Archive of Our Own

–

This means that when you believe you are empty

that the world has drained you completely,

there is still an impossible amount of your strength

simply awaiting discovery.

The dark matter of you

a powerhouse of impossibility.

-

Nikita Gill

The evening is late, they are more than a little in their cups, and Nicolò does not understand how he lived before he knew this kind of happiness.

“Impossible,” Yusuf declares between hiccups of laughter that shake the bed. “No, no, this did not happen! You, Nicolò of Genova, are a dirty liar.” He waves an accusatory finger at Nicolò, the effect of which is slightly diminished by how hard he is shaking, willing himself not to laugh and failing miserably. There are giddy tears in his long lashes and crumbs in his beard. Nicolò feels drunk on love for him.

His expression turns wry, though he too is having trouble holding in laughter. “I have not even told you the worst part yet.” He waits for Yusuf to calm himself enough to take a breath and wave a hand at him, motioning Nicolò to continue. “When we finally got out it had been nearly seven hours since we got locked in. Long enough that we had we had gone from arguing to sucking each other’s cocks again, and then back to arguing once more. When the chamberlain suddenly opened the door, I was on my knees sucking him for the third time. We only had the time to lace him up before we were discovered so I had to hastily pretend I had been merely supplicated in prayer. I was certain my ruse had worked, until back at my bedroll I realized had spend on my face.” Nicolò barely manages to finish his sentence before Yusuf throws his head back and howls with laughter, slapping the bed with delight. Nicolò laughs with him, laughs at the memory of that terrible, terribly amusing day.

This day is as far from terrible as any could possibly be. Nicolò leans on his elbows and looks at Yusuf shaking with mirth next to him, feeling something tender ache within his chest at the sight. These past few months have been good to them; they have not had to go hungry in a while, and Yusuf looks well because of it. Yesterday, they finally reached a city with good bathhouses, good food, and good inns, and for once they have enough coin to afford them all. They have spent the day aimless and free of worries, able to fully enjoy the life and vibrancy of the city and all of the wonders it has to offer.

However, Nicolò would be lying to himself if he pretended that the main source of his happiness was anything other than the man next to him. During this past year, their camaraderie, which by this point has been forged in iron, had taken a turn as Nicolò noticed himself becoming increasingly distracted by Yusuf’s humour, wit, and beauty. More often than not he found himself gazing at Yusuf’s sleeping form during a night watch, longing to be closer. He fantasized about their bedrolls being next to each other and not on opposite sides of the fire just so he could hear Yusuf’s breathing, press his thigh against Yusuf’s side as he slept. He spent many hours imagining how Yusuf would feel; solid and real and warm.

These kinds of fantasies were distracting, not to mention embarrassing, and they made him both a bad night watch and an undesirable travel companion. Something resembling these feelings had always been present in him, but now with every passing day Nicolò found them harder to ignore. This was a cause of increasing distress to him until one day, only a few months ago, he found that those feelings were reciprocated.

It had been a rainy day. Nicolò was late returning to their rented rooms from his morning trip to the market, which had worried Yusuf (he later told him he had been certain Nicolò had been accosted by robbers, or worse). When Nicolò finally made it back, he was soaking wet, tongue tripping over apologies for the lateness of the hour. The reason, he told Yusuf, was that he had gone to get some of the pastries Yusuf so liked to break their fast with, only to find that the old lady who ran the shop had not been able to make any as the roof of her little stall was full of holes and the rain kept pouring in. Nicolò had stayed and helped her patch the roof until it had been fixed, after which she had given him enough pastries to fill the bellies of several men. Nicolò thought it had been excessive, so he had given some to the beggars on the way home, but left enough for Yusuf. It was not until that moment he was explaining it to Yusuf he realized he had not left himself any to eat.

Nicolò was in the middle of wondering if Yusuf would mind if he quickly went back for some fruit for himself when he noticed Yusuf looking at him with an almost pained expression, the likes of which Nicolò did not remember ever seeing before. Nicolò opened his mouth to ask Yusuf what was wrong but was stopped before he could get a word out, as Yusuf made a frustrated noise and pulled him by his collar into a kiss. Nicolò’s arms had been soaking wet from the rain as they wrapped around Yusuf’s waist on instinct but neither of them paid any attention to that, or much else for that matter. They did not even think of the pastries again until hours had passed, at which point they were both so hungry that they were forced to go out again in search of more food. This time, however, they did so together.

So, the last few months have been good to them, filled with exploration and discovery as they have gotten to know each other more intimately than ever. Their budding relationship has filled his days with happiness, a sort he had not dared to dream of in his earlier life. There have been some missteps, some uncomfortable moments and a few misunderstandings, but mostly Nicolò has been overjoyed with the realization of how simple it all is, how well they fit together.

It feels so natural, he thinks as he looks at Yusuf, to be with this man, to love him. The more he does, the more it feels like perhaps loving Yusuf is what he has always been meant to do. It certainly had felt like destiny when Yusuf had kissed him that rainy afternoon, urgent and just a little desperate. Hurried, until Nicolò, hands still wet from the rain but so careful, had stroked his palm down Yusuf’s broad back slowly, sweetly, and something in both of them slowed down and settled. Calm like coming home.

Currently, they are both lying in bed, bare on top of their bedding. Yusuf is still fighting against laughter, occasionally glancing at Nicolò and bursting into another fit like he cannot stop himself. After their lazy day in the city, they had relaxed and washed at the local bathhouse and then, after exchanging some meaningful looks, hurried back to their rooms for several hours of invigorated lovemaking. There is a plate of cheese, bread and fruit on the bed between them which they had cobbled together some time ago when said lovemaking had left them hungry. Nicolò is lying on his front, head resting on his crossed forearms, looking at Yusuf who is on his back next to him, holding his sides, going through the aftershocks of laughter. 

“Now I believe it is you, whose turn it is to tell me something,” Nicolò says once Yusuf seems to finally be done with his giggles. Yusuf quirks one brow at him and grins playfully, if a little breathlessly.

“I believe you are correct,” Yusuf says. He then rolls to his stomach and puts his head in his hands.

They have been at this for a while now. After their latest bout of lovemaking, Nicolò had lifted his head from where it had been between Yusuf’s thighs and kissed his way up Yusuf’s back to press lips to the top of his spine. After a long moment spent catching his breath, Yusuf had turned around and looked at Nicolò with an unreadable expression. His cheeks had still been flushed and his hair damp, clinging to his forehead where his face had been pressed into the pillow only moments prior. Judging by Yusuf’s earlier reactions to his ministrations, Nicolò did not think that the expression was due to him not liking what Nicolò had just done. As Yusuf pulled him into a fierce kiss only a breath later, all doubt left his mind. After they had their fill of kisses from each other (for the moment), Yusuf had lain back against the bedding, turned his head towards him and said, “Nicolò, you are so dear to me. How is it possible you are still full of such surprises? Where on earth did you learn to do that?”

Nicolò had laughed and plastered on an appropriately suggestive grin and told Yusuf that one learns a lot about sin as a priest. Yusuf laughed in turn and Nicolò had thought to leave it at that, but something about the question had struck a chord within him. They had enjoyed a moment of contented silence until Nicolò had turned to Yusuf and asked if he truly wanted to know the story. Yusuf had, and before long they were swapping stories of past lovers with each other.

