Work Text:
It took a few days after they returned to the ship to start sharing a bed. Nom simply had gotten so used to taking 4C’s at night that he kept going there without thinking about it. No other reason. He had been the one to ask Scott to share without a second thought, after all, why would he suddenly have second thoughts about it?
Nom rarely even had first thoughts.
Well, really, what it took was the rest of the crew. 4C started it off by kicking Nom off the wheel, a few minutes after Scott retired for the night. Mae led him down the hallway with a conversation about food stocks that really could not wait. It lasted barely long enough for Katie to knock on the door to the captain’s quarters before the two of them ran off. They left Nom standing there like an idiot when Scott opened it.
“Oh, Scott. Fancy seeing you here!”
So casual, awesome performance. Nom even leant an elbow on the doorway because he was perfectly comfortable. Scott definitely bought it.
He had already changed into his sleep clothes. Nom may have bought the long tunic, he hadn’t seen it worn. The thin fabric, picked specifically to be comfortable, draped softly off him. Embroidered branches wrapped at his middle, carrying the long leaves and webby flowers of the ash tree. It looked- good.
“Are you…”
Scott didn’t finish his thought, but his side step, his glance back towards the bed, betrayed the rest of his question. His face dusted with copper shavings. If Scott wanted to be joined, Nom could not in good conscience refuse him.
Therefore, Nom found himself laying beside Scott in his own bed. Strange how unfamiliar it felt, for a bed that he had only left for a couple months. Maybe it was the lack of pillows, put on the floor to make space for a second body. The heavy duvet over his legs that he would never need normally. His position on the mattress, near the edge closest to the door rather than the centre. Or the whistly breaths, so much more audible in the silent room.
Nom had his face planted in his pillow, one leg folded up underneath his chest. Katie, amidst laughing at him, had once described the position as self-smothering. She didn’t understand Nom’s genius. This was the only way Nom could sleep properly. Scott had watched him settle with curiosity but nothing to say. He clearly saw the benefit, the temptation of such a thing.
Twisting his head, just enough to see, Nom found that Scott had a more conventional arrangement. He laid on his side, back turned to Nom. His chest rose and fell evenly, one hand slack on the covers at his waist. Had he fallen asleep already? That happened to Nom, usually, but this was earlier than when he usually turned down. It would take him a while tonight.
The starlight filtering through the curtains fell over Scott auspiciously. His hair, a crown made more silver than white gold as it curled weightlessly around his head. It bared his neck, a slope of pale skin elegant now that he couldn’t try to make himself smaller. No need to hide in his sleep, despite Nom watching him. Or maybe, specifically, because Nom watched him. His heart thumped, and he ignored it.
He envied Mae’s ease in touching people. A shoulder, a hand, a hug, any and all contact that came naturally to her. Not that it was uncomfortable to Nom. It just usually… didn’t come to his mind as an option. As an action that he was allowed to take. Now, as he laid there, Nom considered it.
Scott's pointiness didn't only reside in his ears. He had noticed it on that first day, but attributed his bones being so prominent to his state of unwell. However, now that Scott had made massive progress in his remission, Nom still saw it. His shoulder blades poked visibly through the thin material of his shirt, sharp at the corners. Nom almost wanted to trace them to see just how much. He would continue down the spine, drag his finger along each peak, maybe scrape his nail against it to see if Scott shivered…
Nom shut his eyes more resolutely and stuffed his face back into the pillow for sleep to claim him.
Over time, they got used to having another person so close. Scott no longer confined himself to the very side of the bed, overly conscious of the space he took up. When he awoke in the mornings, it so happened that their arms made contact. Not unexpected, when Nom had his elbow splayed out to bury his hands under the pillow.
Scott wondered how he could breathe, but surely if he had survived this far, there must be enough air getting to him.
Their legs touched as well, sometimes. Scott had to carefully unhook Nom’s ankle from his knee without waking him. His eyelids moved, slightly, but not opened. Thankfully. He tended to sleep quite a bit longer than Scott. He would have felt bad for interrupting his night. Never as restful when you broke out of slumber, even if you still had some time before you were meant to get up.
Scott knew the feeling well enough.
He had his fair share of nightmares since childhood. They had calmed down over the years, becoming more sparse but never any less of a horror. Unfortunately, everything that led up his father’s passing had slingshotted them back into the limelight. Scott sure had not missed them.
