Chapter Text
Fading sunlight peeks feebly between branches, casting spiderweb shadows across the forest floor. Winter was coming to an end; but it did nothing to stop the chill spreading through Clancy’s bones. He picks his way through the mud left by the last frost, cheeks red, hands numb. His jacket does nearly nothing to keep him warm, and with the sun’s setting he is getting worried. There is no snow to burrow into to keep him warm, no foliage to wrap around him. The hood of his jacket had been ripped off during his perimeter escape; he doesn’t even have the privilege of shutting the world out while he freezes to death. Funny choice to make, he thinks. Die in Trench or die in Dema. He prefers it this way. Better to freeze out here, he mutters under his breath, better than to continue in there. Still doesn’t make it easier. Clancy keeps stumbling forward through the trees, holding his jacket tightly around him, eyes blurring slightly at the sting of a cold wind. It is getting dark now. He finds it hard to see the ground in front of him, tripping over roots and reaching blindly for the tree trunks. Clancy stops to catch his breath. His gaze wanders over the shadows in the dark, the landscape turning hostile in the dark. He can imagine eyes in the trees, behind the branches, under the rocks, yellow eyes here to devour him. He keeps walking.
The darkness is beginning to get to him. Clancy twitches at every long shadow and jumps at every cracking twig, his overcompensating brain making his head seem like it’s boiling; while his hands, for all he can feel through them, may well be covered with frostbite. He’s starting to lose feeling in his legs. His feet, boots soaked through from mud and meltwater, have been completely numb for hours. Clancy wonders if this is what dying feels like. How long has he been dying for? The night may as well be forever. He feels the tip of his nose, his lips, his chin begin to burn in the cold. The black lines on his neck seem almost to conduct the icy sensation; sending it shivering down his spine and radiating up his face. Clancy tries once again to claw at them, wanting to rub the smears from his skin, but he can’t feel his hands. Besides, he thinks, his fingertips are black too. He still tries, running the palm of his hand over his neck. The sensation of his numb hand against the dull nerves in his neck reminds him of the bishop’s hands, cold and dead, and he stops quickly. Clancy looks down at his fingertips. The black smear is slowly but surely spreading across his skin. If he doesn’t freeze to death first, he wonders, would he become one of them? One of his legs buckles underneath him, his ankle turning on an unseen hollow in the dirt. He is falling before he can process what’s happening. Clancy’s knees hit the dirt with a crack that jars up his leg. Sudden pain blooms in his kneecap and ankle and he cries out, the sound echoing in the silent forest night. He claps a hand to his mouth and leans forward, his other hand bracing him off the ground while he tries to stay quiet, holding back the threat of tears. A sob still manages to slip past his hand and rushes away from him into the dark.
A noise makes Clancy freeze. He brings himself slowly back onto his knees, ignoring the pain in his leg, hand still to his mouth. It happens again; the cracking of a twig, the twitch of a branch, the unmistakable sound of someone pushing their way towards him. Clancy scrambles to his feet. Everything in his body screams in protest but his mind is moving too fast to care. His eyes flash around him, searching frantically for a place to hide. Behind a tree was too obvious. He wasn’t in a state to climb. He can’t run. Clancy’s gaze falls on a patch of bracken; long, wide, dead ferns, new green curls unfurling below them. It wouldn’t completely cover him, but it would obscure him, and if he can trust himself not to make a sound he would easily be hidden. Clancy throws himself at the bracken, gritting his teeth as his body scrapes across rock and roots, sliding quickly between the leaves. The ferns rustle with his movements, the dead dry stems brushing against each other as he adjusts his position. He is on his knees again, crouched in the darkest part of the bracken patch. His eyes are positioned perfectly between the leaves, looking towards the noise. He hopes they’re not visible. The noise sounds again, very close this time. Clancy tenses; and someone steps into view.
The figure moves carefully, cautiously sliding between trees as if trying not to be heard. They’re long; Clancy guesses they’re not that much taller than him, but in the light from the flaming torch they hold above their head, their body seems five times taller. He can’t make out details of their body in the stretched shadows from the torch, but their shoulders seem wide enough to be muscled. It sets him on edge, and he feels his own shoulders tense. The figure poses a different threat from the bishops; but every threat is tripled for him now. It’s not like he can fight back. Fall on their mercy, beg for his life? Would that be much different from Dema? His thoughts are cut short when another figure appears, and then another and another; five in total, all carrying some kind of flame, in lanterns or on torches, though these torches are neither as long nor as bright as the first. The first figure turns to the group, raising a hand. Their fingers move in a quick sequence, directing the group without words. Clancy watches closely, heart rate spiking as a gesture flashes in his own direction. The group splits; each person begins to fan out in a steady spiral, each turning warily out into the forest. The first figure, the one with the brightest torch, walks slowly towards Clancy’s hiding place. Their head moves from side to side, as if they’re trying to get the best view into the trees, or hear as clearly as possible. Clancy holds himself so still and so quiet he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. The roar of blood past his eardrums is almost as loud as the person’s footsteps, closer and closer to him with every second. Soon they’re close enough that Clancy has to look up to keep them in view. They move the torch in a wide circle, throwing light onto the surrounding trees, and Clancy catches his first proper glimpse of them. The torchlight flickers over green fabric and the edges of skin, pale with winter; and bright lines of yellow tape. Recognition slams through Clancy’s mind like lightning. The secrecy, the torches, the yellow– these are banditos. He has heard stories about these people, the secret resistance hidden deep in Trench, an icon of hope in Dema. Clancy had never fully believed them. But now, staring up at this person, Clancy’s mind thinks over the legends, and he realises who this person must be. The leader of the banditos had a title. This was the Torchbearer.
A soft gasp escapes from Clancy’s lips. He presses them together immediately, attempting to stifle the noise, but it is already gone. The person in front of him stiffens. Their head turns slowly, carefully, and Clancy can see their eyes now, reflecting torchlight, dark brown irises staring through the ferns. Clancy’s own eyes are wide, every muscle in his body pulled taught. He doesn’t breathe. The figure stares into the bracken for another beat. Clancy can see soft flecks of gold in the dark brown eyes. Their hand reaches out, slowly, carefully, and brushes the tops of the ferns. Clancy’s lungs are screaming for him to take a breath. The hand on the fern clenches, pulling back the stem, gradually shedding light across the small spaces between the leaves. The light falls across Clancy and the figure stops. Clancy stares into their face, hardly visible past the yellow bandana covering the lower half. Their eyes move steadily over Clancy, pausing at the black marks on his neck, making contact with Clancy’s own gaze. Clancy is completely frozen. For a moment, neither of them move. Then the figure moves their torch hand deliberately towards their face, pulling the bandana down with practiced precision. It is Clancy’s turn to take in the other. A small smile breaks across the Torchbearer’s face.
‘What have I found?’
His voice is low, but soft, and not unfriendly. Clancy blinks. Then the reality of his current situation comes crashing back on him. Clancy throws himself backward, scrambling away from the other man. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, he can’t trust, he won’t–
He doesn’t make it five feet before his legs give out beneath him. He can’t feel anything, he feels everything, everything is pain to him and it’s so cold. Clancy crashes back to the ground, yelling out as his body hits sharp stone and dirt. His vision blurs with tears. The Torchbearer is standing over him again, hands outstretched, and Clancy lashes out with fists and feet. He has no idea if he hits anything at all. The Torchbearer is kneeling next to him, hands still outstretched over Clancy. The torch is gone, whether on the ground or in someone else’s hands Clancy doesn’t know. The Torchbearer says something in that soft, friendly voice, and his hand reaches past Clancy’s flailing arms, grabbing his shoulder. It was like he had cast a spell. All the fight flows out of Clancy like warmth in winter, and he lies still. The Torchbearer’s grip is firm, clearly strong, but gentle like his voice. Clancy’s eyes meet his again. He looks almost concerned. Clancy feels himself relax for the first time in what feels like an eternity. The Torchbearer’s hand gives his shoulder a squeeze.
