Work Text:
The fridge is always full. And it’s not with leftovers or processed deli meats and cheese or sugary drinks or any other kind of junk, it’s fresh vegetables and fruits and ten different kinds of proteins and whole grains, everything Mayan says two growing boys could possibly need.
So why can’t Rune ever bring himself to touch, let alone eat, any of it? Sure, he’ll push things around to keep up appearances if he’s with company, but when he’s alone? Forget it.
Maybe it’s because Brand is a better cook than he is and he wouldn’t know what to do with a bunch of raw ingredients to make a half-decent meal anyway. Maybe it’s because it’s barely been a month since they were moved into Pac Bell and he feels like he’s not entitled to what’s in there. That’s the Pac Bell guests’ fridge, that’s Lord Tower’s fridge, that’s what Brand raids when he comes back from a grueling workout, but it’s certainly not his fridge.
In fact, that’s all everything here is: someone else’s house, someone else’s furniture, someone else’s security, someone else’s . Rune’s life, safety, and well-being? He bargained all of that away already, none of that is his own anymore. As for his Companion’s? Lord Tower obviously had no qualms about taking Brand and throwing him in front of a whip, that’s not his either.
Me and mine? Doesn’t exist.
Or - because he’d rather if he was a little less maudlin - maybe he’s just not hungry. Hasn’t been hungry since… well, since everything that was taken from him that night left a gaping hole in him that cannot and will never get filled, least of all with someone else’s food.
So that is why he is standing in the kitchen, has been standing there for the past ten minutes, staring at an open fridge at 6 PM, wanting absolutely nothing in it, despite having skipped breakfast and lunch. Last thing he ate was six blueberries from… twenty-eight hours ago now? Two more and it’ll be a new personal record. He doesn’t know why that fills him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“Hey.”
A voice coming from the doorway jolts him out of his thoughts as the chrome door swings out on its hinge. He didn’t feel Brand come in, which might’ve been cause for a little concern, had he the mental capacity to think about that right now.
Besides his ongoing fridge fixation and battle with sustenance, Rune has not had the greatest time this past week. Lord Tower’s son had been released from hospital care, and he and Brand were trying their damndest to avoid him. (Okay, Rune was doing that, and basically having to corral Brand into doing the same. Good news was it wasn't too difficult, seeing as Dalton also didn’t seem too keen on spending any more time than he had to in Brand’s their vicinity.)
But with Dalton back, Rune’s aware that he’s started to regress. Gone are the days he could stomach some oatmeal or yogurt or fucking noodle soup; now he’s back to running solely on several cups of coffee a day. Easy to do, what with a coffee shop or cart on literally every corner and not in the confines of this apartment that’s not his (though it sure is putting a dent into his monthly budget). More than that, eating just feels like it would take so much more effort , none of which he can spare because he’s actively expending every shred of it on getting back to the way he was with Brand before.
He’s tired of his Companion having to watch every motion, every fidget, every twitch of his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally touch Rune. It didn’t used to be like that.
He didn’t used to flinch back when Brand’s hand just happened to float into his periphery. He didn’t used to have knee jerk reactions to Brand casually knocking their legs together during a movie night. He didn’t used to hide away and bury himself under layers of blankets after getting woken up from a bad dream. He just needs to put in the work and get back to the way he was, because he is sick of making Brand walk on eggshells around someone he’s been bonded to since the crib and is very nearly the other half of his soul.
It’s red flag after red flag, he knows that. And he hates it, because it’s like a switch has been flipped in his brain, and it should be so simple to flip it back, except he can’t fucking find it!
“Rune,” Brand calls out again, stepping further into the room.
Oh shit, he forgot to respond.
“Yeah?” he says nonchalantly, shuffling through the coconut waters, V8 Juice cans, and Gatorade bottles to make it look like he’d spent this whole time trying to decide on what to drink.
Brand, clearly unconvinced by this display, inquires “did you eat?” and sidles up alongside him to grab a sports drink for himself, gaze sweeping Rune up and down.