They never quite made sense. His father floated in stormy seas, no land in sight and Scott couldn’t swim to him fast enough. His mother tumbled through the air, Scott’s staff out of reach, no branches answering his call. The crew of the Hoard pushed him into the kitchen, the stove on without a door, and locked him inside. Flowers burrowed into his chest and filled his lungs until he spit up handfuls of white bells.
A dizzying whirlpool of towering waves, oppressive clouds, the world tipping under his feet, a hand just out of reach, bloody streaks in blonde hair, the walls of a tight room, ropes, a blue cape spread on the floor, leather, a constraint around his chest, water filling his throat, a fall-
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Scott jolted out of sleep.
Fabric clung to his back, the muted green of his tunic made darker by the sweat. Thick breath stuck against the sides of his throat as he wheezed.
“Scott?”
The blanket pinned him down but Scott couldn’t move. The ceiling swam in front of his eyes until a dark silhouette rose in the corner. Heat radiated into Scott’s leg. His lashes were wet.
“Scott, where are you?”
Were his hands up or down? Which way was he facing? The rock of the boat only made things worse. Scott couldn't figure out his own body. He reached out to the side, helplessly patting the mattress. He tried to take a deep breath. He had been through this before. He could calm himself down. Just. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Warmth engulfed Scott’s hand. His fingers immediately grasped onto the lifeline.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just come back.”
As he kept repeating them, Nom’s low whispers permeated through the tangles in Scott’s head. He could feel himself flicker out of invisibility in waves of painful tingling. The hair raised along his entire body. The tension bled out, slowly. Scott melted into the mattress. The sweat covering his skin cooled and left him shivering.
“I’m sorry.”
He murmured as he rolled onto his side. He could barely make out the shape of Nom, the tiniest ray of light slipping through the door behind him. The curtains had been fully shut, for once. Scott clung tighter to his hand like he could disappear at any second. Like Scott wasn’t the one who faded from view uncontrollably.
“Don’t be. Do you need anything?”
Scott shook his head, although Nom wouldn’t see. Hair brushed over his cheek. Scott reveled in the rough thumb rubbing back and forth on his skin.
“Just go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
How much had he moved for it to rouse Nom? Scott should strap himself down to avoid disturbing his rest again. He needed to be crushed under a heavy weight. Anything to keep still. Put him in a box-
“None of that now. Let me help.”
Nom had that raggedness in his voice of not being quite awake yet. Scott almost wanted to reach out and touch his throat, just to feel its resonance. He rarely got to hear it since he got up earlier than Nom. By the time they met up, Nom’s tone evened out.
“You already have.”
Scott answered in a sigh. His lungs felt too small for the amount of air he needed. His breathing hadn’t quite recovered from that illness. Some days, Scott feared it never would. 4C said it could take some time, considering how serious his condition had been, but it had been several months since Katie pulled him out of that water. He barely remembered it anymore.
His body did, it seemed, as a tremble locked his muscles up suddenly. The mattress dipped down as Nom shuffled himself closer. The line of light behind him shortened. The blanket at Scott’s waist lifted until it covered him entirely, tucked in loosely at the neck. Their knees knocked together under the makeshift heated tent. Scott burned under Nom’s gaze.
“It’s- nightmares. They started when mum died. Only makes sense that they would be there for dad too.”
Scott’s laugh, bitter, rapidly turned into a wet hiccup. His eyes stung as wet tracks formed over his face. He retreated from Nom’s hand to wipe at them. Uselessly, for every tear that he removed gave way to another two. He couldn’t keep in a noise as knuckles collided against his, tugging his hand back beneath the covers. Their fingers laced together as though they had been carved as a single piece of marble.
“I’ll fight them off for you.”
Nom sounded so sure of himself. Scott huffed through the tears, forcing him into a sniffle afterwards. He was glad that they had no light in the room. He couldn’t look presentable at that moment.
“The nightmares?”
Scott asked, just to confirm. The bed shook slightly with how vigorously Nom nodded. He didn’t even answer out loud. Something pulled at Scott’s insides.
“Thanks Nom.”
His calf fell right in place over Nom’s knee, bringing them ever so slightly closer. Even with both their legs covered, it burned. Nom had chased both the cold and the fear. Neither of their hands loosened when dreamless sleep took them away.
