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The night was no longer young.
He had long ago learned that such a fact meant little to the other man. He had learned a lot of things didn't matter.
He inhaled shakily and turned the corner on near soundless feet. Shadows had festered, spreading like weeds until they had consumed every inch of every hallway, save for the lonely torches or candles still fighting for life.
The man inhaled.
Here, he could taste something sweet.
A frown tugged at his thin, chapped lips. His chest locked up. He touched a hand to his stomach, half wondering if he was wearing some article of clothing that was causing it and only noticed it now. There was nothing—his shirt was of a loose, thin black fabric.
He closed his eyes and simply breathed.
And he continued to walk.
The smell grew stronger. He could almost see it hanging in the air.
Or maybe that was just a trick of the dim lights.
He waved his hand in front of his nose and coughed. It was near sickening in intensity now.
His eyes drifted down. He counted the planks of wood, the final ones leading up to the door he had come for, under his breath. His pace wavered—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what lay beyond it.
Behind his temples, something began to throb.
He halted.
The door knob barely gleamed, the shine long beaten from the metal after years of use.
He reached out.
“Please,” he whispered.
And opened the door.
He was greeted not by a voice, or a person.
Instead, it was smog that answered him.
He sucked in a breath and instantly recoiled, falling back. He could taste that nauseatingly sweet smoke as if he’d eaten it—it numbed his tongue to everything else, even sensation itself.
He tried to swallow.
His stomach roiled.
He dragged one foot in front of the other. His vision blurred, but he could not tell if it was from the burning wetness in his eyes or the haze choking the room.
The fuzzy outline of two objects came into view. It took him a moment to confirm they were cots.
He lifted his hands and rubbed at his eyes.
“…Chaghan…?”
He tensed.
He almost fooled himself into believing he was dreaming for a second, but the dull ache of his muscles sabotaged his delusions.
He dropped his hands.
“Altan.”
His eyes locked with the unfocused figure leaning up against the bed. There was a pipe in his calloused fingers.
It was a near colorless brown so deep was its hue. It was nothing like the rich, lively splendor of Altan’s dark skin.
He clenched his fists.
If only he could grab it, and grind it into dust beneath his heel.
He dragged his eyes away.
“You’re back,” the Speerly slurred. His hand, still clasping the pipe, fell away from his lips. They never loosened from the object.
He dragged his feet along the floorboards. Ash—faint and barely detectable—dusted them like a twisted varnish.
He kicked it away. He watched them disappear into the slim crevice before he trudged forwards.
“You’re smoking,” he whispered back.
The candle perched on the nightstand flickered. It was as tall as his middle finger he guessed, protruding from a puddle gathered in the curve of the brass holder.
He had been at this for a while, hadn’t he?
Altan’s head lolled to the side. His crimson eyes were glassy and his pupils shrunk to the size of pin tips.
A smile spread over his features. He even laughed.
“ ‘pose I am.”
He halted a few feet away. It felt more like a yawning chasm separated them.
“You promised.”
Altan hummed and trailed off into a half giggle.
“Did I? Must’ve forgot. Sorry.”
He flinched.
“Sorry?” He gasped. “Sorry?”
The Speerly stared at him, not a thought behind the placid pools of his crimson eyes.
He laughed. “That’s all you have to say? Really?”
“What do you want from me?” Altan shrugged with a haphazard swing of his hand. “It was a mistake. I’ll be better next time.”
His hand struck the metal bed frame.
It didn’t even appear to register to the man.
He clenched his jaw. “It’s always next time.”
Altan gave him a lopsided smile.
“Come on. Sit down and relax.”
He wanted to say no.
He opened his mouth too.
But his feet had already taken him to the open space beside Altan and he was sitting before the words could tumble off his clumsy tongue.
He pressed his lips into a thin line. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched the Speerly take another lazy drag of the pipe.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” He croaked. “To me?”
Altan didn’t respond.
He dropped his head and let his shoulders slump.
“What do you mean to you? This isn’t harming you. All it does is relax me, help me focus,” Altan mumbled, fixing his gaze on him.
