Chapter 465 - 466: All I Wanted Was Home.

Chapter 465: Chapter 466: All I Wanted Was Home.

But it’s kinda nice having him there at the table with them too, like it’s not so strange that he is. And when Khobi tells him that he’s gonna stay the night here again, he makes no complaint. Even without a blade to his throat Khobi would probably admit that he misses his own bed and the familiar, reassuring presence of Loac under the bedsheets with him, but he’s not quite ready to give up his place here. Not just yet. The fact that his family is here now is still too new; a truth still too fragile, and he hasn’t quite convinced himself that it will be fine to leave them. That when he wakes up they won’t be gone.

He makes no complaint, but all the same Khobi can tell he’s disappointed.

(When did he start being able to tell?)

So when they linger in the doorway –neither quite staying nor going – after flinging a quick look back over his shoulder to make sure Mozry and Khojin are still deep in discussion over Khojin’s book, Khobi ducks in to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

"...I know I uh, haven’t been around much," he says quietly, lips tingling from the soft press of Loac’s, and he can tell from the way dark stormclouds start to build in the horizons of Loac’s eyes as he withdraws that he wants nothing more than to drag him through that door and down the nearest secluded corridor and have his way with him. For longer, this time. Steamier, too. All night, maybe.

"...Make it up to me at training tomorrow," Loac smirks back; fingers curling into the loose hem of his shirt as he leans back in, "If you think you can."

" You know I can ," Khobi scoffs, and seals the deal with another, longer kiss; one that he wants to deepen as badly as Loac wants him to. But after a long moment they both pull back; slow, like whatever unseen force that compels them to one another is loath to let them go. It’s fine though; it will snap back soon enough.

Not soon enough.

"G’night, Khobi," Loac says hoarsely, and offers him a small, lopsided smile. It’s quite weird, saying goodnight to him in the doorway of his family’s quarters like this. Weirdly formal. "Get some sleep, yeah?" he adds, with a small grin that Khobi knows by now means he’s just teasing when he says, "...You look like crap."

(Maybe it another timeline, another life, this might have been how they said their goodnights.)

"Night, Loac." It’s weird but Loac’s really got him feeling quite unbalanced today. He hopes that by the time the door closes behind him, his face isn’t flaming quite so bad. Although, something tells him it’s not because Mozry and Khojin are smiling and doing an atrocious job of pretending they’re not.

Ah.

They saw.

"So that’s Loac," Khobi finds himself saying, just to have something to fill the silence. It comes out sounding as unnecessary as it feels; why would he say that? Obviously that’s Loac. They’ve already met him. Yet it feels like one of them needs to say something , and it takes him a moment to figure out that he’s the one waiting for them to speak; waiting to hear what they think.

"...He’s really not what I expected," Khojin admits after a long moment; the accompanying apologetic grimace telling Khobi largely all he needs to know about what exactly he’d expected. He gets that. It’s what he’d thought, too, in the beginning, "You hear things, in the wild. We’d worried that he was going to be..." He fumbles for the right word, and seems to struggle to find one that’s not too offensive.

" Trouble ," Mozry supplies wryly, succinct as she summarises, "We were under the impression that he wasn’t going to treat you well." Khobi doesn’t blame them for thinking that. What they don’t need to know is that Loac is trouble. In the best and most infuriating kind of ways.

"...And now?" he ventures quietly; cautiously, just in case he gives away too much. But from the reproachful look Mozry gives him, he’s already told them everything they need to know.

"Hmm? Oh, he seemed nice," Khojin remarks with a small shrug, expression mild as he adds, almost as an afterthought, "...I can see why you like him so much."

Khobi practically expires on the spot, and Mozry cuffs her husband across the back of the head.

"Wha –what would make you say that?" he splutters.

"Oh, Khobi. Please ," Mozry teases, waving away his protests, "I’m not sure why you’re trying to be so coy about it; you clearly like the boy." Khobi’s mouth opens, closes, and then falls open again and stays like that. Then he drags a hand down his face, shoulders slumping on a sigh. He could lie, but what’s the point? That wouldn’t take back the fact that they know.

"...Is it that obvious?"

Mozry and Khojin exchange a sympathetic look, and then share it with him.

"...A little," Khojin admits, and Khobi flops back against the couch with a groan.

" Great ," he groans, keeping his hands stuffed over his face like somehow that’ll stop them from seeing. He hasn’t even told Loac yet –hasn’t even decided whether he wants to; whether he can , and they’ve already figured him out.

Having his fingers over his eyes does little to drown out the sound of Khojin’s voice; measured as he queries, "...I take it you haven’t told Trent, then?"

Khobi sighs, peering up at the roof. "I haven’t."

"...Are you going to?" he inquires gently, "...Because I get the impression that he would probably like to hear it."

Khobi knows that. It’s just...

"...But we’re leaving."

It’s simple, really. All these years, all Khobi has wanted is to go home. Back to Scargga. To the mountains and the castle where he grew up. Even if it’s just rubble –because maybe it is –he wouldn’t know; even if the town is gone he wants to go back and see for himself. He wants to walk the streets he once knew; wants to sit under the shade of its trees and hear the sounds of the forest welcome him home. He wants to sit on the mountainside with Khojin again, like he did when he was a kid –and enjoy the view and the climb in a way he’d never appreciated back then.