Nom rarely got up at night. His parents had said that even as a baby, he had been such a heavy sleeper that they called over a doctor about it. But Nom had no issues! He was just like that. It hadn’t gone away with time, still just as hard to wake as he used to be.
All of this meant that when Nom opened bleary eyes into the darkness, he took a moment to process his surroundings. Comfortable bed under him? Nothing weird there. Silence except for gentle whistly breathing and water? Scott still asleep, lack of movement on the ship. No sunlight slipping through the folds of the curtains? Unexpected nighttime. No rain, no thunder, no agitation, no reason for him to wake up. Nom was not hungry, thirsty, ill in any way.
Only… He laid on his side. That definitely was not the position he had gone to sleep in, always on his front. Okay, maybe Nom was getting somewhere. He faced the window, his back to the door. Scott’s direction. Not another nightmare, this time. His breaths, his heartbeat stayed even and steady.
Why could Nom hear Scott’s heartbeat?
Why could he feel it in his arm, distinct from his own pulse by its slowness?
His arm did not rest on the bed. Something else propped it up, something soft, covered in heavier fabric. It had uneven texture in parts. Nom dragged his nails over it, following the snaking thread path, until he found a hard point. He prodded at it confusedly. The sheets rustled as the entire thing moved.
Scott. Nom had his arm on Scott. Curled at the dip of his waist, hand resting over his hipbone.
How he had gotten to his position, he had no idea. Part of him knew he should move away, give Scott space. He had always been the one to initiate contact. Nom let him set the pace, because he didn’t need physical touch himself. Whatsoever.
But the other part, the instinctual animal that lurked in his mind, purred with satisfaction. Nowhere was a better spot for Scott to be than here. As long as he could feel Scott in his arms, Nom knew him to be safe. Nothing could get to him there. No wave nor storm could wash him away. No thorns nor nightmare could trap him.
Nom cupped his palm at the base of Scott’s ribs where they met the bed, more cushioned than they had once been, and pulled him ever so slightly closer. He left some space between them, barely, just enough to say that it did exist. Even though everything in him howled to plaster them together entirely. But Nom wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t allow himself to.
Nom’s only further indulgence came in leaning his forehead to Scott’s nape. The most prominent bump of his spine slotted perfectly against the bridge of Nom’s nose. The tip smushed slightly against Scott’s skin, nothing that Nom couldn’t handle.
From this close up, Nom could smell Scott. Not intentionally. It simply happened due to their proximity. A pleasant smell, sort of herby. Almost nostalgic in a way that Nom’s brain couldn’t understand given his unexpected awakening just a few minutes ago. Nevertheless, Nom liked it.
He could only hope that Scott wouldn’t mind the position too much. If he mentioned it, even showed a single sign of discomfort the next morning, Nom would find a way to keep himself still. Tie his hands with a band of leather to keep them from reaching out, pin himself against the mattress so that he wouldn’t take over Scott’s space.
Nom would see tomorrow.
For now… He would let himself have this one thing.
Scott had gotten used to sleeping through the roll of the waves during his captivity. Not that he had much of a choice, really. No other options than leaning on the wall and occasionally getting thrown aside. By the time he had been rescued by the Hoard, the movement hardly woke him up anymore, especially since he got an actual bed. His stomach still dropped with the longer dips if the floor dropped with him.
The seas had been so agitated the past day that they had to anchor. The proximity of an archipelago made Nom and 4C agree it was the best course of action. They spent the night in a bay surrounded by stunning jagged cliffs, blocking off most of the wind. It lowered the agitation on board, but the Hoard still felt like a nutshell at the mercy of the elements. The windows rattled with each blast of wind. The punches of objects falling on the floor echoed. Waves slammed endlessly against the hull. It left Scott uneasy. Too close to certain memories for comfort.
It took him a long time to fall asleep. He stared at the patch of sky outside the window, the curtains only half closed at his request. Not that Nom cared, really. The morning light wouldn’t wake him. Scott watched the stars bob up and down in their wooden frame to make sure they stayed.
If he lost them, it meant there were clouds. If there were clouds, there would be rain. And if there was rain, a storm.
So Scott kept his eyes trained on the dots, far away above them. He couldn’t let the storm come.
Eventually sleep took him. Not particularly restful. A jumble of discomfort, tumbling through cottonous grey. He didn’t wake up during the night but it felt as though it only lasted a few hours. Maybe it had. His brain had been active the whole time, aware in another realm.
