Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the frosty heart of a foreign land, a solitary figure trudged through the snow-covered streets, his breath misting in the frigid air.

Capitano had the unmistakable air of a warrior, his very presence a silent witness to the battles he had endured. His eyes, a piercing blue, peered from the shadow of his helmet, wary and searching, hinting at the turmoil within. The chill wind tugged at the long, black hair that spilled from beneath the back of his helmet, falling over his shoulders like a stream of dark silk. His heavy winter coat stood in defiance of the monochrome world around him—a battered shield that had borne witness to countless conflicts waged in the name of justice.

His face, a canvas of scars and stoicism, bore the quiet topography of survival. Each mark was a story carved by fate's cruel hand. Much of his expression remained hidden behind the partial mask and the shadows it cast, but something in the way the dim light danced across his skin suggested an unspoken weight—grief, perhaps, or longing.

The cold bit deep, seeping through even the thickest fabric. Despite his broad shoulders and disciplined frame, Capitano moved as though gravity itself had grown heavier. The wind howled through the ruins of the city like a restless ghost, carrying with it the echoes of old wars. Buildings, once proud and resplendent, now stood in broken silence, their shattered windows watching him pass like dead eyes.

With every step, blood fell.

Crimson drops pattered softly against the snow, vivid against the white, blooming like roses in the frost. Each drop sank and spread, soaking the earth beneath with slow, deliberate grace. At first, they were faint, isolated. But now, they came faster, forming a meandering trail behind him. His side throbbed—a dull, pulsing ache that worsened with each breath. The gash from his last encounter was deep, ragged. The snow clung to his boots, but the blood clung harder.

Yet it was not pain that unsettled him. It was vulnerability. The cold, relentless and indifferent, threatened to rob him of sensation altogether. His grip on his rifle tightened, more for reassurance than readiness.

Then—through the white haze ahead—a flicker.

A light.

Capitano narrowed his eyes, instincts kicking in. A modest house stood alone in the distance, untouched by the wreckage, smoke curling from its chimney. There was warmth there. Life, perhaps. He stared at it for a moment too long, suspicion blooming beneath his fatigue. A trap? A haven?

He moved toward it anyway.

His legs ached. His breathing was shallow. He stumbled, nearly falling as the snow pulled at him, but the promise of shelter drove him forward. More blood. It now streamed more freely from beneath his coat, leaving drops on the doorstep—each one dark and warm before the cold claimed it.

When he reached the door, he did not rush in. His training screamed at him to observe. Capitano stepped to the side, back against the wall, scanning the windows, listening. The wind had shifted. No voices. No footsteps. But warmth meant someone had been there—possibly still was.

He grasped the handle and pushed the door open slowly. It gave a reluctant groan, as if protesting the intrusion.

Inside: quiet.

Dim light. A modest room. The heat from the fireplace struck him like a memory—foreign and comforting. But he didn’t let his guard drop.

Every corner was a possible threat.

His eyes swept the room with methodical precision—first the windows, drawn with thin curtains; then the shadows behind the hearth, the crack in the floorboards, the narrow hallway leading deeper into the home. The stillness unsettled him more than noise. It was too quiet, too still—as if someone had just left, or worse, hadn’t.

His boots left streaks of slush across the wooden floor. Blood followed.

The trail that had once speckled the snow now formed slow, deliberate drops behind him. They struck the floor with faint wet ticks, absorbed almost instantly by the aged wood. One drop. Then another. Then a small smear where he’d turned too quickly, leaving a crimson half-moon print near the doorframe.

Capitano’s fingers twitched near his rifle. He took two more steps, steady despite the pain in his side. The heat of the room was intensifying it now—waking the wound fully. His coat clung to his body with damp heaviness, the fabric darkening visibly beneath the arm.

The chair at the table was pulled back slightly. The bowl of food—still warm. Steam rose gently, curling like a breath.

Someone had just been here.

He stopped beside the fireplace, resting one gloved hand on the stone for balance. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, misting faintly in the warm air. He didn’t sit. Not yet.

A tickle of instinct crawled up his spine.

The room was quiet, yes—but not untouched. Not forgotten.

He turned toward the narrow hallway on the left just as the front door creaked open again.

A gust of wind swept in, scattering the edges of a small rug and sending a fresh chill knifing through the warmth.

Capitano moved in a blink—rifle up, stance wide despite the sharp stab in his ribs.

Capitano moved in a blink—rifle up, stance wide despite the sharp stab in his ribs.

Through the doorway, a man appeared—no older than twenty-five—his arms full of firewood, eyes wide with fear. The moment he saw the figure inside, masked and armed, he stumbled back. The firewood tumbled from his arms with a loud crash, echoing through the cramped, dim space.

The young man raised his hands in a shaky gesture of surrender. His breath was visible in the cold air, his clothes threadbare, his eyes sunken with fatigue. “D...don’t shoot,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain of panic.

Capitano didn’t lower the weapon.

His mask tilted slightly, studying the civilian—his posture, his clothes, the trembling in his fingers. Not armed. Not strong. But not entirely afraid, either.

“I mean no harm,” Capitano rasped, his voice harsh and dry from cold and fatigue. The words hung in the air like smoke, heavy with unspoken desperation.

The young man’s eyes flicked to the rifle, then back to the masked figure. “If that’s true,” he said, cautious but steady, “put it down.”

Capitano didn’t move.

“I need help,” he muttered, as if forcing each word through broken glass. His body swayed slightly, his coat dark with fresh blood. “But if you try anything, I’ll shoot.”

The civilian swallowed hard but held his ground. “If I wanted to kill you,” he said, voice hoarse but calm, “I’d wait for you to bleed out. Or I’d grab a knife the second you collapse.”

Capitano's eyes narrowed behind the mask.

“Put it down,” the young man repeated. “Then I’ll help you.”