They talked about everything: the good and the bad, the love declarations and the rejections. Nicolò told Yusuf about the one man he had been in love with before, back when he had not yet turned twenty, who had broken his young heart so badly Nicolò had burned the sheets they’d slept on together and cut his own hair in a fit of rage. Yusuf had in turn talked about his first great love, a man he met while studying, who he had loved so passionately that every time he had left on business with the merchant caravans Yusuf had felt like a puppet with its strings snapped, lifeless and dull.

Nicolò found that he enjoyed discussing past lovers with Yusuf. That was not a surprise to him, as he enjoyed discussing nearly anything with Yusuf. However, there was something to be said about being able to share these experiences with someone who understood, who had had similar ones. He supposed that another man might feel jealous, but as he looked at Yusuf’s face scrunched in thought next to him, he knew that what the two of them shared was so far beyond what either of them had had with anyone else before that the idea of feeling jealous was almost ridiculous. Yusuf leaving him and their life together for some past flame seemed so out of the realm of possibility that the thought of it had become outright bizarre. He was certain Yusuf felt the same way.

At one point in the conversation, Yusuf shared an anecdote about how a past business partner of his, a spice merchant he had just met, had walked into his quarters unannounced, only to find Yusuf quite deeply involved with a lover. The merchant had been a young man, driven and passionate about his business, but he had also been open-minded, and Yusuf was certain that had it been any other man in his bed there would not have been a problem. The problem, Yusuf told Nicolò, voice shaking with poorly concealed laughter, was that the lover in question had also been the young merchant’s father.

Their conversation took a turn after that. Currently, it is a competition to see which one of them could tell the funnier story relating to past lovers. Nicolò privately thinks that the one he just finished telling is going to be hard to defeat, but he is more than happy to hear what other stories Yusuf has to tell. He is sure they are going to be entertaining. 

“Aha! I know just the tale,” Yusuf finally says, slapping the bed victoriously. “And I will bet it is even funnier than the one you just told.” Nicolò’s smile widens at that. Yusuf knows he can’t resist a good bet.

“What would be the prize for winning?” Nicolò asks, lifting one brow at Yusuf who grins at him, the kind of grin that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Nicolò loves him desperately.

“Suppose a kiss will do?” Yusuf asks. Nicolò pretends to think about it.

“I suppose so… though it will have to be a good one.”

“As if my kisses are ever anything but magnificent!” Yusuf gasps, bringing a hand to his breast in mock offence. Nicolò laughs and shakes his head.

“A kiss it is. Go on, then, tell me this tale.”

Yusuf grins, eyes alight with mischief. Then he breathes deeply and clasps his hands together in front of him and looks at Nicolò, who is waiting expectantly. This promises to be good if Yusuf’s preening is anything to go by.

“This all took place some five years before our paths crossed in Al-Quds. I was taking care of the family trade along the coast, travelling westward from home until I found myself in Algiers.”

Nicolò nods. He has not been to Algiers, though he knows of the place. Perhaps their travels will eventually take them there. He finds it amusing to note how the stories of his own lovers take place in few repeating locations while Yusuf’s busy travels mean that he has tales from all over. With how far he has travelled Nicolò idly wonders if they will eventually run into one of Yusuf’s old flames one of these days. He thinks it might be fun to see how Yusuf would react. Yusuf gets flustered so rarely, he is too self-assured for that, but when it happens it is a glorious sight.

“I had arranged a meeting with a man there. Ghassan was his name. He was the overseer of most of the goods being traded and sold in the city at the time. I had dealt with a lot of merchants by then and thought I knew what to expect.” Yusuf says, sounding vaguely amused. “In hindsight, I can say I did not have the slightest idea.”

Something Nicolò has noticed during their time together is that Yusuf is a good judge of character. He is also great at mingling with people, talking and connecting with them, no matter where they find themselves. Nicolò is not so bad himself, he has had to do it a lot in his time, but it does not come naturally to him as it does to Yusuf. To hear that someone had taken him by surprise has Nicolò intrigued.

“Ghassan was younger than I had expected. Only slightly older than I was at the time, and yet he essentially ran the entire trade quarter of the city.” Yusuf says as a way of explanation, catching Nicolò’s questioning look. “He was handsome and charming and he had a way with words.” Yusuf continues. There is a look on his face as he recalls this man Nicolò notes, almost wistful. Yusuf’s next words are slow as he speaks again

“He had this intensity to him like if he was looking at you, you knew you had his full attention.”

Nicolò can tell he is a little lost in the memory. It makes Nicolò smile.

“Ah, I see. It is becoming clear to me why you were drawn to this man,” Nicolò says. “I have it on good authority you enjoy a lover who has… ‘intensity,’ as you call it.”

Yusuf, saints preserve him, actually flushes slightly. “I, uh—yes, now that you mention it, that might have some truth to it,” Yusuf says sheepishly.

Nicolò has the thought that if he wanted to push and tease Yusuf about this he could, but as tempting as that opportunity is, he lets it pass. Yusuf takes a sip of wine, coughs and continues.  

“As you know, though I occasionally had some shorter affairs, I tended to not search for fleeting relations with other men. Sometimes an evening of pleasure was enough, yet most of the time I found myself longing for a steady companion to share my thoughts and affections with, not just a body to keep my bed warm,” Yusuf explains, turning to look at Nicolò with an earnest look in his eyes. “When I was looking for such a companion, I tended to not look for those connections within the circles I moved in through my trade. That would have been risky, and in truth, most of those men were unbearably dull,” he says with an unimpressed frown which makes Nicolò laugh.

“Instead, I tended to fall for artists and craftspeople. People outside of my life who I admired and envied. I loved poetry and art even back then, but I was too busy and too self-conscious to truly write myself, which meant that I was half in love with every poet I met.” There is that wistful look again. Nicolò does not have much experience with poetry, yet all that Yusuf has shared with him, his own work and others, has been beautiful. He understands why Yusuf would fall for these men, but in his own heart, Nicolò can only see himself in love with one poet. Thankfully, it is the one currently in bed next to him.

“Knowing how much you adore them, I understand why you’d seek poets. They must have adored you just as much in turn,” Nicolò says, and Yusuf, to his surprise, laughs and shakes his head.

“Oh, I wished they had at the time but no. Even in those cases, the courtships were careful, and most often very surface level. I met plenty who were interested in seeing me in their beds but few who were also interested in seeing me in their lives,” Yusuf says.

Not for the first time this night Nicolò feels a curious mix of emotions. Sadness that Yusuf has been rejected from the love he so deserved, yet happiness that the road eventually lead him into Nicolò’s arms, even if there were some turns first.

“This Ghassan you mentioned was a merchant, was he not?” Nicolò asks to get back to the story. Yusuf grins at him.

“He was indeed. I told you all of that just so you’d know how different Ghassan was. I do not think I have ever been courted with such speed or purpose. By the end of the day we first met, I was already in his bed. By the end of the week, I was writing a letter to my parents, telling them I had been thinking about starting a permanent branch of the business in Algiers!” Yusuf says and gestures dramatically with one hand for emphasis. “It happened so fast; it makes my head spin thinking about it now, but back then it felt like the most natural thing.”