He only returned to reality when the peak of a wave dropped something onto his back. Almost burning in its warmth, flattening him down, heavy, limp, unshakeable and yet… A light pressure at the crook of his neck, a gentle caress against the skin, a careful weight over his hip.
Scott had no doubt as to what this bulky heated blanket was.
Nom must have been flipped by the angle of the bed, falling into Scott. He could have gone flat onto the floor, without Scott there to stop him. Good. Scott was glad to help. He tried to focus on that instead of Nom completely slotted against his back. Distract himself from how right, how natural it felt. Nom never would have done that by himself.
Although Scott… Scott wanted him to.
Nom was not modest. He didn’t flaunt his strength, but definitely made no attempt to hide it either. In the warmer temperatures, he shed his coat and corset. His shirts stayed decidedly open, though, buttoned only in name. Scott did not stare, the expanse of skin was simply hard to miss. Especially when its paleness rivalled Scott’s.
Nevertheless, it was one thing to see his chest, but another to have it so close up. He hadn’t expected the muscle pressed into him to be this firm. Not in a bad way, definitely not. Very pleasant. Hardened by the physical labour of sailing under a gentler layer of scarred tissue. A vague memory came to his mind, of laying his head against that chest, but it was all so blurry… A faint beacon of hope in a dreadful time.
Scott’s eyes stung.
No thinking about dad. Not right now. Too early. The times he let himself dwell on the thought before he even got out of bed, he stayed there the entire day. The others didn’t say anything about it. Those days left Scott drained and guilty regardless of how kindly they treated him.
The weight on his hip made for a nice distraction. Scott wanted to put his own hand on top, dwarf Nom’s. Short, but wide. Like the rest of him, really. Scott itched to hold it. Any hand holding they had done previously had been strictly practical reasons, never such intimate intention. Scott’s weak legs, or mind, had been mostly responsible. He had gotten better now, not needing additional support. Nom didn’t reach out to hold him anymore.
It.
Hold it. Scott’s hand. Nothing else.
Crawling heat bloomed over his back, a threat of approaching damp. He could feel his ears start to beat. As much as he tried to pin them in place, they would not listen. Alright. Time to leave before he woke Nom up with the uncontrollable fluttering.
It almost hurt, uprooting himself from the safety of Nom’s embrace. Scott didn’t even dare look at him as he quietly slipped around the bed. The floor tilted, dangerously close to sending him back down. He barely managed to catch himself on the bedpost. Only the sounds of shuffling bedsheets indicated Nom had moved at the mercy of the waves.
Scott could do nothing about the colour of his face. He hoped the fierce winds that still raged outside would blow it away.
Nom didn’t quite know how they had gotten to this point. The one where he went to the room where Scott already was, where he laid on the bed just behind Scott, where Scott shuffled half-asleep until his back rested flush against Nom. Yes, no clue, but he sure would not complain. He had not needed to exhaust himself to sleep in quite a while. He liked falling asleep like this way more.
The ridges of Scott’s spine, only separated by one measly layer of fabric, pressed into Nom’s bare chest so strongly that he could count them. He lifted two fingers to Scott’s neck to redirect a stray curl. His breath took its place, barely touching his lips to the skin. On the way back down, his hand drifted over Scott’s side. The peaks and valleys of his ribs, uneven, pronounced but not that much, never again that much, reminded Nom of a mountain range he had long called home.
And in the mornings, Scott lingered. He used to sneak away, slippery as an eel. Though he tried his best not to wake Nom, it was hard not to notice an entire body leaving your side. Nom would just roll onto his stomach and pretend he didn’t want to hold Scott there. Nom hadn’t brought it up to Scott in fear of pushing him. Nom already had close him all night long. How selfish to want a little more. The greed sickened him.
But no longer! Scott stayed now, whether Nom slept for a while or awoke soon after. He didn’t squirm away even when Nom intentionally blew air into his ticklish neck.
In retaliation, he often reached back over them both to tug at Nom's hair. Scott tried to catch him by surprise, so that he could giggle at the noise Nom inadvertently made. And somehow, everytime Nom was about to whine for him to stop, he let go. Scott would give him a few apologetic scratches before taking his arm back. Nom liked it.
“Sleep well, Nom.”
Scott whispered, returning him to the present night. With such gentle instruction, how could Nom not obey? A stark difference from the stern orders that he received during training. He had never been gladder to have left it.
