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“Hey, what’s that?”
Water sighs, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s what, Avid?”
“That!”
They noticed it near immediately. A cursory glance around their surroundings every five blocks or so has become habit on their trek, but Avid can’t recall a single moment before this one right here, right now, where he has been so taken in by something through the thick trees. A wide patch of grass runs along the fallen stumps of tree bark and further past that, almost camouflaged in the bushes, is a fabric tent.
The darkening sky plays with the forest’s shadows, twisting the tent’s clearing into a deep nest sequestered away. If there is someone else there, laying in the tent, unaware of the two mages lurking on the edges, they stand no chance. Avid turns off the path.
“Hey, maybe don’t run into an open space. You don’t know who’s out here.”
They step over a rotting log and swat away a bush of burrs. “Oh, we can take them. C’mon.”
“Figures,” Water mumbles, low enough for Avid to leave the comment resting between teeth with nothing to gnaw on.
The clearing is quiet. Jarringly quiet, for a forest filled with bird chatter and constant far-off howls. The only sound Avid picks up on is the irritated huff from Water before he steps off the path and follows after. They cast a sharp glance at the edge of the clearing straight across, and then to the right, and then to the left. Nothing. Not even a pull of mana.
Water passes right by, ignoring Avid’s soft “hey” and pressing into the clearing. The old growth bends under his foot and suddenly something breaks. Sound bleeds back into the clearing. Distant, they can hear the familiar yelp of a wolf pack.
Avid takes a breath and steps into the campsite. A circle of stone drowns in moss at the center, void-black chunks of charr smiling up from the undergrowth.
Whoever was here last is long gone. “There’s nothing here,” they say.
“Yeah, I got that,” Water snaps back. “What else would you like to tell me? That the sky is blue? That the trees are green? That we’ve been walking for hours? I know, Avid.”
Avid frowns. “The sky is actually more of an orange now than anything else. But, no, you’re right, that was obvious.”
They watch Water’s back as he slowly curls a hand around the front of the tent, pauses, and then rips the drape open. From where they are, Avid can see that the tent is empty as well. The fabric walls hang heavy to the ground, shrinking the size of the room to half of what it looks like on the outside. A single metal pole holds it all up, a pillar to the campsite.
It is similar to the campsite nearby the academy, green tents and fire pits, but so much older and much smaller. This is built for one traveler, two if they decide to get cozy.
Water heaves a frustrated groan. “Fantastic. There’s only one bed in here.”
Avid pushes in after him, stopping right where the drape catches on their shoulder. “Oh, uh….” It is musty and old, and the strange scent of damp permeates the air. The bed still looks incredibly enticing. Avid drags their eyes up to Water. “Should we fight for it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He takes another step inside “I’ll take the bed and you can keep watch.”
“Hey, what? No, why do you get to sleep? I should get the bed; I’ve been walking all day. I mean, I’m used to roughing it up, but when the option presents itself to lay in a bed, I’m not going to say no!”
“The option hasn’t ‘presented itself’ to you. I’m taking the bed because I have also been walking all day and I’ve had to deal with you on top of it. Goodnight.”
Water snatches the corner of the sheets and flaps them into the air. A large cloud of pollen and dust explode above their heads and he shakes it out a little more. There is no pillow, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he swings his legs up onto the mattress.
“Seriously?”
Water sinks under the covers. “Seriously.”
It isn’t by any means a surprise. It’s funny, even. This is how it’s supposed to go.
“Fine. Fine.” Avid kicks at the moldy straw floor and then glances back at Water. His eyes are closed already, blocking out the low light and probably Avid’s form. They want to lie down too. “No, you know what? I’m not going to just hand this over to you. You’ve been a thorn in my side all day, I think I deserve the bed.”
The blanket flies up and Water scoffs. “Deserve? You? I have so many things to say about that. The first being how interesting it is that you have yet to grow out of the childish, impudent ideas of royalty, even though you continue to tell me how removed you are from it. Ten years, was it? I can’t even tell.”
“Can we stop harping on that? It’s not me anymore! You have to look past it.”
“Hard to look past when nothing’s on the other side.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah, you definitely deserve this.” Their hands seem to have a natural inclination towards violence, tearing through unfair cruelty where others cannot, digging up the corruption. Perhaps the best part of Avid is his hands. The power of justice has always demanded something from them— their fingers simmer in anticipation.
This isn’t slightly similar to the inequality he has cut down, but Avid is hungry and exhausted from the long trek, and he wants. The appetite unfurling in his stomach isn’t just for food.
They flick their wrist and nick themself on the small blade hidden there quicker than a flutter of bird wing. His fingers snap and an overwhelming, achingly warm power flows up his arm and to his core. It ignites there and he takes another deep breath.
They are awake. They are alive. Every beat of their heart is intoxicating, the smooth, sweet promise of someone else’s life draining into his hands; the threat of someone fighting back.
Water cries out, low and vicious. It isn’t pain glowing in his eyes when he jumps out of the bed, landing firm on his feet and already drawing his blade from the loop of his backpack. His brow pulls together with anger and without a second of hesitation he lunges.