Nicolò smiles to himself at that, hiding it in the crook of the elbow he is using as a pillow. These actions might be confusing to Yusuf in hindsight, but they make perfect sense to Nicolò. They fit the tapestry of Yusuf he has weaved in his mind. Yusuf feels strongly and he is reactive. He is whip-smart but in action, he trusts his gut more often than he calculates his plans. Yusuf’s gut is remarkably intelligent of course, but Nicolò has no doubt that should Yusuf fall fast and hard for someone, it would make him act rash and more than a little dramatic. In fact, judging by Yusuf’s stories tonight, the slow steady fall that eventually brought the two of them together has been the exception, not the rule.

“Ghassan’s affection and attention were addictive and he spared neither,” Yusuf explains. If Yusuf notices Nicolò’s amusement he doesn’t comment on it. “He introduced me to all of his friends, he paraded me around town, gave me a tour of every palace and promised me the world. He made me feel so special.” Something flashes in Yusuf’s expression at that and for the first time tonight, Nicolò cannot place what it is.

That is strange.  

“He insisted I should not be renting a room at an inn and instead invited me to live with him. He insisted I treat his house as my own home, that I was always welcome,” Yusuf says and trails off.  The strange expression is still there as Yusuf looks down at the bedding, tracing the pattern on it with one finger, seemingly trying to find words for what he wants to say next.

“Nobody had treated me quite so well before, I thought, and surely nobody else ever would,” he says slowly after a while. Then, he swiftly looks up at Nicolò with a slightly distressed expression. “That has by now been proven to be false of course! You treat me better than I could have ever dreamed of, ya amar, better than I think I deserve, but—” He cuts himself off and frowns. Looks away again. “It felt true at the time.”

Something is wrong with this story but Nicolò cannot quite place it yet and it bothers him. The foreboding sensation only grows as Nicolò finally realizes what the expression on Yusuf’s face was earlier, and is now again. Yusuf looks unsure of himself—almost ashamed, like he wants to fold in on himself. It is so uncharacteristic of him that Nicolò doesn’t know what to do about it. If what Yusuf told him just moments ago matched how Nicolò sees him, this does not. He watches as Yusuf sighs and squares his shoulders before he continues again.

“And then… I will be truthful; I still do not truly know what happened. All I know is that slowly it all started to change,” Yusuf says steadily, but without looking at him. Looks at his hands instead. “It started small at first. He would frown at a comment or joke I made. Then he would say that because he loved me, he wanted me to be at my finest, to better myself, so he told me why whatever it was that I had done at any given time was wrong.”

Nicolò still does not know where this story is going, but the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach only grows.

“It sounded sensible in the beginning. I know I am not perfect.” Yusuf shrugs. “However, it was not long before it seemed like nothing I did pleased him anymore, unless I specifically asked for his guidance to do it.”

“What do you mean?” Nicolò asks, feeling his frown deepen, and Yusuf shrugs again.

“Depending on the day, he thought I was dressed either too fine, calling undue attention to myself, or too poorly, not representing my station as well as I should have. He stopped laughing at my jokes, and on the way back to his house he would berate me for embarrassing him in front of his friends. Then, eventually, he stopped taking me to parties and events entirely. Not only that, he would tell me that he was going out on work business and would only be away for a few hours, only to return to the rooms late into the night, having clearly spent the day feasting. Or he would take me somewhere and then abruptly leave, and I would find myself alone.” Yusuf still sounds casual as he recounts these details, amused even, but there is a flicker of emotion in his expressive eyes. Despite the years and the distance, these events have lingered with him.

“I cannot imagine you appearing embarrassing to anyone,” Nicolò says before Yusuf can continue. “He must have felt jealous that your light outshone his at every turn.” Nicolò’s tone is matter-of-fact and Yusuf inhales sharply, caught off guard. Yusuf turns to look at Nicolò then, and Nicolò tries to impart just how honestly means what he says by expression alone. Based on the shy smile that pulls briefly on Yusuf’s lips, he has succeeded, and he lets out a tiny relieved breath. Yusuf looks thoughtful for a second, like he is trying to think of a witty response before he gives up, shaking his head.

 “You’re always so serious,” Yusuf mutters after a while, and it is an odd dismissal from a man who very well knows that is not the case after they have spent the better part of the night laughing till their sides were sore. Nicolò will let it slide. He knows better than to push Yusuf when he is deflecting. For now.

Yusuf sighs and looks away again before continuing.

“In any case, he would not have agreed with you. There was nothing about me he could not find some flaw in, from the length of my hair to the sound of my voice. He found my attempted love poems as lacking as he found my business sense, and he did not hesitate to let me know as much,” Yusuf says with a wave of his hand.

The longer Yusuf goes on, the more Nicolò feels any levity from earlier of the night leave him. He too has known men like Ghassan, though thankfully only in passing. He knows the type, knows how charming they appear and how devastating the destruction in their wake is. He feels a shard of anger grow in his belly and he frowns at himself. He has to tamp it down as much as he is able to, as this anger is not directed at Yusuf and it would not do any good to make Yusuf feel like he has somehow upset Nicolò by telling him this. 

The truth of it is that this story truly is upsetting him. More than upset—as he thinks on it, he realizes that he is furious. Furious that a man like Ghassan had felt it right to treat the people around him thusly, furious that he once managed to sink his claws into someone as dear to Nicolò as Yusuf, furious even if it has been years since this transpired.

He does not know how much of this internal struggle is showing on his face, but it thankfully does not matter. Yusuf is still not looking at him. He is pouring himself more wine, expression growing sheepish as he fills his cup. He then takes a swig from it.

“I was distressed by all of this,” Yusuf admits after another sip of wine. “I felt embarrassed, but most of all I felt angry. I wish I could say I handled it with grace, but truth be told I have always bristled when someone tries to control me.” Yusuf looks at him them, a wry smile on his lips like he expects Nicolò to make a joke, but Nicolò just nods.

 “I am glad to hear you saw through him,” Nicolò says. It is good, he thinks fiercely, that even back then Yusuf knew he was worth more. Yusuf however looks a little wrong-footed at this response, pauses thoughtfully before continuing.

 “Yes, I suppose so… I was not under any false pretenses about what was happening. Ghassan thought that he could first charm me, and then change who I was to better suit his desires.” Yusuf says, and then like the sun coming out, a grin appears on his face.

“I proved him wrong. I would dress ostentatiously merely because I knew it would annoy him. I would talk to his friends like they were my own, and ignore him in the conversation. I would even sometimes show up to his parties unannounced and pretend he asked me to be there, just to see the angry colour rise to his cheeks when he realized there was nothing he could do to remove me without causing a social scene.” The grin on Yusuf’s face as he tells this is a genuine one for the first time in a while. It is full of mischief. Nicolò feels like he can breathe a little easier again at the sight.

“I wish I had been there to see this show,” he says with a grin of his own. Yusuf chuckles.

“Yes, I will admit, it was something of a show. After a while, I started almost taking delight in it, in the way I could make him squirm. It was not the same kind of joy I had felt earlier in the relationship of course, but it was something when everything else was…” Yusuf trails off as the grin slips off his face. Nicolò’s smile dims as Yusuf’s look darkens.

“It is true that I had some fun, but it was not a happy time,” Yusuf says after a while. He is looking at the bedding again and Nicolò has the urge to hold him close. Yusuf looks so thoughtful and focused that he doesn’t, but he does place his hand carefully on his warm shoulder. At first, Yusuf tenses at the touch, but then almost as quickly he relaxes again. He sighs and places his forehead against the bed but doesn’t stop Nicolò from touching him, so Nicolò doesn’t.

