it. He refocuses right as 4cvit shakes his head and tugs his hood back into place. "I just couldn't believe that."
Nom narrows his eyes. "Hm."
"And even if I did," 4cvit continues with a wave of his hand. "I just don't think it'd be good for you to be alone right now."
Nom exhales sharply. "Well, what do you know?"
4cvit's eyes widen. If Nom was any more aware of himself, he'd wince or apologize.
He didn't mean for it to come out the way that it did: Accusatory, pointed, and aggressive but he knows that it did, if the way 4cvit shrinks back with eyes falling to the ground. The shine of his slime seem to dull as well, losing a bit of its florescent touch in that tell-tale way that comes whenever the rogue is feeling afraid or insecure.
Something in Nom twists at the sight, at the idea that he was the one who caused it. But right as Nom opens his mouth with an apology on his tongue, 4cvit draws in a breath.
"I… know." He starts, slow and careful. "That what you were doing is… something you don't want to do."
4cvit's eyes slide past Nom to the dents in the moss behind him.
"The weapon. From that day." 4cvit says, looking back up at Nom. "It's there, right?"
A wave of nausea washes over Nom, threatening to knock him over even if he is still just kneeling on the ground instead of standing. He clenches his jaw and turns away, knowing damn well that the motion is as good as a confirmation as anything.
True to his suspicions, the air shifts.
Nom can't see 4cvit really— Not even out of his peripheral view but the side of his head burns under the weight of his perception.
But even then, Nom can't bear to look and see what expression 4cvit might be wearing at the moment upon knowing that the knight who saved him was looking to retrieve the weapon that he used to doom the both of them that day.
"Nom. I don't know a lot." 4cvit says, his voice low and pitched a little high with some emotion Nom can't name. "I really really don't get a lot, especially when it comes to the things that are important to you but… If…. there is something I do know, it's that you don't want to do this."
Nom bites back a sardonic snort. That's quite the understatement.
But as he's about to say as such, 4cvit continues.
"So, I just…" 4cvit draws in a breath. "I want you to know that you don't have to do that again."
Nom's eyes widen. He sits up.
It's as though someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, the cold a much-needed shock to his system to get his thoughts running again. His breath catches. He turns the idea over in his head, at the idea that he doesn't— He doesn't—
Is it possible? Is it really that simple?
Nom blinks a few times, rapidly. "…What?"
"You don't have to do that again." 4cvit says again and it's not any less of a shock the second time around. When Nom looks, 4cvit's expression is set and determined, grounded in it's firmness when he continues. "I don't want you to do that again."
Nom stares at 4cvit blankly. His silence must've been taken for disbelief because 4cvit continues as though to try and convince him despite the fact that there is absolutely no part of him that doesn't want to believe it.
"Things can be different this time." 4cvit says, shuffling closer. "This time, you have me and you know, we can— We can definitely figure it out."
A tension builds within Nom, coiling tight between his lungs and ribs like a spring but it's not the kind of tension he's used to.
It's something entirely different.
"So you don't have to do this by yourself or… ever. Actually. Because being with you is the least I can do." 4cvit tilts his head. "Okay?"
Nom continues to stare, entirely at a loss for words. His heart pounds in his chest, slightly hastened and heavy but there's a lightness to his veins, a ever-leaving weight from his limbs and it just can't be.
It can't be this easy. It can't be that simple.
And yet—
"I don't." Nom stops and swallows, voice thick. The bridge of his nose burns, as does his eyes. "I don't have to…?"
He can't finish his question, afraid to believe it, afraid of what it might means but 4cvit hears it anyways because he nods, as sure about his answer as Nom has ever seen 4cvit be sure about anything.
"Yeah." 4cvit says quietly. "You don't have to do that again."
Nom chokes.
All at once, 4cvit's image blurs and Nom looks away, staring pointedly at some undetermined point on the ground just off to one side as a rush fills his ears, a sound similar to that of crashing waves against the shoreline.
His heart is beating faster. He can't quite breathe. He angles his chin up, trying to use gravity to clear his eyes.
"Nom?" 4cvit leans down, clearly trying to catch his eye.