Another pause. Capitano's vision blurred at the edges. He didn’t have the strength to argue. But instinct clawed at him—he wasn’t used to laying down arms. Not for anyone.

Finally, with a grunt, he lowered the rifle and handed it out slowly.

“If you betray me,” he warned, voice now a whisper edged with steel, “I’ll end you before I drop.”

The civilian took the weapon carefully, eyes locked on the masked face. “Understood.”

He placed it on the table, slowly, deliberately. Then, just as Capitano’s knees gave out, he caught him.

The soldier was heavier than he looked—dense with muscle and armor—but the young man managed to steady him, guiding him toward the nearest bed without a word. Capitano’s boots scraped against the wooden floor, leaving faint smears of red in their wake.

“You’re burning up,” the civilian muttered, almost to himself. He began unbuckling the heavy gear, pausing briefly as the soldier flinched under his touch.

“Don’t push your luck,” Capitano warned, even as his body sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

“I’m not,” the man replied. “But if I don’t stop that bleeding, you won’t see the sunrise.”

He worked quickly, shedding the wet, blood-soaked layers. Underneath, the damage became clear—deep wounds, bruising along the ribs, and dark stains against sun-warmed skin.

The civilian disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of steaming water and a frayed cloth. He sat beside the bed, dipping the cloth and wringing it out before pressing it gently to one of the wounds.

Capitano tensed.

“Relax,” the man said, not unkindly. “I don’t like this either.”

They locked eyes again—distrust still heavy in the space between them—but neither pulled away. Slowly, the civilian resumed his work, wiping away blood and dirt with quiet precision.

The fever had taken hold, burning through the soldier's body like a wildfire. His skin felt too hot, his thoughts jumbled and erratic. The room swam in and out of focus, the flickering candlelight casting monstrous shadows on the walls that danced with his delirium. He tried to focus on the young man's face, but the features blurred together, leaving only the soothing sound of his voice as an anchor in the storm of his mind.

Ororon's hands were shaking, but his movements were precise as he carefully tended to the wounds that marred Capitano's flesh.

The silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn wire. Only the crackle of the fire and the occasional hiss of pain from Capitano’s lips broke the stillness.

He watched the civilian—watched how his hands moved, how his eyes flicked to the rifle still resting on the table. Capitano searched for deceit, for the faint twitch of a lie waiting to unfold. But all he saw in the man’s face was concentration. Wariness. And beneath it all, something soft. Something kind. It unnerved him.

This city devoured kindness. Yet here it was, flickering in this stranger’s trembling hands like a candle that refused to die.

Ororon’s breath hitched as he rinsed the cloth and wrung it out again. His hands shook, but not from cowardice. It was cold. It was memory. He’d learned long ago how to keep moving when afraid. How to help when it might hurt. He didn’t flinch at the sight of blood anymore—not even when it stained his own floor.

Capitano grunted faintly as the warm cloth touched a raw patch of skin. His body jerked in protest, but he didn’t lash out. Ororon paused, his fingers hovering, then continued—gently, efficiently, never meeting the soldier’s eyes.

“You’re still burning up,” the civilian murmured, brushing damp hair back from Capitano’s forehead. His fingers lingered for half a second too long. “But you’ll live. Probably.”

Capitano opened one eye. “You’re lying.”

“I only lie to people I want to keep out,” Ororon replied flatly, without looking up. “You didn’t knock.”

That earned a dry, rasping huff from the soldier—something that might've been a laugh in a healthier man. He winced as another bolt of pain shot through his ribs, and Ororon steadied him with one hand against his shoulder.

“I’ve seen worse,” Ororon said quietly, almost to himself. “Men burned. Children with no faces left. I can manage this.”

Capitano studied him, fever blurring the edges of his vision. “You’re not a doctor.”

“No.” Ororon dipped the cloth again. “I used to be a boy who watched. Then I stopped watching.”

The two fell quiet again, save for the fire and the slow sound of cloth against skin.

Capitano’s strength was leaving him. He felt it drip out like melting ice—slow at first, then faster with each passing minute. The warmth of the water, the dim light, the rough scent of woodsmoke—it all lulled him toward sleep.

But he refused to let go completely. Not yet. Not while his rifle sat across the room, out of reach.

His gaze drifted to Ororon, who hadn’t stopped working. He hadn’t once turned his back.

Trust, Capitano thought, was a knife to the gut. But suspicion was worse—slower, lonelier. He didn’t trust the boy. But he didn’t feel the urge to kill him, either. That was something.

The candlelight painted shifting shadows across the walls—tall, jagged shapes that twisted like ghosts. Hours passed that way, in half-silence, as Ororon worked and Capitano fought to stay tethered to consciousness.

When Capitano’s body shook again, Ororon was there instantly—pressing a damp cloth to his chest, whispering something low and steady. Capitano didn’t catch the words, but the tone soothed like warm snow on a burn.

Ororon’s own exhaustion bled through in small ways—stumbling slightly on the way to fetch more water, pausing just a beat too long between movements—but he never stopped. He never asked for thanks.

Capitano, even through the haze, saw the steadiness in him. The strength beneath the quiet.

He didn’t know this boy. But he was still alive.

For now, that was enough.

Capitano blinked slowly, his vision blurring at the edges again. The flickering candlelight smeared into gold ribbons, the corners of the room folding inward like a collapsing dream.

He tried to speak—to ask for water, to bark a warning, something—but the words caught in his throat, thick and useless.

A shiver wracked him.

Ororon noticed. He knelt closer, placing a hand on Capitano’s cheek. "You’re burning up—"

Capitano didn’t hear the rest. His body sagged, the last threads of consciousness slipping through his fingers.

He felt himself fall—slow, heavy—and then nothing.

Only heat.

Only darkness.

Only the faint touch of a hand that did not let go.

