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The early morning breeze and the cool marble against the back of my head soothe me. My mind won't stop fixating on the night's events. This is the most calm I've been since then. No matter how many times I washed my hands, my face, and my robes, the smell of blood still lingers. I tried to rinse my nostrils in desperation a few hours ago, but that resulted in little more than near-choking. I stare up at the sky. It's becoming a distinctly purple hue now. Every time I close my eyes, the fresh memories assault me. Master was so proud. I could tell he was beaming more than ever. But as soon as I removed myself from the fray, doubts descended on me. The wary looks the other Yharnamites gave us said it all. Shutting off your empathy is necessary. It's something every hunter must learn how to do if they are to survive. But there's a difference between surviving and thriving.
"Ah, thought I'd find you here!" My heart skips a beat, and I tear my gaze away from the heavens. My heartbeat calms as soon as I recognize the person at the top of the stairs as Samuel. Somehow he still has that impish grin on his face. He skips down the stairs as if he was dancing.
"I am rather predictable, aren't I?" I say and try to smile. He shrugs with his hands behind his back.
"Well, it's not so much that. Just knew you probably needed to calm down," he says and nods towards the monument behind me. I lean my head back awkwardly and stare up at the large Executioner statue.
"Indeed," I mumble. When I look back down, Samuel has procured a large bottle of wine, presumably from behind his back. His eyes are positively glittering, and I can't help but giggle.
"Oh, Sam, what have you done?" I say through my chuckling. He sits down next to me, cradling the bottle like a baby.
"Thought we might need a little break from reality tonight. So I took matters into my own hands," he says, with his shoulders pushed back and a straight spine. He urges the bottle towards me. I hesitantly take it from him as if it was a precious relic. I throw a glance at the tag around its neck and almost choke.
"Sam, this is the vintage bottle!" I whine. He nods vigorously with that wild gaze. He's entirely aware of that. I sigh deeply and hand it back to him.
"Oh, I hope they weren't saving it for a special occasion," I say.
"This is a special occasion, Alfie," Samuel insists. I chuckle again, which only makes him smile wider. It makes my stomach feel fuzzy and almost makes my brain forget its broken record scratching. He puts the bottle between his legs, plants his teeth in his lower lip, and tries to wrestle out the cork. He pulls and he pulls and the cork barely budges. Mere hours ago he was slaughtering beasts by the dozen, and now a mere cork is his demise. I grit my teeth and chills rush down my spine as the memories return yet again – the memories of my own spirited conquest. Samuel groans and grabs on to the cork with his teeth. I have to cover my mouth with my hand, so as to not laugh at him. He tears at it like an angry dog. He's gotten it about halfway out when he finally lets the bottle rest in his lap and rolls his eyes.
"Should I give it a whirl?" I suggest with a single eyebrow raised.
"Please," he grumbles and shoves it into my bosom. I place it between my thick thighs, rub my hands together, and pull. I give it all I've got with my breath held for a few seconds. With a loud pop, the cork finally flies out of the bottleneck. My hand smacks against the marble behind us from my own force. Samuel claps his hands like an excited child.
"Yes! Now taste it," he says. After examining my now sore hand, I point at my own chest.
"Me?"
"Yes, you first. Think you need it more than I do." My gaze meanders down the long cuts across his face as he says it. I quickly swallow and shift my gaze to the open bottle in my hands. Its scent is almost sickly sweet with a sour edge. Taking a deep breath, I place it on my lips. I take a few big gulps before I almost choke again. It's acidic and my throat feels like it's burning away. While I cough profusely, he takes it off my hands.
"Oh, is it bad?" he asks with a wrinkle on his nose.
"My throat is burning," I whisper, wiping the tears from my eyes.
"Hm." He puts it to his lips and drinks. My stomach sinks when he doesn't choke and cough like I did. Instead, I can't count how many gulps he takes. It's almost fascinating to watch. Finally, he lowers the bottle with a satisfied exhalation.
"That hit the spot," he mumbles. I gawk at him with wide eyes.
"You've done that before," I say and point at him. He snorts.
"Of course I have." I merely shake my head at him with a small smile. He stretches his legs, crosses them, and puts a hand behind his head.
"Now I just need a fireplace and a—a, uh," he says, and trails off. He looks me over with a twinkle in his eye that I've never seen before.
"Well. I already have a pretty man," he says with a smirk. My stomach flutters again and my cheeks heat up. He quickly averts his gaze, takes another sip, and clears his throat.
"So, uh, I just... I feel like I should ask how you're doing? You seemed kind of out of it when we returned from the hunt," he says with a much more somber tone. The broken record in my mind continues where it left off. My gaze drops to the ground and tension builds in my stomach. It's like I'm not comfortable in my own skin. Nevertheless, I try to put a smile on my face.
"I suppose you could say that." Silence falls between us for a few moments. He lets me find the words in that interim.
