#salaar

“I’m fine—”

Varadha wobbled, two arms swung over your and Baachi’s shoulders as you two tried to drag him up the stairs, and you shuffled your feet to not fall on your face. The man was drunk. Straight-up, black-out drunk. The kind of drunk that would have him bedridden the next day with a horrible migraine.

“I kept telling him,” Baachi hissed, “that, ‘brother, you can't hold your booze, don't drink too much’, but who listens to me around here?” He hurled his elder brother over another broad stair. This was the problem with mansions, the big stairs always looked nice and regal until they didn't.

“I listen to you.” You said, looking at Baachi over Varadha's shoulders.

“Whatever. Can't say anything to him, now that he's the damn Karta and everything.”

The elder man mumbled something incoherent, every other step a misfire. The younger man simply sniffed the air angrily in response.

-—-—-—

The two of you managed to get Varadha to his room, letting him flop down on the bed. Baachi stomped out of the room, muttering curses under his breath. You stood awkwardly for a second, before noticing a steel glass of water covered neatly on the bedside table. So Varadha was prepared.

“Varadha?” With the glass in your hand, you walked over to him, who was sitting, hunched over, at the edge of his bed. He raised his eyes, bathed in the amber light of the dimmed cressets in his room. You held the glass in front of you. “You shouldn't have drunk so much.”

He said your name slowly, dazed. You chalked it up to the alcohol, and smiled at him. “It…it was my coronation.” He took the glass from you, taking small sips. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Refuse?” You half-asked, sitting down beside him, putting some space between the two of you. “You're the boss now; it's not like they can force you.”

“Huh. I s’pose that makes sense.” He looked down at the glass, seeing his own reflection in the water, then up at you. “What're you doing here?”

You blinked. “I brought you up here.”

“...oh.” His eyes drifted to the floor, as if he was bashful about his sudden, liquor-induced loss of memory. “Right.”

“You're really drunk, aren't you?” You asked, amusement barely hidden.

He huffed indignantly and waved a hand in front of your face, movements uncoordinated. “I’m not drunk!” He threw his heavy arm over your shoulder, scooting over to your side. “Just a bit tipsy, I think.”

You chuckled and his gaze turned soft, tracing the line of your nose with his eyes. “I can’t wait for the room to stop spinning, so I can focus on your face again.”

Your quiet laughter died down, and you turned to look at him. “What?”

“Yeah.” He said. “You’re pretty.”

“You keep saying this whenever you're drunk.”

“S’true.”

You rolled your eyes. “Keep drinking the water.”

“No.” He slurred, his arm around you tightening. “I need to tell you something, because…” He trailed off, and you watched him intently trying to rerail his train of thought, eyes narrowed at the glass as if it was the culprit. “...’cause I don't have the courage to say it sober. Baba told me to say it.”

“Say what?” You said.

“Before I tell you,” he set the glass down on the floor, and you knew he was about to topple it over with his foot before you could say ‘seal’, “keep it a secret from me tomorrow. And you can beat me up if you don't like what I'm about to say, okay?”

“...okay.”

He hummed distantly, beginning to kick his feet. The glass fell over, spilling water all across the floor. “I'd let you beat me up anytime.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “Get to the point, Varadha.”

He grinned at you. When he was sober, the most you got was a gentle smile, hidden from the prying eyes of the others. Now, it was different. He was grinning at you, toothy and free. “I like you.”

“I think you'd have to.” You said. “Me and Deva have been cooped up in your house for a while now.”

“You’re so stupid.” Varadha’s head dropped to your shoulder, looping his arm around your own. “I like you.”

You tensed. “Are you…”

He nodded, nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“Varadha…” You paused, a hand coming up to run through his hair.

He raised his head, looking at you very closely with bleary eyes. You saw his pupils blow wide at the sight of you, framed by dark brown that always looked black to you. “You're not going to beat me up?”

"Go to sleep.” You said. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

-—-—-—

The next morning, Varadha had his head in his hands. Elbows on the dining table, he sat like a hunchback as a great, pulsating throb wreaked havoc on his temples. What was he thinking? His first night as the Karta of Khansaar—holding up the dignity of the Mannar tribe, a legacy he had snatched for himself from the filthy hands of his so-called ‘legitimate’ siblings, hands practically dripping blood—and he got utterly and completely drunk and confessed to you. How cornered you must have felt!