His hand found purchase on Scott’s hip, thumb falling over the point. What about that specific spot he liked so much, Nom wasn’t completely sure. Perhaps the thinness of the skin, immediately giving way to bone, or its sharpness fascinatingly different from a human, or the way Nom’s palm perfectly encapsulated it. Either way, dragging his fingerpad on Scott’s hipbone in patterns he couldn’t decipher had become second nature. The shapes of letters, banding together to form words that Nom would never dare say out loud. Despite Scott still being awake, betrayed by his uneven breathing, Nom held no concerns as to him pieceing it together. If he could even determine that Nom’s movements had an intent, both his writing and spelling would muddle the message.
Scott’s body went lax as Nom's own mind slowed. He didn't know much about art but Scott could definitely pass off as a statue. Carved from alabaster stone, cast peacefully onto his side, the image of calm. Grace. The very essence of beauty, even.
Nom was not biased at all.
Each and every day a little more, Nom longed to drown him in jewellery. The staff had only been the first of many. He could almost see it, gold draped around his neck, pooled in his collarbones, wrapped over his shoulders and down his back, looped around his hands, threaded into his hair, anywhere it would take hold. His waist, his hips, his ankles even, thin chains that caught the light with each of Scott's movements.
Nom would affix them with tiny gems of all colours, blues, greens, reds, sending scattered reflections as though they came from Scott himself. Pearls too, with their delicate iridescence that stayed despite their shade or form, or amber. Bright beads of glass that would clink together beautifully. Nom had seen how varied they came in market stalls. He could ask Mae for help on that front. She wouldn't refuse once she knew what Nom wanted it for. Scott would be adorned with the riches he deserved.
Anything he wanted, Nom would give him. Scott was more utilitarian than Nom though. Only wanted objects that had purpose, rather than Nom's decoration. Still, he would pick out the best. Ornate buckles and brooches, carved combs and hair pins of ivory.
Nom could make him his tr-
No.
Scott was already a treasure in his own right. He radiated all by himself, brilliant as the brightest star in the sky. Nothing Nom did would make him greater. He could only aspire to not drag Scott down with his proximity, repent with endless offerings.
Although seeing Scott adorned so might be the final nail in Nom’s coffin. The clothes that he had gotten made for him already were a distraction. On the occasions, more common as of recently, when he wore Nom’s actual clothing, even worse. Nom had near enough crashed the ship into rocks at one point. It was bad.
He would keep the blessed visions in his head for now, pleasant thoughts to entertain as he fell asleep, reimagine them a little differently every time. Nom filled his lungs with Scott. He brushed his mouth over the fragile skin, the stripes of his scars. The difference in texture was noticeable against Nom’s dry lips. Scott often tried to pull his shirts higher to conceal the lines near his neck. Nom would like them in his stead.
A long ear batted Nom’s forehead unwillingly. No more entertaining himself, then. Time for sleep. Nom pulled Scott ever closer, a shield at his back, and surrendered to his orders.
Still, he thought, no fancy gift nor costly gem could rival the green jewels of Scott’s eyes.
Scott awoke to the belt of an arm barring his waist and parted mouth at the base of his neck. Nom's warm breath came steady, leaving a damp patch of skin behind. Scott tensed his legs into a stretch that creeped up his back and across his shoulders. He held it for a moment before it bled out. He relaxed against the firm wall of Nom's chest.
Scott stayed there for a few moments, allowing himself to come to full consciousness. With it followed a rumble in his stomach. A rather mild hunger, he rarely had much of an appetite, but hunger all the same. Scott reached down to Nom's hand, gently lifting it as he shuffled forward. He tried to slip out as gently as he could, but the arm tugged him right back in place. A squeal burst from Scott's throat with the expelled air.
“Well well well… Sneaking out?”
Nom grumbled against Scott's spine. Clearly on the brink of falling back asleep, only aware of their proximity. Scott liked that facet of Nom, the softer side that no one but him was allowed to see. The clinginess that he repressed, mostly, as soon as they left their quarters. Apart from the back-hugging. That one was a staple sight on the Hoard now. Even Katie didn’t complain about it anymore.
“I was a bit hungry-”
The tip of a warm nose brushed aside the collar of his shirt, folded up loosely. A wet breath ghosted over his now bared shoulder, followed by the burn of lips. The hunger shifted.
“But I guess I can indulge you a little longer.”