‘Don’t worry.’ he says. We’re going to help you.’
Clancy believes him.
----------
The soft candlelight plays lightly over the tent walls, which bend ever so slightly in the wind outside. Clancy sits on the cot in the corner– his cot, though he hasn’t quite gotten used to that idea yet. The weather is warmer now, so he isn’t curled up in his new hoodie under the blankets. He’s been in the bandito camp a little over two weeks now. He thinks it’s been okay, nice even. Every bandito is friendly enough; they helped him get in the rhythm of the camp, how each day works. He’s even gotten gifts, a blanket from a guy called Mark, a new pair of boots from the guards Mase and Shap. Even Torchbearer has given him something, the hoodie having been dropped off at his tent entrance the day after his arrival. The hood is currently pulled up over his head, pushing his hair into his eyes. He shoves it upwards with a huff. He would love to cut it short, get rid of the length that annoys him, but that’s out of the question. Clancy tells himself that it’s because he is unsure if someone in the camp would be able to help him, or if they would have the equipment for it. At the back of his mind he remembers the feeling of scissors held against his head by a cold, dead hand. He pushes the thought away. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to do with his hair even if he could cut it. He’d never been able to choose before.
The sound of footsteps outside the tent makes Clancy look up towards the entrance, his heart kicking up a faster beat. A shadow falls over the tent and Clancy waits for whoever is inside to push open the flap and walk in. The shadow pauses outside; Clancy sees them raise an arm to their head, to touch the back of their neck, or pull at their hair. Clancy hears them shift on their feet and he frowns, tilting his head. He doesn’t understand why they don’t just enter. There’s nothing blocking them. He isn’t stopping them. Why not just walk in? The shadow shifts again and he hears their boot kick against the ground. It hits three times, and then the shadow stops. Clancy stares at them through the fabric wall, frown deepening as he tries to parse what they could be doing. The shadow moves again, three loud, steady hits of the boot against the ground. A reason behind their strange action suddenly dawns on Clancy and he sits up in his cot. This must be a knock. They’re asking for his permission to come in. Something warm blooms in Clancy’s chest, and he calls out through the tent entrance.
‘Come in!’
The Torchbearer ducks his head through the entrance, stepping in fully shortly after. His gaze moves quickly over the space, searching, before it falls on Clancy, sitting in the cot with his legs pulled up to his chest. They look at each other for a moment. Torchbearer’s hair looks windswept; he is slightly out of breath, Clancy can tell by the rise and fall of his chest, a little faster than usual like he’d run to Clancy’s tent. Clancy sits up in his bed, letting his legs fall. He wonders if something is wrong. Torchbearer watches him closely, head tilted as if he’s trying to read Clancy. A blush, at first soft, creeps up Clancy’s neck, turning hot as the Torchbearer steps closer. He keeps twisting his hands by his sides. He clears his throat before he speaks.
‘Hey.’
‘Hi,’ Clancy replies, slightly hesitantly. Torchbearer seems almost nervous. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just wanted to see how you were doing.’
‘Doing fine, I think.’
‘Medics said you’re good? Everything working?’
Clancy raises his hands and wiggles his fingers with a grin.
‘The frostbite wasn’t bad enough to need to amputate anything, they said. I might have some nerve damage in my feet and I won’t be able to run any time soon, but I’m alive.’
The Torchbearer nods. He chews his bottom lip, taking in Clancy’s hands.
‘And the black parts?’
Clancy glances back down at his fingers for a split second. The black smear on his hands has slowly made its way to his knuckles over the days he’s been here. Every single attempt he has made to get rid of it– soaking, scrubbing, scratching, everything short of trying to take off his skin– hasn’t succeeded. He tries not to look at his hands most days. He doesn’t know how far the lines on his neck have spread, but judging by the sideways glances he gets sometimes from the other banditos, far enough to mark him out. Make him different. Clancy shoves his hands back into his hoodie pocket.
‘They don’t know what it is.’
A short silence follows. The Torchbearer clears his throat again.
‘You’re alive and whole. That’s what matters.’
‘Yeah.’
Clancy looks sidelong at Torchbearer.
‘Anything else?’
The Torchbearer seems to gather himself. He hasn’t managed to make back the breath he was short on, despite standing still long enough. It makes Clancy feel on edge, though he doesn’t know why he should be. Torchbearer begins to speak.
‘I,’ he takes a breath after the first syllable like he’s trying to steady himself. Clancy continues to stare at him. ‘We were doing some baking, by the campfires, for a morale boost for the camp..’
The Torchbearer is swaying up and down on the balls of his feet. Clancy is beginning to feel concerned for him.
‘I was wondering if you wanted some.’
Clancy blinks.
‘Some what?’
‘Cookies,’ Torchbearer replies fast, ‘that we were baking-’
‘Yes.’
It’s the Torchbearer’s turn to blink in surprise. Then a smile spreads across his face, a light in the fading winter, making Clancy’s blush burn ever so slightly brighter.
‘Great. I’ll be back with them in a minute.’
He beams at Clancy like he’s the most important thing in the world, and leaves the tent with a swish of canvas. Clancy sits in the sudden silence, trying to parse his way through whatever had just happened. The Torchbearer of the banditos appeared in his tent to check on his injuries and bring him cookies. Clancy wonders if he died in that forest and went to heaven. A sharp sting from his ankle, resting at an odd angle, brings him back to the present. Not heaven, just a very, very surprising reality.
It’s only a few minutes before Clancy hears the Torchbearer coming back. It’s started to rain— the noise becoming louder as Clancy waits in silence. It gives him something to listen to. He’s stood up in the intervening time, pacing the tent slightly. His ankle isn’t enjoying the movement, but his brain is using the moment to push out his confusion through stimming, so he’s pacing despite it. Occasionally he shakes his hands out in front of him. He looks at the black stains across his knuckles. They seem darker away from the candlelight, but when they catch the light they seem purple, or blue; almost a pretty shade. The returning footsteps make him look up, brain replacing the pacing with a fast tap of his foot on the floor. His hands go back into his hoodie pocket, picking at a fingernail. The Torchbearer steps into the tent swiftly, pulling his hood from his head, the ends of his curls dripping from the rain. He glances around again and notices Clancy standing closer than before. His eyes drift from Clancy to the small box in his hands, and Clancy sees a flush of red surge through his cheeks. It reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. Clancy is remarkably confused. He wonders if he’s done something wrong, for the Torchbearer to be acting like this around him. The thought slips his mind as Torchbearer holds the box out towards him.
‘Here.’
Clancy steps forward to him, holding out his hands to take the box. He places his own hands in between the Torchbearer’s to grab it properly, tenting them slightly. His fingertips brush the back of Torchbearer’s hands, and he could have sworn the other’s fingers shook. He takes it from Torchbearer, looking at him as he does. The red has gotten darker. Clancy thinks he might be coming down with something. He’s suddenly aware of how close they are to each other and he steps backwards to give Torchbearer some space; the other’s lips seeming to pout ever so slightly as he does. Clancy glances at him again before opening the box. The smell of cookies hits him immediately; warm and sweet, and he takes a long breath. The Torchbearer hovers uncertainly in front of him, anticipation radiating off him. He sees Clancy pause as he takes in the cookies, mouth watering over perfectly cooked dough.
‘Chocolate chip,’ he interjects. ‘We managed to get some ingredients in our last recon.’
Clancy picks up a cookie, looking at the scattered chips. He shifts it in his hand and sees the slight melt against the black smears on his fingers.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had chocolate.’
Clancy mumbles softly. For some reason, the simple gesture of gifting him food is making something swell in Clancy’s chest. He feels like there’s something stuck in his throat. He decides to take a bite before he starts crying in front of the Torchbearer. The flavour explodes in his mouth, the sweetness so different from anything he’s ever eaten. The chocolate is smooth, the chips inside the cookie melted somewhat from the dough’s heat; a crunch on the outside but still soft and almost hot on the inside. Clancy stares at the cookie.