“You said it?!” Baachi yelled, and Varadha grunted. “Why the hell would you confess while you're drunk!?”

“Quiet.” Baba said. “Don't be so loud.”

“Why?!”

The two of them went silent, and Varadha assumed Baba had gestured something to Baachi. He got his answer quickly. The footsteps Varadha heard were far too loud for him this morning. It took him a while, but he recognised them as yours.

"Baba. Baachi.” Your voice was not sharp, but definitely curt. It was unlike you, and it made you sound a little like your brother, Deva. “Can I speak to Varadha for a second?”

The two pairs of footsteps shuffled out of the room.

A chair was pulled adjacent to Varadha, and he smelled your perfume, much more prominent than what he was used to.

“Varadha.” You said. “Can we talk?”

“Please.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. “You, um, said that you liked me. Does Deva know?”

Varadha shook his head. “I haven't told him yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know your answer.” He spoke, voice muffled under his folded arms. “I want to know you. I want to court you.”

“...really?”

“Yes.” He sighed, then raised his head. “I wanted this to be much more sophisticated.”

You blinked.

“I…” He swallowed and wrung his hands. “Would you like to court me?”

Deva’s mother had only one rule.

No matter what happens he should be home by 6’o clock.

He thought it was ridiculous, he was no longer a reckless man who was driven by emotions. He had changed, he had become calm, he no longer needed rules that kept him bound. Yet, he returned home before the clock struck six everyday, without fail, ducking through the doorway with tired shoulders and dust clinging to his clothes.

He did not blame her, she had her own fears. He had caused her enough problems in the past and did not want to further her anxiety so he obeyed her.

Today, however, the sun had set long ago and he was not home yet.

“It is already seven,” Amma murmured, worry evident in her voice. “He has never been this late.”

Rukmini looked up from the vegetables she had been cutting and offered her a reassuring smile.

“The mines must have kept him longer today Amma, you know how he is, maybe someone needed help, he wouldn’t leave them behind.” Rukmini said.

Amma sighed. “That is exactly what worries me.”

Rukmini crossed the room and gently squeezed her hand.

“You've worked a lot today, I'm sure school must be tiring, go and rest.” She continued. “I'll wait for him.”

After a moment of hesitation, Amma nodded, “fine… wake me the moment he returns.”

“I will.”

Silence settled over the house when the bedroom door closed.

Rukmini sat by the doorway, the untouched dinner growing colder by each passing second, her eyes lifting to the narrow path leading to the house every few minutes. 

The clock crept past eight.

Then half past.

By the time it struck nine, the reassuring confidence she'd shown Amma had begun to crumble.

She wrapped the shawl tighter around herself.

“I'll go find him.” She whispered to herself.

She got up and barely got her slippers on when she heard the familiar metal creak of the gate.

Relief flooded her chest when she looked up.

The night concealed him in shadows, until he stepped beneath the weak glow of the porch light.

“Deva–” the words died on her lips

Rukmini’s breath caught.

Blood had soaked through the front of his shirt, glistening dark beneath the light.

A gasp escaped her.

Before she could do anything that would alert Amma, his hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“Shhh!” He said, “is Amma asleep?” he whispered, his hand still on her mouth.

She nodded, her eyes wide and fearful.

He moved his hand away and ushered her inside quietly towards their bedroom. He closed the bedroom door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut,

“Deva! What happened to you? I was so worried! Why weren't you answering your phone? And what's all this blood?” Rukmini whisper-yelled at him.

He held her by the shoulders causing her to pause.

“Shh…shh nothing happened, it's just a small cut–” he tried convincing her.

“Small?” She scoffed “that doesn't look small!”

She started gathering first aid supplies all while muttering curses under her breath.

Deva sat down on a chair, hissing a little when he tried removing his shirt.

Rukmini noticed and came to stand in front of him, helping him to slowly remove the blood stained shirt. Once removed, she threw it somewhere across the floor and kneeled down to get a better look at the cut.

It was a pretty long gash but thankfully it didn't require any stitches.

She got a clean wet cotton cloth and silently started cleaning the blood, fortunately it had already stopped bleeding.

He noticed her hands trembling a little.

After making sure it was clean enough she applied an even layer of antiseptic before covering it with gauze.

“What happened?” She asked.

“There was a little accident…”

She sighed.