He scoffed, a hand rising to his chest. In the back of his mind, he checked his clothing again to see if it was restrictive or if it was just him.
“This isn’t you!” He cried.
“But it is. I’m happy, Chaghan. Can’t you see?”
No, no I don’t, his heart screamed.
He said instead, “But you promised me. You said you wanted to get better.”
Altan shook his head. “It’s just this one time. I’m weaning myself off.” His brow furrowed. “You’ve ruined the peace. What’s wrong with you? Why did you have to take it away?”
His eyes were burning.
He shrank back.
“…I-I… I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Altan huffed, rewarding himself with another drag of the pipe. “Leave. If you’re going to act like this, I don’t want you here.”
“I just wanted to help.”
The Speerly rose and staggered into his cot. He didn’t look at him.
“Don’t do this,” he whispered.
The smoke curled about him. His stomach seized and he gagged.
Altan said nothing.
He stood there. His knees quivered.
“I love you,” he tried.
Nothing.
He tore his eyes away and dropped them to the floor. His feet dragged on the dusty floorboards.
He hesitated at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder.
Altan hadn’t moved.
He bit his bottom lip to stifle his grief and shut the door behind him with an echoing click.
-
Sleep was supposed to be restorative.
If the heaviness clinging to his bones was evidence, he was inclined to believe that was a lie.
The morning was warm, glittering and cast in great clarity. The grass swayed in the gentle breeze of the mountains, as if they carried a song only the plants and animals were privy to.
His fingers curled into the stone of the bench. He inhaled deeply, searing the scent of wood into his mind, banishing the cloying linger of the smoke. He had spent most of the night washing his clothes—and yet, still, when he had finally given up, it was still there.
He shuddered.
A bird twittered high in the branches of the sagging tree beside the bench.
Crunch.
He turned.
Standing in the glory of the morning, kissed by golden rays, was Altan Trengsin.
He smiled.
“You’re awake,” he croaked.
“You’re back.” Altan tilted his head to the side. The hue of his eyes was slightly more brown than it had been last night. “Did the mission go well?”
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Uh— yeah.”
The Speerly graced him with the smallest of smiles, just the barest tug of his lip skyward, and claimed the spot on the bench beside him. Their knees brushed against each other.
“Good.” A pause. “You look tired. When did you get back?”
He tangled his fingers together, skin prickling.
The bird in the tree began to sing again.
“Late at night. Maybe around midnight or so,” he offered, shrugging before adding, “When did you get to sleep? There’s dark circles under your eyes.”
He waited.
“A little after that. Why didn’t you come see me?” He asked.
The bird ceased its song.
He stared, unseeing.
“I…” he swallowed and forced a grin. “I was tired. Long day. What were you doing up so late?”
Altan’s smile withered, the light dying in his eyes. It took only a moment for his jaw to tighten and his gaze to fall. He almost seemed smaller.
“Just… folding clothes.”
He didn’t comment that he still reeked of smoke.
He only nodded.
“I see.”
Of course he didn’t remember. Of course he lied.
He tried to stamp out the bitter, resentful acid gurgling in his stomach. It was harder than he last remembered.
“Are you… sure?”
Altan’s head snapped up. He straightened up.
“Yes, I am.”
He licked his lips.
“You’d tell me if you were struggling or needed help, right?”
The Speerly’s face screwed up in confusion. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He exhaled quietly.
“Just wanted you to know. That I’m always here, that is.”
They lapsed into silence. Only the song of the wind and ballads of wildlife filled the gap.
“Are you free later? We need to get back to training,” Altan blurted and poked his arm.
He pulled back, glancing down at the wiry muscle just visible under the covering of his porcelain skin.
“…yeah.”
Altan nodded and rose.
He looked back before disappearing into the hallway, hand resting on the frame of the exit.
“Thank you, Chaghan. You’re a wonderful friend.”
And then he was gone.
He sat there for a while, staring at nothing in particular.
“I suppose I am,” he breathed. “Even though it hurts.”
He closed his eyes.
And sighed.