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Scott doesn’t want to be in Blue Kingdom. He doesn’t want to be in any kingdom. He wants to go home, back to Barrowhill, back to his father, back to the small florist shop that smells like dewy summer mornings and freshly baked bread. Instead, he’s stuck with a mimicked version of his home that always feels so empty, despite all the flowers he fills it with. His, hopefully, temporary house is a bit out of the way, in naive wishes that that means people won’t bother him. Because the more they interact with the blonde, the more likely it is they figure it out that, well, he’snotamage he’snotmeantforwar he’sbeingforcedtobehere he’s not exactly experienced in all of this.
Unfortunately, that was proving to not be the case, and, within the week he’s been here, he’s had a multitude of visitors. There has been Owain, requesting medical advice for a headache he’s got (Scott just gave him herbal tea, and recommended staying out of the sunlight), Mae, bouncing around with 4C lagging behind, trying to get Scott into mischief (the half-elf politely declined, not wanting to get in trouble by the monarch. She seems nice enough, but the blonde doesn’t know her personally, doesn’tknowanyonereally), and then Graecie, attempting to pull Scott out of his shell by inviting him to do things (hewon’tgetcomfortablehere thisisnothishome). It was…strange to say the least, so many people going out of their way to speak with him. Often he ponders why they seem to want to be around him, he’s really not that interesting. He’snotofusehere it’sonlyamatteroftime
Its late, it’s really late. Scott knows he should go to bed. Just one more. He convinces himself, patting down the earth around a tulip he’s planted. The garden around his house is almost finished, now beholding blossoming cornflowers, roses, peonies, and things of the sort. Just one more patch of flowers left.
He doesn’t think he could sleep if he left it unfinished.
To be fair, he can’t sleep most of the time, his night terrors getting worse since leaving home.
Bloodtearscolddeadbleedingbleedingbleedingcan’tsavehercan’tsavehercan’tsaveher
The last patch of already-tilled soil is larger than the rest of them, reserved for the lilies, his favorites. Nothis,hers,hers,hers,allhehasleft
The moon is a gorgeous waxing crescent that’s about a third of its way to the highest point in the sky. If he’s calculating correctly, he should finish his work before it reaches that point, then he can go to sleep hewon’tgotobed hismemorieswon’tleavehimalonetoday hecan’tcatchabreak hecan’tbreathe hislungsandheartandheadhurt everythinghurts.
Sweat sheens on his forehead as he pokes holes and drops seeds into each one, forcing the lilies to grow with his magic theonlythinghe’sgoodfor. After a little bit, he takes a small break, his mana drained, leaning back on his hands and admiring his progress. He’s only a quarter of the way done, and something twists in his gut at seeing the rows of white, glistening flowers shewouldbeproud. The leaves droop slightly on one the Lily of the Valleys, and he makes it his mission to make it stand tall like the others. Behappysmilewideactokay. His magic is still recovering from using it so much in such little time but maybe if—
“Scott?” The man in question flinches like an abused animal, pointed ears twitching at the sudden noise. He didn’t hear any footsteps likethatnightalloveragain. His brain takes a moment to remember the accent, though it’s not that hard. He doesn’t even have to turn around to double check, his tense shoulder relaxing with familiarity.
“Hi Nom.” The flower still won’t stand on its own. Scott presses one of the leaves between his thumb and pointer finger, the texture smooth. The petals glow briefly as weak magic pulses through it, standing straight for a moment before falling back down again, like any remnants of a smile on the blonde’s face. Whycan’titjustbeliketheothers?
Feet shuffle behind him. Scott still does not look. “It’s late.” The knight behind him observes.
Briefly, he glances back up at the sky. There are so many more stars here than in Barrowhill, each one glimmering with familiarity, constellations dancing across the dark canvas. The moon has risen higher in the sky. “Mhm.” The blonde does not see the point in this discussion. He’s very aware of the time. Overly aware even, every second weighing on his heavy eye bags.
“So…why are you still up?” Scott shrugs, as if it didn’t bother him asifeachbreathdoesn’tsuffocatehim he’sfinehe’sfinehe’sfine.
“Can’t sleep, you?” Lies, he didn’t even try to sleep.