“Your mother was so worried about you, why did you stay out this late? You know how she gets when you don't come back.”

He looked down.

“I took up an extra shift…”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“We talked about this… you can't just take up extra shifts, you could've called and informed us. Now look at what happened.” she said, gesturing to the wound.

“Don't tell amma about this, please.”

Deva let out a quiet sigh.

“I warned you before.” She said.

“I know…”

“No you don't.” Rukmini secured the bandage a little more firmly than necessary, earning a wince from him. “If you did, I wouldn't be talking about it.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to.”

She began packing away the first aid supplies back into their box.

Silence settled between them.

Deva simply watched her put the things away, the familiar way she folded the cloths, capped the antiseptic bottle and wiped the blood from her hands.

His gaze softened.

He still couldn't understand how this girl – who was used to getting everything she wanted back at her home – was so at home with him.

When she turned to leave, a warm hand clasped around her wrist.

She stopped.

“What is it?”

He didn't answer, instead tugged her a little closer until she stood between his knees. His thumb absentmindedly brushed against her wrist.

“...do you regret it?” He asked quietly.

Her brows knitted together.

“Regret what?”

“Leaving Khansaar.”

The question hung heavily between them.

“Leaving your brother… to be with me.”

She froze at the mention of her brother.

And then took a deep breath.

“No.” her voice firm.

“No?”

She shook her head.

“I…I don't regret leaving Khansaar or Varadha. Sure, I do miss him sometimes…” she paused, her eyes lowering a little “I probably always will.”

She looked back at Deva.

“But missing someone isn't the same as wishing I'd stayed.”

She smiled faintly.

“If I had stayed back in Khansaar, I would have my brother.” Her fingers slipped into his. “But I wouldn't have you.”

His hold tightened around her fingers, he pulled her even closer making her sit on his thigh.

Since she was wearing a saree his hand slipped around her bare waist. He gazed into her eyes with a quiet heaviness. Rukmini started leaning in so he closed the distance between them.

He placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. Their lips moved together in a practiced rhythm.

When they finally pulled away, a faint smirk was dancing on his lips while her cheeks were dusted a light pink.

“Now, go freshen up and I will bring you something to eat.” She told him, getting up and moving towards the door.

Almost twenty minutes later Deva is all fresh, dressed in a loose grey shirt and sweatpants. Rukmini came with a plate of curd rice.

“Curd rice?” He said, looking at the plate in distaste. “Where's the chilli powder?”

“No chilli for you for a few days.”

“Seriously? You expect me–”

Before he could complain further, Rukmini shoved a morsel of rice into his mouth, immediately shutting him down.

Tags - @faebutterflygayaf @mylifesalreadyfucked @avasif @gulaabjamun08 @pn28 @adityami @eyekonic-shar-333 @kamalkafool @anxiousbeeing @ooopssssu @precioussophia @riddhi-on-break @teenagenerdrascalsports-blog @bittermiseryy @ninnimouse @batata04 @hamzair-is-my-otp @debsreads21 @gloriouspurpose01 @mainyahaankyunhoon @chocolaaaaatmilk @rhopalocera23

The constant worry of making sure his people were fed, his brother didn't offend the wrong person and get them all killed, and being a fair ruler all faded into the background. He was in the company of the only people who had ever truly cared for him. He was in the company of the woman who treated him like her own son, who'd fed him and tended to his wounds.

Even more importantly, he was in the the company of Deva. The only companion who'd ever truly known him and looked after him.

Deva's stare was burning into him as amma continued to feed Varadha bite after bite, but he couldn't bring himself to look back.

He looked at the woman feeding him, the motherly hands had been strong and steady when he was a child. A lump grew in his throat as he saw the toll the years had had on her.

But the affection in those hands hadn't changed.

He could still taste her love in every bite of food she fed him, as if he was back to the happy times of his childhood.

Food he'd devoured after he'd exhausted himself running around with Deva.

Food amma had fed him as she scolded him and Deva for endangering themselves.

Food that had comforted him after his own family had been nasty to him.

It was the taste of the food from a woman who cared.

Varadha's eyes burned as he struggled to keep the tears from escaping. He fluttered his lashes, trying to blink away the tears. His hand came up to wipe his mouth as amma's hand mixed more food on the plate.

When Varadha started coughing from chewing through the lump in his throat, Deva's hand was there, holding a glass of water, as amma looked in amusement between the water glass that had already been at Varadha's side and Deva.

