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It was late evening on Matori’s shore in the town he had been holed up in with Nyko since their arrival, and Sajahka stood under the dim yellow light of a hanging lantern outside the building that they had been planning to hold auditions at. The event had been spoken of, planned, spoken of, and delayed before for various reasons—at least some of which were likely thanks to Sajah, as he had been in no personal rush to head anywhere, though of course he would when Nyko did.

Except, now that they had finally gotten the matter underway, Nyko was nowhere to be seen.

Multiple persons had arrived already and, thanks to having no means of communicating much of anything to them, several had already left. He had no idea where his friend could possibly be. Except that he did, and the more he thought on it, the more an unwelcome and likely unfair knot of frustration braided into his gut. It wasn’t Nyko’s fault he didn’t harbor the same interests as Sajah; he had always recognized that, or thought he had, and not been bothered — overly much — before by the prospect of his friend being happy with someone. It was frustrating, but something he had thought he’d resigned himself too.

But he supposed he hadn’t been prepared for what came with that.

It was not simply not having Nyko himself or not having Nyko’s romantic interest, but time, friendship, trust, dedication to one another—he had underestimated how much another party would cut into all of those things, and granted he had indulged some himself, but…

Sajahka frowned, his weight shifting to lean one shoulder against the building as his eyes turned to the rolling night surf. He was just imagining it, surely. He tried to tell himself so, but still it felt as though this girl — Tarisa, Tharina, Therassa… — was putting some wedge between them that he did not quite know how to tangle with.

But, after this, he assured himself, once Nyko finally arrived and they got their troupe together as planned, they could leave together, and Nyko would see he didn’t need her about, and things would get better. As the minutes dragged, Sajahka felt a restless, building thrum of energy—impatience, confusion, irritation, and something weirdly akin to foreboding.

At a sting on his arm, he slapped a hand down, crushing an insect with a grimace.

It just did not feel like a good night. But perhaps it would get better.

Sajahka wanted to feel—better.

Though he couldn’t have explained what all had him anxious beyond the immediate present, in the time he spent waiting, combatting his frustration, he convinced himself that it would be as soon as Nyko arrived. His friend likely had a perfectly legitimate reason for being late. He was jumping to conclusions. He was at least as guilty of wasting time in the past as Nyko, and once the other young man arrived and they got everything out into the open, things would get underway and it would be better.

The first thing he noticed about Nyko when he saw him was his stride. It did not take seventeen years of knowing the man to pick up on his body language, most likely, but it certainly did not hurt, and in spite of himself Sajahka felt his own body tensing in kind. His shoulders braced as though for a fight, his stomach tensing and toes shifting in his boots as his breath held. There was nothing wrong—but his eyes moved of their own accord to Nyko’s hair. His eyes narrowed before he could help it.

Hey.

Sajah pursed his lips.

Are we still doing this?

Sajah couldn’t pinpoint the first emotion to cross his mind—or gut—and they may have been different and simultaneous for all that he could discern, but the first to make it to his hands was, «What do you mean we? I’ve been here.» Waiting for you. «Or were you too busy f-cking your girlfriend to remember we were doing this together?»

That had perhaps not come out exactly as intended. But the shapes had already been drawn.

Sajahka’s earfins flicked, a startled knot of heat winding through him as Nyko stepped in, and he felt some combination of guilt and offended defensiveness bunch in his stomach as heat crawled into his face. He hadn’t done anything different than Nyko had. And he had been there — hadn’t he? When he’d needed to? Had he been gone more often than he’d thought?

Nyko had made him wait tonight, and it had all been for Nyko’s wants to begin with.

Dragging a**.

«I am standing here because of you. For you,» he signed. «I am ready to leave the moment you are. This was your idea. People were here and left because we weren’t and I couldn’t speak with them. I feel like a fool standing here without you about…»

He was passively aware that there were actually some who may still be lingering, waiting for the very thing they’d asked them there for, but it didn’t seem quite so important in the moment as everything going on between himself and the man before him. The more time he had to process Nyko’s accusations—particularly the latter, at least, the less sense it made.

Why did Nyko think he was at fault? Hadn’t they both been going at whatever pace it happened? Had something gone on that he wasn’t aware of?

Sajahka was miffed. This wasn’t—it couldn’t be accurate.

«What do you mean this is the first time? We’ve tried. It hasn’t happened yet. We are both here tonight - it’s the first time we got this audition together that you wanted- You have spent at least as much time with your pr—k up her cave as I have with anyone-»

Why didn't you bring him with you?

«Perhaps I should have he might have been on time and…» Sajah gestured with one hand to Nyko’s state of dishevelment. «Presentable. And he has all the talents you’ve been looking for—including the ones you’ve been distracted by that we don’t need, like c—k s—king-»

As Nyko’s voice rose, however — I don’t CARE what you do! — Sajahka felt a precarious tipping in his gut, as though they were approaching territory he never wanted to slip into, but he wasn’t sure how to reverse.