‘Holy shit.’
‘What?’
The Torchbearer’s voice sounds nervous, but he’s quickly laughing as Clancy devours the cookie in seconds, reaching for another one to shove into his mouth.
‘Don’t eat them all at once!’
Torchbearer jokes. Clancy slows, but only to take another from the box and hold it out to him. The Torchbearer hesitates.
‘I’m fine, I think.’
Clancy proffers the cookie again.
‘Are you sure?’
The Torchbearer relents, taking it from Clancy and taking a large bite. His eyes widen.
‘Shit, that is good.’
‘You guys did great on these.’
Clancy looks at the Torchbearer, standing closer again for the cookie. The lump is back in his throat.
‘Thank you so much.’
His voice catches. The Torchbearer looks back at him, a warm smile on his face.
‘It’s no problem.’
‘No, I mean it, I—’
Clancy feels like he needs to throw a million emotions out into the world at once. He needs Torchbearer to know how much he appreciates this. How much he likes chocolate. How he’s never had anything given to him before, let alone homemade food. How much he’s glad to know people will put in this much effort for him. How he’s glad to know he’s wanted, likes to know he’s wanted, needs to know. The lump rises up his throat and suddenly there are tears in his eyes and he’s crying, crying in the middle of his tent over cookies. The Torchbearer’s eyes betray a hint of shock at Clancy’s abrupt change; but he steps forward, taking the box gently from Clancy’s hands and setting it down on top of a crate. Clancy is still standing in front of him, hands held out as though still holding it, tears now running down his face. Torchbearer turns back to him.
‘Would you like a hug?’
Despite everything, the question still takes Clancy by surprise. The Torchbearer has his arms outstretched as if he is expecting Clancy to fall into them. On some level Clancy will. He nods. The Torchbearer takes another step forward, wrapping his arms around Clancy and pulling him tight to his chest. His hand finds the back of Clancy’s head, fingers running through his hair. Clancy melts into the touch. His tears fall onto the Torchbearer’s jacket, mingling with the still-remaining rain. He can hear the Torchbearer’s heartbeat, faster but steady; his head moves with the rise and fall of his chest. Torchbearer’s breath catches slightly as Clancy buries his head further into his chest, feeling calm in the warmth from his body. They stand like that for a while, Torchbearer letting them sway in a careful rhythm. Clancy would have fallen asleep like that, if the Torchbearer hadn’t broken away from him to hold his shoulders and look into his eyes. Clancy swallows.
‘You okay?’
Clancy nods again.
‘I’m fine.’
His voice comes out low and gravelly from crying. He clears his throat.
‘I’m fine,’ he says in a louder voice. ‘It’s just.. a lot. Different, I guess. Nice.’
Torchbearer smiles.
‘It’s gonna be like that from now on. You’re not alone anymore. I’ll make sure of it.’
Clancy smiles back, though he isn’t sure how strong it is as he feels his lips quivering. The Torchbearer squeezes his shoulders. Then he steps back.
‘I should get on with my errands. Day’s fading.’
He grins.
‘Rain’s taken care of the light already.’
Clancy chuckles, slightly broken against the lump still stubbornly sticking in his throat. The Torchbearer claps him on the shoulder.
‘I’ll see you soon. Come to the campfires for dinner sometime. We can hang out more.’
Clancy nods once more. With a final brilliant smile in his direction, the Torchbearer leaves out of the tent entrance, leaving Clancy alone again, but more wanted than he has ever felt in his life.
----------
The night is scattered with stars. It chills Clancy, throwing goosebumps up his arms like constellations, but not cutting to his bones like the winter cold. He watches a cloud cross the moon, glad of the turn in temperature that comes with the beginning of spring. The grass is no longer crisp with frost beneath his shoes. It has been just over a week since the Torchbearer had encouraged him to join the groups at the campfire. He has finally found the courage.
As he nears the campfires, Clancy begins to consider having cold feet. He’s not sure he has the capacity to talk to this many people at once. They’ll be curious; he’ll be the centre of attention. They’ll definitely ask him questions. He doesn’t know if he wants to answer. He’s within the inner circles of tents now, and he’s beginning to see people. Small groups of people dotted around fires in the centre of camp, laughing and talking, the sense of community hanging in the air like fog. Clancy’s pace falters; he drifts slowly to the edge of the central clearing, watching the groups with rising nerves. He brings a hand to his mouth and bites off one of his nails. His heartbeat is a little too fast. In the figures by the fire, he thinks he can see the Torchbearer. Clancy takes a few, tentative, steps forward, just enough that the flickering light of the fires ripples over his face. He watches the long figure of the Torchbearer stand in front of the largest fire, clearly making a comment to the group that results in whoops and cheers. He raises his hands wide in response and laughs rise over the fires. Someone wolf-whistles and the laughter grows louder. Clancy’s stomach has dropped lower into his legs. He barely knows anyone, at least not anyone he can hold a proper conversation with. Everyone already knows the Torchbearer; he’s the centre of attention. Clancy can’t just stick with him, be the only person to hold his attention. He’d have all eyes on him. He kicks his feet into the dirt and decides: it’s easier to go back to the tent. He swallows and turns, heading back into the dark; but before he can disappear, someone calls his name.
‘Clancy!’
He freezes. Part of him is yearning to be alone again. But he forces himself to turn, slowly, back to the fire. The Torchbearer is walking towards him, arms wide, his smile bright enough to be seen even in the low light away from the fires. He stops just in front of Clancy, hands on Clancy’s shoulders.
‘I thought that was you.’
Clancy glances away from him to the ground, taking in a bare patch of dirt. The nerves are creeping up his chest into his neck like vines. Torchbearer’s smile falters, and he lowers his head to Clancy’s level. His hands fall from Clancy’s shoulders to his arms.
‘Are you okay?’
Clancy wants to continue staring stubbornly at the ground. Instead, he looks into Torchbearer’s face. His face is only partially visible in the firelight, but his brows are furrowed, and his eyes betray genuine worry. The nerves in Clancy’s throat melt.
‘I.. it makes me nervous.’
‘What?’
Clancy looks between Torchbearer and the campfires, his throat sticking with an explanation. The Torchbearer turns, following Clancy’s gaze, and understanding dawns on his face. His smile back at Clancy is warm and unwavering.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to be here if you want.’
Clancy looks to the fires again, and then back to Torchbearer. The anxiety in his chest is still twisting his stomach into knots, but they seem to loosen next to the other, curling back into place like they’re drying next to the Torchbearer’s fire. He is warm, standing in front of Clancy, not a searing heat but a welcoming hearth. Clancy swallows.
‘I can be here.’
He says quietly. Torchbearer’s smile spreads slowly, becoming a full grin. Clancy offers a small smile back, the nerves in his stomach still roiling. He can do it; but he isn’t happy about it. A large part of him is still screaming at him to run back to his tent, block the entrance and wrap himself in blankets in the corner until the sun rises. But he takes a deep breath, his hands in fists at his sides.
‘I can be here.’
‘Yeah,’ the Torchbearer’s voice is soft, and his hands on Clancy’s arms are reassuring. ‘You can.’
One of the Torchbearer’s hands lets go of Clancy and he misses the feeling for a moment; quickly forgetting it as his other hand slides down Clancy’s arm, taking Clancy’s own hand. Clancy looks at their hands for a moment, noticing the size difference between them, how his own seems to disappear as Torchbearer’s hand completely covers it. Then the Torchbearer gently begins to guide him towards the fire. At first Clancy’s feet drag, carving small paths into the newly thawed earth. He begins to walk a little faster, raising his shoes further from the ground to keep pace with Torchbearer. He allows himself to be pulled between campfires, shrinking into himself as people call out to the Torchbearer and he acknowledges them with a wave. Some of them call out to him. He manages a small smile to Shap and Mase, two of the only faces he recognises. The Torchbearer leads him to the central fire, not the biggest one, but definitely the brightest. Clancy has to blink several times to adjust. Torchbearer gestures him to a tree trunk laid out next to the fire, letting go of his hand with another quick smile. Suddenly left hanging in the centre of the group, Clancy feels himself begin to panic, glancing up and down the figures already sitting on the log. He misses the Torchbearer’s hand around his. One of the people on the bench waves at him. He squints through the firelight, and recognises the bandito Mark, the guy who had given him the blanket when he’d first arrived. His panic subsides; anxiety not gone, but at least he knows someone here. Relief tinges the nerves in his chest. Clancy slowly sits down next to Mark, who scoots slightly along the log to make room for him. Clancy offers him a weak smile. Mark pats his knee.