The hand hanging loose came alive to push under Scott's shirt, already riding up over his hip. Nom raked his nails over Scott's front, leaving heated trails in their wake. For how blunt they looked, they always left lines that soon would darken. It hurt, very slightly. Scott hadn’t told Nom about that, he knew he would stop immediately. He enjoyed the tingle that came after.
“Really twisting your arm on this one.”
Nom's accent, his voice still thick from sleep, was particularly prominent. Calloused fingerpads dragged over Scott's skin as they did a cittern. The music it pulled was not half as pretty though. A mixture of stuttery gasps, faint laughs at the tickliness and absolutely nothing else. Nom played at his strings until Scott rolled over to face him.
“Uh huh.”
Nom’s lidded eyes fought to stay open, none of his usual cockiness to be found. His hand still pawed lightly at Scott, drifting up to his ribs. Sweet boy. Scott leaned forward to press their lips together, just a gentle kiss, but a rumble rose from Nom’s throat. With an amused huff, Scott petted him along the cheek. Nom could be so cute sometimes. He thumbed at the pale scar fluttering down his jawbone and into his neck. Smooth as an afterburn, uneven skin bubbling at the edges. Barren of the stubble that surrounded it. Narrower than the ones on his chest, which spanned an entire knuckle at their widest points. Scott hadn’t asked about them. You didn’t get scars like that from a pleasant situation. Nom didn’t seem to pay them much attention. Scott could learn a thing from him in that regard. Still, he liked them as he did the rest of Nom.
With how focused he was, Scott didn’t notice Nom approach until their mouths made contact again. Well, they didn’t quite align on the first attempt, but Scott adjusted their position. Despite their first having been over a month ago, Nom rarely made the first move. Out of respect for Scott’s agency, he said. What he lacked in initiation, he made up for in eagerness. Scott suspected Nom simply wouldn’t be able to stop if he indulged his thoughts. Scott’s hand slid down to rest over the swell of his throat. When it rose with a swallow, Nom lifted a leg to hook it atop his thigh. Scott retaliated by clamping both of his knees around the remaining leg.
Thus tangled, Nom’s arm wrapped around Scott’s back to pull him ever closer, they basked in the tender embrace of a calm morning. Upon parting, they both leant their heads back down on a single pillow. Nom ran his fingers lightly up and down Scott’s ribcage.
“I don't care about having glasses usually but I really wish I could see right now.”
He squinted at Scott, even with the proximity. Scott reached up to smooth out the creases on his forehead, massaging them until Nom’s eyebrows untensed. Considering how awful Nom’s vision was overall, Scott would have thought he would have multiple pairs scattered around. But no. Only one. It was a wonder he hadn’t snapped them in half by accident.
“I think you look handsome either way.”
There probably was no single thing that Nom could do to change that. The glasses made him appear bolder, more confident, whereas not having them softened him. It probably laid in the strong curl of his lashes that made his eyes rounder than they actually were. When he did not frown to see, at least. That one was a threatening Nom. Not to Scott, though, never. However, no matter his physical appearance, glasses or not, shirt fully buttoned or chest entirely bare, hair tamed or messy or even if he shaved it completely off, Scott would find him handsome. Because it wasn’t the vessel that Scott cared about, although he did appreciate it, but his soul. Nom, with all the quirks and faults and shortcomings that he vehemently kept hidden, because of them rather than in their spite, was exactly what Scott had fallen for.
“But I want to see you! You're just a vague shape to me. A very pretty vague shape! But still…”
The compliment, out of the blue, sent Scott’s ears flapping. One, trapped against the pillow, could only tremble but the other fluttered hard enough to send hair over his eyes. Nom stifled a laugh as his hand le ft ribs for an ear. He brushed the strand away to reveal Scott’s face, tucking it behind the point. His fingers lingered on the quivering cartilage. The touch, initially light then more insistent as he rubbed the thin flesh between his index and thumb, made a shiver rush through Scott.
He didn’t know whether to lean further into it or away in overwhelm. Thankfully, stuck in the impossible debate, Nom made the decision for him. He relented the attack in favour of running his fingers through Scott’s hair. Arranging it, maybe. He pulled out a couple knots that must have formed in the ends during the night. Nom trailed further up, towards the roots, but paused.
“Oh wait, what is this?”