“In any case, it all came to a head some months after I first arrived in Algiers,” Yusuf says after a breath. “Ghassan had recently started to spend more and more time away from his house on business he would not tell me about. I would have stayed equally clear of the place if I could have, but I still lived there, so I could not avoid it entirely. I know I could have moved away, but we had never officially ended our relationship and Ghassan had never told me to leave. I suppose a part of me was still hopeful we could find our way back to how we had been.

“I had started hearing talk of someone who he was spending time with, someone he was showing off to everyone and taking to all the places we used to go. He was showing this somebody to all except for me it seemed, and it only heightened my frustration,” Yusuf says, leaning up for a drink before the next few words.

“The reason why he would not show this somebody to me became apparent when I found them shamelessly fucking in our shared rooms one night when I came home. It was almost as if he had forgotten I even lived there.” Yusuf’s voice rings with dry hollow amusement and once again Nicolò feels the jagged anger in his belly grow. He should say something but he cannot think of anything to say. He is sorry Ghassan has treated Yusuf in this manner, but more than that, he does not understand how he could have. It does not make sense to him, that someone would have gotten to have Yusuf and then wanted someone else instead. Yusuf for his part drinks yet more wine before continuing.

“Needless to say, I was livid. I felt heartbroken and betrayed and I told him as much. In response, he accused me of being controlling. Who was I to argue about who he wanted to spend time with, and how, in his very own house no less? Who was I, he said, to come into his house and scream at him for his choice of bedpartners? After all, it was not my home, it was his,” Yusuf says, and Nicolò lets out an outraged scoff before he is able to get a hold of himself. He regrets it for a second, afraid of seeming upset at Yusuf instead of for him, but Yusuf huffs a laugh and turns to him with a wry smile.

“Yes, that is approximately what I said as well,” he says and Nicolò snorts.  Yusuf’s eyes are warm again as they look at each other.

“I am assuming the next part of this story is about how you stormed out to plan Ghassan’s demise and took over his business in Algiers,” Nicolò says, and this time it is Yusuf who snorts.

“Indeed not. In fact, I would have left all of Algiers and Ghassan behind me that very moment if I could have. Unfortunately, that was not possible,” Yusuf says. Nicolò quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Some time before things between us had rotted to such a state, Ghassan and I had agreed to travel to meet a contact who lived in a nearby village,” he explains. “It had been a daring, exciting thought to me when we first dreamed it up, us travelling together on business. I had hoped it would have been a taste of what the future had in store, travelling the world together with a partner.”

There is a jab of vindictive glee that Nicolò cannot help but feel at those words. Because it is him who gets to live with Yusuf like that, not Ghassan, nor any other man for that matter.

“By the time our journey actually came to pass, we had fallen out, and the trip had become a shackle I could not free myself from,” Yusuf continues. “Or rather, Ghassan would have most likely wished for me to free myself from it, but my pride and my dedication to my work would not let me. This was a good thing, mind you, because if I had not been forced to travel with him, the funny part of this story would never have happened.”

“The funny part?” Nicolò frowns. 

Yusuf looks at him like Nicolò is the one being odd. “For our bet?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he says, attempting a smile. After listening to Yusuf’s story, their little competition was the furthest thing from his mind.

Ghassan’s mistreatment of Yusuf makes him thrum with anger. Worse still, Yusuf’s flippancy at said mistreatment troubles him. Nicolò is grateful that Yusuf had understood even at the time that Ghassan was at fault, yet there is something detached about the way he describes himself. Naturally, he had reacted badly to Ghassan’s blatantly controlling behaviour, anyone should have, yet it seems like some part of Yusuf is ashamed. Of what, he does not understand, but the fact that he is makes something uncomfortable lodge itself in Nicolò’s stomach. Viciously he hopes that the humorous part will be Yusuf making a fool of Ghassan in front of the people they were trading with, or something similar.

“Please continue,” Nicolò says. “I would very much like to hear the funny part.”

“So, only a week or so after I had walked into the house to see him fucking someone else—” he interrupts himself by drinking yet more wine “—we had to leave on our trip. I will be honest and say it was not my finest hour,” Yusuf says, looking a little chagrined at the memory. “I was irritable and angry. In a misguided attempt to even the score somehow, I pointed out every mistake he made and berated him for them mercilessly.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Of course, this in turn only made him angry as well, so we lost a lot of travel time to needless arguing. All we managed to do was make each other sour and miserable.

“Though I was too proud and my dignity was too bruised to let him do this trip by himself, I made it very apparent that I detested every second spent in his company.” Yusuf turns towards him with a wry smile. “Looking back on it now, it was not very mature of me.”

“Perhaps,” Nicolò says, though he does not really think it is Yusuf who should answer for his behaviour given what he has told about Ghassan so far.

“Our tempers flared throughout the day. By nightfall, we had only made half of what we were supposed to and we were both angrier at each other than we had ever been before. We ate our supper, yelled at each other, prayed, yelled some more and then…” Yusuf stops for a moment, flushes slightly. He looks away from Nicolò before continuing. “And then, almost before I realized what was happening, we were having sex.”

“Ah,” Nicolò says. Yusuf flushes deeper.

“You mustn’t judge me Nicolò, I know it was foolish, but I just… well, we were still attracted to each other and after a point, it felt like it didn’t matter if the passion we felt was anger or love,” he says, looking awfully self-conscious for some reason.

“Yusuf… why would I judge you?” Nicolò asks. Yusuf shrugs.

“I don’t know. I mean… well, it’s not very tender, is it? Or smart, or sensible, and I know you value each of those qualities.” Yusuf sounds truly embarrassed now. Nicolò shakes his head.

“My love, you are all of those things, even if you once had sex with a partner while you were fighting. I merely hope it was good for you, given how intense the situation was,” Nicolò says. He runs a careful hand down Yusuf’s back in what he hopes is a comforting fashion. Yusuf flashes a small, tentatively amused smile at him again.

“Surprisingly, it was. Maybe it was not the best sex of our acquaintance, but it was still truly great sex. Afterwards we laid in the quiet night together for a long while,” Yusuf says. Then, like a cloud passing over the sun, his face grows dark again.

“This is where I confess to being a great fool because I truly thought that having sex again meant that the worst was behind us,” he says, voice grim. “The small flicker of hope that we still had a future, which had at that point been extinguished entirely, flared back to life in my heart. It had been a long time since we had slept together and I hoped… well, I hoped that it had fixed things. It was foolish of me.”

Perhaps it truly had been foolish, but Nicolò’s heart aches for Yusuf nonetheless. He can picture it so clearly. Yusuf in his younger years, whose heart was so open, so ready to forgive, so hungry for someone to love and be loved by. He runs his hand back up Yusuf’s spine till it reaches the back of his neck. He then gently cups Yusuf’s skull and turns his head. Yusuf lets himself be turned, his sweet dark eyes flickering with poorly concealed emotion when they meet with his.

“I don’t know what you are trying to achieve by judging yourself so harshly. No matter what you say, you will not make me condemn your actions, my love,” Nicolò says, and Yusuf breathes sharply. Nicolò picks a few of his loose curls and tucks them behind his ear with gentle fingers.