‘You good?’
‘Fine.’ Clancy replies, his voice small. ‘Just.. tired.’
‘I’m sure.’ Mark grins. ‘It’s a little hectic, especially for new people, but it’ll calm down soon. Not much left to learn.’
‘No, it’s calm enough. Calmer than-’ Clancy cuts himself off, a chill moving up his neck like the stroke of a cold hand. ‘I’m still getting used to it.’
Mark pauses, feeling the weight in Clancy’s words. He nods.
‘I’m glad you’re here.’
He squeezes Clancy’s knee. Clancy smiles again, stronger this time. The bandito sitting next to Mark leans forward around Mark. He doesn’t recognise them, but just like Mark and the Torchbearer, their smile is warm and welcoming. They hold out their hand for him to take and he does, shaking hands in front of Mark.
‘Clancy, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m Jenna.’ She smiles widely. ‘Nice to meet you. I hope you’re feeling welcome in camp so far. Good to get some new faces.’
She leans back, disappearing behind Mark. Clancy leans back to remain level with her, his own smile widening.
‘I was actually the newest bandito before you arrived.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. They got me out..’ She tilts her head. ‘..a little under a year ago.’
Jenna turns his head back to Clancy.
‘Anniversary soon.’
She gives a mock whoop that makes Mark and Clancy laugh. Somehow, despite his trepidation, talking about Dema in the bright firelight doesn’t feel so bad. Mark leans back to join the conversation.
‘I’ll be five years in a few months.’
‘Five years?’
The number seems amazing to Clancy, near unbelievable. That Mark could have been a perimeter breach, an escapee, free from Dema for that long. His incredulity makes Mark chuckle.
‘Yeah. Seems unbelievable, right?’ He turns to Clancy, bumping his shoulder with his own. ‘That’ll be you soon enough. You can be safe out here. Never have to go back.’
Jenna nods behind Mark. Clancy’s chest warms at the prospect. Dema, a ghost in his past. It seems near impossible. Mark clears his throat.
‘Yeah, the banditos got me out. Gave me hope. Same as Jenna.’
Neither of them ask him for his own story. He prefers that. He decides to tell them of his own accord.
‘I’d heard about you guys, on the inside. People tell stories about it, like it’s kind of a myth. I don’t know how much I believed until I saw you for real. Hopeful, though.’
He smiles.
‘Hopeful is good.’
‘Amen to that.’ Jenna replies, raising a drinking cup in the air. Mark tilts his head at Clancy.
‘Wait, if you never saw banditos until you got into Trench, how did you get out?’
‘I climbed the wall.’
Jenna’s mouth falls open. Mark stares at him in shock.
‘You did what?’
Clancy can feel his face heating up beyond what warmth the campfire had given it. He looks away from them both, biting the inside of his cheek and glaring into the flames. He watches as a piece of kindling shifts in the fire, sending sparks up into the air.
‘I climbed the wall.’
Clancy shrugs slightly, avoiding the others’ faces. This is exactly what he had wanted not to happen.
‘I wanted out. I knew I was going to die in there, and I thought I would die out here too.’
He hides his face with a hand, pretending to play with his hair.
‘Wanted to see what being free was like before I did.’
He can’t see the other two past his own arm, hand still raised to his head. He’s glad of it. Trust him to mess up. Now he’d only be either the weird guy who brings the mood down or the loner that gets nothing but pity and sideways glances. He digs his teeth further into his lip and watches the fire reduce the kindling to ashes.
He’s so caught up in imagining the ways he’ll be shunned that Mark’s hand lowering onto his arm takes him completely by surprise. Clancy flinches away from the contact and Mark lets go, but he’s achieved his goal. Clancy’s hand is lowered, his face exposed; able to see their faces again. Jenna looks near tears. Mark’s jaw is set like he’s holding himself back from appearing anything less than calm. Clancy looks between them, waiting for one of them to say something. Mark’s hand twitches towards him again, slowly and carefully, and Clancy doesn’t move. His hand settles on Clancy’s arm, then moves to his shoulder. For a second Mark just looks at him. Then he pulls Clancy, slow enough that Clancy could have resisted, into a hug. Clancy moves with him. Part of his mind immediately compares the hug with the only other one he’s ever experienced, the one from Torchbearer. Mark’s grip is far stronger, not like Torchbearer’s close softness but firm and reassuring. Torchbearer’s reminded him he was safe; Mark’s reminds him he’s here. He reciprocates in kind, tightening his own arms around Mark’s back. After a moment Mark releases his grip and Clancy does the same; Mark’s hand still on his shoulder and a wide smile on his face.
‘You are.’
‘I’m what?’
‘Free.’
Clancy hears a quiet sob from behind Mark and Jenna stands up, walking around Mark to Clancy and putting her own arms around him. His catalogue of received hugs quickly filling up, Clancy barely has time to compare Jenna’s hug to the others before she’s talking to him, with her voice muffled by her choking up her face’s position slightly behind his ear, and he has to concentrate a little harder to make out her words over the general noise around them.
‘I saw you pulling back then. I used to do that a lot. I want you to know you never have to do that again, not here. We’ll always listen. You don’t need to suffer anymore.’
Clancy joins her in trying not to cry. She lets go of the hug and gives him a smile, patting Mark on the shoulder before sitting back down. Clancy inhales hard through his nose in an attempt to regain control over his emotions, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Mark claps his hands.
‘Let me get you a drink.’
He disappears behind the campfire in a direction Clancy can’t see, and he takes that moment to stare back into the flames. Once again he had assumed he wasn’t wanted; and once again he had been proven wrong. He still thinks he’s going to cry. From behind the fire where Mark had gone, the Torchbearer appears, seeming to grow out of the fire as he steps towards Clancy. Clancy blinks rapidly to clear his vision of the blurry film that had started to build up and offers him a smile. The Torchbearer sits next to Clancy in Mark’s empty spot, holding two bowls in his hands. He offers one to Clancy and he takes it, glancing at Torchbearer as he does. He sees his eyebrow knit as he notices Clancy’s face. Clancy turns his head away slightly, trying to avoid a conversation involving his clearly damp eyes. He looks down at his bowl: it appears to be some kind of stew, though of what he doesn’t know; he can see vegetables and meat, maybe fish. It smells amazing. He begins to move his other hand for the wooden spoon already in the bowl when he becomes aware of Torchbearer’s hand, very close to his own. Clancy tilts his head. The Torchbearer’s hand moves from Clancy’s arm to beside his torso, continuing to travel upwards. Clancy still doesn’t look at him, but he can feel that Torchbearer’s hand has stopped somewhere near his face. Out of instinct he wants to swat it away from him, but a little bit of curiosity is sparking in his chest; he wants to know what Torchbearer will do. He doesn’t move. The Torchbearer takes that as a silent representation of comfort, and his hand moves in front of Clancy’s chin to the other side of his face. Clancy feels a feather-light touch on the side of his jaw before Torchbearer’s fingers rest fully against his jawline. Clancy’s mouth is suddenly dry. He swallows quickly in a way he’s sure the Torchbearer would feel, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, Torchbearer pushes gently on Clancy’s jaw, turning his face to his. Heat rises up Clancy’s face so fast it makes his ears burn. Torchbearer slowly takes in Clancy’s smouldering blush, his wide eyes, the remains of tears brushed across his face by the back of his sleeve. Clancy feels his thumb stroke slowly over his skin. The Torchbearer smiles and Clancy blinks rapidly.
