Enzo, bewildered as he was, had the good sense to be silent and appear appropriately chastened by Bhaal's words. As the driver took Mal from their arms, Enzo exchanged sidelong glances with Tiberius, then bobbed his head, murmuring an apology and his understanding at Bhaal's parting suggestion. The dark street was silent, save for the clatter of the carriage and the jingle of the horse's tackle as it carried Mal and Bhaal away. Enzo bit his lip as he watched it disappear around a corner. His feet were cold.
At Tiberius' urging, he began to follow his friend.
"I had no idea..."
-------------
"It just feels like I've been stripped down in more ways than just my... Oww!" Enzo straddled the windowsill, one hand pressed at the spot on his forehead where he'd knocked it against the frame. A moment later, he froze, ears straining to hear any noise from elsewhere in the house. But his parents' rooms were far enough away that he soon dismissed the worry and continued through the window, closing it behind him as Tiberius was removing his shoes.
He rolled his eyes at Tiberius' insistence that Mal was not at fault as he crossed to the wardrobe and opened the doors. It just didn't feel right. Mal was too often the instigator of pranks and bad ideas. Inside the wardrobe, he found a uniform identical to the one he'd apparently lost, though far to long for his frame. He let out a silent huff of amusement, realizing now how Tiberius had come to be wearing his own clothes.
"I left when I couldn’t stand to watch you eye-fuck that brunette any longer.”
Enzo paused in hanging his jacket, eyes looking at Tiberius in the mirror that hung on the inside of his wardrobe door. A question for more details about this brunette who was apparently worthy of eye-fucking had formed on his lips, but the tone of Tiberius' voice stopped him from voicing it. He finished hanging the jacket and closed the wardrobe, the click of the latch filling the silence.
Turning, he moved over to stand beside the bed. "Alright." he said, his tone one of surrender. Then, after a pause, he leaned over Tiberius to lift his arm away from his face. "I'm sorry I fucked up our night out, Tibby. you'll forgive me, won't you?" Sincere as the words were, he couldn't help but pout his lip and make puppy dog eyes as he spoke them. It was a tactic that had often served him when his antics had pushed Tiberius' patience for him a little too far.
Groaning in irritation, Tiberius nevertheless let Enzo pull his arm away, eyes narrowed to slits as the other young man made his apologies. But how could one be sorry for something they couldn’t remember? It was only meant to smooth his ruffled feathers, pleasant words delivered in a state of undress. Difficult to take seriously — but that could be intentional too, meant to defuse his foul mood.
“I don’t know if you deserve it yet.” He sat back up, swinging his legs out of bed. Traces of flaky dried blood on the pillow, caught out of the corner of his eye, reminded him to hurt. The dull pain became sharp as he gingerly probed his scalp, lowering his hand to stare at his dirty fingertips. It seemed safer than looking at Enzo.
“I thought we were … I don’t know. More.” He didn’t have the language for it, only an awful, squirmy tangle in the pit of his stomach. Maker, he’d mucked things up somehow, without meaning to. Was it worth speaking his mind if it put their friendship at risk? Probably not, but Tiberius plodded onward anyway. “Perhaps I didn’t think you’d want someone else so quickly.”
He knew well enough that academy dalliances or even friendships might not translate to society life in Minrathous. Certainly, both their Houses would expect them to eventually cut their associations with a certain half-elf bastard. He’d been a fool, not seeing it here. And there was nothing Tiberius hated more than feeling foolish.
Standing, he pressed past Enzo to stand before the empty wash basin, peering at his reflection in the dark, silvered glass. Tiberius leaned forward and trickled water from the pitcher over his head wound. Some of it ran down his chin and into the basin, but the vast majority of the water drenched his clothes and splattered the floor. Padding around in wet socks made everything worse as he crossed the room again and started pulling his own clothes out of the wardrobe. He tossed them on the bed, pants, shirt … Paper crinkled audibly in the jacket pocket and he froze with it, crushing the starchy fabric between his hands.
Right. That.
Tiberius pulled the letter out of the inner pocket and thrust it toward Enzo like a dish of poison.
“Well. There wont be any more nights to fuck up. I can’t reenlist with you and Mal.”
The pout, while perhaps not quite so successful as he'd wanted, served enough. Enzo had to martial it lest it turn to a grin as Tibs gave the smallest fraction of ground. It was a start. His own face mirrored a bit of the pain that Tiberius recalled, eyes squinting and mouth contorting in a silent hiss as his friend tried the spot on his head with a careful fingertip. Enzo ghosted his own hand over the wound, wanting to feel but knowing that he had not yet regained the right.