"Hunting is a necessary evil, yes? But actually doing it is... different than I'd imagined. I'm not sure how to describe it, to be honest with you. It's almost as if—as if I'm too good at it," I say. He chuckles darkly.
"A terrible predicament, indeed," he says.
"No, no, hear me out," I say, and put my hands up in front of me. His expression immediately sobers. I have to spend a few moments finding new words.
"You saw me out there. There was no hesitation about it. None whatsoever. It all came to me so naturally once I'd gotten over that first hurdle of—of anxiety and nerves and stress and all that. They were people once, Sam! And yet I was so comfortable cutting them all down, one by one," I blabber. His gaze drops to the bottle in his lap.
"Yes. I know what you mean," he says.
"I figured. You were savage out there. But I just have to wonder if there's such a thing as being too comfortable with hunting. And tonight we only faced smaller creatures and—and the occasional half-turned person, but—" My stomach churns at the memory of bringing my hammer down on their head. How it burst like a ripe fruit.
"We haven't even faced other hunters yet," I continue. "We'll hunt Vilebloods, of course, for the greater good—"
"For the greater good," he repeats.
"But, no matter how repulsive and reprehensible they are, they're actual human beings. Fighting a human who isn't even exhibiting traits of beasthood... I don't know, I worry that it'd feel the same. That it'd be as just easy," I say. I take a deep breath. I didn't even realize I'd been talking almost without breathing. Samuel sighs instead.
"Every hunter probably has these doubts at some point," he says, crossing his arms. I press my lips together momentarily.
"You think so?" He pulls the corners of his mouth down into an exaggerated frown.
"About 95% sure," he says. I can't help but smile a little.
"Perhaps you're right," I say with a sigh. "I just don't know if that's what I want to do. If that's who I want to be."
"That's fair," he mutters. I grab the bottle, pinch my nostrils, and take a few quick gulps. The burning sensation isn't as awful this time, but it's still present. Hopefully the alcohol will take effect soon. I can sense him smiling at me out of the corner of my eye. He reaches out for the bottle. When I hand it to him, he holds it up high.
"Well, either way, congratulations to us for making it through our first hunt," he says with a crooked grin. I can't help but smile widely.
"And only vomiting once," I add. He laughs once.
"And only vomiting once!" he repeats, nods the bottle towards me, and takes another big swig. He exhales deeply and licks his lips in satisfaction. I clear my throat.
"What about you, Samuel? How are you feeling?" I ask. He raises his eyebrows and gingerly runs a finger across the fresh cuts on his face.
"Fine, I suppose. Barely stings anymore," he says and shrugs. "Won't do wonders for my looks, but that was a lost cause anyway. Now I have an excuse to be ugly." I scoff loudly.
"Don't say that! You look perfectly fine," I blurt out. He giggles.
"Oh, you lying flatterer," he says and regards me with that twinkle in his eye. My heart beats harder and faster. I don't even have to see my face to know that it's bright red.
"I am not lying! I'm just—it's merely—" I stutter, and he laughs. It's a laugh that comes from the very core of his body and resonates in the space between us.
"You don't have to make up reasons to flatter me," he says. With a pout, I scoot closer to him. His eyes widen. I grab his face and smash my lips into his. All the hairs on my body stand on end, and my stomach flutters with fuzziness. He quickly puckers his lips, before I pull back. My facial expression is stuck somewhere in-between a pout and a sheepish smile – and my cheeks are still burning. He stares at me with enormous eyes, his mouth wide open, and pink ears. Then that smirk appears again.
"So. You fancy me?" he says. I sigh and roll my eyes.
"Sam!" I whine. He glares at me.
"What? You're the one who suddenly started kissing me," he says. In that moment, the fuzziness turns into knots. I pick at my nails and sink my teeth into my lower lip. My mind shows me the previous moments over and over as if it was taunting me. I avert my gaze and take a shaky breath.
"Well, I don't know! You've been looking at me in this weird manner all morning, I just felt like it might be right. I thought it was a way to prove it to you," I blabber. He tilts his head.
"Prove what?"
"That you still have worth to me, even if you don't believe you're handsome," I say. All humour vanishes from his face. He stares at me with an open mouth and his eyebrows pressed together. After a few silent moments, he blinks profusely and takes another swig.
"I see," he mutters. I swallow hard.
"Sorry if that was inappropriate, Samuel." I gently take the bottle, making sure not to touch him in the process. I take a few quick sips. I'm beginning to wonder if that burning feeling it causes ever stops. Samuel clears his throat.
"No, it's fine," he says, and moves closer to me still. Our thighs are touching now.
"It's just fine." He places his fingers on my chin and angles my face towards his. Then he leans in and kisses me anew. I inhale sharply. His lips are chapped, but soft. He closes his eyes and puts his other hand on my shoulder. I haven't the faintest clue what to do with my hands. I close my eyes as well and lean in closer. Our bodies are touching. I can feel him smiling as we kiss. I follow my frantic instincts and run my fingers through his long, black hair. He runs his calloused hand across my stubbly cheek. He wraps the other one around my plump waist. I place my free hand on his hip. It almost feels natural.