Nom narrowed his eyes again. Still, he remained prisoner of his lacklustre vision and had to turn back to grab his glasses. His hand stayed atop Scott’s head, who only waited. In a way, the contact felt even more intimate when Nom wasn’t looking his way. Did he have something stuck in his hair? It happened, sometimes, that cotton left the pillows through a hole in the cover. Nom’s frown only deepened with his scrutiny.
“D’you go gardening in your sleep? You've got a bud-”
A bud? Nom lifted himself onto his elbow, now using both hands to part Scott’s hair. How could he have gotten a bud in his hair, of all places? It seemed to be really stuck too. When Nom pulled, trying to detangle it, Scott’s scalp responded.
“Wait, wait-”
Scott called, tugging his head away. Nom immediately froze, wide-eyed gaze jumping down to meet Scott's. Although it pained him to lose the warmth, Scott moved back until they completely separated. Nom let him go, pushing himself to sit up fully. One hand still hovered in Scott's vicinity, beckoning him to press his face into.
“What? Did I hurt you?”
Nom’s concern seeped out clear as day. Scott hadn’t noticed before, too caught in the rush of Nom’s presence. The lack of him, however, made obvious the sensation on top of his head. Not like a limb that he could control. Rather, an organ, unobtrusive until it came to life. Uneasiness sparked in Scott's guts and lapped at his dried leaf-flammable core.
“I can feel it. The bud.”
With hardly quelled nerves, Scott touched the new adornment. An elongated form, pointed as a grain of rice, velvet-soft petals that hadn’t yet parted. At its base formed a thin stem that met with Scott’s scalp. That came from his head. He gently explored around, eyes glazed over in a faint attempt to visualise what this must look like. He found another two smaller buds near the first. Bumps, which definitely had never been part of his skull, carried the promise of more.
“You're growing flowers?”
Scott nodded. Each brush against the bud radiated further. He couldn't place the touch exactly, not as he would with skin, but rather a very large, and sensitive, hair. Perhaps they came from one another, the size meant it had more connection to the rest of Scott than a single hair. He reached for Nom's hand to mitigate his tremors. Nom clutched him tightly.
“Can you tell what they are?”
Scott didn't expect much. Flowers were already hard to recognise due to the immense variety of them, and buds made it no easier. Gods only knew if it even was a flower that actually existed. As far as Scott knew, they didn't grow from people! Nom’s eyes drifted past Scott towards the window. The only thing that way was the bouquet on the side table. Scott tended to it, every single day.
“Lilies. White lilies.”
Of course. What else could they have been? The uncertain fear gripping at Scott’s stomach released its pressure. Had it been any other flower, Scott would have been confused, scared even, of what was happening to him. But lilies? A sign from his parents watching over their little blossom. They may not be able to see him directly, but Scott knew they witnessed his bloom. It could not be any other way.
Nom’s silhouette shifted blurrily and Scott could no longer discern his expression. Something warm dripped over his face and- oh. Scott was crying. He could taste the salt like seaspray. Nom wiped the liquid pooled in his dimple, deepened by a smile he couldn’t retain anymore than his tears. His parents, his home, still with him. He hoped they were proud of him. Scott found himself cradled close, and though the half-laying half-sitting position was awkward, he didn’t fight the hold. Rather, he sank into it until he was draped over Nom’s lap.
Cool air washed over Scott’s back when Nom pulled up his shirt. He ran his hand over Scott’s spine gently. It left a fiery brand behind, one that Scott would bear just as proudly as the flowers. The phantom drag of his nails circled each bump soothingly, drifting aside to his ribs and shoulder blades. Scott sniffled, quietly. A sigh followed, soft into Nom’s thigh. He closed his eyes as Nom’s palm curled at his chin.
“Are you still hungry?”
Nom’s low voice melded with the song of waves and wood. His ministrations had Scott barely conscious again, as if his two hands had magic of their own. Sleep magic, of some kind. Scott considered his body. Even with the mud slowing his brain, he felt alive. Where Nom was a spark in a field afflicted with drought, just biding his time to blaze bright, Scott was a dormant plant with roots that finally received water. A hungry plant. He nodded.
“I’ll cook.”
Scott thanked him by turning his head and dropping feather-light kisses on his fingertips. Nom took his hand to press his mouth to Scott’s wrist, where the skin was thinnest. Where Nom’s affection would transpire through to the bloodstream and distribute completely inside Scott. Or so it felt.