[They can't have traveled much further, but it feels like hours before they finally stop again in a place Drael deems safe enough. It all looks the same to Kris, except that here at least there's water enough for Drael to finally clean the blood from his hands. Kristopher washes as well, painfully self-conscious even despite everything else he should be focusing on. How they all must be laughing at him, crying and defenseless and... and piss-soaked, oh, how else can he say it, and Kristopher puts his pants back on still damp from the stream because they've already laughed at him enough. He won't add exhibitionism to the list of shames they've heaped upon him since these twisted games began.
They can't risk going any further, Drael says. They might not find anywhere more secure than this, might just leave themselves open and exposed instead. Kristopher tries to inject some sort of authority into his agreement, or at least the illusion that he understands enough to have an opinion, but in the end he can muster little more than a murmur of assent. He wants to disappear, he wants to wake up from this, he wants...
But no, he wants to help, and surely there's only one small way he can. Kristopher reasons and begs, pleads with Drael to take some rest. It takes a desperate amount of convincing, and by the end he's crying again and his head is throbbing, but Drael touches his tear-stained cheek and finally relents.
And now it's night, and Drael is finally still beside him. Kristopher finds himself afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe. Every sound seems amplified, and somehow the thought of waking Drael unnecessarily seems almost as frightening as the threat of something giving him cause to do so. Kris keeps his eyes to the surrounding forest, keeps one hand gently entwined in Drael's thick golden hair, a gesture both comforting and practical. This is all he can do. Protect Drael's rest and be prepared to rouse him. This pathetic task is all he can do, and Drael had hesitated to allow him this much.
And rightly so. It all makes sense now, the way Drael has spoken for these last years of their acquaintance. Drael has always resented him, resented all nobility, and now Kristopher feels that he might understand some part of that. If Drael has lived a life able to equip him for these sorts of horrors... Yes, Drael hates him, but still protects him. Still cherishes him where no one else does, would miss him more than anyone else. Drael would have a better chance of surviving alone, had the perfect opportunity to leave him, and yet he returned. Why? Why would he risk so much for someone so unable to return that gesture...?
Kristopher crouches lower and tries to ignore the soreness, the fear, the aching in his eyes and weight in his chest. Oh, Drael. Difficult handsome blood-stained Drael...]
ENCOUNTER: TEAM TWO & TEAM ONE
They can't risk going any further, Drael says. They might not find anywhere more secure than this, might just leave themselves open and exposed instead. Kristopher tries to inject some sort of authority into his agreement, or at least the illusion that he understands enough to have an opinion, but in the end he can muster little more than a murmur of assent. He wants to disappear, he wants to wake up from this, he wants...
But no, he wants to help, and surely there's only one small way he can. Kristopher reasons and begs, pleads with Drael to take some rest. It takes a desperate amount of convincing, and by the end he's crying again and his head is throbbing, but Drael touches his tear-stained cheek and finally relents.
And now it's night, and Drael is finally still beside him. Kristopher finds himself afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe. Every sound seems amplified, and somehow the thought of waking Drael unnecessarily seems almost as frightening as the threat of something giving him cause to do so. Kris keeps his eyes to the surrounding forest, keeps one hand gently entwined in Drael's thick golden hair, a gesture both comforting and practical. This is all he can do. Protect Drael's rest and be prepared to rouse him. This pathetic task is all he can do, and Drael had hesitated to allow him this much.
And rightly so. It all makes sense now, the way Drael has spoken for these last years of their acquaintance. Drael has always resented him, resented all nobility, and now Kristopher feels that he might understand some part of that. If Drael has lived a life able to equip him for these sorts of horrors... Yes, Drael hates him, but still protects him. Still cherishes him where no one else does, would miss him more than anyone else. Drael would have a better chance of surviving alone, had the perfect opportunity to leave him, and yet he returned. Why? Why would he risk so much for someone so unable to return that gesture...?
Kristopher crouches lower and tries to ignore the soreness, the fear, the aching in his eyes and weight in his chest. Oh, Drael. Difficult handsome blood-stained Drael...]