A layer of hazy mist covered the headquarter grounds in the morning, leaving everything with slight damp feel to it, from the equipment scattered around the camp, to even the most superficial layer of Weston’s skin. He’d been in a particularly disgruntled mood for some time, ever since he’d been rudely shoved awake by Damian, and that attitude had hardly budged when he came to the realization that he and Damian were going to be separated for their initial combat training exercises. Oddly enough, he often looked forward to sparring with that wild-eyed boy, and it wasn’t because Damian went easy on him, due to their under-the-radar, romantic arrangements. On the contrary, they simply enjoyed pushing each other to their limits, and their lack of intimidation when it came to the other prompted them to not be shy when it came to landing blows. They found quality time where they could, even if that time was to be spent on the battle ground.
But today was not going to be the case. He was to be paired up with some scrawny new recruit, not a challenge for someone with years of experience under his belt by now. He recognized his partner to be someone who he’d heard was starting to mouth off to superior officers, and the thought crept into his mind that he must have been put with Weston as a sort of punishment. It wasn’t training, so much as an opportunity to take a loud, arrogant recruit down a few pegs. And easy enough day, but not nearly as entertaining as it would have been with Damian.
When they finally got a moment of downtime, a break for lunch or to patch themselves up, Weston didn’t give the shaking, wheezing, battered mess he’d turned his partner into a second thought, as he simply nudged past him, trying to locate Damian and check in with him. He caught sight of him easily enough, his distinctive, icy stare and the wisp of blond hair as recognizable to Weston as his own reflection. As he got closer, and put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, a smile of greeting quickly faded to one of alarm, and even anger. Damian’s face was coated in blood, some dripping, some crusted over and dried, and he was looking a bit swollen from the force of the beating he’d received.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He had to fight against every instinct to grab Damian up in his arms to examine him further. It was increasingly difficult, being unable to share physical contact so freely, unable to show compassion for someone he loved so fiercely. Instead he kept a suitable distance, but still made a point to thumb at Damian’s quickly blossoming bruises, the bloodied pulp his split lips had become. “Were you really off your game today? This isn’t like you, to get your ass kicked so much - Okay, get your ass kicked so much by someone other than me.” Despite the humor in his comment, there came a fresh, hot wash of rage on the heels of that joke, and he had to act quickly to swallow down the emotion, suppress before it overtook him and caused him to really fly off the handle. “Spill it - who do I have to teach a lesson with a knife later tonight?”
@switcblade
