#p:cot

Atawn’s breath seizes. Time slows. His blood rushes in his ears, drowning out any thoughts of escape or resistance.

A blur knocks the guard off of him, and suddenly Kahlik is standing above him, holding the Akarna’s bladed wrist in one hand, as the other pulls back like a snake to strike.

CRACK!

The guard drops. Kahlik stands panting for a moment. He’s dusty and sweaty and the back of his cloak has a thin layer of travel grime on it and Atawn knows he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

He’s about to thank him, when from around Kahlik’s cloak, Atawn spots the first guard and two more coming at Kahlik at an incredible speed. As the three guards lay into Kahlik, Atawn starts to stand, to help, to—

An armored arm wraps around him, and a blade presses to his neck.

Atawn freezes. This is it. He’s going to die here and it’s all his fault. He should have let that person go and focus on the mission, focus on the bigger picture, but no, he had to get involved and now Kahlik was going to get killed too because of him and—

“Atawn, quick, r—“ Kahlik’s voice cuts through his thoughts, before he stops.

Atawn forces his vision to focus through the tears burning at his eyes. He meets Kahlik’s stare. 

“Kahlik… I’m so sorry…” he chokes out. 

The moment lasts a lifetime and not long enough as he tries to press so many thoughts and feelings through those four words.

Kahlik’s gaze is torn away as the head guard forces his head down and to the front.

“Now, I could make this quick,” he says smoothly, almost purring the words. He pauses, then smirks. “But I won’t.” 

A warm bead runs down Atawn’s neck and he doesn’t want to know if it’s sweat or blood. All he does know is that he can’t breathe and he feels like throwing up and he can barely see through his tears and he really thought he’d be more dignified when he died but none of the past few weeks has been what he thought they would be or where his life would go he was supposed to be a researcher doing book stuff not a fugitive running from god people and definitely not being in love with his rescuer-turned-friend and—

“Take the arm first.”

Atawn’s panic runs cold as he slowly processes what the guard said. Take the… arm? 

Kahlik grunts as one of guards steps forward and grabs his prosthetic with both hands, and Atawn’s stomach drops.

His arm.

“No. No, stop! STOP!” He scrambles to find some purchase, some leverage against his captor to break free, to help, anything—

The guard twists the arm in his grasp, and there’s a sickening screech of metal and sinew being torn apart in a way they were never meant to be separated, and Atawn nearly retches.

Kahlik screams. 

Atawn’s mouth runs dry as wordless tears run down his face. How could he let this happen…

Kahlik’s screams give way to wordless shaking as he kneels, doubled over in pain.

The head guard approaches and bends to speak to Kahlik, his low voice just loud enough for Atawn to hear as well.

“Beg me to take the head next instead of the other arm, pura’an,” he spits.

Kahlik raises his head just enough to look the guard in the eye.

“Never,” he growls.

A gleeful smile appears on the guards face. “Arm it is,” he announces.

Atawn is about to offer his own arm instead, when there’s a sudden flurry of movement, fabric and metal and bodies, and Atawn stares, uncomprehending, as… Netis appears from nowhere. And she’s glowing?

The guard holding him stands, shoving him to the side, and it’s all Atawn can do to scramble out of the way before the air is filled with lightning and the smell of charred flesh and hair and twisted metal.

The plaza rings with a moment of deafening silence. 

Familiar footsteps snap Atawn out of his daze.

“Kahlik,” he breathes. Swallowing the guilt and bile that threatens to rise in his throat, he runs forward.

“Kahlik? Are you… are you okay?” he pants, the adrenaline still coursing.

Kahlik doesn’t respond, but stares at a point on the ground a few paces away.

Atawn vaguely registers Quinel arriving and kneeling on Kahlik’s right to examine his shoulder. He swallows. “Kahlik? I’m sorry, this is my fault, I should’ve listened, I—“

Kahlik pulls Atawn into his side and wraps his arm around him. 