“A little.” The lie comes easily enough, and masking it through the bond is exponentially helped by the truth of his next statement. “But I woke up at noon, I’m not really that hungry right now.”
Eyes never leaving his person, Brand sips at his Frost Glacier Cherry and makes a noise of discontent, not wanting Rune to shut him out completely. It's not that he doesn't trust his word, it's just… lately, his scion has been– tempering the bond more than usual. For which one of their sakes, he isn't quite sure.
But either way, Brand has promised he’d try to be a little less overbearing, especially after the whipping, where Rune was the one constantly hovering over him . He could admit that it could get a little tiresome, so okay, he doesn’t press the issue as hard as he would have. “How much is ‘a little’?”
“Brand, I’m all good, promise!” Rune forces out a chuckle, ducking away to retreat further into the common room, plopping down on one of the leather couches. “Plus, we’re having dinner with Lord Tower in an hour, I can hold out until then.”
If there was ever a time to be glad for Brand’s blatant disregard for most things Tower related, this was it. His attention very quickly shifts. “Ugh, I forgot about that,” he lets out a groan, also lowering himself to the couch, albeit more carefully to make sure he doesn’t hit the back of the seat too fast.
Brand had been treated with multiple healing spells already, but the scars ran deep and Rune knew he was still in pain, no matter how much of a front he liked to put up.
Rune’s not quick enough to hide the frisson of guilt, because the whole thing was his fault, followed by shame at not being able to handle it himself in the first place. He hated how weak he was, hated that Lord Tower witnessed it firsthand, and most of all, hates how much Brand has to suffer for his incompetence.
“Stop it, we’ve been over this,” Brand demands, right as their bond shutters closed on Rune’s side. “There is not a world where I wouldn’t have beaten up that asshole for what he did. And not that you have to, but you’re already making up for it every time you rub the numbing cream on that spot I can’t reach.” He reaches over to place a comforting hand on Rune’s knee, though it’s suspended here for a moment, as he asks, “Can I?”
Though he nods his consent, inwardly, Rune could scream. He doesn’t know for which he despises himself more: that he makes Brand feel like he has to ask that or that he truly appreciates it every time he does.
Dinner that night is, objectively, very bland. Taste-wise, Rune assumes it’s perfectly fine, it’s more the choice of food items. Roasted vegetables, chicken and white rice, baked salmon, and then staples of toast, plain pasta, and potatoes, all sauces and toppings separated. It’s a veritable feast of easily digestible foods and Rune has to wonder if maybe he isn’t hiding his lack of eating habits as well as he thought.
While spreading butter on a piece of toast that he’s previously buttered at least twice already, he can feel eyes on him. Fleeting glances, coming from both beside him and across the table, but it happens enough that he knows something has to leave his plate and approach his mouth at some point, if he wants to avoid seeming ungrateful or having Brand fuss over him again.
He looks at his toast, perfectly browned and covered in a sheen of salted fat, and puts it back down. Yeah, that much butter right now might’ve been a mistake. He pivots to his potatoes. The ones he grabbed are fingerlings, finished with rosemary and thyme, and smell amazing. His stomach rumbles as the scent wafts over and he suddenly realizes how much he wants it. He can do this… yeah, he can do this! It's a potato, it's not poison!
He spears one with his fork and bites it, chewing painstakingly slowly, like if he could completely and thoroughly ground it to a pulp by the time he swallows, it will have no chance of coming back up.
The bite sinks into his stomach like a heavy stone in water, but it's down. This one. Come on, at least finish this one, he commands himself. At least it is actually quite palatable, tasting as good as it smells. On his very bad days, everything turns into ash the moment it hits his tongue, so maybe today is not so terrible after all.
Managing to get the whole potato down, he hears a quiet huff of relief to his left and thanks his lucky stars that Brand chose to look over at that exact moment. Now to just stay the course and maybe he'll end up consuming a semi-acceptable (by his skewed standards) amount of calories tonight.
