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"Ridoc, if you tell me you brought this in your bag through the parapet I swear." Sawyer said, eyeing the gorgeous honey-toned bottle as it refracted light and bathed Ridoc's hands in vibrant amber.
Ridoc answered with a large smile, digging dimples into his still full cheeks.
"I like a party, but I'm not stupid. I traded for it with a second year over doing a part of her shores when we were on cleaning duties together some time ago." he rubbed the glass on his shirt, cleaning it off from all the dust and lint stuck to the glass and swirled it in front of Sawyer's face "Hid it between the bed frame and the wall waiting for something like this. Come on, open the door, man. Don't make it wait."
Getting a personal room was one of the best thing from becoming a rider, aside from the dragons, of course. Sawyer was one of the last ones to leave the courtyard, watching as newly bonded riders and dragons went from one side to another, riders showing their relics to each other, dragons blowing smoke and growling among themselves. Taking everything in. Because this time, he was on the other side. Basking at the moment, he lost sight of Violet when she separated to get properly taken care of, her injuries still aching; then of Ridoc, who, one second, seemed to be screaming in his ear, the other, gone; and eventually of Rhiannon, who caught him by the shoulder to get his attention, and gave him taps on the chest. She mouthed some words, face glued to his collarbones, that were lost to the immense sound of chattering that still filled the air. Not that he needed to understand what she wanted. She wandered off, but Sawyer stood still at the courtyard, letting out breaths to help die down his inner turmoil. He was going to get to her. But first. That room. He wants his room.
His room. He couldn't stop smiling when asking Aetos about it, or when he gave his name to the guy handing out the keys. After one year — one year and a few months, more closely —, he would have a room again. He would have his own personal space, wouldn't need to sleep covering his face with his sheets because he's so tired from seeing people all day, being able to wake up whenever he wants, and having somewhere to put his things. Not many things, not much survived after almost two years of the Rider's Quadrant, but it meant he could finally keep any worthless trash he felt like keeping again. He went in the first-year corridor with a bag almost as small as the one he came in, threading through all the other exited riders and excitement crackling in his chest.
What he didn't expect to come with his room was Ridoc, leaning on the stone wall next to his wooden and rusty door, also with a pack of his own on his back. Didn't know where to get the keys, he said, they said you had yours already so we're commemorating it, explained when asked about the mead bottle. He now chanted by his side, o-pen, o-pen, o-pen, as Sawyer slid the key in.
It was a small room. Maybe the smallest room Ridoc has ever seen in his lifetime. Sure, his folks weren't the richest, but a few more shelves and this could pass of as his home's pantry. He could count all the items of the room in a single hand — bed, dresser, rack, curtains, done—. Sawyer went in first, eyeing the little furniture of the room. The bed was already made, didn't even need any light to know it was the same musty sheets and cover they were already used to, the smell gave it away as it won over the aging woodwork and damp stone. But Sawyer kept on walking as Ridoc closed the door behind them, didn't need anyone else seeing how fast they could chug the mead before getting going of to their celebrations. A rattle stopped him from opening every drawer to see if the rooms came with freebies, and maybe take Sawyer's before he's aware of them. This room had a window, unlike the suffocating barracks.
Sawyer's hand dragged through the rough material of the curtains, he went straight for it from the door, and pulled it aside. The view of the lazy horizon, the flying fields he assumes, let the new image of the rising moon bathe the room in its silver light. Ridoc took more time looking around while he worked to get the sliding bold of the window open, now with the benefit of the weak light, to prepare what he would encounter in his own room. Once Sawyer turned his attention to the window, he took the chance to quickly opened his arms, measuring the room as roughly an arm span and a half wide. His own room hasn't been premiered yet, and may the gods forgive his neighbors when he does, but very likely it would be the same as Sawyer's, a shoebox. Damned be Basgiath.
"Wow, it's really fucking small. Stingy as always, eh? I bet they increase an inch for every year and try to convince you it's a mansion."
Cool air finally got in the room as the window swung open. Ridoc turned to Sayer, resting his elbow on top of the dresser, with full faith it wouldn't break on him, and shaking his head in disappointment as he pointed in a vague manner at the rest of the room. But his smile faltered when Sawyer didn't answer back, not even turned to look. Full attention at the small frame to the outside. Not my best one, but it wasn't that bad, he bit at his own joke, but really he wanted to speed it up and break the wax seal already so he could and end it's teasing of him. But when Sawyer looked back at Ridoc, the desire for the honey drink left his mind.
"Sorry—" Sawyer said, voice so small and unlike him, it got lost in the tiny room between them. He rubbed the back of his hand across eyes furiously, trying to get rid of the new founding tears that highlighted the freckles of his face. "Sorry." he repeated, even quieter.
When they didn't seem to stop, little streams dripping from his nose and chin, Sawyer waved one hand at Ridoc to ignore him, forget that he isn't controlling himself. As he then tried to cover his face with the other hand, turning away again. Lanky fingers scrunching his nose unable to hide anything, he let out a first sob. One of relief, and tiredness and humiliation. The redness burned across his face as he contained the tears for himself, shame spreading through every new hiccup that broke out of him. He was a rider now and crying over some room wasn't their way, and this was just the beginning, he shouldn't be letting himself get mushy.
The sound of the glass bottle hitting the wooden dresser caught back his attention. Forcing himself to see out of the corner of his eye, through forming tears and the salty sting they caused, he saw his friend looking back with furrowed brows. He's going to make fun of me, he said to himself, because that's how Ridoc handles things. He wanted to compose himself, not seem like a mess.
"Ah, no, no. Com'ere." Ridoc said, a tone sweeter than the unopened drink that awaits them. One that Sawyer has never seen him using.
He was weary, but when Ridoc opened his arms as wide as possible in the small room to receive him in, he let him do it. Closing in on Sawyer as he put his other hand on his face, folding onto himself when he got caught into the embrace. Even if he wanted to avoid him, it was not like there was much room to do it. Ridoc being shorter than him, it made so he had to arch over to drown his sobs on his friends' shoulders. Friend, he savored that. Being hunched over, however, made it less awkward for Ridoc to ruffle his hair as he cried, dragging strands through his fingers. Drown his sobs he did, as Sawyer hiccuped until his voice gave out, wrapped his arms around Ridoc and pulled him closer. This one was for all the tears and sobs he held down across the months, those who went unheard.
For when he sprained his ankle in his first challenge, and no one cared. For when he saw his first squad flying out with their dragons, stuck to the ground. For when he crumpled his letters home, ashamed of sending anything back.
Ridoc didn't let go, even when his clothes got soppy and snotty and Sawyer's skin seemed to burn against his for how long this carried out. He held him tighter, as tight as he could. It's not a journey he comprehends, unable to measure any words worth saying, but he didn't need to. Every incoherent babble was answered with caress on his back. And that was enough.
"Two years." Sawyer cried out in-between hiccups, voice low and damped on Ridoc's suit. His voice carried feelings while reverberating through his bones. The frustration, the sadness, and finally, the satisfaction. Ridoc nodded, making sure his head brushed against Sawyer's as he did, making sure he's still listening.
"You did it, man."
"It's my room." he said again, this time it came with chocked chuckles among the sniffles, the coarse kind that echoed in his ribs as he laughed. Ridoc let a smile cross his face again.
"And you deserved every dirty inch of it and more."