“Got stuck with night patrol.” The knight answers simply. Turning around for the first time during this whole interaction, Scott catches Nom awkwardly cross his arms. Moonlight captures the man’s eyes in a way that makes them look almost amber, swirling with deep browns. It reminds Scott of the cocoa beans he used to grow to make hot chocolate on cold winter days. The man’s hair is mussed up, and his glasses are almost falling off his face.
It feels comforting in a way. He’s spoken to the man almost every day during the week he’s lived here, and every time the man never fails to remind him of home happier times. Guilt drives deep in his stomach, making its nest with every other awful emotion in there. Maybe he shouldn’t be so clipped.
“What are you doing?” The brunette, bless him, tries again, tone sounding genuinely curious, like he cares what Scott wastes spends his time on.
“Finishing up planting my garden, might as well make this place feel a little bit more like home.” Thisplacewon’teverbehishome. The blonde says with a unintentional sigh, picking up where he left off with the stubborn lily.
“Hm,” The knight crouches down next to him, armor clanking with the movement, sounding similarly to metal pots and pans being banged together, only quieter. Still, it hurts his overly sensitive ears. “Does it?” Nom’s voice is soft, like he noticed the man’s discomfort with loud noises, like he cares. Stupidthoughtswhywouldhecare?
That question confused Scott. Does what? What did he say that prompted that question again? His mind has been like like a mess of weeds for most of the day, thinking about everything and nothing, freaking out at the smallest of things. He just can’t focus on anything but the insignificant things, such as the tune the wind whistles, or the flower that just will not stop drooping. Whycan’titjustfuckingstand?
“Does what?”
“Does it feel like home?” The words are so quiet, so gentle, that it takes a moment for him to realize what’s been said, hands freezing around the damned lily. Does it feel like home? What a loaded question that is.
No. No it doesn’t feel like home. It doesn’t come close to home. He chooses to be at his home, he was forced here. Home is his father, who hums a lovely tune in the mornings when making pancakes. Home is the taste of lemonade after a day of working, laughing with his dad as they make toasts on how much they love each other. Home is the florist shop, a variety of bushes and plants freshening the air. Home is dealing with an entitled adult and then having a few frequent customers back him up. Home is taking a walk to enjoy the scenery just to be greeted by people he hasn’t seen in months. Home is not being plagued with awful memories every time he closes his eyes because he knows someone will be there. Home is his community. Home is his safety. Home is all of the things he had to leave behind.
The blonde does not say this. Instead he closes his eyes and scrunches his nose, trying to ignore the burn that has been crawling in his throat all day. “No, but I’m making the most of it.” He can only hope those words say more than he will ever have the courage to speak. He also hopes Nom doesn’t notice the rasp in his voice, and, if he does, then he’s too nice to comment on it.
The night is quiet, peaceful in a way that should’ve calmed Scott down. His heart and mind seem to disagree, both aching and thumping in similar but oh-so different ways. Each breath he pulls in is harsh and raw against his throat. This whole day he has been so close to a panic attack, and each time he manages to push it down. Please just go away. He begs it, trying desperately to calm his breathing. Is he shaking?
The knight breaks the brief silence. “I get that. Y’know you don’t have to be okay with it though, right?” Eyes burning, he looks anywhere but at Nom, tucking his chin on top of his knees, and wrapping his arms around his legs as if he’s trying to protect himself, which is silly because the only thing trying to hurt him is his own mind. His memories.
Shakingherbody,deadonthefloor,Mum,Mum,Mum? Screaming,somuchscreaming,ishetheonescreaming?
He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.
Maybe if he says it enough times the well threatening to spill over his waterline will drain itself.
“I’m not the—Well, I’m actually kind of awful at comforting people, Katie will gladly tell you so if you ask her.” Despite the burn in his throat, and the pain that's finding every inch of his body, internal or external, Scott smiles, just a little bit, at Nom’s nervous chuckle. He almost wants to look at the knight just to see the dimples that only appear when he’s grinning, even if that smile is self-deprecating. If the half-elf was sure he could speak without crying, he’d tell Nom off for that.
Even though Nom is so obviously out of his depth here, he still tries. “Hm, speaking of Katie, when she first left, I—this place no longer felt like home, y’know? Like I was still in my house, but she was my home—Don’t tell her I said that.” Scott chuckles, the sound watery, yet he can sense Nom’s pride from next to him—if the distinct thud of a dragon tail is not a telling sign. Want pulls through him. Just a glance. His mind tries desperately to convince him. Scott does not fall for it.
