Rest In Pieces

13

James

There was something about the way Airo moved that was incredibly off-putting. No, that wasn't the correct word. He was suffering, the way his hands shook and his feet shuffled did nothing to help him hide it.

James' heart ached for him, for the things he must have seen at the front.

"War is all I know," Airo whispered to him one night, their hands clasped together. "For so long, there was nothing else."

"There is more than war, Airo."

He leaned his head against James' shoulder. "I know that." He was quiet for a length of time, and James was too. "I can't forget."

"I doubt you ever will." James had not meant to crush any glimmer of hope Airo had, for he was tired—so tired, but it was the simple truth. The horrors Airo had seen, had done, would never leave his fractured mind. Not when he kept clinging to them as if the nightmares were all he had.

"Jamie," he said. "This is very serious."

James grew quiet, waiting.

"Have you got any alcohol in there?"

He chuckled. "Need a drink, do you?"

"Gods, do I ever."

James' hand came to rest against the side of Airo's face. He kissed him, just gentle, before getting up to pour them both a drink. One glass was fine, they'd share. His bones ached too, and he filled it well.

Airo had moved to the table when James' back was turned. He had been quiet, stealthy.

Perhaps stealth was all he had at the front. All that kept him in one piece. And physically, he was. James was not so sure about his mind, though. Shattered and fragmented and broken. Airo was slipping, and James would be there to piece him together.

Perhaps that was his path. Put back together the broken prince—King—he loved so dearly.

"I am not sure about allowing Xadya back to the Arcane," Airo said mindlessly. He took another swig.

James scowled. "She seems to be doing just fine."

"They will eat at her mind until there is nothing left."

"You know that's not how it works."

Airo looked up, studying James' features for what felt like an eternity.

"I ate at her mind." Hollow was the only way to describe the way Airo sounded.

"You didn't," James said softly. He rested a hand over Airo's. "You were only trying to help her."

"I should have known," he said angrily, with a slight shake of his head. Another swig.

James could do nothing with the choices Airo had made in the past. He'd had the best of intentions, even Xadya knew that. He certainly did not crack her mind in half on purpose.

"Would you like the bottle?" It was a joke, but Airo nodded. James rolled his eyes and slide it over, watching intently as Airo drank. And drank. And drank.

"Gods, I don't think I'll ever be drunk enough."

"Careful," James warned. "You've not had any water today. A hangover is imminent."

"A hangover is the least of my worries," Airo slurred, pulling James in by the lapels. He kissed him sloppy, messy, but Airo all the same. James didn't mind the stench of alcohol on their breath as they kissed hard and heavy.

James had Airo against the wall in moments, hips pressing into his but oh, no, it wasn't enough.

There were too many layers of clothing between them. Buttons came undone as James worked, still sober enough to focus. He traced the lines on Airo's torso, some the cutting edge of defined muscle, some scars from the front. From his father. Both.

Airo was far too wasted for them to carry on, but James took him to bed all the same, tucked coverlets around them both and chuckled as Airo sloppily pulled him closer, crawling atop his chest for comfort.

"I always slept better with you there," Airo murmured. James did not get the chance to press for further details before Airo was asleep, though he wanted nothing more than to hear how this broken boy cared for him.

It was a conversation for another time, so long as they were both willing.