“I thought we were … I don’t know. More.”
Enzo seemed in that moment to lose the ability to move. He blinked, face falling a bit slack in genuine shock at the words. More? He... His throat solidified. Dumbly, he watched as Tiberius moved to the basin. He could feel blood coursing through him, warming his neck. His stomach seemed to flip and then turn to stone. He sat down on the bed as if the weight of it had pulled him down. More...
He wasn't allowed more. Had he been able, he might have laughed. What could he say? He didn't understand it himself, but he'd locked up any semblance of that hope before he had ever known a name for it. His life was already written. Hells, the names of what children he might someday sire were already chosen! What more was there for him? Everything he'd chased -every semblance of attraction, of affection- it was all stolen from some other life that didn't really exist. He watched Tiberius, biting at the inside of his cheeks because he didn't know what to say. A chisel had been struck against what some unconscious part of Enzo had assumed was thick stone. Now, he was realizing it was just plaster.
Tiberius was gathering his clothes. Say something, you idiot! Stop him! Tiberius was about to leave and Enzo still sat, dumb and panicking. How had it all gone so badly? They were just supposed to have some drinks, some fun!
“Well. There wont be any more nights to fuck up. I can’t reenlist with you and Mal.”
"No!" Enzo almost shouted it, standing and cutting off the word almost as quickly as it'd come out. He fumbled forward, reaching out to Tiberius. "Don't... don't go." One had found the other's elbow, bypassing the letter entirely a first, and he pulled himself toward Tiberius.
"I do... we are... I..." Maker, why was it so hard to speak!? His sigh might have been more akin to a groan of frustration as his mind registered the letter and took it. He made to toss it aside, assuming it was some heartsick farewell and he wanted nothing to do with such a thing. But he hazarded as glance at Tiberius' eyes and saw that something had shifted there.
Stepping back again, Enzo opened the letter. A moment later his eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. In one motion, he tossed the letter aside and stepped back forward, throwing his arms around his friend and hugging him tight. "I'm so sorry. He said into Tiberius' shoulder, then pulled himself back a bit, still gripping the other's arms.
"I'm a right prick, carrying on. But why didn't you say something? Shouldn't you be at home? Mourning? Shit, Tiberius." Enzo pulled him in again, squeezing tight. He knew Tiberius didn't have the best of relationships with his father... but still.
Tiberius froze as Enzo grabbed his arm, muscles tensed as if he might startle and bolt. He watched, tight lipped, as Enzo read the contents of the letter. Yet, anger could only carry him so far. As Enzo’s arms pulled him in, that tight ball of emotion seemed to crystalize and shatter like a strand of molten sugar wicking off a spoon. It had been the only thing holding him up. He staggered into Enzo, groaning inarticulately into his hair and neck.
After a moment, Tiberius sidled away and sat down on the bed, wrinkling the clothes he’d just placed there. Every time he reached for words, the breath died in his throat. He had to look away, at something that didn’t mean anything. Their feet would do, dirty or wet socks on the parquet floor.
“I tried to tell Mal. Tonight.” Likely he had not done a very good job of it. Malachai had merely assured him that a High house brat such as Pavus would be safe regardless of circumstance. Whether the other young man had been trying to be delicate or whether he was simply obvious, Tiberius could not begin to guess. He’d been sitting with the news for almost a week – the letter had been waiting for them when they loaded onto the ship home.
Truth be told, Fulvius Umbra had been a man Tiberius hardly knew at all – even beyond the last two years they’d been away. Fulvius’ life had been consumed by his work in the Magisterium, in being Grandfather’s obedient shadow. Not kind and doting, as Tiberius saw Enzo’s own parents. Not cruel like Malachai’s. What was there to mourn, beyond his own selfish future? It was like tonguing the empty socket left by a pulled tooth. There was hurt, yes, but the oddness of this new bite was more striking. Harder to put out of mind than mere heartbreak.
“I didn’t want to be done.” With Enzo, of course, but also with everything. Playing at soldiers was well and good for spare cousins and bastards and boys that wouldn’t inherit for another forty years if they ever did at all. Hiers, though. They never spent more than two years on Seheron – if their families didn’t ransom them out entirely. “I can’t shake the feeling that if I go home, I’ll never …” Tiberius trailed off, then looked up sharply. His gaze latched on to Enzo’s.
“I could leave. We both could – we don’t want what they’re offering anyway.”