With a start, Capitano's eyes snapped open, the world around him a haze of shadows and pain. His body was burning, his skin slick with sweat, and his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. For a few seconds, he didn’t remember where he was—or who had taken off his helmet. His muscles tensed instinctively. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, the air smelled faintly of mint and firewood, and his armor—gone.

A shape moved beside him.

Before his mind could catch up, instinct took control.

In a blur, Capitano surged forward, hands closing around the figure hovering over him. The startled gasp, the clatter of porcelain—he registered them only dimly. The cup hit the floor, shattering into a hundred sharp pieces. Hot liquid spread like blood across the wooden boards, the scent of mint suddenly overpowering.

Capitano's grip was vice-like, his strength honed from years of war. He pinned the slighter body beneath him, eyes wild and searching—looking for an enemy he could not name.

Ororon’s breath caught in his throat. "Wait—! Please!" he gasped, heart thudding. "It’s me! You're safe—!"

The soldier’s fever-glazed eyes bore into his. The helmet was gone, revealing the broken man beneath. One side of Capitano’s face was mangled—scar tissue twisted like melted wax around a pale blue eye that saw nothing. The other remained almost untouched—handsome, cruel in its contrast. A face split by war. Beauty and ruin, life and death, all in one man. But right now, there was only confusion in both halves of his face.

Capitano’s hand tightened at Ororon’s throat.

Ororon didn’t resist. He stared up, trembling, his voice firm despite the fear in his chest. “You were hurt. You collapsed. You’ve been here for days—three, maybe four.”

“Days…?”

He looked down at himself—bare skin, clean bandages. Panic flickered across his expression. “Where is my helmet? My gear?”

Ororon swallowed hard. “They’re by the fire. I had to… remove them. You were burning up. Delirious.”

For a moment, neither moved. Capitano’s breath came hard and fast. His body remembered battle, but his mind lagged behind—like waking from a nightmare only to find yourself still inside it.

Then his hands loosened.

The weight of realization settled into his frame, slow and sickening. 

He drew back, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped under the weight of shame. “Forgive me,” he rasped, his voice like rusted iron.

Ororon sat up carefully, rubbing his throat. “You were frightened. I understand.” His voice was soft—measured—but he didn’t step closer.

Capitano’s gaze moved to the mess on the floor—the shattered cup, the spilled tea—and something shifted in his expression. Not just pain now, but regret. Ororon moved quickly, gathering the shards with trembling hands, the heat of the tea already fading in the chilly room.

“I’ll clean it up,” he murmured, not looking at Capitano. “Don’t worry.”

Capitano watched him, silent, his jaw clenched. His eyes then flicked toward the small table near the hearth—where his shotgun rested within reach. He hadn’t even noticed it until now. The thought that he’d come so close to harming the one person who had helped him sat like a stone in his gut.

He shifted again, wincing. His body ached everywhere. The bandages were clean and expertly done. Someone had gone through great effort to save him.

Ororon stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “You were in bad shape when you came through that door.”

Capitano’s face darkened. “I remember fragments. Noise. Pain.” He reached for his side as if expecting wounds there—and found them. Neatly dressed. “You… did all this?”

Ororon nodded, then reached to the table and picked up a small bottle. “This should help with the pain,” he said, offering it in a steady hand.

Capitano accepted it. The clear liquid burned down his throat, and with it, the tight edge of his pain began to blur. He let out a slow breath.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Ororon replied quietly. “You were in need. That’s all.”

The words hung in the air for a moment.

Capitano’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t pry. Instead, his eyes drifted again to his gear, then back to Ororon.

“I’ll leave,” he said. “Once I can stand again.”

Ororon’s expression shifted—subtle, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—but he nodded. “Alright.”

Capitano caught him staring at his chest before quickly looking away.

For a moment, there was quiet again. The fire crackled, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The tension hadn’t vanished entirely, but something had softened. Like frost beginning to thaw.

“Try to rest. You’re safe here. At least for now.”

Capitano didn’t respond immediately. His eyes lingered on the civilian—on the man who had seen him at his weakest and hadn’t turned away.

“Okay,” he murmured at last.

And slowly, he leaned back into the pillows, the tremor in his limbs still present, but no longer violent.

The tension in the room eased slightly.

Ororon turned back to the fireplace, adding another log to the flames. The warmth washed over Capitano's bare skin, bringing with it a sense of comfort that seemed almost foreign after days of fighting and running. He watched the young man move around the room, his own thoughts racing.

What kind of life had Ororon led before he'd stumbled into this war-torn city? What had driven him to such desperation that he was willing to help an enemy combatant? Capitano's curiosity grew as he studied the civilian's form, the taut muscles and the way he held himself, hinting at a strength that belied his gentle touch.

Ororon turned to face him, his eyes searching the stranger's. For a moment, it was as if they could see into each other's souls, two lost souls caught in the tempest of war. Capitano's gaze flickered to the civilian's throat, where moments ago his own hand had been poised to end a life.

The realization brought a twinge of regret, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself in a very long time.

"Please," Ororon said, his voice a whisper. "Just rest."

Capitano nodded, the weight of his eyelids too heavy to resist.  His eyes remained on Ororon for a moment longer before they finally closed, his breathing deepening into the steady rhythm of sleep. The civilian watched him for a moment, his mind racing with questions and thoughts he dared not voice.

The silence was conforting for Ororon's frayed nerves, the only sound the occasional sigh from the sleeping soldier. He sat in the chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving the sleeping figure. The war outside had brought them together, two men bound by the fragility of life and the warmth of a shared space.

Ororon's thoughts wandered to the city he had once known, the vibrant marketplaces and the laughter of children. Now, all that remained was a hollow echo, only the destruction that had claimed so much. He wondered what had brought Capitano so far from his homeland, to fight in a war that was not his own.

 Ororon felt an unexpected kinship with the sleeping soldier. Both of them were trapped in this frozen city, seeking refuge from the horrors outside. He knew that he couldn't save Capitano from the war, but for now, he could save him from the cold and the pain.

