deadelfwalking

Yes, Martin?

Could you, mh, come by the room? For a little bit...If that's alright. If it's not, that's alright, too.

Of course. I will be there momentarily.

[and, indeed, he comes running. It's not five minutes past Martin's message that Koltira arrives, eyebrows furrowed with concern as he enters the room.]

... Martin?

[Martin discards the tablet on the bed and gets up right away, right with the opening of the door, and practically walks right into him. it doesn't matter what his forehead hits – armor, clothes – he just grabs hold tightly and stands very still and quiet.]

[unfortunately, due to his self-appointed guard duties, he's wearing his full plate. He startles as Martin hugs him, and for a moment he's disarmed -- Martin's position can't be physically comfortable. But, at the same time, Koltira doesn't want to just pull away.

Besides, he thinks he can guess at the problem. He murmurs as his open palm hovers over Martin's head, not quite brushing the top of his hair.]

It will be all right.

[there's no reaction or response for a minute or so, and his voice is small:] Yes. I know.

[he swallows, and his fingers curl atop the plate.] But my. [a hesitation, leveling his voice out, losing it at the end:] My...head and my heart hurt right now.

[Oh, sweetheart. You aren't the only one. Koltira, as best he can, undoes the latches on his breastplate. He steps away from Martin, just for a moment, just so he can set the armor on the floor. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out his hand.]

I understand. That's all right, too.

[there's a little reluctance to let him do any of that, but Martin relents, chewing on the inside of his lip and staring hard past him, brow knit. the sounds draw his attention back, and he's quick to move and reach, unflinching at the cold fingers.

he sinks to his knees and scoots close, dropping his forehead against Koltira's hand. it actually feels better, compared to how heavy and achy and warm he feels alone.

thickly:] I don't know what to do. [swallowing.] I don't know...how to feel, I. [muting himself, shoulders stiffening.]

[Koltira runs his fingers -- gently, carefully, making sure not to touch Martin's scalp for too long or with much pressure at all -- through Martin's hair. He leans forward, his own long hair falling in a pale curtain around his face.]

I have to admit ... I don't, either.

[Koltira's uncertainty is much more frightening than his own, and it keeps him quiet and still, save for an involuntary shudder.

the not-that-irrational worry that Koltira and all the other important people in his life will go the way of Bariyan, turning around into people with the same faces but none of the memories or connections to him, makes his chest and stomach a minefield of knots and little hurts, and jumble his thoughts and reasoning.

except that...if he looks up and peers past dangling hair and the line of his jaw, Martin can see a few links of the little chain on Koltira's neck. he can't reason that away. and so long as that's there, he's not completely forgotten.]

It will be all right... [a weak echo.]

[Koltira leans back, again for just a moment. He strips the bed of its top sheet, and then wraps the sheet quickly around Martin's chest and waist. Once he's got the kid swaddled, he cinches his arms around Martin's midsection and pulls him up, onto the bed, onto his lap.]

He is not the man we knew. But he is a man we can come to know.

[just a muffled sound is all the protest he gets, and Martin is quiet and lets himself get all wrapped and pulled up like a child half his age. whatever age that is; not like he knows.

he sits, fidgets a little, but says nothing while he chews on those words.

looking at him, uncertain:] Do you want that?

[to Koltira, most humans are children for their entire lives -- but he's also worried about the below-room temperature chill of his body. He holds Martin like the boy is a cat, supporting his back and neck. It's kind of awkward, but it's the best Koltira can do.]

I wonder about him, admittedly. What do you want, Martin?

[his mouth opens and closes after a hesitation, and he stays quiet for a time. he has to think about this to answer it honestly. he doesn't know what that is, though.

that much bleeds through:] I...I just want...to do the right thing. The good thing to do...

The choice here is not moral. It is emotional. Do you feel unhappy around him? Afraid? Uncomfortable?

[mouth opening and closing without a sound before–] I...Everything. All of those? And. More, I.

Is...that even right? Or...maybe I don't really know.

There is no 'right' in this matter. [He touches the top of Martin's head, gently.] We will sort it out as we go.

Alright...

[eyes downcast, he nods.] I'll try my best.

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