‘Are you okay?’
Clancy nods, the movement causing Torchbearer’s fingers to brush more over his face. His blush burns more fiercely and he feels something in his chest shift, like his heart is trying to reach out to Torch.
‘I’m..’
Clancy pauses. The Torchbearer’s eyes are orange in the firelight.
‘I’m okay. A lot better than okay, I think.’
Torchbearer’s smile seems to glow at his words, his hand still resting against Clancy’s face. His eyes flicker over Clancy’s features and Clancy feels himself draw in a sharp breath. They are both poised in the moment, each waiting for the other’s move.
‘Am I– interrupting something?’
Mark’s voice jolts Clancy back to the campfire. The hand drops from his face as Torchbearer turns his body to look at Mark. Clancy glances over him too. Mark is holding two cups in his hands, each clearly full to the brim as he gingerly holds one out to Clancy. Clancy takes it and swills it around the cup. It’s clear as water, but the smell from it is strange and almost offputting. He looks up at Mark, meaning to ask him what was in the cup, but finds him staring intensely at the Torchbearer. Clancy glances at Torchbearer to find him staring just as hard back. Clancy’s eyes flick between each of them. The silence stretches for what seems to Clancy like minutes on end. Mark’s eyes narrow.
‘You’re sitting… in my seat.’
Torchbearer’s eyes narrow right back.
‘I… am.’
‘I wanted to keep sitting there.’
‘Are you going to take it back from me?’
Mark pouts, his eyes narrowing even further. Torchbearer draws himself up, puffing his chest out. Mark squares up, pulling a strange face and sticking his teeth out. Torchbearer pulls a similarly strange face and it dawns on Clancy that this is the beginning of a playfight. Mark leans in to Torchbearer and the Torchbearer leans towards him; only for Mark to quickly flick him on the nose with a hand. Torchbearer’s mouth falls open in mock surprise and Mark laughs, only for Torchbearer to flick him right back. They start a back and forth of flicks, which turn quickly into flapping hands and light shoving. Mark steps forward with one leg and grabs Torchbearer, wrapping an arm around his head and pulling him into a headlock. Torchbearer laughs, trying to pull Mark’s arm away but seemingly unable to break his grip. Mark shifts in a way that brings the cup close to Torchbearer’s face. Clancy sees his eyes track it and his nose suddenly wrinkle with the smell.
‘What’re you giving Clancy, man?’
He asks, part humour part disgust. Mark shrugs.
‘Moonshine.’
‘You’re giving him Shep’s moonshine?’
‘I thought it was a good thing for him to experience everything Trench has to offer.’
‘Yeah, the good stuff, not that!’
‘Are you insulting Shep’s brewing skills, Torch?’
Mark leans in to Torchbearer’s ear, voice mock-threatening. Torchbearer sticks his tongue out. Clancy rolls the nickname around his brain: ‘Torch’. He likes it. Mark raises the cup to him in a salute.
‘Try it out, Clancy.’
Clancy raises the cup to his lips, trying not to be too off-put by the smell. He sees Torch watching him and feels his face turn red. A part of him thinks that Torch is probably worried he will hate whatever this is; he feels his blush deepen at the idea that Torch is trying to give him a perfect view of Trench, to contrast it to everything else that has happened to him. Another part of him wants to point out he wants to try it anyway. A little part of his brain wants to prove to Torch that he can handle all of Trench, even if it meant drinking whatever moonshine turned out to be. He lifts it to his mouth and takes a sip. Immediately he gags; the drink tastes of very little but burns as he swallows it, all the way down his throat. He thinks he might be able to feel it burning in his stomach.
‘What is that?!’
Mark starts laughing, and Torch is able to break free from the headlock. He slides along the bench to Clancy, close enough that their thighs touch, and takes the cup from his hands.
‘That’s moonshine, and it’s alcohol. Which is usually fine. It tastes bad cause Shep likes to add nothing to it and drink it completely straight.’
Clancy had tasted alcohol before, but this kind of brewing– what he supposed would have been deemed illegal in Dema– he had never come across. The meagre amount of alcohol he had tried was also nowhere near this strong. Torch watches him, and Clancy can see the edge of his mouth twitch with a smile.
‘I don’t think your tolerance would be high at all either. I doubt they let you guys get drunk too often in there, huh?’
Clancy shakes his head with a slight grin. Torch twirls the cup, swilling the moonshine around. He seems about to say something.
‘I’ll drink it if you don’t want it!’
Mark interjects over their conversation. Clancy pauses, then considers.
‘Actually, I think I’ll keep it.’
Mark claps his hands together. ‘See, Torch? All of Trench.’ He says in a singsong voice. Torch hands the cup back to Clancy. Clancy stares into the liquid, and then takes another sip. He doesn’t gag this time, but his face contorts so violently that Torch laughs, slapping a hand down on his leg. His fingers brush Clancy’s thigh and Torch looks down at the contact. His eyebrows twitch as he suddenly realises how close they are sitting to each other.
‘Sorry–’
He tenses as if to move away, creating a small gap between his and Clancy’s legs to place down a hand. Clancy is abruptly seized by an urge to stop him. He doesn’t want Torch to move away from him. He doesn’t want Torch to think he has to move away from him. Without thinking, Clancy grabs the back of Torch’s hand between their legs. Torch immediately freezes; his gaze slides from their entwined hands to Clancy’s face. Clancy’s stomach jumps, but he looks up at Torch.
‘It’s okay.’
A burst of confidence makes him squeeze Torch’s hand.
‘I don’t mind.’
Torch glances to their hands again. He seems slightly shell-shocked. He lifts his hand, taking Clancy’s with it. Clancy watches as he hesitates; he glances at Clancy, who offers him a small but reassuring smile. Torch places both of their hands down on his own leg. Clancy’s blush starts up again but this time he smiles into his cup, taking another sip of moonshine. He’s sure Torch can see how red his face is. Clancy isn’t quite sure if he’s beginning to feel the effect of the alcohol, or if he’s really just this comfortable, but he enjoys being in Torch’s company. Really enjoys his company. It makes him feel safe. Feeling another surge of confidence, he shifts his body so their thighs are pushed together again. The other takes a quiet intake of breath. Clancy wonders if he feels the same way about him. He then wonders what he’s feeling. He knows he’s never felt this exact way before: it’s not friendship, because he’s had friends before, and friendship doesn’t make him want to know every single inch of someone’s soul so deeply that it might as well be his own. He thinks he might just be drunk. But his head still slowly falls onto Torch’s shoulder over the course of the night, and Torch’s arm still pulls him in close, and Clancy still slowly falls asleep to Torch’s breathing.
At some time in the early morning Torch gently shakes Clancy awake and walks him back to his tent, and they’re still holding hands. When Clancy almost falls asleep standing up Torch slings an arm around him and half-carries him back, and Clancy giggles when they almost fall over. Torch starts telling him jokes after that, making him laugh until he’s lightheaded, as if he can’t get enough of the sound. One time Torch stumbles and Clancy jokes that he should carry him instead, to which Torch mockingly threatens to drop him and Clancy laughs even more. When they get to Clancy’s tent entrance Torch lets him go; and with a care that leaves Clancy breathless, he places a small kiss on the back of Clancy’s hand, still held in his. Clancy falls asleep with his mind buzzing, not with the dark static that so often plagues his thoughts, but a warm embrace that feels unmistakably like torchlight.
----------
It has been over a month since Clancy joined the banditos. The frost has completely given way to strong winds and rain, flooding nearby rivers and drenching the camp for days on end. His ankle seems to have healed a good amount, so he’s begun to go on real walks into Trench. Clancy has seen flowers growing wild for the first time in his life. He’s particularly fond of the yellow ones– poppies, dandelions, yellow-rattle, the small patches of rockfoil– but his favourites are the buttercups, partly because they’re Torch’s favourite. Torch had picked a few for him and told him other names people used for them, Torch’s favourite name being sitfast flowers. He had also said they reminded him of Clancy, then gone red and refused to elaborate. Those flowers are still in a small cup in Clancy’s tent. Usually when he can’t sleep, he turns on his side to look at their shapes in the darkness, committing them to memory. Tonight, however, he needs space.