As the night stretched on, Ororon's eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. He slumped further into the chair, his eyes drifting shut.

The first light of dawn began to creep through the cracks in the boarded windows, casting a soft glow across the room.

The candle had burned out hours ago, leaving only the fading embers of the fire to cast their warm light. Capitano was the first to stir, his eyes flickering open to the unfamiliar surroundings. Carefully, he moved his limbs, testing the limits of his endurance. The fever had broken, leaving behind an ache that seemed to resonate with the very marrow of his bones.

He looked over to the chair where Ororon had sat vigil, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. The civilian's face was a study in innocence, the shadows playing across his features as the light grew stronger. Capitano felt a strange tightening in his own chest, a feeling that was as foreign to him.

With a grunt of effort, Capitano pushed himself up, muscles stiff and protesting. His body felt foreign—heavy, sore, and half-numb. The room tilted, light blurring at the edges of his vision. He blinked slowly, trying to orient himself.

The ceiling was wooden.

He reached instinctively for his face—no helmet. No mask. His fingers touched bare skin, then gauze, tight and dry along one cheekbone. A sharp jolt of unease prickled down his spine. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floorboards were cold beneath his feet. His uniform lay folded by the fire—too neatly. He stared at it, frowning as if trying to remember how it got there. Slowly, he dressed, piece by piece, every motion careful, quiet. His limbs ached. The heat had made the fabric sticky, almost clinging to his skin. He winced as he tugged his sleeve over a healing wound on his side.

As he reached for his coat, hanging near the door, something strange held him back. It was as if the very fabric of the house was whispering to him, asking him to stay. He looked over at the rifle propped against the wall, the weapon that had brought him here and had almost been his undoing.

Behind him, Ororon stirred. His eyes opened slowly, catching the pale morning light. He blinked once. Twice. Then sat up, confusion giving way to something softer, something almost like concern.

"You’re leaving," he said, not quite a question.

Capitano didn’t answer at first. The air was tight in his chest. Finally, he gave a short nod. “I must.”

He stepped toward the door, but Ororon stood quickly, blocking his path with a quiet sort of resolve. “Wait,” he said. “You shouldn’t… not yet.”

The soldier’s brow lowered, fingers tightening on the rifle.

“You’ve been unconscious for days,” Ororon continued. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of tension in it. “You haven’t eaten. Not once. If you go out there now, you’ll collapse before you reach the road.”

Capitano looked at him, eyes narrowed, unreadable. The silence that followed was long and taut.

Then, slowly, he let the rifle fall back to his side. The tension in his shoulders softened—but not fully.

Ororon stepped back toward the kitchen without another word. There was no pity in his movements. Only quiet certainty. He pulled out a loaf of bread from the small oven, the smell of it rising warm and sweet into the cold air. He worked in silence, setting out a block of pale cheese and a battered tin kettle that steamed faintly.

Capitano followed—reluctant, wary—and sank into the chair with a heaviness that betrayed his weariness. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the scent hit him full in the chest. Something inside him uncoiled, just a little.

Capitano’s eyes remained fixed, observing with a quiet intensity—the slight difference in the color of his eyes, the faint lines on his face that didn’t quite match the softness of his voice. Mismatched. Like something borrowed from another place. A man not born here. Another outsider.

Something in Ororon shifted. He turned just slightly, as if sensing the scrutiny. For a split second, the gentleness faltered—just long enough for Capitano to catch the shadow of it: fear. A flinch so subtle it almost passed as a blink. He had seen that look before. Many times. People waiting for cruelty.

But it didn’t come. Capitano merely looked down at the bread placed before him, the steam rising like a question left unanswered.

He took the food with a nod, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. The taste was real. Warm. Soft. He had forgotten what that was like.

Across the table, Ororon poured tea into two chipped mugs, and for the first time in a long while, the soldier realized he wasn’t being watched like a monster. Not exactly. Just studied.

"You're not from here, are you?" he asked at last.

Ororon hesitated, the bread paused halfway to his mouth. He met Capitano’s gaze, and something tightened in his throat. "No," he said, low. "I came here seeking refuge.”

Capitano nodded once, slow and heavy. "We all have our reasons for being here."

He looked back at the strange, soft man with the strange, soft eyes. Ororon looked fragile in the light—but that wasn’t quite it. He looked tired. Tired in the way only those who had crossed more than just borders could be.

"Do you live here alone?"

"Yes." A pause. Then, more quietly: "People here don’t trust me.”

Capitano breathed out slowly through his nose, the sound nearly a sigh. He understood.

Ororon’s eyes drifted toward his face again—toward the lines of ruin, the twisted skin that peeked from beneath the collar of his coat. He didn’t recoil. If anything, he looked closer.

And then he reached out, fingertips brushing over a patch of rough skin along Capitano’s jaw.

The soldier flinched, instinct tightening every muscle in his body.

But Ororon didn’t pull away.

Their eyes locked. Capitano waited for the revulsion. The pity. But there was only that strange, mismatched gaze—curious. Open. Kind, in a way he could not name.

"Your name," Ororon murmured, his hand still hovering. "You didn’t tell me yet."

Capitano hesitated. His real name tasted foreign now, like someone else's grief. Finally, he said, low, "Just Capitano."

Ororon nodded, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. "Capitano," he repeated, as if trying the shape of it. A name, not a rank. A person, not a uniform.

And for the first time in a long time, it almost felt true.

Ororon hesitated, then opened his mouth as if to speak again. “I’m—”

“I know,” Capitano interrupted softly.

Ororon blinked.

“You sat beside me... I think. I heard your voice. You kept saying it. Over and over.”

His eyes lifted, catching Ororon’s in a quiet, searching look.

“I remember,” Capitano said. “Ororon.”