Varadha's hand came up to grab the glass, but Deva had already brought it to his mouth, indicating for Varadha to drink it from his hand. Varadha's ears burned as he took the cup into his mouth and started drinking the water. Once Varadha drank enough water and took his mouth off the cup, Deva walked back to the doorway he had been leaning on, still holding the half full water cup in his hand.

Amma began mixing more koora into the rice when a call came from outside the house.

"Amma, the kids are getting a bit rowdy at the school. We need you." It seemed to be someone associated with the school, a man Varadha had never seen before.

Varadha could see the hesitation to leave him in amma's eyes. He wanted to be beg her not to leave him, but he couldn't bring himself to be selfish. He was about to tell amma that he could finish the rest on his own, when Deva's voice came from behind.

"Go ahead amma, I'll take over here and make sure Varadha finishes eating."

And so, amma put down the plate and washed her hands. She came back to Varadha, gave a kiss to his forehead, grabbed her bag and shoes, and rushed off with the man.

After amma left, Deva pushed himself off the doorway and came over to Varadha. He grabbed the plate and sat down, occupying the place where amma had been mere moments earlier.

He mixed together some food, making the handful small to feed Varadha.

Deva brought up the handful of food to Varadha's mouth. Varadha could only stare, dazed, at him. Deva nodded towards the hand of food and brought it closer to Varadha's mouth once more, indicating for him to open his mouth and eat.

Varadha opened his mouth, still in disbelief, and took in the food as Deva put the food into his mouth.

With every bite Deva fed him, Varadha's world narrowed. The noises outside became muffled. The kids screaming joyfully, the vendors yelling their goods, the vehicles passing by, all disappeared.

It was just Varadha and Deva, breathing the same air.

Varadha stopped being able to taste the food; all he could feel was Deva's fingers in his mouth, the heated air because of Deva sitting next to him, the smell of burning metal wafting off of Deva.

Varadha tried to focus on something else. Anything else.

Bilal and Rinda.

They were waiting for him outside. What were they doing? Had they moved closer to the doorway? Could they see Deva feeding Varadha? Did Deva and Varadha look - no. He was trying to think of something else.

Amma.

How was she handling the kids? That was a neutral topic he could bring up.

But before he could get the question out, Deva brought up another handful of food to his mouth. Obediently, unable to do anything else, Varadha swallowed his question and then swallowed the food.

Bite after bite, he swallowed everything Deva fed him.

"Put your damn arm around my shoulders and let me walk you back home," Varadha hissed as he forcefully grabbed Deva's right arm and put it around his shoulders, refusing to acknowledge the unshed tears in his own eyes.

Deva took his arm back. "It's not that big of a deal. You don't need to strain yourself."

Deva continued limping forward, stopping abruptly when Varadha's voice came from behind.

"Deva. Please. Let me help you." At the soft tone, Deva looked back at Varadha's face. The tears gathering in Varadha's eyes broke Deva's heart and he found himself unable to refuse Varadha's plea.

And so, with Deva's arm around Varadha's shoulders, they walked back to the Raisaar house. As they reached the house, amma was hastily grabbing her market day bag and slipping on her sandals. All her hurry stopped the moment she turned around and caught sight of the boys.

She dropped her bag and ran forward. "What happened?! DEVA, what did you do now?!"

Amma was hysterical. She'd seen her son after many of his violent excursions, but this was by far the worst it had ever been. While the amount of blood wasn't the worst she'd ever seen, Deva needing to lean on someone else to walk was something that had never been the case before.

Even as his mother continued to fret over him, Deva could see the indecision running through Amma's mind. He knew today was the vegetable market day. Once it was fully dark, no vendors would be left. As it was, the sun was starting to set.

He could see that his mother clearly wanted to stay, but the worry of having no food for a week was eating away at her.

"Amma, you can go to the market. It's fine, my injury isn't that big, it just looks like that." Deva could feel the objection building in Varadha. Gripping him tighter, he made it clear that he didn't want Varadha to speak up.

Amma looked back and forth between the two boys before finally sighing. "Varadha, kanna, you know where the medical supplies are. Please help my son clean up his wounds. If I'm not back by the time you finish, dinner is on the table. Please eat."

"I'll take care of it amma, don't worry. You can go." And with those words, amma picked her bag back up and rushed off to the market.