«I do not want to hold you back…» he began to sign. «I am sorry if you feel I have made you wait, I would follow you any-»

Pet.

His gut clenched, and he snarled. And then, quite entirely before he meant to do anything, his fist bunched, and he swung for Nyko’s face.

The moment he heard Nyko cry out, Sajahka felt a lashback of regret. He’d been furious—he was furious. How dare he- But he shouldn’t have struck Nyko. Everything he’d ever done was supposed to be for Nyko if he was doing it right. They did everything together and he owed him the world.

But then Nyko lunged, and Sajah found himself enough off guard that it knocked the wind flat from him—and they were in the sand. His fingers tangled in Nyko’s hair, pulling to get him off, and then pushing when he rolled, releasing and shoving to Nyko’s chest in an attempt to straddle him, fists then bunched at the front of his shirt and-

His heart hammered in his chest.

His eyes locked on the split of blood on Nyko’s lip.

And the very worst variety of heat for that particular moment laced through him without mercy, pooling added color to his face—and in deeply distressing quantities below the belt. He swallowed, and he was—angry, wasn’t he?—but Nyko was right there, and somehow he’d made a mess of everything and he wanted to fix it, not make it worse. His gaze danced haphazardly for what could have only been a fraction of an instant between Nyko’s eyes and lips before he leaned.

It might have been his stupidest idea yet. But with his pulse rapid in his ears, body flush with adrenaline, anger, hurt and a confusing mix of other things difficult to grapple with at once, it was—for a single instant at least—blissfully singularly distracting perfection when his lips touched to Nyko’s, catching the stray drop of blood there and sealing it in a kiss.

It really was only an instant, but in that instant Nyko was lax against him, his lips were warm, he could feel the push of their breath and the race of his heart. And then Nyko was shoving, and Sajah found he didn’t have the strength left to fight that, a new sort of sink filling his gut as Nyko pulled back and looked—disgusted.

Confused.

Panicked.

What is WRONG with you?!

Sajahka felt his breath leave him, and it was worse than the physical knock of Nyko’s head to his gut. He swallowed as he shook his head, and didn’t think it was possible for his face to heat further except that apparently it was, and it felt as though his pulse was under every part of his skin at once, joining Nyko in panic for different reasons.

No, he shook his head. «I’m sorry, I just- I want- I love you, and I will go anywhere with you, Nyko. We can go now, if you want. I don’t care where. Please…don’t think that I am against you.»

Sajahka felt his shoulders threaten to sink at the first response. He wasn’t sure what he had anticipated — none of it had been anticipated, and all of it seemed only to escalate and worsen the longer it went, but at each turn he attempted to make things better somehow. To the opposite effect.

His stomach felt cold, the confession still buzzing through his own head. He shouldn’t have said anything. Why had he punched him? Why was this happening, and how had he messed up so horribly that no amount of backtracking was any more effective than walls of dry sand?

Because you didn’t want me, he wanted to insist. Because you weren’t interested, or I didn’t think you would be and I didn’t want to be upset by what you had and so I found my own distraction…

And he wanted to say that it hadn’t ‘sucked’ for him, other than the girl’s presence in Nyko’s life to begin with. It was all — from his perspective — more or less fine. Until now.

From this point on you're on your own.

Sajahka felt sick. And dizzy. Nyko couldn’t be serious. Except that his finger was sharp pressure there on his chest and he had never seen the boy so mad at him. Kill me. His gaze dropped to Nyko’s lips, and he felt his throat bunch as though some higher power were cynching the space closed. He looked away. And he supposed he probably ought to have said something.

Anything.

But everything he had attempted thus far made everything worse, and he did not spend his days crying, but he felt precariously as though if he put any more thought into the moment he would make the most pathetic fool of himself. So instead, he swallowed down the coils in his gut—and stood where he was, still. It was a nightmare, that was all, and if he said nothing, maybe both of them would wake up.

Sajah couldn’t breathe.

Nyko had been his best friend, his only friend for all his life. His only confidant. The only person who would listen and put in the time with him. He had invested everything in his happiness—or, he thought he had. And that had never felt like a risk. They just were together, on the same team, always.

But Nyko didn’t even believe him.

Somehow, after all their years together, Nyko didn’t believe him, and Sajahka didn’t know where to begin. He felt, looking at him, as though he were staring down his life and everything he had ever wanted — their discussions of earning their freedom as children, Nyko’s laughter and song, the way he looked covered in cooking flour, or running his fingers over anything that pleased him-

And not ever is what he had said.

Not ever.

He had showed up with the intention of holding an audition and somehow, he was losing his entire life. His breath shuddered from him, and he had never felt so small or helpless—not under a Master’s grip, not at the whipping post. ‘I hope you reconsider…’ ‘I’m sorry for whatever I did.’ ‘I have never meant anything more than I mean those words.’ ‘How did we get here, after how far we’ve come…?’ All of these and more danced through his head, but in the end, none of them sufficed.

«I always assumed you knew me better…but perhaps you are just stupid.»