And then, without warning, the stillness was shattered by a knock at the door. It was loud and insistent, echoing through the small house like a gunshot. Capitano's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the shotgun stock with a familiar grip. His eyes narrowed, the instincts of a soldier taking over. "Were you expecting someone?" he barked, his voice harsh.

Ororon's eyes grew wide with fear, his hand frozen mid-air. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Nobody ever comes to me, except..." The words hung in the air.

The knock grew louder, more insistent. It was a voice of authority, one that brooked no argument. "Open up this istant! We know you're there, Ororon!" it bellowed. The sound sent a chill down Ororon's spine, and he knew that he had no choice. He turned to Capitano, his expression a mix of terror and resignation. "You must hide," he whispered urgently. "Now."

Capitano's grip on the gun tightened, his instincts screaming at him to fight. But he knew that if he did, it would only bring more harm to Ororon. With a curt nod, he limped to the bathroom's door, his injured body protesting every step. He barely had time to duck behind it before the door to the house was thrown open, the cold winter air rushing in to replace the warmth and safety they had so briefly enjoyed.

And Ororon was able to clear the extra plate from the table.

Three soldiers marched into the room, their boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. Ororon knew them all too well; they were the local military, men who had made it a point to harass him since the first day he had arrived in the country. Their eyes were cold, their faces twisted into sneers at the sight of the civilian. The leader of the trio stepped forward, his hand resting on the pistol at his hip.

With a smirk, the leader approaches Ororon, and takes his chin in his hand, tilting it up to meet his own gaze. The civilian's eyes widen in terror, his heart hammering in his chest. The soldier's grip is firm, yet unexpectedly gentle. For a fleeting moment, Ororon feels a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, they will be gentler.

"We've had reports of a Snezhnayan in the area," the leader says, his voice like gravel. "Seen anyone suspicious, Ororon?"

Ororon's mind races, his heart pounding. He glances towards that one door, where he'd hidden Capitano mere moments ago. The soldier's presence in the house is a secret he must protect. "No," he lies, his voice trembling. "It's just me."

The leader's smirk widens, his eyes scanning the room. "Just you?" he echoes, his tone laced with mockery. "Living in this...rat's nest?" He gestures around the small, cluttered house, the disdain clear in his words. "You expect us to believe that?"

Ororon's back hits the wall, his eyes darting to the two soldiers flanking the leader. One of them snicker, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he watch the interrogation unfold. The leader steps closer, invading his personal space, his breath hot and foul. "Tell me, Ororon," he sneers, "What do you know about the enemy that we don't?"

The civilian's heart races, his eyes flicking to the bathroom door once again. He could feel Capitano's presence on the other side, waiting for the right moment to act. "I...I don't know anything," he stammers, trying to keep his voice steady. "I've been holed up here, just trying to stay alive."

The leader's sneer deepens as he looks Ororon up and down, taking in the pink and cyan eyes that marked him as an outsider. "You're one of them, aren't you?" he spits. "With those awful eyes, you're as good as a traitor." His grip on Ororon's chin tightens, his knuckles turning white. "Tell me, how does it feel to betray your own kind?"

The words are a knife to Ororon's heart, but he refuses to let the pain show. With a surge of courage he didn't know he had, he stands up straight, his eyes meeting the leader's with a fierce defiance. "I've done no such thing," he says, his voice steady despite the fear that clutches at his throat. "It's not my fault if most of your men turned their backs on you."

The leader's smile falters for a fraction of a second before he slaps Ororon hard across the face. 

The sound cracks through the room like thunder, and the civilian's head snaps to the side. He stumbles, catching himself on the edge of the table, the pain from the blow resonating through his body. The two other soldiers just laugh, the sound grating on Capitano's nerves as he watches from his hiding spot.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" the leader says, his voice low and menacing. He grabs Ororon's shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him down onto the wooden table. The civilian gasps, his breath leaving him in a rush. The leader leans in, his weight pressing Ororon down, his groin grinding into the small of his back. It's a move designed to intimidate, to assert dominance, and it fills Ororon with a cold, visceral fear.

"I'm just looking for a little warmth," the leader murmurs, his breath hot against Ororon's ear. "Maybe I'll find it right here." He squeezes Ororon's shoulder, his grip like a vise, his hips pressing down, a clear warning. The civilian's mind races, his heart pounding in his chest like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Then one of the two soldiers intervenes, "Commander, we should continue on."

"We're leaving then," the leader says, finally releasing Ororon with a shove. "But if we find anything... suspicious, you'll be the first to know." He winks, the action a twisted parody of goodwill. The two other soldiers follow his lead, their eyes lingering on the trembling form on the table. They know that the real treasure here isn't information, but fear.

As the door slams shut, Ororon's shoulders sag in relief. His cheek burns from the slap, and he can still feel the heavy weight of the soldier's body pressing down on him. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself, his eyes locked on the bathroom door.

Capitano emerges from his hiding place, his expression a storm of rage and concern. He steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Ororon's shoulder.

Ororon flinches at the touch, his nerves still raw from the encounter with the soldiers. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the fear that clings to him like a second skin. "I'm... I'm fine," he stammers, pushing Capitano's arms away. The act is involuntary, born of instinct and a desperate need for space.

Capitano's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching at the sight of the red handprint on Ororon's pale cheek. The anger that simmers beneath his calm exterior threatens to boil over, but he swallows it down. "Thank you," he whispers. "For not... for not giving me away."

Ororon nods, his eyes downcast.

The weight of what almost happened, of what could still happen, presses down on him. He moves to straighten up the kitchen, needing something to do with his shaking hands. "You can't leave for now," he murmurs. "It's not safe for you."

Capitano watches him, his jaw clenched. The sight of Ororon's fear, the way he's been treated, fills him with a rage that's as cold as the winter outside. He wants to lash out, to fight, to do something, anything to keep Ororon from harm. But he knows that's not an option. Not yet.