They're twenty minutes into their meal, and he has eaten four slices of zucchini, two more potatoes, and a third of a chicken thigh, when the dining room doors open up behind him.
“Sorry I'm late!” Amelia, the Tower’s daughter, sweeps in with a thick hardcover book in her hand. “I got caught up with some last-minute studying and I didn't notice the time until I realized that I was absolutely starving!” She takes a seat next to her father, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, and waves to Rune before serving herself. There's a flicker of something odd in her expression when she sees Brand, as if surprised that he was even willing to come, but she says nothing, just flashes him a quick smile.
“How was your day, dad?”
Right as Lord Tower gets a word out, the doors open once more, and Rune stiffens. He doesn’t have to look to know who walks through, Brand’s immediate indignation is probably strong enough to be felt even without a bond.
Dalton strides past, joining his sister on the same side of the table, and picks up a plate. “Evening,” he locks eyes with Rune, who quickly drops his gaze to his lap, his fork frozen. Brand breathes out a very audible exhale, and Dalton settles a glare on him, though not before glancing at Lord Tower, as if the presence of his father was giving him the confidence to be more bold.
“I see your guard dog is recovering splendidly,” he says, shifting his attention back to Rune. “Yet another thing to repay my father for, he’s really been so generous!”
“Dalton,” Lord Tower warns, cutting a scathing glare his son’s way. “That’s enough.”
“Well, I am merely pointing out—”
“I think,” Rune interrupts, hands shaking as he reaches across to hold onto Brand’s hand, which is gripping a butter knife so tightly, the knuckles are white. “We may turn in early, if that’s all right. It’s been a long day, but thank you so much for dinner, Lord Tower, it was delicious.”
“You didn’t eat very much, Rune,” the Tower observes. “Are you sure?”
“I ate some… I’m just not that hungry, I guess. Sorry, I was— snacking earlier.” There’s a strong feeling of concern coming off Brand from that lie, but Rune is hoping he’s also desperate enough to leave that he’ll go along with it. “But this really was great! Right, Brand?”
“Yep,” Brand replies, popping the ‘p’. “So good.”
“Ohh,” Dalton snaps his fingers just as they’re both getting up, putting a stop to their escape. “My apologies, I am making this awkward, aren’t I? I didn’t mean to interrupt, you should stay! I’ll have it to-go.” He piles some more food on his plate, balancing it on one palm as he makes his way over to Rune, holding his other hand up peaceably towards Brand. “Let’s be civil, Saint John, I’ve already forgiven you. We leave the past in the past, what do you say?”
Biting nervously at his lower lip, Rune’s eyes flit to every other person in the room, none of whom are saying anything, just staring back at him as if the entire sanctity of the apartments is contingent on his answer. He glances at Brand, who has been thrumming with an undercurrent of fury since Dalton appeared and looks about ready to pounce, and shakes his head at him. Stay calm, he sends through their connection, just stay calm.
“You’re right,” Rune relents, plastering on a smile. “Yeah, past… is past.”
“Fantastic!” Dalton, smirking, clamps a hand on what he knows is Rune’s bad shoulder and gives him a good shake.
Rune lets out a sharp gasp of pain, his other arm instinctively shooting up to slap his hand away, the force of which causes Dalton to drop his plate in surprise. It shatters against the floor, food scattering across the marble.
At the same moment, Brand pitches forward, a fork in his grip now, and Rune has to scramble to stop him. Through his anger, though, he’s not quick to back down and is pushing back, which doesn’t make the throbbing in his shoulder lessen any.
“ Don’t,” Rune hisses, positioning himself into Brand’s sightline. “Don’t.”
“Sun, whatever is the matter with you?” The spoiled asshole accuses, crossing his arms and taking a step back as a server arrives to clean up. “Look what you did.”
“Dalton!” Lord Tower shouts, now standing, as Amelia, still seated, watches them with wide eyes.
Whatever his reprimand is, if there was one, Rune doesn’t hear it.