“Ghassan did not deserve your grace, but giving someone a second chance is not a flaw, even if they prove later to be unworthy of it. I cannot fault your forgiveness, for I think without it I would not be here. I owe you and your forgiving nature a great deal, and therefore I am predisposed to love both unconditionally.” Yusuf's eyes grow first wide and then misty. He quickly looks away and brings up a hand to wipe at them, sniffles into it briefly before letting out a slightly watery laugh.

“Nicolò you must stop being so good to me. I fear it will get into my head, and soon I will believe myself entirely without flaw and become truly impossible,” he says, but looks up at Nicolò with shining eyes. Nicolò smiles at him, could not stop himself if he tried.

“And if I were to say I already think you are without flaw?” he says and Yusuf scoffs, shoves his shoulder lightly.

“Ah, you sweet talker. I should never listen to you,” Yusuf says haughtily, but he is clearly fighting a smile. Nicolò grins back at him. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, that’s right, I remember now.

“The next morning, I woke first. I had seen a stream of water some ways from our camp the night before and I needed to wash before prayer,” Yusuf says.  “I woke Ghassan with a kiss to his brow and told him where I was going and that he should join me when he gets up, which in my experience might take him a while. You think I am slow at waking but I promise you that he was worse,” Yusuf says with a pointed finger wag and Nicolò snorts.

“When I got to the stream, I cleaned myself quickly and then resolved to wait until Ghassan arrived. I found that I wanted to talk to him, perhaps apologize for my recent behaviour. I waited and waited for a while and I heard nothing. It was a little odd but I was not alarmed immediately. After a while, I thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep again. I made the decision to go back and wake him up instead.”

“I started my walk back hopeful, but once I passed the road, I knew something was wrong. There were fresh hoofprints that had not been there before, riding from the direction of the road and heading towards our campsite. I immediately feared the worst and I started walking slower and more carefully. I desperately hoped that the tracks had been left by some other travelers, but my hope was in vain. When I got closer to our camp, I started hearing shouts.”

Nicolò listens to Yusuf’s story with increasing trepidation.  There are a lot of dangers that can befall travelling merchants and he does not like the idea of any of them having befallen Yusuf. Yusuf for his part is very neutral, though there is an edge of something in his voice that Nicolò cannot really name. It worries him.

“There was an outcropping of rock next to the path on the way to our campsite. It was on a little hill where you could see the whole area, and when I got close enough, I hid behind it so I could see what was going on. There were indeed other people there. Robbers, just like I had feared. Two men with horses, both of them armed, and one of them had their sword at Ghassan’s neck. My heart hammered at the sight. A part of me wanted to leap to his rescue, but luckily my senses told me that I should wait. They had not seen me yet so to charge out would be madness. I would have to fight them both and though I was a good fighter, I could not beat those odds. Especially since I had left my sword in the camp. I cursed my own short-sightedness.

“They were talking about something, I could not hear what from my position, but I could see that Ghassan was not faring well. I saw that he was weeping and crying out, frantic—pleading for mercy, I assumed. Then he waved his hand towards the direction of the river, and I quickly hid behind the outcropping once more. After a while, I risked another look and saw that the two robbers were talking amongst themselves. Then one of them turned back towards Ghassan and the other started walking towards the river.”

“Walking right towards you?” Nicolò asks and Yusuf nods.

“Yes, I had to think fast. I had no sword with me, but there were large rocks on the ground, and the men had not noticed me behind the outcrop, so I had a chance to catch the robber unawares. I could hear his steps get louder the closer he got to me. I would have to get him at the correct moment, I thought. A moment too soon or too late and he would be able to alert his companion and it would be all over for us. 

“I held my breath as he approached, heart hammering out my chest,” Yusuf says with a low voice. “I was counting his steps as he came closer and closer to the outcropping. It was the most frightened I had ever been.” Nicolò frowns in sympathy. It sounds like a nightmare, and Nicolò cannot imagine how mortal Yusuf would have felt at the time, the version of him that was less used to committing violence, let alone surviving it.

“Finally, he stepped past my hiding spot. Before he could turn, I closed my eyes and bashed him with the rock at the back of his skull.” Yusuf motions dramatically with his hand, miming the movement. “He crumpled immediately and I jumped to catch him as he fell so his fall would not alert the other robber. I pulled him behind the outcropping with me as quickly and silently as I could and then I looked back at the camp again. The other robber was still talking to Ghassan, whose theatrics had gotten even more extravagant since I had last seen them. I was safe for now.

“Again, I had to think fast. The robber I had knocked out had brought his sword which evened the odds for me, but I still wanted to avoid an altercation if I could. I could not just charge towards the camp—Ghassan’s life was still at risk. I made my resolve quickly. I checked if the unconscious robber was alive and thanked God when I found his pulse. Then I removed his outer robe and put it on myself, took one of the ropes he had used as a belt, and tied his hands and feet with it so he could not run off.  After that, I took another belt and gagged him with it so he would not yell if he woke up. Finally, I wrapped his litham around my head similarly to how he had had it, hoping I would pass as him or close enough. Luckily the fabric was dark and the blood that had seeped from the head wound was not immediately obvious. I knew I looked unconvincing: my breeches were entirely different and I had no shoes at all. The other robber would recognize I was not their friend if they stopped to pay attention, but nevertheless, this ruse was my only chance. I left a quick prayer that he would be too occupied with Ghassan to notice something was wrong and stepped out of the outcropping.

“I tried to walk natural, it would not do if he noticed I was acting strange, so I took my time. I started hearing their words as I got closer, and what I heard made my blood run cold,” Yusuf says. And then before Nicolò has the time to react he looks at Nicolo in the eyes with a rueful smile.

“Ghassan was pleading with him alright,” Yusuf says. “About how they should just take me, that I was the wealthier one of us, and that he was just an insignificant merchant. How they could ransom me to my family if they wanted to, or do whatever they felt like, as long as they let him go. They could have me, he said, he would not alert anyone, as long as they would let him escape.” Yusuf is still smiling. He sounds detached like he is reciting a well-rehearsed line, but his real emotion is betrayed by the tension in the line of his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes.

Nicolò for his part feels like he has missed a step. He would reach out to touch Yusuf, to hold him, do anything, but he finds himself is clutching at the bedding white-knuckled instead, cold nausea seeping into his stomach as the meaning of Yusuf’s words hit him. Yusuf stares ahead of himself blankly he continues.

“I had to resume walking like nothing was wrong. Ghassan kept babbling as I got closer and closer to the other robber, who was getting increasingly bored with him. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye when I got close but didn’t turn to fully look, which was my saving grace. Only when I was right next to him did he start turning towards me, but at that point, it was too late, I was already at him. I bashed his head with the hilt of the sword and he crumpled to the ground just like the other one had.” Yusuf motions the action again.

Abruptly he turns to Nicolò and grins. Grins, of all things.  Nicolò stares at him. A real grin is a particularly lovely expression on Yusuf, one he never fails to appreciate under normal circumstances, but it feels deeply wrong to see it now. Indeed, there is something wrong with the expression itself, something strained. He doesn’t know what is showing on his own face but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to make the horrid grin disappear as Yusuf goes on.

“Ghassan still did not realise who I was! He screamed when he saw the other robber fall and brought his hands up to shield himself as if I was going to hit him next. He kept repeating his mantra about how he had no real wealth and was not worth anything, that they should take me instead. I assume he thought that the other robber had turned against his fellow in greed, much like what he himself was doing. He sobbed as I took my blade and I placed it under his chin. Tilting the sword, I forced his head up to meet my eyes.