He limps over to the window, peering out through the cracks in the boarded-up glass. The soldiers' footsteps fade into the distance, their laughter echoing through the deserted streets like the calls of hyenas. His hand clenches around the shotgun, his knuckles white. He can't help but feel responsible for Ororon's plight, for bringing the war's horrors to his doorstep.

Ororon's shaking subsides as he methodically clears the table, the clinking of the dishes a soothing counterpoint to the chaos outside. "You have to stay," he says without looking up. "But you must be careful now. They're suspicious of everyone, especially me." His voice is brittle, the words forced through clenched teeth.

Capitano nods, his eyes never leaving the window. He knows the risks all too well. The war had turned his own comrades into monsters, and he had seen firsthand what they did to those they deemed untrustworthy. The thought of Ororon being hurt because of him is a knife in his gut.

"I'll hide," he murmurs. "I won't bring trouble to your door."

Chapter Text

The days that follow are a delicate dance of avoidance and shared moments. Capitano tries to help around the house, his movements careful and precise. He arranges the wood, keeping the fireplace roaring. Ororon watches him from the corner of his eye, his heart fluttering everytime the man is too near. The soldier's presence is a comfort, a different to the fear that usually permeated his solitary existence. They share meals in silence, the air between them charged with unspoken words and the occasional shared glance that speaks volumes.

At night, when the house is wrapped in the thick blanket of winter darkness, Capitano can't help but stay awake. His eyes never stray from the window, vigilant for any sign of danger. 

Ororon tries to sleep, but his mind is a tumult of thoughts and fears. And the rug he's settled on between blankets and pillows isn't so comfortable.

"Capitano," Ororon calls softly, his voice a whisper that floats through the quiet house. The soldier turns, the dim light of the fireplace flickering across his scarred face. "You need to rest," he says, his voice a gentle command. "You can't keep watch forever."

Capitano nods reluctantly, his eyes never leaving the window. He knows Ororon is right; his body screams for rest, his legs heavy with fatigue. But the fear of bringing danger to this safe haven, to this man who has shown him nothing but kindness, is a burden he cannot shake. "I'll just stay up a while longer," he murmurs, his eyes still searching the darkness beyond the glass.

Ororon's smile is sad, understanding. He moves closer to the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow on his pale skin. "Come," he says, his voice a gentle coax. "You need the warmth too."

Capitano hesitates for a moment before he limps over, the gun still clutched in his hands. He sits on the floor, his back to the warmth of the flames. Ororon watches him, his eyes filled with an emotion that he can't quite name. It's a mix of pity, admiration, and something else, something deeper.

Ororon is beside him, his movements slow and deliberate. He reaches out, his hands shaking slightly, and gently takes the rifle from Capitano's grip. He places it aside, the metal cold and heavy against the wooden floor. Then, he slowly lifts the hem of the soldier's shirt, exposing the bandages that cover his injuries.

Capitano flinches at the touch, his body tensing like a coiled spring. "I'm sorry," Ororon whispers, his eyes on the wounds. The fabric is stiff with dried blood. "Can you show me?"

With a sigh, Capitano pulls off his stained shirt, the material sticking to his sweat-dampened skin. The fire casts shadows across his muscled torso, the white bandages standing ou Ororon's eyes trace the path of the injuries, his heart aching at the sight of the damage war has wrought on this man's body. He carefully unbinds the cloth, revealing the ragged wounds that mar Capitano's flesh.

Ororon's hands are steady as he cleans the wounds with a gentle touch, his eyes never leaving the soldier's face. Capitano's breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, but he doesn't make a sound.

Once the wounds are clean again, Ororon applies fresh dressings, his movements careful and precise. The silence between them is a living thing, thick and palpable. It stretches and breathes, filled with the unspoken words that neither man can bring themselves to say. The crackling of the fire is the only sound that fills the room.

Capitano's eyes, those glowing pools of emotion, linger on Ororon as he works. He can't help but notice the way the civilian's hair falls in soft waves around his face, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the pink of his lips. It's an intimate moment, and he feels something stir within him, something he thought had long ago been buried beneath the rubble of his shattered life.

Ororon finishes the last bandage, his hands lingering on Capitano's bare skin for a brief second. He pulls away, the sudden absence of contact leaving a cold emptiness. The silence stretches out, tight as a bowstring, until Capitano breaks it with a gruff, "Thank you." It's all he can manage to say.

Ororon nods, a gentle smile ghosting across his face. 

The soldier's eyes widen slightly at the gesture, the warmth of it seeping into the cracks of his armor. For a moment, he feels something.

Their eyes lock, a silent conversation passing between them, one that needs no words. The flames of the fireplace dance in their gazes, reflecting the tumult of emotions that neither can express. The attraction is palpable, the air thick with it. Ororon's hand lingers on Capitano's bare skin, and the soldier's breath hitches. It's a simple touch, but it speaks volumes.

Ororon swallows hard, the words caught in his throat. "Your face..." he whispers, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. The words hang in the air, a question, a confession, a declaration of his acceptance.

Capitano flinches at the gentle touch of Ororon's hand on his cheek, his scarred skin a result of the horrors he's faced. The soldier's face is a mask of pain, a silent scream etched into his very being. But it's not the physical agony that makes him recoil; it's the emotional burden that comes with the reminder of his disfigurement. The civilian's touch is delicate, a warmth that reaches deeper than the fire's embrace.

Ororon's eyes widen in surprise at the reaction, his hand dropping away as if burned. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Capitano's own hand shoots up, capturing his wrist before he can pull away completely. The soldier's grip is firm but delicate, his eyes searching Ororon's face for any hint of revulsion or fear. Instead, he finds only a look of concern and care that threatens to shatter the icy fortress around his heart.

