#athran

That was something Hanin had learned only recently, as the hunter continued to insert himself repeatedly into his life. What he had initially assumed to be a misguided attempt to clear a non-existent debt had evolved into something Hanin didn’t think either of them had expected.

And it only happened because of Athran. Because the man, for all his assets, had one intrinsic flaw.

He refused to give up.

Maybe some would see the value in such a flaw, and they would be right to. But to Hanin, it was a double-edged sword. He had witnessed the sharper side first-hand when Varsarel, bloody-knuckled, had nearly beaten Athran unconscious that day in the forest. It had taken time for Hanin to get the truth of that encounter from Athran. He had suspected something more had been involved from the start. Athran had not given him the clearest of answers. In fact, Hanin had mulled over it for days before deciding he had uncovered its meaning.

“One thing I’ve noticed is that people tend to assume you’re happy to give to them what you give to others. That's assumed about me a lot, lethallin. Sometimes they’re right, and I will. Sometimes they’re not. But it is my choice, not theirs. People like Varsarel… when you tell them that… they don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Hanin had offered to kill the man, for what it was worth, but Athran had laughed and brushed the idea aside, claiming he was unworthy of a champion. Apparently, the first time had been nothing short of luck, and Varsarel had genuinely believed Hanin, with his reputation for minding his own business, would turn his back and walk away. A year ago, I might have, Hanin had confessed in one of their earlier conversations. Athran had just smiled faintly and replied, A year ago, I might have thought that was true.

Now, with Athran’s body pressed close to his, the hunter’s arm draped languidly across his chest, Hanin couldn’t help but wonder if this was different for him. If, maybe, he felt safe enough lying there with him to shed some of the outfits he wore to impress and sway and endear himself to others. He had built a reputation for being reliable; a good partner to anyone in need of one.

Hanin did not need him.

At least, not like that.

It was the small things that made Hanin wonder how Athran felt about what they had. Whether it was something he truly enjoyed, or just another task to endure on his quest for purpose. In his desire to be loved. Every time they had organised to meet, Athran had asked the same question.

“What should I bring?”

And every time, the answer Hanin gave him was the same.

“Yourself.”

It seemed so simple to Hanin, but Athran never quite seemed to grasp it. He’d show up with a bottle of fruit-wine, or a basket of bread and cheese. He’d bring a blade in case Hanin wanted to spar, or come prepared with lines memorised from old stories should the conversation give way to uneasy silence. Their early meetings had carried an air of performance about them, as though Athran was trying to fit a mould that was not his shape. But when they had organised this meeting a few days prior, Athran had done something Hanin had not expected.

He hadn’t asked anything.

A piece of wood cracked in the heat of the fire, throwing a handful of embers into the air. They hung for a moment, drifting like fireflies in the dark. Athran’s eyes had opened at the sound, and Hanin could see the reflection of the flames dancing there, like the fire itself had found a home. It suited him, to burn so brightly.

“Athran…”

That curious gaze drifted up to rest on Hanin. “Hm? Everything alright?”

It seemed foolish, how his heart hesitated between beats. Words had never been Hanin’s craft. They had failed him more times than he could count, and as Athran lay there, patient and waiting, Hanin felt them slip through his fingers.

“Do you… like it?”

A confused frown pinched Athran’s brow. Then realisation dawned and his eyes flicked a little further upwards. “What, your hair?”

Hanin fought the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

It was amazing, how quickly Athran’s smile could sweep aside the tension in Hanin’s chest. “I do,” he assured him with a laugh, then shifted, sitting up, extracting himself from the warm crook of Hanin’s arm. Hanin watched him curiously, his gaze silently asking what he was doing as Athran turned to face him in the firelight. “But... can I try something?”

An odd and vague request, but Hanin figured there was very little Athran could try that he would not approve of. “Very well.” Grunting, Hanin levered himself into a sitting position, reaching up to rub his eye with one hand as Athran grinned and stood. Slowly, he moved around until he was behind Hanin then sat, settling close until Hanin was framed by his legs. It was… an odd change of position. 

He couldn’t say he particularly minded.

“Do you like it this long?” Athran asked. He was so close Hanin could feel the warmth of his breath as the man started combing his fingers through Hanin’s hair, drawing it back from his face. “And don’t worry about what I like. I want to know what you like.”

Hanin paused, considering the question. “I don’t dislike it,” he said eventually, “but it can be… difficult.”

“It is thick,” Athran agreed as he continued his gentle inspection. “Kind of like your mothe… a-ah, I mean…”

“It’s fine.” Hanin could only imagine the look of horror on Athran’s face. “It is like hers. You’re right.”

Behind him, he felt Athran relax and nod. Then his hands hesitated, breaking their soothing rhythm. “I can do something with it, if you want.” He leaned forward as Hanin glanced back, his gaze encouraging yet cautious. “I think I know something you might like. I think it’d suit you.”