This is where they meet, always. On a battlefield of their own making, pressed together by magic and sword arc. Warnings feel like promises and promises warp into threats. Thunder under skin, blade to blood— Gleeful, Avid steps away.
Water’s sword passes by just close enough to feel the air slice around it, just close enough for Water to realign and cut into the meat of their bicep. Effortless, diamond stains red. It feels electric.
A gasp draws out of Avid, light and airy, and they stumble out of the tent. “Oh, yes. Ohhh, yes. Come on. Come at me.”
As the fighter he is, Water follows close behind, his feet already backing Avid into a corner.
Using the new cut, he casts again, replenishing his blood with Water’s own. The swirl of it in the air is metallic and tangy, heaven on earth, and they can watch as Water twitches with each pulse siphoning out of him. He is graying around the eyes and Avid takes a chance.
A bony fist strikes him across the face. Sharp, white pain explodes across Avid’s jaw, a tingle of excitement blooming in its wake under bruising skin. They take a few steps back with the momentum, ducking their head from the next flying fist and shuffles away from the gleaming end of a sword blade caught in their periphery.
“I’ll kill you, I really will.”
He is closer now and Avid has lost track of the sword. Dangerous, yes. But their racing heart is louder than their reason. They lick the blood from their bottom lip and cast again. With every beat of his heart, he can feel the pulse of his cuts. They do not heal, Avid does not let them. They stay open and bite against the fresh forest air, or the capital’s pollution, or the academy’s stuffy sparing rooms—wherever he is, the wounds stay open.
Another pulse. Water grunts through his teeth.
“You can’t let things be,” he growls. “Why can’t you leave me alone? Why won’t you ever be quiet?”
The sword cuts again and Avid loses his hold. He takes a second to put distance between their body and the impending weapon, if only to stretch the battle out a little longer.
A second is all they need. Avid casts again. They move faster this time, weaving around the camp as Water follows close behind. “I can’t believe we’re actually fighting over a bed. This is fun!”
“We are not fighting over a bed. We are fighting because you are an annoying prick and I am tired of having you around.”
“Okay, well, it’s definitely also for the bed.” Avid has something else to say, a very good point to share, but their brain halts completely when a sword’s edge skewers itself into his hip. His clothes meld to the wound instantly.
His body hits the ground heavy and in an instant Water is on him, pushing him down with a hot hand to the shoulder and an enticing blade to his throat. Something crunches in their back and a wail is ripped from their body, legs spasming against the ground, kicking up at Water.
This is it. This is the threshold between conscious and unconscious, when the body overtakes the brain, defending itself from danger. Avid wants more. His body thrashes again when Water sits fully on top of him, pressing into the broken bits of his body. Avid’s fists curl to mitigate the pain. They don’t want a distraction, but this is their brain taking control, pulling their defenses up, and they have very little say.
The excitement is too much; Avid chokes on his pain, giggling through the absence of breath. His stomach rolls, he gasps for air. Water presses further, closer.
“I could really kill you. With my bare hands, no magic—I could,” he says roughly, and Avid can feel the heat of his words sinking heavily into the back of his skull. Goosebumps crawl up the skin closest to the blade and the thundering of his heart slips by in thin lines of drawn blood.
They could cast now; they have plenty of blood dripping into their hands, yet the good part has only just begun. Avid would never end it so soon. Not when they’re so close.
“Please, please,” they say quietly and Water tears his furious eyes away from where diamond meets throat to look them in the eyes. “It would be, just, the best.”
His face is filthy with summer sweat and bits of blood. If it’s Avid’s or his own is up for debate. Probably both. Avid bets they look worse, pressed into half-moist grass and covered in open wounds.
Avid bucks up in an attempt to escape but be it incoherency from the loss of too much blood or the raging endorphins flooding through their system, their foot slips out from under them and Water pushes him back down, hard. The pain in his back explodes. Something is definitely broken. They gasp through another giggle, hysterical with the sweet pressure of no escape under Water’s watchful stare.
They glare at each other, holding eye contact as their ragged breaths mingle over the silent clearing. First blood spilled, and probably the last.
The tension breaks. Water lets out a long breath, and his body droops above Avid. The sword slips away from their throat. They sigh in disappointment. Just a little deeper and it would have marred his neck for the rest of his life, a trophy welded into his skin. It’s red and angry now, Avid doesn’t have to see it to know. It is an intimate familiarity.
Their own breath is thin when they try to talk. “So, do you come around here often?”
Water dismounts, shoving Avid’s head back into the dirt as he goes. “You lose, Avid.”
Cast aside, left to struggle on the ground alone, their lungs deflating— it is all still proof. To be known is to be carved open like an animal on the slaughtering block, to be left alive in this pocket of a moment is to be welcomed with bruised, familiar hands.
The tent drape shuts and the sound of the mattress bending under new weight squeaks out. Avid looks to the sunset above and softens to the tenderness of his wounds.
“He is so perfect.”