Because he sees the mess he’s caused, feels the explosion of rage and hatred from his Companion that he can’t quell, sees Dalton’s smug face, Amelia’s apprehension, Lord Tower’s disappointment , and it’s too much. His stomach is swirling with anxiety, his whole body is taut like a stretched rubber band about to snap, and all he feels is fear that they’re going to be kicked out and shame at overreacting and he’s not going to be able to protect them again and…oh, fuck.
Suddenly he’s shoving Brand out of the way, trembling hands over his mouth, and sprints down the hall to the nearest bathroom, dimly aware of his bodyguard’s shock and confusion.
He barrels into one seconds later, locks the door behind him, and makes it to the toilet to throw up everything he’d been working so hard to keep down. Gods, this happening on a public floor is not helping the embarrassment at all, but who’s he kidding, there was no way he would’ve made it back to their rooms.
He retches several times, even though there isn’t much else to expel and it’s mostly just water purging out of him at this point. He’s breathing hard, labored gasps sounding more alike to broken sobs, when the handle frantically rattles behind him.
“Rune!” Brand is shouting for him from the other side. “Let me in, let me help!”
Rune squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his head down. He doesn’t want to reply, doesn’t want to open his mouth in case he starts dry-heaving again, and resorts to sending out weak signals of assurance through the bond.
“Rune, please!” There’s banging at the door now as that attempt is not nearly enough for Brand to consider stopping. “You don’t have to— come on, I’ll help you.”
No. Rune doesn’t want help. Not like this. He’d rather be alone in this. He must look so fucking pathetic right now, sick and crying and drowning in his favorite oversized sweater, no. No! He grips the side of the bowl and focuses again on the bond, trying to flood it with exasperation, practically screaming through it, Go away! Go away go away go away.
There’s more confusion in response, then hurt, then hurt, then open devastation.
“I’ll break this door down!” Brand’s voice is shaky and unsure, but still loud enough for him to hear. “Hey, I—”
“Leave!” Rune cries out the word, though it’s little more than a squeak, clutching at his hair as he leans back onto the wall. Please go away. Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway.
There’s another split second of— misery and then… nothing as Brand slams his side shut and the hall is quiet.
He flushes the toilet and curls into himself on the spotless marble floor. His stomach continues to clench and spasm sporadically and he has to swallow hard in response, breathing deeply. Why is this room so godsdamn bright ? He doesn’t know how long he stays there, hitting his head against the wall in some— ill-advised attempt to clear it, maybe?
He’s weak. Bang. Stupid enough to threaten his deal for the Tower’s protection, as if it isn’t already teetering on a razor thin wire. Bang. He’s poison. Bang. That must be it, he’s just poison and he’s destined to stumble and fall into ruin, just like the rest of his court, and he’s going to drag Brand down with him. Bang, bang, BANG.
There’s a crack in the drywall at that last one and a sudden sharp pain at the back of his skull follows. But for a moment, the numbness is gone and he can focus on the pain, everything else is relegated to the back burner. It’s the same clarity he used to get when he was hit with hunger pangs, able to turn his attention onto this one thing… though that’s nothing now, just static that he finds easy to ignore. Maybe he needs something new.
Not hitting his head against a wall, of course, what if he bleeds? And the ensuing dents in the wall? That would be mortifying to have to explain.
Instead, he reaches a hand up to his shoulder and starts to knead it. Gently, at first, and the slight pain is… good— grounding. It’s relief, mostly. After a few seconds of that, he presses down harder, digs his nails into the flesh, pinches and claws at it until his nerve endings are on fire, until it hurts, until it’s agony. His vision starts to swim and a familiar sound escapes him, like a wounded animal begging to be put down, and he stops, breaths ragged.
(That’s another red flag for his repertoire. But if he acknowledges it, that means it’s okay, right?)
There’s a knock at the door then and he startles. It’s not Brand, their connection is hazy right now, but he can still tell he’s not nearby. Whoever it is does not deign to say anything, rapping on the door once more. Groaning, Rune half crawls over, before getting up and doing his best to look somewhat presentable. He doesn’t dare check the mirror, because whatever he sees might send him back over to the toilet bowl, and hopes he did good enough.