Varadha slipped Deva's arm off of his shoulder, put an arm around Deva's waist and led him to sit on the front steps of the house. After making sure Deva was settled, Varadha rushed inside to gather all the necessary medical supplies - cotton square, cotton balls, Dettol-water mix bottle, lots of old rags, and a bowl of water.

Varadha had helped amma more than enough times with this, but his hands still shook as he soaked the cotton square in the water and brought it up to Deva's arm. The tears in his eyes from earlier had dried up on the walk to the house, but he felt like more would come at anytime.

After all the blood was gone from Deva's arm, he grabbed some rags to dry off the area. As he went to soak some cotton in the Dettol-water mixture, his hands were shaking so hard that the antiseptic started spilling onto the steps the boys were sitting on.

When Varadha put the Dettol-soaked cotton against Deva's wound, Deva let out a hiss of pain.

Varadha stumbled over his words, trying to apologize, but Deva cut him off —

"You're going to need to tell amma she needs to buy another Dettol bottle if you keep shaking that much."

Deva's teasing remark went unanswered. Varadha couldn't bring himself to retort as he usually would - the shame of being the reason Deva was so severely injured was eating him alive.

When the wound was fully wrapped up with some of the rags, Varadha walked back into the house to put together food for both of them, making sure to bring along a bowl of chili powder for Deva's plate.

When Varadha came back out to the front steps, he tried to hand one of the plates to Deva.

"Really Varadha, you're going to make me, an injured man, use my injured hands to eat?" Varadha felt his heart stop as the guilt from earlier rushed back full force, but it started again as he looked at Deva's face and saw the teasing smile sitting on his lips.

Varadha swallowed back the guilt, sat down on the steps, put his own plate down, and dragged a smile onto his own face. "What, do you want to be handfed? Amma isn't here."

"But you are." The words slipped out of Deva's mouth before he could stop them. And he found that he didn't regret it; he didn't want to take the words back.

For a moment, Varadha just froze in shock. Then he looked down at the plate in his hands and started mixing some koora into the rice. He resolutely refused to look up, his ears burning as blood rushed to his face. Even in his flustered state, Varadha made sure to mix in enough chili powder. When he could no longer justify mixing any further, he brought up a handful of the food to Deva's mouth, eyes firmly fixed onto the rice.

Neither of them mentioned that it was Deva's left arm that had taken the majority of the damage. Neither acknowledged that Deva was still perfectly capable of eating with his right hand.

Varadha could feel Deva's gaze on his face as he opened his mouth to take in the food, but his own eyes stayed firmly only on the food. He could feel the heat of Deva's mouth around his hand.

Having never fed someone before, he kept his hand inside Deva's mouth for a beat too long before dragging it back down to the plate.

He saw the small, satisfied smile on Deva's lips as he dragged his eyes back down to the plate to mix some pappu into the rice, still refusing to look at Deva.

As Varadha continued to feed Deva the rest of the food, each bite of food he offered felt like a bit of the guilt letting go. Each handful of rice he fed Deva took a handful of the weight off his heart, like another reason for his heart to keep beating.

Deva stared at Varadha's face and saw something other than devastation, fear, and remorse for the first time today.

He knew Varadha was purposefully avoiding meeting his eyes. But this was better than seeing those doe eyes filled with water.

Even through all the tears Varadha had shed, the beautiful, black kohl still stained his eyes. The darkness of the kohl always brought out the brightness, the light, of Varadha's eyes.

Seeing that light dim because of Rudra had raged blinding, white fire in Deva's heart.

The pain of grabbing onto the electric pole had nothing on the pain of seeing Varadha's anguish at losing the mukku pogu. Fighting back against Rudra to get Varadha's mukku pogu hadn't even been a choice — it was simply the only path forward.

He felt sorrow that his actions had caused Varadha pain, but he would never regret fighting for Varadha.

The next time Varadha brought his hand back to the plate to mix more chili into the rice, Deva placed his hand over it. The heat of Deva's hand over his own sent a shock Varadha's system. The distance Varadha had tried to maintain throughout the entire meal was gone.

For the first time since Deva's injury, Varadha brought his gaze up to his eyes, locking glances with him.

"Finally, you look at me." A triumphant smile overtook Deva's face before it softened. "You must be hungry. Don't just feed me, you should also eat."