“You’re okay,” he says hoarsely. “I heard you yell and I didn’t know—“ Kahlik taking a shaking breath. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

Atawn blinks. “You… were worried about me?”

Kahlik frowns. “You had a blade to your throat. Of course I was worried.”

“Right. Yeah, that makes sense. I just. You had the head guard and your…” Atawn stops. “You were worried about me. Okay.”

Kahlik mutters something under his breath, then pulls Atawn closer. “Idiot. Come here.”

“O-okay.” 

As Atawn wraps his arms around Kahlik, he has to admit, it isn’t exactly how he had imagined hugging him. It’s awkward from the side, and they’re both sweaty and dusty, and Kahlik occasionally has nearly imperceptible winces of pain at whatever Quinel is doing. But Atawn would be lying if he said that it didn’t do more to calm and ground him again than… well, than nearly anything else probably would have. He’s okay. Kahlik’s okay, or will be. Kahlik… was worried about him? That’s uh. Something to unpack later.

And Atawn can feel and hear Kahlik’s breathing slowly ease as well from ragged, adrenaline- and pain-fueled gasps to… well, as calm of breathing as one could expect from someone newly missing, or re-missing, an arm.

“Kahlik?” Quinel says softly.

Kahlik looks at them.

They swallow. “This is beyond my capabilities. I’m really sorry. This has organic elements, but too much of it is mechanical or… arcane? It’s outside of what I can help with. Netis might know something, but…” They shrug helplessly. “I can help with the pain, but that’s it.”

Kahlik closes his eyes, then nods. “Please.”

With a few whispered arcane words, Quinel’s hands glow with a gentle blue light, and Atawn feels tension release from Kahlik’s body.

“Thank you,” Kahlik says quietly.

Quinel nods. “Let me know if it comes back. It’s easier to keep pain at bay than chase it away once it’s arrived.” They turn to Atawn. “Are you alright?”

Quinel eventually gives Atawn a clean bill of health, and Taria and Zanae talk with the locals to get the information and supplies they need. The townsfolk try to give them as much food as they can, but Taria insists on taking the bare minimum. 

Eventually, they return on their way. 

And Kahlik won’t let go of Atawn’s hand.

Atawn feels silly at first. Like a small child who can’t be trusted to not run off in a busy market. But quickly, it simply becomes comforting. A grounding presence. A reminder that they’re both there, and they’re okay. 

Eventually, they set camp for the evening. Despite Quinel’s protests, Kahlik helps Dhiren and Mor set up the tents, while Atawn and Quinel handle the bedrolls. 

“You like him, don’t you,” Quinel says quietly.

Panic surges through Atawn. “Wh— what? Wh— no! What? What do you mean?”

The corner of their mouth quirks into a smile. “You’re acting like Dhiren did before he and his pacova't admitted their feelings.”

Atawn’s face grows hot and he examines the knot around the bedroll intently. “N-no! It’s not like that! He’s just nice. A-And I care about him. A lot. A-And… he’s sweet and he said he cares about me and oh skies I think I like him.” Atawn buries his face in his hands.

A tentative hand lands on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You could… tell him? Or not, it’s up to you. Sorry, this isn’t helping. Taria’s a lot better at this sort of advice,” Quinel says, ducking their head apologetically. 

Atawn groans. “What do I do?! We always have adjacent bedrolls, but I don’t know, do I move them? Would that be weird??”

“I don’t know. I guess… act normally?”

Letting out a small whimper, Atawn stands, steels himself, then approaches the two remaining bedrolls. “Normal. Right. Nothing is different.”

With an amused eyebrow raised, Quinel watches as Atawn lays out his bedroll and lays Kahlik’s next to it. Then he shifts Kahlik’s over a bit. Then he swaps where they are. Then he adjusts his. Then he—

“That looks great,” Quinel says. 

Atawn looks up, skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Quinel rolls their eyes, grabs Atawn’s arm, and pulls him out of the tent.

———