“Anyways, I was kind of just a miserable person to be around.”
Immediately contradicting himself, the blonde turns his head just a smidge, just to see, catching Nom’s eye. He’s sure he looks awful, skin blotchy, and likely a tear falling down his face, but Scott doesn’t focus on that, instead choosing to focus on the details of the knight’s face. It’s easier than dealing with his thoughts. The brunette has a slightly crooked nose, likely from being broken so many times. A small indent of the left side of his face, from god-knows what. Lips curved in a small smile that never seems to disappear when Scott’s around, showing off the dimples on his cheeks that he has yet to stop trying to commit to memory. All of these things go into a box in his brain labeled “Nom;” he was starting to build quite a collection for someone he’s only met a week ago. “You being miserable? Never heard of it.” His voices wavers, trying it’s best to stay steady despite the constant boil happening in his throat, pushing and pulling at the insides of the tissue.
The dragon doesn’t comment on it, despite his bright (but somehow also dark?) eyes surely seeing it all. Instead, he nudges him, his hand warm against the half-elf’s shoulder, and the cold that he didn’t notice seeping into his bones. Scott sways slightly to the side, even though the hand really had no force at all. Then it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he almost chases it, only now noticing how empty and chilly his body is now that he’s felt the heat.
“Hey, I’m being vulnerable!” Scott likes the way it rolls off his tongue (another thing to add to the box). Only Nom can make such a raw word seem like a good time. The knight huffs, and the blonde chuckles once more, his antics slightly quelling the pain and hurt that drives into him.
Another huff, and he begins again. “Anyways, yeah, nothing was the same and I put all my time and energy into being a knight, as if I wasn’t doing that before. I was grumpy and ill-tempered-”
“You still are” Scott whispers.
“and kind of just a bit of a hot mess. That was until I met 4C and Mae. They were kind of my supports in all of this. Well, I mean Graecie helped too, but like, they were my new home, y’know? Family by choice, not by blood and all that. I still miss Katie, but it hurts a little less with them around.” Huh. The story Nom gave was sounding awfully familiar to the blonde, except for the ending, and how Nom was acting (everyone handles grief differently). Maybe he is a bit more similar to the knight than he thought.
Well, it’s something to chew on at least andnotthinkabouthisownissues.
“I—Thank you for sharing Nom.” Thank you for trusting me with this thank you for not leaving His voice is quiet and shaky against the night, chirring and chirping with nocturnal animals and bugs. Yet, the brunette still seems to hear it, nodding slightly.
“Anytime—Well, not anytime, but like…when the glove fits.” A small smile plays on his lips, like it does so often when the knight’s around. HewondersifNom’scategorizinghissmilesaswell. The half elf can feel the tear this time, riding down his cheek. Wiping it before it gets much further than his nose, he prays to the mage god that, once more, Nom did not notice.
“You should get to bed.” The dragon hums, fidgeting with his gauntlets, and half-heartedly pulling at the spikes. One of the many quirks of the man; he cannot keep his hands still. The blonde needs to get him one of those spinner toys for kids or something.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Shouldn’t you go to bed as well?”
“No, I’m still on duty for a little bit longer.” Standing up slowly, the brunette glances up at the sky. A hand, spiked around the knuckles, waves in Scott’s face, offering assistance getting up. Nom’s still on duty; what if something happened just because he was too busy talking to the blonde? What if—
Grabbing just the fingers of his hand (the pointy metal looks like it hurts), he lets Nom help him up, shuffling his feet slightly.
“I’m sorry.” Scott isn’t sure if the brunette heard him at first, he can barely hear himself. Guilt churns deeper in his gut.
“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Deep brown eyes find his emerald ones, and Scott isn’t quite sure what he sees in Nom’s. He can’t quite find any particular emotion just…comfort. It quells the god-awful guilt bubbling inside him.
Nodding, he speaks again. “Okay. I’ll see you later?” It sounds more like a question than a fact, needing to be affirmed.
“I’ll see you later. Goodnight, Scott.” All of his words are a smile, one that the blonde can’t help but mimic.
“Goodnight Nom.” Glancing back one last time before he closes the door, the flower from earlier is now standing tall. His smile only grows wider.
Maybe it would be fine if he made one real friend.
For the first time since moving there, Scott does not have nightmares.