" last night "

Chapter 13

     Windham woke to his shoulder being gently shaken. "Hey, hey, get up. We're in the estate district."
     With a bit of coaxing, Darion eventually half-carried Windham out into the streets. Several men and women in the general army were around for whatever reason (Turnbull liked to show up at random times nowadays, it seemed) stared at them, but one good glare from the officer made then duck their heads and move along.
     "Mm...Y'didn't have to help me, I can walk by myself." Windham was waking up a bit more.
     Darion's grip on his waist tightened a bit when he nearly tripped over a crack in the cobblestone street.
     "Well, I wanted to, so get used to it." Yawning, Windham weakly smacked his shoulder.
     Darion grinned and carefully guided the partially asleep man into an older building and up several flights stairs. As soon as he unlocked his apartment door, they were greeted with various pieces of smashed glass or porcelain of some sort. Instead of being alarmed, Darion just looked annoyed.
     "For the love of... Phantom, you little shit!"
     From the commotion, Windham began to wake up ever so slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a sleek black cat perched on top of a couch. It didn't react to Darion's outburst.
     "Fuckin' cats, man...They're great, but they can be assholes sometimes."
     Windham lazily kicked his boots off and left them by the door. "You named your cat Phantom?"
     "Well, yeah, just look at her."
     If it weren't for the cat's eyes, she wouldn't be visible at all.
     "Hm. Good point."
     As Darion began sweeping the shattered remains of what he said was an old vase, Windham busied himself with undoing the buttons of his coat.
     "Just set your stuff on the couch. As you can tell, I'm not really the neatest person ever," Darion called over his shoulder. Well, he wasn't wrong. Various books and papers were strewn about the small apartment, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he was making it out to be.
     Windham set his coat on the arm of the couch, and Darion wasn't sure what he should stare at: the way Windham's uniform tightly fitted his body or the various throwing knifes hidden in his coat.
     "Damn," he said aloud, not necessarily intending to.
     Windham raised an eyebrow. "Eh? What, it's not that many knives. Trust me, I have more."
     "No, no, I wasn't talking about the knives."
     Despite being used to how exceedingly flirty Darion was, Windham couldn't shake the sudden wave of timidness that washed over him.
     "Then...what were you talking about?" He knew what Darion was talking about, but he wanted confirmation. Just to be sure.
     "What do you think, pretty boy? Really, does your uniform have to be that tight? Now you're just messing with me."
     Windham wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off of Darion's lips. With his lips. He wanted to kiss him really fucking badly, okay?
     "Tighter clothes make it easier to move more quickly in combat. You of all people should know," he responded, yawning mid-sentence.
     Darion chuckled, his smirk fading to a small smile. "I'd continue arguing with you, but you really do need to get some sleep, alright? You can go ahead and take my bed, I don't know if I'm sleeping tonight anyways. I've got stuff to work on."
     Windham weakly nodded, too exhausted to protest. He unzipped the canvas bag, grabbed some clothes, and walked off to where Darion said his room was. The minute he'd changed out of his uniform and laid down, Windham was out like a light.
     Though he may have lied about the cause of his sleep deprivation, he was being truthful about how much it was affecting him.

*

     It must've been around three in the morning when the overseer woke up. He wasn't sure what roused him from his sleep until he sat up. Darion's cat was sitting on his chest. It was difficult to tell who was more startled, Windham or Phantom. Probably Windham, considering he fell off the side of the bed.
     The cat hissed and scampered off into what looked like a spare bedroom, but it was difficult to tell from how dark it was.
     Huh, that's weird. Thought the apartment only had one bedroom, Windham mused silently.
     Pushing himself off the creaky hardwood floor, he quietly made his way to the room the cat had wandered into. The overseer pushed the door open, and, to his surprise, found it wasn't a bedroom at all. Well, it may have been at one point, but at this time, it was more like an art studio than anything.
     Miscellaneous papers were strewn across the floor and pinned up to the wall, canvases were stacked halfway off the floor, and used tubes of paint were pushed together in small piles around the room. Two or three stained easels were propped against the wall, but one stood up near the west corner of the room, where Darion stood. He was so concentrated on blending several dark colors that he didn't even hear Windham walk in.
     "Ah, god dammit!" Darion grumbled to himself. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms were covered with paint, and his hair was slicked back. Currently he was using the side of a wooden palette that had way too much paint on it to mix the colors, but after several seconds of frustration, he set it down on the desk beside him.
     He placed the end of the brush between his teeth, rubbed his fingers in the three colors he was mixing, and proceeded to use his arm as a palette instead. To him, it worked, because he went back to painting after that.
     Windham hesitantly took a step closer and noticed it wasn't a what that he was painting, but moreso, who. At a three quarters angle was a half-finished painting of a young man's face, stormy grey-blue eyes, scarred, fair skin, and from what was done so far, dark brown hair. Windham couldn't figure out why the man looked so familiar.
     Just as Windham was about to make his presence apparent and say something, Darion sighed loudly and backed away from the painting. He pulled the desk chair out and set it in front of the canvas, sitting down. His posture was hunched over as he held his face in his hands, shaking his head. The concentration and stability he had earlier amounted to nothing at this point. The hole he'd dug himself into to keep from worrying anyone about his issues was beginning to cave in on him.
     "Can't do this...No." His voice was unnervingly shaky, like he was going to start sobbing at a minute's notice. Windham likely would have put the pieces together a lot more quickly if he was focusing on that, but at the moment, his attention was on Darion. The man was still hunched over and his breathing was beginning to hitch. He was choking down sobs.
     Deliberately making his footsteps louder, Windham approached. The officer must've not heard him, though, because when he reached his hand out and set it on his shoulder, Darion yelped and scrambled off the chair.
     "F-Fucking hell, how long have you been there, huh? How long? How fucking long?!"
     Windham was expecting various reactions from him, but hearing anger and fear in Darion's voice was not one of them. He did his best to remain calm.
     "Not very. Are you alright?" He held out his hand to help Darion up, which he rather rudely batted away.
     "I don't need your help," he snarled. Windham must've looked hurt, because as soon as Darion realized what he'd done, he sprang up and latched himself onto the overseer. The only thing that left his lips was a mantra of "I'm sorry" repeated over and over again. It only died down when his quiet sobs made it difficult for him to catch his breath.
     Windham didn't question it, he just ran his hand up and down Darion's back. "It's alright, it's alright," he said. "Everything's gonna be okay, I promise. You're alright now. I've got you. You're safe," he muttered softly, holding Darion against his chest.
     Out of all the times he's seen Darion break down from what he's gone through, he couldn't recall any that have ever been this bad. It made him wonder how long he's pent everything up.
     "Hey, hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that."
     A slight nod was Darion's only response. A minute passed. Then two.
     "You...you don't have to be alone."
     Darion squeezed tighter. Tears were still streaming down his face. His breathing wasn't as haggard, though.
     Seeing Darion like this hurt. More than Windham thought it would. A hundred ice picks directly to the heart would have hurt less.
     "C'mon, let's get the paint off, yeah?"
     Darion was silent for a good ten seconds. "Yeah."