He takes a route straight into the forest, wending between the trees and squelching through patches of mud. The trees have begun to grow back their leaves, intercepting the moonlight and leaving voids in between the stars. Clancy picks his way through the undergrowth, ears pricked for noise, picking up the faraway call of an owl. He glances behind him towards the sound and then continues. He doesn’t exactly know why he needs to walk, but his brain hasn’t let him sleep tonight. Clancy is no stranger to insomnia; quite often he finds himself lying awake, tossing and turning until at some point he simply becomes too tired to keep his eyelids open, but tonight has been different. The walls of his tent seemed to collapse in on him and make him sweat, throwing off his blankets and resorting to lying on his back on the tent floor. Every little noise around the tent seemed to keep him awake. Everything was just too loud, so he’s come to where it’s quiet. Clancy pushes a branch away from his face and comes to a break in the trees. Not far in front of him, the ground drops away into a cliff face that dips all the way into the sea. He realises how far he’s walked. He’s been to this exact clearing before, a little less than two weeks ago: Torch had shown him there for the sunrise, telling him the names of every landmark they’d passed, until they reached the shoreline. It was called the Paladin Strait. Torch had promised to teach him to swim there, once the summer months came.
Clancy glances side to side, instinctually checking for danger, but quickly giving up the pretence of caution and walking towards the cliff. A few metres from the edge he stops, sitting on a rock and staring towards the horizon. On a cloudy night it’s near impossible to make out where the sea ends and the sky begins. Tonight, however, the sky is filled with stars. His eyes seek out the constellations and he counts them, easily mapping lines between the stars. He is sitting in silence, staring up into the sky, when the sound of a twig snapping reaches his ears. Clancy is on his feet instantly, whipping around to the noise. He stares into the trees, feet poised to run.
‘It’s okay! It’s just me.’
The voice makes Clancy relax immediately. Stepping out of the treeline is Torch, hands held up in a gesture of placation. Clancy lets out a sigh of relief and sits heavily back down on the rock. He hears Torch approaching from behind him, glancing at him as he stops next to him. Clancy can feel Torch’s eyes on the back of his neck. He’s not in the mood for being told wandering around in the dark isn’t safe, or that he shouldn’t walk so far from camp. If Torch found him out here it must not have been hard to track him; either that or he had been here the whole time.
‘Were you following me?’
He hears Torch shift from foot to foot.
‘I was on guard duty tonight. I saw you leave and…’
He trails off. Clancy glances up at him. Torch’s features are turned grey in the moonlight, casting long shadows around his eye sockets and under his cheekbones. Highlights of white lie across his cheeks and along his nose. Starlight reflects in his eyes. He looks almost skeletal. Clancy watches as he sucks his upper lip into his mouth, chewing on it slightly as he thinks over his words.
‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’
Clancy’s gaze flickers over Torch’s face, over his thoughtful expression, his lips. Torch’s eyes meet his and Clancy looks away, biting his own lip. A small smile crosses his face.
‘You left whoever was on duty alone to make sure I was okay?’
He hears Torch scoff defensively.
‘No, no, there were two other guards,’ he begins to trail off, humming under his breath. Clancy interrupts him before he can continue.
‘Why were you on duty if there were two already there?’
He can imagine the answer is something noble, something about how Torch was trying to gather intel or resources or brainstorm some grand plan for the bandito rebellion. Torch’s answer catches him by surprise.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He sighs. ‘No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep.’
Clancy looks up at him. Torch is looking at him, but with a kind of faraway expression that tells Clancy he is too lost in his thoughts to really see him. His eyes are a million miles away. Clancy just watches him for a moment. It’s times like these, when he’s tired and overwhelmed, that he realises how long he stares at Torch. How often he will take moments during their conversations to just look at him. He spends time watching how his jaw works as he thinks, and the way the lines around his eyes crease when he smiles. By this point Clancy is sure he has some kind of feeling for Torch. He just isn’t sure if they drift into actual love or if it’s some kind of coping mechanism. Also every time he thinks about it he gets scared Torch will somehow read his mind and reject him. The fear of rejection isn’t enough to make him stop staring. Clancy allows Torch another moment in his thoughts before he speaks.
‘Are you okay?’
Torch blinks and his eyes meet Clancy’s properly. Clancy feels a slight shiver up his spine at the look. It is Torch’s turn to stare at Clancy. He sees Torch’s jaw twitch with the subconscious movement of thought. Torch nods, though slowly.
‘I think so. Just needed a second.’
Torch lifts his eyes from Clancy’s for a second to scan the horizon, before they come back to rest on Clancy’s face.
‘Why are you out here?’
Now Clancy looks away to the horizon. His eyes seek out the hidden line between sea and sky, only mapped by the stars, as if it’ll give him the answer.
‘Same as you. Couldn’t sleep.’
‘And you’re okay?’
Clancy hesitates; but his want to talk is greater than his want to remain peaceful.
‘I don’t know how safe I am here.’
He hears Torch’s breath catch. The soft crunch of rocks on dirt tells him the other has taken a step closer.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just-’ Clancy’s words turn into a low grumble as he attempts to organise his thoughts.
‘I don’t know how safe I am here to just.. be myself. Exist. But in the way I want to exist.’
The words start tumbling from his mouth faster. He knows he is rambling, but he feels like he needs to tell Torch every single thing, bare every part of his soul.
‘Because I’ve never been able to just exist before. I’ve never been able to choose for myself, or think for myself before, and I don’t know what to do with it. And I think it scares me that I have the power to just be, the way I want to be.’
He turns his head jerkily to Torch. Clancy can feel his eyes stinging slightly from the tears welling up inside them.
‘I know I’m safe but I don’t know it. I can’t understand it. I’m having all these thoughts and these feelings and these wants I’ve never had before, and I want to have them– I don’t even know if I haven’t had them before, because that fucking place feels like it’s burrowed its way into my soul and I’m not allowed to feel anything.’
He laughs, high-pitched and afraid. Torch’s face slowly lowers until it’s level with his own.
‘Fuck, Torch, it’s like– I think I wanna shave my head? Like I want to do everything they stopped me from doing, and it scares me that I want to because it was in me for so long that I couldn’t. And it scares me that they’ve got so deep into my brain that I’m stopping myself. I’m just–’
He slumps down, hands gripping his knees tightly. He wants to curl up and sink into the earth.
‘–I’m scared that I’m infected with them. That city. It doesn’t help that I can see it on me constantly, whenever I look at myself.’
He lifts his hands from his legs, holding them out towards Torch.
‘I’m just scared.’
Torch holds his gaze for a second before reaching out to his hands, taking one in both of his own. He raises Clancy’s hand in his to his lips, planting a kiss on his fingertips without breaking eye contact. Just like he had done that night after the campfire, he kisses Clancy’s hand. He kisses Clancy’s knuckles and then across the back of his hand. Clancy watches as he does the same to the other, taking it in his hand before peppering kisses across the skin. Clancy inhales slowly as Torch holds both of his hands to his own face and then kisses them again, making sure Clancy sees every move he makes. Clancy’s tongue seems to have glued itself to the bottom of his mouth. It comes free as Torch’s lips leave his palms and touch against his wrists.
‘What’re you—’
‘You’re not broken, Clancy. This—’ he lifts Clancy’s hands, softly moving them towards Clancy, ‘—this isn’t breaking. This is a scar. Being scarred doesn’t make you broken.’
He places Clancy’s hands carefully back onto his knees. His hand drifts upwards to Clancy’s face, holding his cheek and running a thumb across his skin. Clancy shivers and melts into the touch. He is hardly processing what’s happening, but he understands. Torch gives him a small, warm smile.