He pulls back for a moment, only to return more vigorously. My heart is beating like a galloping horse. I'm so warm, it might as well be noon on a summer day. His tongue darts across my lower lip. With electricity bubbling in my chest, I open my mouth slightly. It's enough for him to slip his tongue inside. He tastes like the wine – sweet and a bit sour. But there's no burning sensation this time. There's only the sweetness. His tongue gently caresses mine, and I'm not sure what to do with it. I try to follow his movements, as careful as possible. I feel his breath on my sweaty upper lip. The fuzziness envelops my whole body. Electricity dances all the way into my fingertips and toes.
"Enjoying dawn, are we?" In a matter of seconds we've separated, Samuel has shoved the bottle behind his back, and I've jumped to my feet. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest, I can tell that my cheeks are still on fire, and now I'm suffering a headrush as well.
"Yes, Master Logarius! Yes we are!" I exclaim. My hands crawl all over my body until they end up crossed across my chest. I lick my lips and lean on one hip. Samuel snorts behind me. Master Logarius saunters down the stairs, closing in on us. His robes cover his feet, almost making it seem as though he's floating.
"That's good, that's good. We wouldn't want you to be lying in bed in foetal position, now would we?" he says with a smile that wrinkles the skin around his eyes.
"Of course," I quickly mutter. He claps his long hands once.
"I only wanted to tell you both that you did very well tonight. There was broad agreement on that among us adults. I hope you're both at least somewhat aware of that," he says. My jaw drops. Tension and divine lightness battle it out in my chest. The fuzziness quickly wins out.
"Yes, Master Logarius. Samuel and I have been discussing that very subject, actually," I say and shoot a quick glance towards Samuel, who nods vigorously. Master Logarius raises his eyebrows momentarily.
"Ah, I see. Good to hear that you're aware of the reality of the situation," he says, with just a hint of humour in his tone. Then he regards Samuel, who almost seems like he's sitting miles below the impossibly tall greying man.
"And you, young man. How are you doing facially?" he says with a small smirk. Samuel quickly returns it.
"Alright, I suppose. Doesn't sting anymore. Not particularly flattering, but maybe it'll give the beasts pause," he says with a shrug. Master Logarius chuckles quietly.
"Indeed. I know you're merely jesting, but those wounds of yours will become battle scars. The way I see it, they're marks of honour, nearly as much as any hunter's badge." Samuel's eyes light up, and his smile becomes far more sincere. Just the sight makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter – all while kicking myself mentally. Maybe some day I'll be able to find the right words the way Master Logarius does.
"Yes. I see. Of course," Samuel says, nodding. Master Logarius gives him a quick nod back, after which he turns towards the stairs.
"I'll leave you boys to it. I merely wanted to let you know. You'll both make fine full-fledged Executioners one day – of that I am certain," he says. I can't stop myself from straightening my spine and smiling brightly.
"Now, do keep resting on your laurels." He blinks at me and floats back up the stairs and around the corner. And just like that my cheeks are aflame again. I look back down at Samuel with a pout. He takes in my expression with a laugh building in his chest. I scoff at him and it erupts into full-fledged laughter.
"You need some more of this," he says with a bouncing voice and holds the wine bottle towards me.
"Ah, Sam, I wish, but it burns so badly going down," I mutter. He whines like a disappointed cat.
"Come on, don't leave me to finish this thing all by myself," he moans. I furrow my brows at him.
"Don't finish it at all, you—you fiend! Even you can't drink all that. Nor should you," I chatter. He clicks his tongue, puts a hand on the monument, and drags himself to his feet. After blinking harshly a few times, he takes a quick sip. I roll my eyes and am about to reprimand him again.
"Think I'll go give the rest to that chapel fellow, then," he says. Instead, I tilt my head.
"Do you think he drinks?" I ponder.
"I suppose I'll find out. He'll probably appreciate the gesture, nevertheless." He motions to go up the stairs. "Are you coming?" I stare at the monument beside us and bite my lower lip.
"Actually, I think I'll stay here for the rest of the night. What little there's left of it. Perhaps offer up a few prayers." Samuel shrugs.
"Suit yourself." He takes a few steps up the stairs, then stops dead and turns back towards me.
"Was that your first kiss?" he asks. My eyes widen and needles jitter in my gut.
"Was I that bad?" I ask, placing my palms on my cheeks. Samuel waves his hands in front of him.
"No, no, you were fine! You can just tell, is all. That's how it is with these things," he says, hand resting on his nape. "Was it, then?" I press my lips together and take a few deep breaths.
"Yes." He smiles at me with red ears.
"You were just fine."