Cracking the door open, he sees dark hair tied neatly in a braid, tanned skin, ropy muscles rippling through professional attire, and… a thermos?
“Mayan?” he croaks, opening the door wider as Lord Tower’s Companion enters.
“Ginger tea,” the head of security says, unscrewing the lid and offering it to him. “To help with the nausea.”
“Um, thanks,” Rune mumbles, taking it, and just looks at it. It takes him a second to notice that Mayan is staring down at him expectantly and he starts to squirm under the scrutiny, until he realizes oh, duh. He takes a few sips, a gentle burning sensation coating his throat from both the spicy root and the drink’s temperature. It settles in his empty stomach and doesn’t make anything worse, so win.
“Better?”
Rune nods.
“Are you having trouble eating again?”
There’s something in that again that makes Rune flinch, just a little. There's sadness in it, there's dismay… there's judgement.
“No, I… maybe. I don’t know,” he pauses, then resolutely shakes his head. He must not appear weak, he has to be strong. Or fake it. “No, it’s not that. I’m just not feeling my best today. And I’m sorry about— the dining room. Running out, leaving it like that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first mess resulting from a tantrum Dalton has thrown and it likely won’t be the last,” Mayan reveals, letting out a chuckle.
Rune manages a smirk around the thermos as he drinks a little more, then caps and returns it. He pulls the cuffs of his sleeves over his hands and crosses his arms, eyes drifting to the ground. “Did Brand ask you to—?”
“Actually, Lord Tower did.” When Rune’s head snaps up at that, his expression a mix of worry and astonishment, Mayan briefly flashes back a sad smile. “He wanted to make sure you were alright and would have checked on you himself, but he— thought perhaps you wouldn’t want to see him. I know how he may seem, but he does care for you, Rune. As do I. You and Brandon. Truly.”
To that, Rune cannot think of a response, so he just shrugs with one shoulder and looks back down. The polished floor reflects to him an image of Brand, wrists pulled up and chained, a mosaic of scars weeping freely down his back, and Rune is yelling, pleading for them to stop, they won’t stop—
No. He did not want to see him.
It’s not even that he thinks Mayan is lying, or that Lord Tower is. He believes they believe that… and that frightens him more.
“Speaking of your Companion,” Mayan says, voice taking on the slightest tilt of disapproval, “is he not around? It’s very unlike him to not be by your side.”
“I told him to go,” comes Rune’s instant rebuttal. “I made him leave, he’s probably waiting for me upstairs.” Where I’ll be asking him to forgive me. “Thank you for the tea and for checking in on me. Can you… thank the Tower for me too?”
Mayan nods, stepping off to the side to let him pass. “Good night, Sun.”
“Good night, Mayan.”
***
As he slowly pushes open the door to his room, he’s a little surprised to find Brand is not already there. But why should he be? He has every right to be angry with him.
Rune nervously avoids even looking at his Companion’s door, slightly ajar, as he veers off into his bathroom first, grabbing a different long sleeved shirt from the dresser as he goes.
He takes his blue sweater off, it’s slightly damp with sweat and tears, and tosses it into the laundry hamper. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror now, was I always this— bony? and inspects himself a while longer. How long has it been since he last took longer than a passing glance at his reflection? He can’t recall. So what if his ribs are slightly visible and the jut of his collarbone lies stark against his skin and the bones of his wrists and ankles, the edges of him, are… sharp? Haven’t they always been? He had been a small kid, so this is normal. He just hasn’t— finished yet. Growing, filling out, whatever. It’s genetic, it’s not… his fault.
Splashing some water on his face, and after taking in a few deep breaths, he pulls the new shirt on and spins back to the door, to Brand. Time to face the music.
He shuffles over to his bedroom and is about to knock when Brand appears, opening the door wider. He doesn’t say anything, just retreats to his bed and sits on it, avoiding eye contact.