"It's all right," Capitano murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. "You don't have to pretend." He releases Ororon's wrist, but the civilian doesn't pull away. Instead, he lifts his hand back to Capitano's cheek, his touch feather-light. "It's not a pleasure to see" the soldier adds, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Ororon's gaze is unwavering, his eyes searching Capitano's. "You're wrong," he whispers. "It's beautiful in its own way." The words are a revelation, a declaration of acceptance that sends a shiver down the soldier's spine.

Capitano's eyes close briefly, a wave of emotion passing over him. No one has ever called his face beautiful, not since the day he'd been scarred beyond recognition. He opens them again, the glow from the fire casting a soft light over the room. "I've never heard that before," he murmurs.

Ororon's eyes are filled with a tenderness that takes Capitano's breath away. He leans in, his heart racing, and presses a gentle kiss on the soldier's scarred cheek. The kiss is chaste, a whisper of a touch, but it's enough to ignite a spark in Capitano's chest, a feeling he thought had been buried alongside his comrades on the battlefield.

Capitano's heart hammers in his chest, the beat so loud it's all he can hear. His eyes widen in surprise, and he lifts a hand to stop Ororon, his fingers wrapping around the civilian's slender waist. The warmth of Ororon's body is a shock to his system, reminding him of the human connection he's been denied for so long.

Ororon pulls back, a look of confusion etched on his features. He looks at Capitano with a tilted head, his different eyes searching the soldier's face. "What did I do wrong?" he asks.

Capitano doesn't respond at first, his hand still hovering near Ororon's waist. He's trying to process the tender gesture, trying to understand if this is some kind of twisted joke. But as he looks into Ororon's eyes, he sees the honesty shining there.

Ororon's face is open, unguarded.

The civilian isn't used to the harsh realities of war, the masks that soldiers wear, the walls that Capitano has built around his heart. To Ororon, the scars are a part of Capitano. He's never seen someone so fiercely beautiful, not in the way that the poets write about, but in the way that only the truly strong can be.

The soldier's hand falls away, his eyes searching Ororon's.

"When I was a child," Ororon says, his voice barely above a whisper, "the adults used to tell me that if you kissed something that hurt, the pain would go away." It's a childish notion, but in this moment, it feels like the most profound truth he's ever spoken.

Capitano's face contorts, a mix of disbelief and something else, something raw and vulnerable. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

"My face...doesn't hurt anymore," Capitano says harshly, his voice contrasting the tender moment that had just passed between them. The words hang in the air, a barrier thrown up to protect himself from the pain of his past.

Ororon's expression drops in confusion and sadness, his eyes flickering with the realization that he might have crossed a line. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely audible. "I thought... I didn't mean to..." He trails off, unsure of what to say next. He'd hoped that his gesture would bring comfort, but instead, he seems to have brought up a storm of emotions that the soldier wasn't ready to face.

Capitano sees the distress in Ororon's eyes and feels a pang of regret. He didn't mean to push the man away, not when he's been the only source of warmth in a world that's been so cold to him. "No," he says, his voice a little softer this time. "It's not that. It's just... I'm not used to this."

Ororon nods.

He understands the soldier's pain, the weight of his past. He reaches out again, tentatively, and places his hands on either side of Capitano's face, his thumbs brushing the stubble on his cheeks. He kisses him again, this time more firmly, under the blind eye that sees nothing but the shadows of his fears.

Capitano is still, his heart racing. He doesn't push Ororon away, doesn't do anything but let the civilian's touch wash over him like a warm wave. It's a sensation he's unaccustomed to, this gentle care. The civilian's eyes are closed, his breathing slow and even. He's lost in the moment, unaware of the war outside, of the blood on Capitano's hands.

Ororon pulls back, his eyes searching Capitano's face for any sign of anger or revulsion. But all he sees is the same vulnerability, the same lost look that's been there since the soldier stumbled into his life. It's strange, Capitano thinks. Strange how this man, so much softer than anyone he's ever known, can make him feel so... seen.

Weird.

Ororon is indeed weird, Capitano muses.

But it's not just his looks that set him apart; it's the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he looks at things. It's a world Capitano has long ago stopped seeing, buried beneath the horrors of war and the weight of his own conscience.

"You're safe now," Ororon whispers, his smile a gentle curve of his lips. It's a simple phrase, but it hits Capitano like a sledgehammer. Safe. A concept so foreign it might as well be from another planet. He's not sure he knows what that feels like anymore

In the days that follow, their routine shifts subtly.

The tension of their interactions is replaced with an underlying current of something else. They move around each other with newfound ease, the unspoken understanding that they are more than just comrades in survival. Ororon finds himself looking forward to the moments when he can touch Capitano, a gentle brush of his hand against the soldier's arm as he passes by, the warmth of their bodies when they sit close by the fire.

As the light outside turns the snow a soft pink, Ororon brings up his garden. "I've always loved growing things," he says, his voice filled with a passion that seems at odds with the bleakness of their situation. "Vegetables, mostly. There's something about nurturing life amidst all this death that... I don't know. It just feels right."

Capitano listens quietly, his eyes on Ororon's animated features. He can almost see the garden in Ororon's eyes, the way they light up when he talks about his plants. The young man's enthusiasm is contagious, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Capitano feels a spark of something other than anger and despair. "It sounds beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with feeling.

The civilian smiles, a real smile that transforms his face. "Once the snow is gone," he says, his voice filled with a gentle determination, "I'll show you how to do it." He places a hand on Capitano's forearm, his touch warm and reassuring. "You can help me."

But Capitano knows he won't stay for the spring. 

His heart is a compass, pointing back to the battlefield, to the war that has claimed so much from him. He nods, playing along with the charade, but the words are lead in his mouth. He can't tell Ororon the truth, can't shatter the fragile happiness that's blooming between them with the cold reality of his duty. He's a soldier, a warrior, and his place isn't here.

It's out there, in the snow and the blood and the screams of the dying.

