B l o o m

Chapter 2: Petunia

I resent you, but in a soothing sort of way.

He was this close to leaving. He almost had.

Armen's helmet was clutched in his long fingers as he had sat by the fire. It was dark, and it was early fall, a light breeze tickling both of them. He'd suggested leaving to Grayson, and he was this close to actually doing it.

He'd done his absolute best to ignore the dismay on Grayson's face as he said it was fine if he did. The blond didn't get it, did he? Drake didn't want to be around him. He was a total stranger, nearly, and despite his kindness, Drake wasn't ready. There was a hole in his heart that Grayson wasn't the right shape to fill. He was almost certain Grayson would look for civilization as well. Drake would probably get them kicked out, what with his face and all. He'd probably get them shot, too. He was slow. He'd get them starved, beaten, frozen in the snow.

It was better for Grayson if he didn't have to lug Drake around, certainly.

But then, he managed to break out of his own misery and realize what he was doing. Grayson was alone in that base. Grayson had been alone in Ironport. Grayson would be alone now. How could he do that to Grayson, who had been nothing but fair and accepting and helpful since he lowered his musket from him and Armen? Armen, who was now dead. Grayson, who would mourn the same as him. Alone. For god knows how long.

How could he do that to him? How could he?

He looked Grayson in the eye and asked him what was wrong. He tried to be and act considerately, but really, he was thinking so intently; Tell me to stay. Tell me what you need.

And Grayson had spilled. Drake was naive, and Drake was an idiot, but even an idiot could have guessed Grayson's poorly hidden emotions and found that they were right. The blond was angry (rightfully so) and sad (horribly so), and after a tirade, he ended up sitting back down on the grass, head in his hands and blubbered how he didn't think he'd be able to heal on his own.

Put shortly, Grayson was scared to be alone.

Some horrible part of Drake still wanted to leave. It will be better for both of you, it whispered. Drake took a mental sledgehammer and smacked the voice away for now, and sat beside Grayson.

He looked up at Drake, eyes red and full of some sort of disbelief. "...what are you doing?" He mumbled.

"Hugging you. Isn't it obvious?" He attempted to lighten the mood with some sarcasm and a dash of salt. He wasn't sure if it worked or not, because Grayson shifted, looking down at the grass with his hands limp in front of him.

"I'm not going to force you to stay, Drake," Grayson said.

Some snarky, stinging part of Drake's mind told him otherwise. He was in a lose-lose situation. Leave Grayson alone to suffer in the wilderness after years of isolation, or weigh him down with his sorrow and weakness and be a burden to the other man's survival.

There was no winning. So might as well choose the option that will bandage Grayson's wounds. His long finger gently scratched a spot on Grayson's shirt sleeve that was more worn than the rest. "You're not forcing me to do anything, okay? This is my choice."

Grayson scoffed. "Sure."

Even Grayson couldn't believe what he was doing. Was he really that horrible, that he would leave this person alone? What kind of friend was he? What kind of brother...?

The fire danced quietly in front of them, warming them in the cool night air. Drake fell asleep before Grayson did, but he didn't let go. He wasn't sure why Grayson didn't push him off.