Wordlessly, Rune goes and sits next to him, about to bump into his side, but finds himself hesitating. He decides to leave only an inch of space between them. Brand’s side of the bond must still be shut because all he feels is a trickle, nothing like normal, and he can’t help his wince.
“What’s wrong?” Brand immediately asks, whirling on him. “Is it your shoulder? I swear—!”
“No, no, it’s okay, it’s fine. I can handle it,” Rune tells him, drawing his knees in and wrapping his arms around them. “What I can’t handle is you cutting me off like this. Can you open up your side? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sorry!” Brand interjects, scooting back a little so he can move his legs under him and sit criss cross. “I thought— earlier, I was trying to… give you space. I thought I was making it worse.”
There’s an instantaneous dam burst of emotion then and Rune can barely sort through it all, catches bits of uncertainty and regret and melancholy and anger, but smiles briefly despite it, because his Brand is back.
“Nah, you make me better… always.”
Brand doesn’t quite smile back, but he nods, then slips something out from his pocket, holding it in his palm as he unwraps the tissue it was in. It’s a cookie. Oatmeal raisin. One of Rune’s old favorites. “I grabbed you one before I left. I mean, you did throw up your entire dinner, so I’d rather you didn’t starve. I can get more if you want!”
Forcing out a short laugh, Rune lets it slide into his hand and holds it like it's a grenade. But Brand is looking at him with a hopefulness he doesn’t dare break and he could try—
No, the mere thought of eating that repulses him. The constant churning of stomach acid would make him throw it up anyway, it’ll be wasted on him. He also wants Brand to have it, he didn’t get much of a chance to eat his fill, maybe he’ll want some dessert.
“Uhh, thanks, but maybe later? I don’t think I can right now,” Rune tells him, wrapping the cookie back up and handing it over. “You should have it.”
Brand does not take it, narrowing his eyes at his scion, taking apart every facial twitch, every shiver, every inhale, every exhale.
Rune sighs, shifting his gaze more off to the side of the bed frame. Sometimes he really tires of how much time and effort Brand puts into him. “What?”
“When’d you last eat? And I don’t mean the one strawberry or the one piece of chocolate or the three cups of coffee, I mean an actual meal.”
“Wha- should I be a little concerned you don’t remember?” Rune tries to awkwardly laugh it off like it's a complete non-issue. “Didn’t you used to, like, keep track of all the saturated fats I—
“I still do,” Brand retorts, “but I haven’t been—” Here, he doesn’t say. The week before, he had been recovering in medical, and this week, he’s had to catch up on training. With their separate lesson tracks picking back up, they mainly see each other in the evenings now, maybe a bit in the mornings if Brand doesn't have to be up too early. But Rune’s also been sleeping more the past few days; apparently getting used to his now limited sigil supply required a lot of energy. But Brand wasn’t complaining either, because at least he slept through the night and rarely woke up screaming anymore.
He realizes then that it has been five days since they last sat and ate together, some pot roast, and panic starts to rise in his chest. It has not been that long since he ate real food, his thought spiral begins, please god it has not been nearly a whole fucking week—
Never mind the bond, it must be fairly obvious just from his face what he’s thinking because Rune hurries to intervene, “Brand, I’m fine! Seriously.”
“I don’t believe you!”
In the silence that follows, both boys equally stunned at the outburst, it’s Brand’s fear and unease that fuels him to recover first. “How many pounds have you dropped? You think wearing baggy sweats all the time can hide that?”
“That’s not wh—” Rune tries, too quietly, and Brand is too incensed to hear it, the bond too messy to discern what’s what.
“Why are you so exhausted? Because you’re doing too much sigil magic or because you don’t have the energy to power it in the first place? Are you even sleeping or are you faking that too? I can’t tell anymore because you’ve been freezing me out! Why, is it because of what I did to Dalton? Are you still upset about that? Or is it,” and here his voice breaks, “because I fucking failed you that night and you’re fi—”
“No!” Rune closes the distance between them and just holds him, ignoring how his skin prickles at the contact, at how his stomach lurches, because he needs to make this clear. For there to not be any doubt. “That wasn’t your fault, I haven’t and won’t ever blame you. You saved me, saved us.”