‘Being scared doesn’t make you broken either.’
His hand pushes against Clancy’s skin slightly and brings his face in close to Torch’s. Clancy feels his lips press against his forehead. They begin to move downward, pressing kisses into his skin, Clancy’s breath catching so suddenly he feels lightheaded. Torch kisses over his jaw and then his neck, pressing reassurance into the black marks swept over his skin. Tears fill again in Clancy’s eyes as he realises how unafraid Torch is of him. Clancy has wanted to write himself off as a lost cause and a broken part so many times that it has never really occurred to him that someone would be unwilling to do the same. A tear rolls down his face as Torch moves away from his neck, pressing their foreheads together so close his features blur in Clancy’s eyes. He lets the silence sit for a moment before he speaks.
‘I know, I’ll never fully understand what’s happened to you, but I want to try. I want to help, however you want me to. Is that okay?’
Clancy hiccups slightly as he goes to reply, swallowing back more tears.
‘Yeah.’
Torch pulls back from him and for a second Clancy is afraid he is going to leave; only for him to run a hand through his hair. He curls his fingers into the long strands around Clancy’s face.
‘Shave it, you said?’
Clancy exhales sharply, half chuckle half sigh.
‘I don’t– I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I think.. in Dema, we were never allowed to cut our hair ourselves. The bishops did it for us so we never got to choose how we looked. I guess I just, want it gone. To start over.’
Torch wraps a lock of Clancy’s hair around his finger and then pushes it behind Clancy’s ear, smoothing it down. He gives Clancy a wide grin.
‘I think a buzz cut would look good on you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! I think anything you could do with your hair would look good on you.’
His hand moves to hold Clancy’s face again. His eyes seem to sparkle with starlight. Clancy wants to freeze time in this moment forever.
‘I think you should do it.’
He is still reeling from the last few minutes. Torch wanting to be near him; Torch complimenting him; Torch kissing him; it was nearly too much to process. He leans his face into Torch’s again, their noses brushing. He can feel Torch’s breath warm on his skin.
‘I’ll think about it.’
----------
The tent is dark at the oncoming of night. The candles are still unlit despite the darkness. Clancy hasn’t lit them yet; mostly because he has been pacing back and forth in his tent for almost an hour. He still is, taking fast steps across the tent floor and turning full force on his heel. He hasn’t noticed how dark it’s gotten outside. It has been two days since his conversation with Torch, and he is trying to work up the courage to confess his attraction.
At this point he isn’t entirely sure if he needs to confess, if maybe he could keep up whatever is happening right now and they would just fall into something more, but he thinks of it more as a matter of principle. He wants to be open with the Torchbearer, and then accept what Torch thinks in kind. He just isn’t sure how to say it. Clancy has been repeating a speech in his head for a good part of the last hour, going over the words in his brain and refining them until he is sure he has said what he needs to say.
Hey Torch.
He had decided on ‘Torch’ rather than ‘Torchbearer’, as the latter felt far too formal.
I like you.
Straight to the point means he can rip off the plaster without having to dance around the subject. Not enough time for Torch to get a word in before he speaks, so Clancy can bare his soul as painlessly as possible.
Far beyond the normal for a friend.
He hopes this is obvious enough.
And I wanted to tell you because I felt that not telling you would affect our relationship.
He isn’t sure about this part. He’s scared that Torch will decide to reject him because he tells him; but he also is remarkably sure Torch will reciprocate. He thinks that not telling Torch would simply make things more complicated.
I hope this doesn’t change things between us.
Clancy knows it will. Confessing to Torch, either way it goes, will absolutely change their dynamic. He just hopes it doesn’t break it.
Clancy has been mulling over these five sentences for what may well be years. The more he thinks, the more stressed he becomes, and the more it all seems like a terrible idea. He needs to force himself into it now. Clancy stops pacing, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. He takes a few tentative steps towards the tent entrance before he shakes himself and pushes through. His feet take over as if on autopilot, and he sets a steady pace over the grass and dirt towards Torch’s tent.
The Torchbearer’s tent is a fair way into the camp; not in the centre exactly, but far enough away from Clancy’s that it will take him several minutes to wind around the other tents to get there. The night is warm and overcast, the wind against his face hardly cooling his skin. The clouds hang low overhead, barely letting the moonlight through. It is threatening to rain. As he walks, Clancy repeats his speech over and over in his head like a mantra. He glances at a few banditos staring up into the clouds, loudly discussing the possibility of flooding.
Hey Torch. I like you. Far beyond the normal for a friend. And I wanted to tell you because I felt that not telling you would affect our relationship. I hope this doesn’t change things between us.
It may as well be written on the back of his eyelids. He nods at Jenna and Mark as he passes them, huddled around a campfire laughing and joking. He brushes off their invitation to sit. He is too focused on his singular mission. He reaches the edge of the main campfire clearing, walking around its edges. The campfires are burning low now, too late into the night for dinner. He imagines the oncoming rain will have scared away most stragglers. As he rounds the edge of the clearing, he looks up from the ground and realises how close to Torch’s tent he is. His heart kicks up a fast beat, drumming against his ribcage like a trapped bird. With every step he gets closer to Torch. With every step part of him is screaming at himself to turn around. He forces himself to continue forward. He is going to confess.
Hey Torch. I like you.
Maybe even love.
Far beyond what I can say out loud…
I wanted to tell you. Telling you or not telling you will affect our relationship.
This will change things between us.
Torch’s tent is the first of the second line of tents after the campfires, rising from behind the others and rushing towards him as he speeds up his pace. The tent entrance is fastened but he can see the lamplight through the tent walls. Torch is inside. Clancy steps up to the entrance, bouncing back and forth on his feet, twisting his hands together in the front pocket of his hoodie. Here goes nothing. He undoes the tie on the entrance in one swift flourish and steps into the tent.
‘Hey Torch—’
He stops dead. Torch is sitting in a chair by the far wall of the tent, a small table in front of him. On top of the table sits a mirror and a bowl. Torch is facing away from him– but Clancy can see his face in the mirror, brows furrowed with concentration. He can see the thin razor in his hand. He can see the curls of Torch’s hair littering the floor; and the short buzz now covering most of his head. Clancy’s mind has ground to a halt. Torch turns at his greeting, a smile breaking across his face like the sunrise over the Paladin Strait. Clancy’s eyes are trained on his hair.
‘What are you–’
‘Hey.’ Torch grins over at him. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’ He puts down the razor next to the bowl, turning properly in the chair to look at Clancy. ‘I was gonna surprise you.’
‘You– your hair– why did you–’
‘I wanted to show you.’
Clancy moves faster than he thinks he ever has in his life. He is next to Torch in a millisecond, eyes running over and over the shape of Torch’s head without its curls. He wants to touch it, run his hands over the prickly buzz. Torch is looking up at him with an expression that is sliding further into something like apprehension. Clancy realises he must be unsure; uncertain of Clancy’s reaction or approval. He sinks slowly into a crouch next to Torch, Torch’s face above him now. His heart feels like it wants to break out of his ribcage and fly from him. Torch smiles again, smaller this time.
‘I wanted to show you it’s safe to change here. You’re safe. I thought the best way to do that was, well, doing exactly what you said you wanted to do.’