“His expression when he realized who I was, it was absolutely incredible. I have never seen a man more horrified and surprised!” Yusuf exclaims. “He was always so composed and serious and now here he was, tied up on his knees in front of me, beard wet with all the tears and spit he had spilt in his pleading, gaping up at me like a particularly pathetic fish!” Yusuf slaps the bedding for emphasis. Nicolò feels frozen in place.

“His cowardice was truly staggering, but I could not help myself.” Yusuf carries on, waving his hand.  “I started laughing! He gawked at me as I doubled over in front of him, wheezing with laughter. I understand why he had done it, yet his cowardice was so unexpected I could not help but laugh at the irony of it all! I freed Ghassan and I was still chuckling as I started packing our things. I don’t think he spoke one word to me after. Ah, but it is still funny to me.” Yusuf pretends to wipe a stray tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. 

‘You understand?’ Nicolò wants to scream, but it feels like his mouth is full of pine sap, his tongue stuck and glued behind his teeth. Another wave of nausea coils through him and he only barely manages to not shudder at it.

“In the end, we left the robbers with one of the horses and some water,” Yusuf continues, seemingly unaffected if not for the careful way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “By some unspoken mutual agreement, Ghassan and I turned back towards Algiers. It felt almost like whatever spell had been keeping us together had finally been broken. He did not say anything to me and I did not feel anything, except maybe light in the knowledge that it was over. We reached Algiers in half a day. I retrieved my belongings from Ghassan’s lodgings and was on a boat on my way to Tunis that very evening.

“I never did speak to him again,” Yusuf finishes plainly. “The way he had embarrassed himself had made it so that any affection I had felt for him was completely gone, and I had nothing to say.”

“The way he had embarrassed himself?” Nicolò manages to choke out, feeling like he has lost the plot entirely. Yusuf finally turns to look at him and quirks one expressive eyebrow at him.

“Well, yes? With his pleading and whining,” he says, with a tone not unlike how he would discuss the price of produce at the market, but his shoulders are tense, coiled and telling. “I mean, they might have very well taken his advice and ransomed me to my family later, but they were never going to just let him walk away. The fact that he even tried to negotiate that with them is so pitiful it is still hilarious to me.” Something in Nicolò shatters.

“Is that truly what you think of that story?” He asks. Yusuf frowns.

“Did you not find it funny?”

Nicolò stares at him. “No, I did not. I found it horrific,” he says slowly. “You were lovers and he was completely willing to exchange your life for his own freedom.” Yusuf knows Nicolò is right, Nicolò can read it from him, yet Yusuf merely scoffs and waves his hand 

“Well yes, but it was never going to work, you know that Nicolò,” Yusuf says dismissively and reaches for yet more wine. 

Nicolò’s ears are ringing. He opens his mouth and then promptly closes it again, bites back on his first instinct, which is to get angry at Yusuf for being so obtuse about this. Patience. The last thing he wants is to hurt Yusuf.

Besides, he thinks as he looks at the other man carefully pouring himself a cupful, Yusuf is many things but obtuse is not one of them. Something else is causing this. He needs to understand. 

“Yes,” he finally continues, feeling vaguely nauseous, knuckles white with how he is forcing himself to be calm. “But that doesn’t matter, the fact that he was willing to sacrifice you at all is the issue.” Something flickers in Yusuf’s eyes lightning fast but it is gone just as quickly. He makes an unimpressed face and sips some of the wine.

“I suppose. I mean I would not have done it to him even though the man was a weasel, but then again, I had been incredibly difficult.”

“You had been difficult?”

Yusuf, seemingly oblivious to the emotions stirring inside Nicolò, shrugs one naked shoulder.

“It was a rotten thing he did, yet I cannot claim I do not understand why,” he says, waves his hand dismissively. “Yes, he had been unfaithful, but we had not agreed to exclusivity. Or rather, he had not. His words had been so passionate, so certain, and I had thought—” Yusuf cuts himself off with a frown. “I still had no right to get as angry as I did.”

Something in the way he says it makes the lingering nausea turn back into sharp, jagged fury all at once. Anger at this man who could make someone as self-assured as Yusuf sound so uncertain. He turns to fully look at Yusuf who is, in turn, looking down at his hands once more. They are crossed in from of him on the bedding as he fiddles with a loose thread. After a while, he continues.

“Had I not spent the best part of the previous day berating him, losing us good travel time? Had I not been quarrelsome ever since before we took off? I had found him with another and then proceeded to spend all the following days being insufferable about it. I know I can be a handful on my better days. I do not blame people for growing tired of me.” Yusuf’s tone is light and his lips are twisted into a smile but it falters as he sees Nicolò’s expression, however, and he quickly looks away.

Nicolò does not know what is showing on his face, all he knows is that his ears are ringing again. The way Yusuf believes himself to be somehow too much, to be somehow deserving of this negligence, is like a dagger in his heart.

As if it was not Ghassan who did not deserve Yusuf’s light, who was not worthy of his joy and love and spirit, if this was what he would do with it. He is proud of Yusuf for being so brave and capable that he was able to save the situation, but Yusuf has also been lucky. If Ghassan had had his way it could have been much worse. If Ghassan had had his way Yusuf might not—

All at once, he feels his rage melt into pure terror at that horrible, nauseating thought. Fear, like you have just watched someone nearly fall off the side of a ship and they’re safe now, but it was close, it was so close, and the thought that they might have fallen makes your knees weak and your skin prickle ice. The kind of fear that does not bear thinking about.

“You could have died,” he says anyway, because Yusuf needs to understand.

Yusuf however keeps looking away from him and just shrugs. “Maybe, but I did not.”

Nicolò is silent for a moment, his own distressed heartbeat loud in his ears. Firelight shines from the oil lamp next to their bed and it paints Yusuf’s profile in red and orange. He looks more than a little drunk, flushed from all the wine he has been putting away for the past few hours. He also looks unhappy, unsuccessfully hiding his hurt.

He looks beautiful.

He is the most beautiful thing Nicolò has ever seen, and suddenly Nicolò cannot look at him for one second longer.

Light-headed and hollow, Nicolò feels himself get up from the bed. Yusuf startles slightly, turns to glance at him with a nervous frown.

 “What are you doing?”                                                        

“I need to go outside for a moment,” Nicolò hears himself say. “I need air.” His voice is steady. He thanks whatever spirit has taken a hold of his body for that, and for the fact that his hands do not shake as he throws his robes on quickly.

“Nicolò, I—” Yusuf starts, but he doesn’t seem to have the words. Nicolò turns to Yusuf for a moment, runs a gentle hand over Yusuf’s curls.

“I will only be a moment my love, I promise. I will be back soon,” he says and leans in to kiss Yusuf’s forehead, and then he is out of the room.

He is thankful for the fact that their room is very close to the garden as he stumbles outside. The garden is entirely, blissfully empty and it is so early in the morning that the moon is still up, sky freckled with stars.  Cool night air immediately makes him shiver, and he lets out a shaky breath as he walks into the middle of the little garden. He closes his eyes.

