" last night "

Chapter 16

     When Darion woke up, it was well into the afternoon, and he was hungry as hell. Windham wasn't anywhere to be seen, which didn't necessarily make for a good combination. (No, that's not a euphemism for anything.) He yawned and wiped his eyes and stretched before groggily trudging into the living room.
     The next thirty minutes were a bit of a blur; he remembered the smell of something, maybe some type of meat, cooking, and Windham telling him to eat something. He remembered agreeing and then flopping back down onto the couch before something warm wrapped around him and a hand settled on his hip. He remembered a voice muttering something that made him laugh, surprisingly. Then, he remembered a concerned voice breaking him out of his numbed stupor.
     "Are you alright, cariño?"
     "Cariño?" Darion asked tiredly.
     Windham froze, the uncomfortable heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. "Um... Another name for a friend."
     Darion nodded, too exhausted to inquire further. If he was really curious, he could ask some of the lower guards that immigrated from Serkonos.
     "I'll be alright. I've got you, so...I'll try to find a way to keep everything under control," he said with a sad smile.
     He chuckled when Windham huffed and looked away timidly. "What, can't handle compliments?"
     "Shut up, yes I can."
     An amused snort was the only response Darion had before he hooked his arm behind Windham's shoulders and rested his head against him. "I don't know what I'd do without you, pretty boy," he murmured sleepily.
     "You're still tired? I thought me coming over here was for me to sleep, not you."
     "You could sleep with me, how does that sound?" the officer said with a wink.
     "...Shut up." That red-hot warmth made itself present once more.
     "Make me."
     Windham raised an eyebrow and shifted slightly in his spot. Darion was disappointed, but not surprised when all Windham did was ruffle his hair. Figures. There's not a single time Darion can name when Windham wasn't as dense as a goddamn wall of concrete in terms of being hit on. Though irritating at times, it was entertaining.
     "I'm not falling for your cheap flirts, man."
     "I've got better ones. Did you know you have eyes as deep and beautiful as the Pandyssian rainforests? Or how your smile is as bright as the sun in a Serkonan summer?" Darion said with a snicker. Well, he wasn't lying, but like hell he was gonna let on to that.
     "Flatterer."
     "Old-fashioned."
     Windham smiled ever-so-slightly. "Whatever."
     Silence enveloped them for a good few minutes. No reason to talk, and Darion, despite him throwing around a bit of teasing, was mentally and emotionally exhausted. For once, he wanted something to fall back on. He didn't want to just stand through everything like a solid pillar of marble, without flinching or letting anyone else know what was going on. All of the emotional baggage is what pushed him to this internal dilemma; he was already past the point of complete mental stability before Dylan was killed, but this just worsened the cracks in his mind. Anything further, without someone to provide him the help he desperately needed, would shatter him.

*

     Later that evening, Windham returned to the dark, towering walls of the Abbey, trying not to smile. Even though his face was hidden behind that thick scowling mask, he felt like all of his fellow brothers' gazes could penetrate through the golden curves, their eyes harsh and accusing.
     Even if they could, Windham doubted he would care that much.
     He soon settled himself back into the bunkhouse, flipping through the pages of an old book as he tried to tune out the incessant chatter of the other soldier-priests. As he focused in on the book instead of the white noise, it formed into a bit of an artificial silence that was quickly interrupted by the most endearing pest in his life.
     "What's up with your smiling, old man? Haven't seen you this happy since that dumbass Samir died," Overholt interrupted suddenly, pulling down the book Windham was reading.
     "Hey, give that back, you little rat!"
     The kid flipped through the book, their eyes widening a bit. "Prince of Tyvia? Really Windham? C'mon, I know some of us would read shit like this, but you? I think Darion's influencing you a bit."
     "He is not." Windham glared daggers at him, his jaw clenched.
     Overholt snorted. "I've seen you look over your shoulder and check him out just like he does to you. He's influencing you, whether you like it or not. And you know it."
     "...Shut up. I mean it, this is not up for debate, smartass."
     He snickered mischievously. "But anyway, when are you gonna tell him? You know you both like each other, it's obvious! Even Skags has noticed."
     "Outsider's eyes, he knows too?"
     "No, I just like messing with you."
     Windham growled and snatched the book from his hands before elbowing him off of his bed. Even at his best, Overholt was still an absolute handful.
     "You better tell him this week or I'm going to feed your rations to Justice," the kid called out in a singsong voice.
     Windham just glared at him. "You are incredibly close to being locked out of the bunkhouse for the night. Why don't you go annoy Humphrey instead of me? Unlike him, I actually want to sleep."
     "Because he's not annoyed by me. Just scared," he said, frowning slightly. "You still need to tell him, though, okay? I don't wanna see you making yourself miserable because you're too much of a wimp to actually talk to the guy."
     Windham sighed defeatedly. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I said to him a while back there was something I needed to tell him in two weeks. And guess how long ago that was?"
     "Two weeks?"
     "No, one and a half, but it's getting out of hand, so I suppose I'll just have to stop stalling."
     Overholt snorted with laughter before scrambling up to his bunk, hanging his head over the side to sneer at Windham. "Good luck with that, old man!"