He gestures to his head, a slightly sheepish grin now on his face. Clancy feels like his chest is going to burst. That Torch would commit so much, change so easily to make him feel comfortable– once again he finds himself absolutely enamoured with him. It hits him right there and then: he is in love with him. Clancy raises a hand, holding it just below Torch’s face. He catches Torch’s eye. He wants to run his fingertips over his hair, hold his face, but he won’t until Torch tells him yes. Torch holds his eye contact, smile widening until the lines around his eyes crease, and nods. Clancy’s hand reaches further, hovering above his skin for a moment. Clancy’s fingertips brush across Torch’s cheekbone before pressing into the buzz of his hair. The short hairs tickle Clancy’s fingers, alien to his touch. He strokes his hand over them again and again. The sensation is so strange to him, after his lifetime of forced haircuts by a bishop’s coarse skill, that he can’t get enough of it. After a moment Torch leans into the touch, pushing his head into Clancy’s palm, his eyes closing at the feeling. Clancy compensates by bringing his other hand to Torch’s cheek, holding his face while his fingers run over his scalp. Torch sighs and Clancy can feel his breath on his hand. It makes him smile. His stomach turns slightly, twisting with an anxious lurch as he decides, that he will make his move. His hand moves away from Torch’s hair, both hands now resting on either side of his face. Torch’s eyes open. They rest on Clancy, his smile almost expectant. Clancy takes a shallow breath; then slowly leans in to Torch’s face. Torch’s eyes widen and he blinks rapidly, Clancy feeling his breath quicken. He stops and lets his eyes move between each of Torch’s. They flicker to Torch’s lips for a second and Torch inhales sharply.
‘Is this okay?’
Clancy’s voice is soft and quiet in the tent’s silence. He sees Torch’s hand twitch; then rise to hold one of Clancy’s against his face. His voice is just as soft.
‘It is.’
Clancy moves forward even further until he feels the ends of their noses touch. He feels Torch give a slight shiver as he tilts his head, their noses brushing together as he gets closer. He is so close that Torch’s breath is ghosting over his own lips. Torch’s eyes are the only thing he can see. He asks a final time.
‘Yeah?’
Torch’s answer is absolute.
‘Yeah.’
Clancy waits one more beat. He gently pulls Torch towards him, feeling the soft movement of Torch’s skin beneath his palm, and their lips meet. At first it is still, the careful press of lips on lips. Torch’s hand moves to hold Clancy’s face. He strokes along Clancy’s cheek, following the lines of his face as though he is trying to memorise the feeling of it, committing it to memory through touch. His hand slows at the back of Clancy’s head, fingers running through his hair. Clancy sighs into the kiss, and Torch presses forward slightly into him. The kiss deepens, Clancy moving his own hand to the back of Torch’s head, the other drifting down his neck to his shoulder. Torch shivers again at the touch. Clancy’s lips part and he feels Torch’s fingers curl in his hair, pushing his head softly forward. He presses into Torch in answer, rising up onto his knees so that their bodies are almost flush. Everything has become Torch. All he can see and feel is Torch around him. Warmth burns in his chest, and he knows that the feeling is love. Torch shifts in the kiss and his nose bumps against Clancy’s, momentarily pushing their lips apart. Clancy laughs as they struggle for a second to avoid each other’s noses and he feels Torch smile into the next kiss. His hand drifts down the back of Torch’s head, feeling the last few long curls between his fingers.
The kisses begin to slow down, short presses of lips and soft touches replacing them. Clancy plays with the longer hairs on Torch’s head as he peppers Torch’s face with kisses, Torch responding with long, slow kisses into Clancy’s neck like he had done on the clifftop a few days before. Clancy runs another finger over Torch’s buzzcut, smiling at the long hair he sometimes catches against his fingertip.
‘Hey.’
Torch pulls back from his neck for a moment to bring their foreheads together.
‘Hey.’
‘Was that.. good?’
Torch chuckles and Clancy feels himself blush.
‘Yeah, it was.’
‘What, exactly, are we?’
Torch pushes his face closer to Clancy’s, his smile still visible through the blurring of his features.
‘Whatever we want to be.’
Clancy catches another long hair between his fingers, pressing a small kiss to Torch’s lips.
‘Do you want help with the rest?’
Torch laughs under his breath. ‘Maybe…’ He trails off with another sheepish grin. Clancy raises his other hand to Torch’s face, holding his chin and tilting Torch’s head away from him so he can get a better view of Torch’s hair. Torch grumbles in protest as Clancy pushes him away, but submits to Clancy’s hand. Clancy’s eyes move over Torch’s head. He’d managed to shave away most of the front of his hair, but towards the back there are several patches of long hair he’d completely missed. Clancy pushes on Torch’s jaw to move his head the other way and Torch takes the opportunity to catch Clancy’s mouth in another kiss. He sighs into the kiss as he does, Clancy twisting his fingers into the long patches of his hair. Clancy pushes him away very gently, giggling and tilting Torch’s head away from him in the other direction. Torch grumbles again and Clancy laughs.
‘Let me look at your hair!’
‘But I wanna look at you!’ Torch complains as Clancy runs his fingers over the other side of his head. Clancy moves Torch back to face him, brushing a finger over his chin. Torch takes a quick breath.
‘You can look at me when your hair is done.’
Clancy lets go of Torch’s chin with a smile, standing and stepping behind the chair. Torch watches him, his eyes twinkling like Clancy is the only thing in the world. Clancy places his hands on the sides of Torch’s head, moving his head to face the mirror. Torch grins at Clancy through the reflection.
‘Hand me that?’ Clancy gestures at the razor on the table and Torch passes it to him. ‘How do I do this, exactly?’
It only takes Clancy a few minutes to figure out how to shave Torch’s head. It is only a few minutes more before all of Torch’s hair is short and prickly to Clancy’s fingertips as he strokes across it.
‘That’s good.’ Clancy says, taking a step back to take in all of Torch’s head. It is a pretty solid haircut and he is slightly proud of his work. Torch brushes his own hand over his head, nodding, grinning at Clancy in the mirror.
‘You did great.’
He stands, turning on his heel and stepping around the chair to face Clancy, hands on his hips.
‘Your turn.’
Clancy makes a face at him and Torch laughs. Clancy sits down in the chair, shifting to get comfortable while Torch prepares the razor. Clancy watches him in the mirror, obsessed with the lines of his face, now fully revealed without the curls. His gaze drifts from Torch to himself as Torch runs a hand over his head. He pushes Clancy’s hair from side to side, the long hairs flopping back onto Clancy’s forehead. Clancy tilts his head back to look at Torch, pouting to make him laugh. Torch leans in close to his face.
‘You have to look forward for me to do it.’
‘Make me look good.’
‘You already look good.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’
‘I trust you.’
Torch smiles. He holds a lock of hair in his hand, razor to its base.
‘Ready?’
‘Yeah.’
Clancy’s hair falls from his head fast and thick. He watches it pile up on the floor as Torch tilts and turns his head, occasionally checking in to make sure Clancy is liking the look. Clancy does. He really does. He feels like he’s become an entirely new person. With every move by Torch, another part of Dema’s hold falls away from him. As his hair is completely shaved, Torch moves Clancy’s head to face him, and Clancy leans in to give him another soft kiss.
‘Does it look good?’
Torch kisses him back before he tilts his head back to the mirror. He leans in close to Clancy’s ear.
‘It does.’
Clancy almost gasps out loud. He really looks like a whole new version of himself. A grin splits his face and he sees Torch’s smile get wider in the mirror behind him.
‘Wow.’ Clancy’s tiny exclamation makes Torch move in close behind him, leaning down to hug around his shoulders. He buries his face in Clancy’s neck and Clancy again strokes his fingers over the short stubs of his hair. He feels so warm in this moment, so complete, and he turns his head to kiss Torch’s head. Torch mumbles something into his neck.
‘What?’ Clancy says softly.
‘Stay tonight.’ Torch whispers. ‘I want you here. I want to fall asleep together.’
The warmth rises up Clancy’s chest, enveloping his heart in love. He kisses Torch’s head again.
‘I will.’
Torch breathes deeply into his neck, squeezing him close. Clancy lets himself be brought closer to Torch’s body, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, relaxing into the calm silence between them. Later that night he would do the same, cuddled close in the same cot with Torch’s arms around him. Everything is warmth; everything is Torch. He pushes his head into Torch’s chest, Torch responding with a kiss to the top of his head and long, slow strokes of his hand against Clancy’s short hair. Clancy drifts away into sleep, his dreams full of warmth and care; Torch’s wide smile, his arms wrapped around him, and all he is becomes surrounded by Torch’s heartbeat. It was the best sleep he’d ever had.