There is an ache in his chest, not unlike how it felt when Yusuf drove his sword through. His fists clench on their own volition and suddenly he cannot breathe at all, gasping as the pain wraps around his heart with a sharp cold fist. Then, he is blinking back hot tears and, this is why I needed to leave, he thinks as the first shudder breaks over him.

He was going to collapse if Yusuf continued, break down in front of him, and he could not let that happen. Has not felt the need to hide his tears from Yusuf in many years, of course, that is not the issue, but Yusuf has been hurt so deeply by this past he does not want to add to that pain by making Yusuf feel awful that he made Nicolò cry as well. Because Yusuf would, that is who he is. Yusuf would only blame himself for hurting him somehow, and he has blamed himself enough for today—for a lifetime.

He doesn’t know how long he spends trying to calm his breathing, trying to stop the tears, but he cries until eventually, he can breathe easier again. A little while after that the tears finally stop and he opens his eyes, feeling overheated and sore but lighter. There is a fountain for birds on the edge of the garden, and he quickly washes his face in it. It makes him feel a little better. He wipes his face on his tunic and sighs.

Moonlight paints everything in blue, looking over him without judgement. That is finally what calms him. He looks at the moon, at how it shines gently down on him, and somehow the light helps. Steady, he thinks. Always here when needed. That is what he, too, needs to be.

The door to the garden opens behind him, and he turns around to see Yusuf step out. Yusuf has put on his robes as well, and he shivers in the cold night air, holds onto his own arms as he walks towards him. Their gazes meet, and upon seeing Nicolò, his shoulder’s drop slightly and he lets out a shaky laugh. Yusuf’s eyes are huge and dark in the soft moonlight, but Nicolò cannot read them from here.

“There you are,” he sighs and shakes his head, voice strained. “You were gone for so long, I thought—”

Nicolò steps towards him but stops as he sees how tightly Yusuf is clutching the robe around himself.

“Ah, never mind what I thought,” Yusuf says quickly, looking away. Nicolò frowns.

“What is it?” Nicolò asks. Yusuf shivers and lets out another dry laugh.

“It’s simply that I—” he starts, looking down at his feet, shifting his weight nervously. “Well, I thought I should have horribly misjudged you if you had now taken this opportunity to leave.” His voice cracks on the last syllable. Nicolò feels his heart crack with it.

“Oh, Yusuf—”

In just a few strides Nicolò is in front of him and reaching for him. Yusuf opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a sob, and the next moment he is weeping and Nicolò is wrapping him in his arms.

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” he chokes out against Nicolò’s collarbone. “It must be the wine. I knew it was foolish, I knew there was no reality where you would truly have left, no reason for it, and yet I found myself so frightened I could barely breathe, I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Nicolò says, and presses a hand against the back of Yusuf’s skull gently. Yusuf’s next sob is a pained sound against Nicolò’s breast and Nicolò holds him tighter still. One hand in Yusuf’s hair, the other steadily stroking his back, he holds Yusuf and feels a few tears of his own fall into Yusuf’s hair. Yusuf weeps and holds onto him, fingers twisted in the fabric of his tunic like Nicolò might disappear if he didn’t. Nicolò’s heart aches again. He won’t disappear. Not ever.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he says after Yusuf’s weeping finally quiets to silent shudders against him. “I’m sorry I left you alone like that, I was gone for too long.”

“No, I’m—” Yusuf starts and then stops. “I did not mean to make you angry.” Nicolò shushes him again, as gently as he is able to, though it feels like something sharp is shattering in his chest and lodging into his lungs as he does so.

“No, no, Yusuf I—” he manages, though his own returning tears are making it hard to get the words out. “I’m angry, I will admit that. I’m very, very angry, but I am not angry at you, it is alright.”

Yusuf sniffles against his chest but doesn’t say anything, just holds on a little tighter.

“I am… I do not know how to describe how it makes me feel to hear you talk about yourself the way you just were,” Nicolò says after he can speak again. “There is nothing on earth or in heaven as dear to me as you are, nothing I love so well or so deeply. To think that he was going to put you in harm’s way to save himself makes me furious. To think that you might have died before it was your time makes me nauseous. To hear you ignore both of these things and deprecate yourself makes me want to cry. What he did was cowardly and rotten, yes, but more than that, it was wrong.”

They’re silent for a long time, just holding each other, breathing in sync. Finally, Yusuf sniffs one more time and looks up at him again, eyes tired but clear, their dark brown turned gleaming blue in the moonlight.

“I assume this means I lost the bet,” he says, and Nicolò experiences a few seconds of deep confusion before he is startled into a laugh. He looks at Yusuf, feeling the ache in his chest ease, be replaced with helpless adoration for the way a small pleased smile has made its way to Yusuf’s lips at his reaction.

“You most certainly did yes,” he says and Yusuf pretends to groan in defeat.

“Fine, but do not get used to victory. Next time I will defeat you for certain,” he declares. Nicolò smiles at him.

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

“I suppose this means you should get to receive your prize also,” Yusuf says and Nicolò grimaces slightly.

“Yusuf you are obligated to do nothing, it was a jest, I would never demand you—”

This time Yusuf does groan. “Just kiss me, you insufferable man.”

Nicolò hesitates for a moment, but there is a tinge of desperation in the way Yusuf is looking at him, like he is afraid Nicolò will not do it. That Nicolò doesn’t want to.

There will never be a moment when he doesn’t want to kiss Yusuf, so he does just that. Yusuf tastes like wine and just a bit like tears but he doesn’t mind. Nicolò runs a gentle hand down Yusuf’s back to his hip and Yusuf sighs into the kiss, melts against him entirely.

When it’s over they stay like that, Yusuf with his head in the crook of Nicolò’s neck, Nicolò’s hands petting gently up and down his back. Yusuf sighs against him.

“I do not truly think that what Ghassan did was okay,” he says after a while. “But I haven’t really let myself think about it too much either. I thought I was entirely unaffected by that past, but after this conversation, I do not know if that is true. I know he treated me wrong. I know he was a coward and a rotten human being for being willing to sacrifice me.

“And yet…” Yusuf’s voice sounds frustrated. “And yet, I realize now that despite what I thought, I had believed some of it.”

“Why?” Nicolò asks. “You know your worth, as you should, so why did you?” Yusuf is silent for a moment before he answers.

“I suppose, if I think it was my fault for being hard to deal with, it makes his betrayal feel less hurtful,” he says. “It makes me feel less foolish for trusting him in the first place.”

Nicolò’s arms tighten around him once more. “The fault does not lie within you. He lied to you. He was charming to hide his true nature. It is his fault for deceiving you, not yours for trusting that he was honest.”

Yusuf is silent again for a moment.

“It is not easy,” he says after a while, “to accept that someone has hurt you.”

“No, it is not,” Nicolò agrees. “And I am truly sorry someone has.”

The moon is bright above them, its light a blanket keeping them both safe. It feels like time has stopped, like they are outside of it entirely, just them and the moon. They bask in the peace until both of their heartbeats have calmed down.

Eventually, Yusuf yawns so hard that his jaw cracks and Nicolò decides that it is finally the time to head back inside.

They prepare for bed in silence. Yusuf snuffs the oil lamp while Nicolò collects their plates and cups and sets them aside for the night. Together they slip under the covers and curl on their sides, against each other. Yusuf’s head against Nicolò’s chest, his arm around Nicolò’s waist. Nicolò sighs and holds him tight.