Nom turns away further, clenching his jaw. He fights to pull himself together, to gather himself up enough to say a word of thanks and have that be the end of it because that should be the end of it, that's all there is to it.
But when 4cvit moves closer until their knees almost bump into each other and asks, so softly, "Are you okay?"
It's at the quiet, earnest concern in his voice that everything just…
Shatters.
A sob bursts from him before he could stop it. He clamps his mouth shut, hands flying to his eyes where he presses the base of his palms against his sockets hard enough for him to see stars.
The catharsis crashes over him like a wave, rushing through him such a startling kind of intensity that Nom swears he just got struck by lightning but no— It's just him as he falls backwards until his back hits a tree, the tremors wracking his form, and the sobs that keep wrenching themselves violently from his lungs against his will because he's so—
He's so relieved. He's so relieved.
He can't see it but he feels the way 4cvit's hands are suddenly on him, fluttering all over, frantic in their cluelessness, landing briefly on his shoulders, his wrists, then his pockets before they repeat all over again. Half-stuttered and formed words prove to be barely audible over the, frankly, disgusting sound of his heaving, choked breaths but they make it through anyways to continue painting this picture of helplessness that makes Nom wish he could gather himself together to explain or maybe to help 4cvit out but he can't.
There's nothing he can do about the devastation born from such an intense release of stress and turmoil besides sit here and take it because god—
He doesn't have to do it. He doesn't have to do it, he doesn't have to take that weapon in his hands again, doesn't have to feel that familiar heft and hate how right it feels in comparison to the lightness of a sword, doesn't have to stand here and face the fact that he is a murderer, a monster, an oathbreaker.
And more than anything—
He's not alone in this. He's not going to be alone in this.
In the strangest paradox, the notion feels like a thousand weight pound being lifted from his shoulders, making it easier to breathe even as his tears choke him in their rush to be purged from him.
It's a form of catharsis, it's a kind of release, it's—
It's—
Hands suddenly grasp his shoulders and pull him forwards where there are suddenly arms thrown around him, tugging him into the security of a dark cloak.
The motion is awkward and a bit forced but Nom takes it, letting his hands fall from his eyes to wrap his arms around 4cvit's lean form and bury his face into the dark fabric of his cloak, at the crook of 4cvit's neck as it transitions into his shoulder, where he breathes in a faintly sweet-sour scent of blue raspberries alongside the smell of the forest.
It's always a bit strange to touch 4cvit, given that he's a slime, but it hardly matters any more to Nom than it ever has before.
All that matters to him is that there is someone here with him.
There is someone here with him.
After some time, Nom finally quiets, falling still with his back to the tree, his arms wrapped tightly around 4cvit, and his head buried fully in the dark folds of 4cvit's cloak as it covers the rogue's shoulder.
The world has shrunk down to this moment: Of the sweet scent of blue raspberry mixed with something earthy, the arms around his shoulders, and the offered security of this embrace.
A faint noise, similar to a hum, leaves him, low and content. Nom feels that he's still trembling faintly but his breaths are coming easier and he feels wrung out in a way that reminds him of a good day of sparring or training: Exhausted but wholly satisfied.
"…Nom?" 4cvit nudges him gently, breaking the silence.
Nom presses in, unwilling to let go just quite yet. "Mh."
"Are…" 4cvit hesitates. Nom waits for him to finish, content to listen to his breaths while he does. "Are… you okay?"
At the question, Nom inhales deeply, deep enough that he can feel an ache in his ribs, before letting it out slowly into 4cvit's shoulder, relaxing fully into the rare, offered embrace. He can't recall if he's ever hugged 4cvit before but it hardly matters.
He is now so Nom can't find it in him to let go. It also doesn't seem like 4cvit is against it either so Nom is content to stay right where he is.
"Nom." 4cvit prompts again.
"Mm."
"Are you okay?"
The second time 4cvit asks, Nom takes the time to drag what little capability he has towards thinking to consider his answer truly and honestly.
And the answer he comes to—
"Yeah." Nom responds, breathless and hoarse, but truly honest for once in his life. "Yeah, 4c. I'm okay."