All at once, he’s blowing their connection wide open, throwing all the reassurance, all the confidence, all the love he can into it. It’s not something he’s ever done, not to this extent, the bond is ringing with emotion and it’s almost overwhelming. But it works, Brand nodding into the crook of his shoulder after a moment, trying to cover up a sniffle.
Frustratingly, that’s all Rune can take right now, and he pulls back, swallowing against his gag reflex. He gets up, turns away from Brand, and furiously blinks back the tears threatening to fall.
“Rune?” Brand asks in a whisper, staying exactly where he is. What happened just now? That was for his benefit, not Rune’s. He’s pushed too far. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m trying,” Rune cuts in, hunched forward and hugging his arms around himself. “I need you to believe that, okay? I swear to you I am trying.”
“Hey, I know, I know. You don’t have to— I was out of line, I know how hard this—”
“No, you’re right, I’ve been shutting you out,” Rune admits, turning back around, starting to unconsciously bite a nail. “I’m sorry. Don’t say anything for a second? Just let me get this out.”
He waits for Brand to agree and then shakily breathes. In, and out. He closes his eyes.
“I haven’t been eating. Because I… can’t sometimes. I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I would rather throw myself down the 20 flights of stairs outside than eat anything here and I hate that I can’t figure out why ! Because I feel like we don’t belong here? I’m the one who made the deal to bring us here, how does that make any sense? I hate that you’re so careful around me now, even though I physically cannot stand anyone touching me for longer than a few seconds. I hate that Lord Tower looks at you and thinks that he can just use you to teach me some kind of lesson. I hate that I let him. But you wanna know the worst thing, the thing that really makes me hate myself ? I want to be okay, I want to get us back to normal…” He breaks off there and opens his eyes, sees Brand’s gaze on him, full of pity, and lets out a sob. “But I am so fucking tired of trying.”
The room plunges into a stillness.
Then, “ohh,” Brand says with a shuddering sigh, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.
“Please don’t be mad. I wasn’t lying before, I’m not going to… stop trying.” In a rush, Rune collapses back onto the bed, cursing at himself as he hesitates for just a moment before he reaches out to tug at Brand’s arms. “I’m sorry. Please, please don’t be mad. Please don’t hate me.”
“I do not hate you… and I’m not mad. Fuck, Rune, this is the last fucking thing I could ever be mad about!” He looks down at the hands grabbing onto him, how they’re tense and trembling, and gently pries them away. “Don’t force yourself. Please? Just do me a favor and set your boundaries and don’t cross them. Not for me, not for the Tower, not for anyone. Definitely not for me.”
“But I—”
“My turn?” Brand holds up a hand to quiet him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “First of all, thank you for trying, for… fighting to stay. I wish you didn’t have to try, I wish you could just be or have whatever you want. I wish I could’ve saved you earlier, I wish I could go back in time and prevent all of the death and all of the pain and erase that entire night! But I can’t. The one thing I can do, though? I can help you.”
Rune, re-adopting his previous position of sitting with his knees to his chest, lays his head down in his arms. “I want you to, I just— don’t know how??”
“You don’t have to solve everything now,” Brand tells him, sliding to his knees onto the floor, so he can look up at Rune. “Hey, you don’t have to do it all this instant and you don’t have to do it alone either. I’m right here, I’m always going to be here! So if things start getting bad, let me in. Don’t push me away… because you’re stuck with me. Forever. Literally forever, I’m not kidding.”
Lifting his head up just enough to see those ever present bright blue eyes, Rune sniffles. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You really do,” Brand declares, shifting to sit and settle back onto the bed frame. “By the way, say the word and I’ll go nuclear on Dalton. I bet I can make him shit his pants, that’d be kinda fun, huh?”
“Don’t!” Rune says, but even he can’t hold back the real, genuine laugh that slips out.