Crimson Blade {inspired by Our Flag Means Death}

What We See When We're Watching Closely

Eyes the color of sea glass scan Theo's face, the eyebrows above them furrowed in concentration, and the intensely focused attention on him makes his skin warm. Sitting still and being drawn by Luka gives him the perfect excuse to stare unapologetically, so he does. Over the last day, he's had countless moments to admire the younger lad, but every time he does, he finds something new to adore. Above the left corner of Luka's lip is a small mole, and it jumps and dances with every emotion that crosses his face. Right now it's tucked inside his bottom lip, hidden from Theo, and he frowns at that.

"You're not meant to move," Luka chides, smirking, and there's the mole again.

Theo whispers an apology, relaxing his features and resuming his previous task of trying to memorize every inch of Luka's being. Under the bright light shining in through the window, his curls appear to be more copper than blonde, tones of red streaked through. Already, he's familiar with the pattern of freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose, but nevertheless he traces them with his eyes like it's the first time he's seen them. He's beautiful, and strong. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms, and when he twists to retrieve another stump of charcoal, Theo gets a good view of his defined torso through the open buttons of his linen shirt.

And, my gods, Theo wants to paint him.

Luka feels the burning sensation on his skin of being acutely watched. Which isn't fair, because he's trying to focus. Committing his captain's every feature to parchment is difficult enough, without said captain's eyes raking across his entire form like he's hot coals that must be tended to. He'd love nothing more than to be allowed to simmer, but it's impossible with this man. He sneaks a glance at Theo's face to make sure the curve of his cheekbone is right, and of course, Theo smirks at him. The speed with which he tears his eyes away and back to his drawing is embarrassing. Theo knows what he's doing to him, but Luka wouldn't dare lie and say he isn't reveling in it, just a little bit.

"Tell me about Bellows," Theo requests, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear but stopping when he hears Luka groan warningly at him.

The younger man's eyes close for a millisecond in quiet grief, not long enough to be noticed by his captain. The last few hours have been spent in a state of contentment that Luka hasn't had since his time with Conrad came to an abrupt end, and he feels guilty for not being miserable every second of the remainder of his life. He's painfully aware that if the roles were reversed, his former captain would never move on- the most important pieces of him would die with Luka and he'd never know a moment of peace again. And that knowledge, as it claws a hole in his chest, threatens to shred him from the inside out.

His expression faltering might have gone unnoticed, but his prolonged silence does not. Theo doesn't claim to be a wordsmith, never knows what to say in any moment of great importance, but he understands the feelings of others better than most. Feels them better even. Without Luka saying a word, he knows that Conrad Bellows was so much more than just his companion's captain.

"You loved him."

Luka's vocal chords are seized and even if he wanted to, he can't croak out the 'yes' that's lodged in the back of his throat. Can't bring himself to say it aloud, for he never did when Con was alive, and it would feel a betrayal to admit it now. Now when it's meaningless, when it does nothing for the man who was everything to him - the man who pleaded on more than one occasion for him to say it.

His green eyes glare at the black and grey version of his current captain as he continues to draw the intricate and intimate lines of his face, demanding his body behave, that it keep the tears where they belong: at the bottom of the well, deep beneath the surface.