Yusuf is quiet for so long Nicolò thinks he has fallen asleep. He tries to even out his own breathing, eager for sleep himself, but the events of the evening are still fresh in his mind and he cannot do so. After a while Yusuf sighs softly and taps his chest.

“Nicolò,” he says into the darkness of the room. “I can tell your mind is full.”  Nicolò sighs.

“I am sorry for keeping you awake,” he answers, and Yusuf shakes his head.

“Do not be sorry. Will you tell me what it is you’re thinking?”

“It is only that…Ghassan told you that you were too much, did he not?”

Yusuf hums. “He certainly had a way of making me feel like I was, yes.”

Nicolò is silent for a while. He listens to Yusuf’s soft breathing in the quiet dark, trying to find words for what he wants to say.

“I know it is not the same,” he says finally, “but in a way I know how that feels. All of the lovers I told you about today make me feel like that too, in one way or another.” Yusuf is quiet against him but tilts his head to look up at him in the dark and Nicolò meets his gaze.

“It used to distress me,” he continues and brushes Yusuf’s hair off his forehead gently.” I did not understand what I did wrong. Every time I wanted to devote myself to someone they eventually recoiled. All sorts of people, all who had been attracted to me at one point in time, would pull back, like the act of me loving them was what made them stop loving me. Like I was too much.”

He had not really stopped to think about it before now, but as he speaks, he feels the truth of what he is saying ache in his chest. That strange hollow sadness that would always follow, the uncertainty, like there was something wrong with him, but he just did not know what.

Yusuf looks at him, the tender sadness in his eyes clear even in the darkness.

“I am sorry to hear that Nicolò,” he says. Nicolò sighs.

“Ah, it is alright. I simply meant that…” He takes a moment to collect his words again. “Ghassan was at fault regardless of what you were like. I, for one, do not think you are too much. However, I will admit it is also possible I am not a trustworthy judge of that.”

“Or perhaps this too is another way in which we fit together,” Yusuf says taking Nicolò’s hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Yes?”

“Both of us, too much for everyone else, and yet perfect for each other.”

Yusuf’s tone is light, teasing, but the sincerity of his words comes through his eyes and Nicolò finds himself blinking back tears at the sight. He rubs his thumb against Yusuf’s knuckles softly.

“Yes, I like that,” he says softly, voice heavy with emotion. “I am glad that it is so, for I do not think I will ever get enough of you.”

Yusuf lets out a shaky breath and then presses his face firmly into Nicolò’s breast. “Nor I of you,” he answers. “Even if we live forever.”

Nicolò feels how he breathes out, tension finally draining from him in an exhausted wave.

“Thank you,” Yusuf says against his skin. “I am grateful to God I have found you.”

“So am I,” Nicolò replies, fingers sinking into the curls at the back of Yusuf’s neck. “I’m always here for you.”

“Yes,” Yusuf breathes, “always.”

They breathe together in the quiet warm of their little room, in sync, until they finally fall asleep.

The next morning Yusuf stirs with a displeased groan. He blinks awake and immediately wishes he was still asleep. His head is pounding with a reminder that their immortal healing does not temper the aftermath of all viles, drink being one of them. It is not a horrible headache all things considered, but definitely enough to annoy him.

Despite that, he does feel lighter. The emotional release from last night was one he had not anticipated he needed, but now that it has happened, he cannot help but feel grateful. In a surge of affection, he reaches for Nicolò, to hold him and kiss him his thanks, but his hands grasp at empty sheets. He sits up to look around instead.

Nicolò is already awake. He is sitting on a stool at the foot of the bed, hunched over a map spread out over his knees, finger tracing over something, clearly lost in thought. Yusuf crawls over and leans against Nicolò’s back, wraps himself around him. He smiles into Nicolo’s hair when the man kisses his hand absentmindedly.

“Good morning, my love. What are you looking at?”

“Good morning, Yusuf. Just this map,” Nicolò replies inanely. Yusuf rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I can see that, but why are you looking at the map?” Yusuf asks. “I thought we were going to stay here for a while still?”

Nicolò makes a non-committal hum.  

“Nicolò?”

“Ah, I was just wondering how long it would take us to travel to Algiers from here,” he admits, ears are suspiciously red. Yusuf narrows his eyes.

“Why in God’s name would we go to Algiers now?” he asks. “It is completely on the other side of the ocean from us.” Nicolò’s ears get even redder.

“I did not say that we should go,” he hedges. “I was just simply curious how long it would take us, theoretically.”

“Theoretically?” he parrots. Nicolò’s shoulders tense. “Nicolò di Genova, do not tell me you are planning some harebrained scheme to go challenge Ghassan to a fight on my account,” he jests and then freezes when Nicolò hunches deeper over his map, ears burning.

Ah.

“Truly?”

Nicolò does not reply other than to let out an uncomfortable-sounding cough.

Yusuf cannot help himself. He bursts into laughter. Nicolò turns to look at Yusuf with a tentative smile pulling at his lips when the laughter does not stop and Yusuf has to sit back on the bed to hold his sides as he wheezes, finding the entire situation far too funny this early in the morning.

“Oh, my love, but it has been ten years!” he gasps out. “You are sweet, yet truly I am no maiden whose honour needs to be avenged,” he says, and Nicolò’s rueful smile immediately turns into an embarrassed grimace.

“Yusuf, I am so sorry, I did not mean to insinuate—”

Yusuf waves his hand to cut him off, still shaking with mirth.

“I understand Nicolò, I do, and your devotion does you credit. But please, my love, you must not think on such things any longer,” he says and finally manages to take a full breath. He fixes his gaze on Nicolò, steady if still slightly amused. “If I am meant to eventually let go of this memory and forget about Ghassan, it cannot be achieved if you’re silently planning his demise next to me.”

Nicolò sighs and nods, folds the map. Yusuf lies back down and pats the bed next to him and Nicolò dutifully moves next to him, expression sheepish as he looks up at Yusuf.

“Truly my love, I did not mean to insinuate that you somehow needed my help when you proved yourself to be very capable on your own. Nor do I wish to waste either of our time with revenge that would serve only my desires. But… I suppose this is pride, but I cannot blame myself for wishing I could somehow show Ghassan what he is missing. How he was a fool to ever let you go, a villain for mistreating you.”

Nicolò’s pale eyes shine with emotion as he speaks and Yusuf feels himself flush under their intensity.

“I want him to see us,” he says fiercely. “I want him to see how smart, strong and beautiful you are. I want to show him how much I adore you.” Nicolò looks at him directly in the eyes, earnest and stubborn, like he is trying to will Yusuf to feel just how serious he is. Yusuf cannot help but melt entirely, faced with this.

“Well,” Yusuf manages. “You might not be able to show these things to Ghassan, it is true.” He runs his fingers through Nicolò’s hair, overgrown and tangly. He loves him so dearly. It makes pretending to be stern for this next bit that much harder.

“However,” he says with the gravest voice he can manage at the moment. “If you’re truly serious about this, it might be the best order of business, if instead of showing how you feel about me to Ghassan, you demonstrated these feelings to me.”

Nicolò blinks at him for a moment and then a grin slowly spreads across his lips, fond and a little dangerous. Yusuf’s stomach flips pleasantly at the sight and he lets himself grin back. Nicolò takes his hand and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss into his palm with sweet reverence.

“Now that, I can certainly do,” Nicolò says.

And then he does.