At first, Hanin felt inclined to say no. No, because it was too much effort. No, because this was meant to be somewhere Athran could go where he didn’t have to do things for other people. But the look on Athran’s face, and the fact that he had offered out of nowhere, left Hanin with the impression that it was something the other man actually wanted to do. In the end, it was hair. He had no real objections.

“Alright.”

Athran blinked, as though he had been prepared to try to convince him and had a speech on the tip of his tongue. “Oh. Really? I mean, I can tell you what I want to do, if you want? Or it can be a surprise. Up to you.”

It was endearing, seeing the other man so uncertain. In the end, that just made Hanin’s decision even simpler.

“Surprise me.”

“Just a bit more… and there. All done!”

Athran grinned and moved around to face Hanin from the front, eyes bright, his expression beyond pleased as he observed his handiwork. Curious, Hanin raised a brow at him, reaching up to feel at his head, brows rising in surprise at what he discovered. The lower half of his scalp had been shaved extremely short, the remnants of his shoulder-length hair lying on the ground behind him, severed strands blending with the leaves and fallen twigs or carried off by the wind. As there was only so much Hanin could discern from touch alone, Athran made to reach for Atisha to show him his reflection. However, he hesitated mid-way through the motion. 

“Maybe take a look?” he suggested, nodding to the golden blade as he sat back on his heels. “There should be enough light from the fire to see.”

Nodding absently, Hanin reached over and drew Atisha, her blade slipping silently from her sheath. He’d never had to tell Athran what that sword meant to him. Then again, with how connected Athran was to almost everyone in the clan, Hanin assumed he already knew. It was nice, sometimes, not having to explain himself. Not being judged for things he did not want to discuss.

Slowly, he shifted, putting the fire in front of him and raising the flat of the blade before him. Staring back at him was… his face. Completely visible and unobstructed. Only a small piece of hair remained free of the braided bun that Athran had spent the last ten minutes crafting, inspecting, and unravelling with a soft murmur of disapproval over and over again. Underneath, as he determined before, the hair had been all but shaved away. Admittedly, it solved a lot of Hanin’s concerns. It was practical. Simple enough to do, if he left out the braids and had Athran show him how to keep it short. Distracted, Hanin reached up, running his fingertips along the twin braids, marvelling at how smooth they were; how they vanished into the bun.

“Do you like it?” Athran reminded him a young man offering his lover the first gift of their relationship, all his confidence and bravado dangling on a thread held precariously between Hanin’s fingers. “Please say something; the suspense is killing me.”

“It’s… good.” Hanin lowered the blade, meeting Athran’s worried gaze. “I like it. Ma serannas, lethallin.” He smiled for good measure, hoping it would help convey his sincerity.

It did.

Athran breathed out a huge sigh of relief, practically flopping down beside Hanin, leaning into him as Hanin raised his arm on reflex to allow him to settle underneath. “Thank the Creators. You had me worried for a minute there!” Tilting his head up, Athran grinned, his attention on Hanin’s new hair… then slowly dipping down to inspect his face. “It suits you, you know. A lot.” A laugh bubbled out of him, still giddy from relief. “I might have to watch out, now. People can actually see that face of yours. The competition is going to be fierce.”

All Hanin could do was arch a brow at that, hoping the warm light of the fire would conceal the colour of his cheeks. “I doubt it. That aside, there is nothing to watch out for.” He tensed his arm, drawing Athran in closer, their shared warmth and what was left of the campfire the only thing fending off the night chill. “You have no competition.”

The sigh that escaped Athran’s was long and soft, lingering like his touch as he slid his hand up and around the back of Hanin’s neck. “Hm... you know, I never thought I’d end up with my very own knight in shining armour,” he murmured, lips curving into a playful smile as he leaned in. “Now he even has good hair. I’m not sure my heart can handl—”

Chuckling, Hanin leaned in and kissed him, cutting the hunter off mid-sentence. After a half-second of surprise, Athran hummed and leaned into it, shifting to better face him, their free hands intertwining in a blind tangle of fingers and heat. Slowly, they sank down onto the grass, Athran beneath Hanin, their lips pressed softly, enjoying the chance to just be there, together, away from everything. The clan. Their duties. The rumours and uncertainties. Athran shivered contently as Hanin pressed their clasped hands to the grass, his other free to roam, sliding around Athran’s waist, resting on the bare skin beneath his shirt. However, before they went any further, Hanin broke the kiss, drawing back slightly, his gaze sharp with desire and… something else.

Breath misting before his parted lips, Athran took a moment to compose himself, heart thrumming, cheeks flushed. 

“Hanin?”

A smile curved the corner of Hanin’s lips. “Yes. This is much better.” Leaning forward until their foreheads touched, Hanin let the sentiment linger in the air for a time, too aware of the warm body beneath him; of the way Athran’s fingers laced with his tightened in anticipation.

“Why?” the hunter eventually breathed, voice low and husky, so soft Hanin almost missed it.

With a low chuckle, Hanin drew back again. There, he watched Athran for a moment, marvelling at the sight, smiling as he read the curiosity begin to blend into frustration.

Before it had a chance, Hanin pressed forward to steal another kiss.