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There was a man on the roof.
He had been there for hours.
Even when the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky bled deep blue until it swallowed the expanse whole, he made no effort to stand. The most he did was occasionally drink water, find a snack, or whittle away the hours by training.
Through it all, Chaghan Suren found himself watching.
And counting.
Counting every hour in the back of his mind. Allowing worry to fester in the recesses of his consciousness until it was impossible to ignore. Staying up despite the invisible weights bound to his limbs.
He was well into his third cup of tea already.
His sister had long since given up waiting for him, and squeezed his hand before she disappeared into the winding halls. She understood. Chaghan wished he would have thanked her.
Another day.
He sighed and drained the rest of the drink. When he lowered his hands he stared into it, lingering on the dregs. He didn’t know what he expected.
Maybe answers. Advice.
Anything.
Chaghan rose and deposited it in the sink without a word. If he had any more caffeine he would never get to sleep.
He drifted past the table.
Then stopped.
There was a scarf and a coat hung over a chair. His own, actually.
Chaghan glanced outside, biting his bottom lip thoughtlessly. His fingers twitched.
And he grabbed the items.
There was no grace to donning them. He was far beyond that point—his arm got caught and then he realized he put it on backwards before he finally managed the task properly. The scarf was an entire ordeal of its own.
He managed it though.
It was messy.
He would never have gone out in public with it.
But here was a different story.
Chaghan sucked in a breath and left the room. His feet knew the way. He didn’t have to think.
When he next opened his eyes, he was on the roof.
He did not speak.
He let his eyes wander instead.
There was a peace to the darkness that night. The world seemed frozen in place, the full moon hanging over them and bathing everything in its gentle radiance. Of course there was a chill, but the winds must have been too tired to continue their assault.
And in the middle of it all, there was the man on the roof.
It was nothing special.
He was perched on the edge, back to Chaghan, one knee bent and pulled to his chest while the other leg dangled down. His shoulders were sloped downward like canyon walls worn down by rivers.
Chaghan walked towards him.
His steps were not quiet like usual. They fell heavy, loud enough to reach the other’s ear long before he ever got close.
The man’s head turned slightly. He lingered there for a few seconds before going back to gazing aimlessly ahead.
Chaghan exhaled.
He took the spot beside him, crossing his legs as he settled down.
They didn’t speak.
Time passed, but neither bothered to count the seconds.
“It’s late,” Altan whispered.
The wind picked up, causing the leaves on the nearby trees to rustle.
Chaghan nodded slowly. “So it is.”
He didn’t turn his head. Not even when he heard movement beside him.
“Your eyelids keep falling down.”
Chaghan hummed and shrugged.
Altan made a sound of annoyance. He knew if he looked over, there would be a furrow in his brow and a downturn to his mouth.
“How much tea have you had?”
A small smile tugged at Chaghan’s lips. He finally met the other man’s gaze.
“Three,” he admitted, “and contemplating a fourth.”
Altan frowned deeper.
“That’s a lot.”
Chaghan stretched his arms above his head, bracing his hands over each other. “I never said it wasn’t.”
Altan huffed.
He didn’t push the point.
“Are you really going to stay up here with me?” Altan asked after a while.
“They call this time of night the witching hours. Better to have company during them than not, if you ask me,” Chaghan responded.
Altan’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for it.”
“You don’t have to verbalize a question to ask it.”
Altan stilled.
His eyes widened a fraction.
His shoulders even rose, muscles tightening.
“I hate you,” Altan whispered, hissing.
“I know,” Chaghan breathed, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “You’re not the only one.”
Whatever restraint Altan had left gave way.
It wasn't loud.
It simply happened.
Altan lurched forward and pressed himself against Chaghan’s side. His head rested on his shoulder, arm crossed over his waist. He pressed against him, and he allowed the taller man to lower them backwards to rest on the roof.
Chaghan raised a hand, plunging his fingers into the black mess of hair atop Altan’s head. He was gentle. He did not yank when his fingers found themselves tangled.
“I’m tired,” Altan croaked into his skin. “It hurts.”
“I know.”
Altan shook his head, grip tightening.
It took every ounce of Chaghan’s willpower not to break down with him.
“Close your eyes,” he urged instead.
Altan pressed his face deeper into his shoulder.
“How? How do I even do that?”
Chaghan sucked in a breath.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but we can learn.”
Altan dragged his palm up and down his side. His eyelashes moved rapidly, ghosting over his skin.
“Is it even possible?”
Chaghan turned into him. He pressed his mouth against his forehead and closed his eyes.
“It has to be.”
Altan laughed humorlessly. “I wish I could believe you.”
Chaghan gritted his teeth.
“Then I will do it for both of us until that wish comes true.”
There were no more words after that.
Just silent tears, the pale moonlight, and the whisper of the wind.
“We should go inside,” Altan rasped.
Chaghan nodded.
Neither moved.
“Are you sure?” He finally asked.
There was a moment of hesitation.
Altan nodded. It was slight, barely noticeable.
Chaghan smiled softly, helping the other to his feet. Both of them lingered though. Their eyes never left each other.
There were words being said.
But not aloud.
And when Chaghan took the first step, there was no resistance.
They walked inside together.