More days pass in a blur of stolen glances and careful touches. They don't speak of love, not in so many words, but it's there, a silent understanding that grows with every shared meal and every quiet night spent together. Ororon shows Capitano the books he's salvaged from the wreckage of the city, reads to him in a soft, steady voice that soothes the beast in the soldier's soul. The young male talks of dreams and futures, of worlds without war, of gardens that stretch out under endless blue skies.

The soldier just keeps on listening.

One evening, as the fire crackles and shadows dance across the walls, Ororon looks up at Capitano, his expression a mix of curiosity and hope. "Tell me something you like," he asks, his voice a gentle probe into the darkness of the soldier's past.

Surprise flits across Capitano's scarred features, a rare emotion in the harsh world they inhabit. He pauses, considering the question, his eyes drifting to the flickering flames.

"I... I don't know," he says finally, his voice gruff. "It's been so long since I've had the luxury of likes and dislikes. The war... it takes those things away from you."

Ororon nods, understanding. "But there must be something," he insists gently. "Something that makes you happy, that brings you peace."

Capitano's eyes drift to the side, his mind searching through the fog of war and pain. Then, almost shyly, a corner of his mouth quirks upwards. "Tarts," he murmurs. "I... I have a soft spot for tarts." The words are a surprise, a sliver of light in the darkness.

Ororon's eyebrows shoot up. "Tarts?" he repeats, a smile tugging at his own lips. The revelation is unexpected, a delightful surprise that breaks the tension of their conversation.

Capitano nods, a hint of color rising to his cheeks beneath the disfigurement. "Sweet foods," he clarifies, his voice a rumble of amusement. "They remind me of better times, I guess."

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Ororon watches as Capitano's eyelids grow heavy, his breathing deepening into the rhythmic pattern of sleep. He knows the soldier needs the rest, but he's reluctant to break the moment, to let go of the connection they've forged in the face of such unspeakable horrors.

Capitano's head eventually nods forward, chin coming to rest on his chest. With a sigh, Ororon shifts closer, careful not to disturb the man who has become so much more than just a stranger seeking refuge. He drapes a blanket over Capitano's broad shoulders, tucking it around his injured frame with gentle, practiced movements. The soldier's breathing evens out further, the tension in his muscles relaxing under the soft embrace of the fabric.

The room is quiet except for the crackling fire and the steady tick of the clock on the mantle. Ororon watches the flames dance, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. He knows Capitano can't stay here forever. The war is relentless, and it will eventually come knocking on their door again. But for now, he clings to the warmth of this moment, the comfort of having someone beside him.

With a sigh, he rises from his chair, the cold floorboards a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire. He pads into the kitchen, the light from the living room casting long shadows across the countertops. His thoughts turn to the one thing that has always brought him comfort: cooking. The act of creating something warm and nourishing is a balm to his soul, a way to nurture life in the face of so much destruction.

When Capitano wakes up, the scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air, and his mouth waters at the thought of a tart baking in the oven. It's a frivolous indulgence, but one that feels vital in the face of their dire circumstances. Ororon is nowhere to be seen, but the kitchen is a mess of flour and sugar, the remnants of their last dinner prep scattered across the counters.

Capitano's eyes follow the trail of ingredients to the oven, where a golden pastry is beginning to brown. His stomach rumbles, a reminder of how little they've been able to indulge in the simple pleasures of food lately.

Ororon enters from the door, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his arms laden with a fresh bundle of firewood. He smiles when he sees Capitano awake, the soft light from the oven casting a warm glow across the room. The soldier's gaze meets his, and Ororon can't help but feel a jolt of something akin to joy at the sight of the man he's come to care for so deeply. He crosses the room, setting the wood down with a thunk before approaching the man.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice low and concerned. Capitano's eyes flicker to the oven, and Ororon knows what he's thinking before the question can even form on his lips.

"I made it," Ororon says softly. "For you."

Capitano's eyes widen at the sight of the golden pastry, the smell of warm apples and spices wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It's a simple gesture, one that seems so out of place in the harsh reality of their existence, but it's a beacon of hope in the darkness. Ororon sets the tart down on the small wooden table in front of the fireplace, the steam rising up to mingle with the heat.

"Come on, sit," Ororon urges, his voice filled with excitement. There's a child-like glee in his eyes that Capitano can't help but be drawn to. He watches as the civilian slices into the tart, the juice spilling out to pool on the plate. The aroma fills the room, sweet and tantalizing, and his stomach growls in response.

Ororon hands him a piece, the warmth of it seeping through his gloved fingers. Capitano takes it, his eyes never leaving Ororon's. He brings it to his mouth, the anticipation almost too much to bear. The first bite is heavenly, the flavors exploding on his tongue. The crust is flaky, the apples tender and sweet, and the hint of cinnamon and nutmeg is like a warm hug from a long-lost friend.

He chews slowly, savoring every bite. Ororon watches him, his own smile growing with each nod of approval. It's a moment of pure bliss, a brief respite from the chaos that lies outside their door.

But as the sweetness of the tart fills his mouth, Capitano's thoughts turn bitter. He can't help but feel embarrassed by the way Ororon looks at him, with such open admiration and care. It's a look that makes him acutely aware of his own monstrous visage.

Without a word, he reaches up and covers Ororon's face with his hand. The civilian's eyes widen in surprise, his mouth frozen mid-sentence. Capitano's eyes are filled with a tumult of emotions, guilt and fear and a desperate need to protect Ororon from the harsh truth of what he's become.

Ororon's hands hover in the air, unsure of where to land. Then, slowly, tentatively, he brings them up to cover Capitano's, his smaller fingers threading through the soldier's. He doesn't pull away, doesn't recoil from the touch. Instead, he leans into it, pressing his forehead against the palm that obscures his vision.

"You don't have to hide from me," Ororon whispers, his voice barely audible. "I promise."

Capitano's hand trembles, the weight of his actions heavy on his heart. He withdraws his hand, his eyes searching Ororon's. "I'm not," he murmurs. "I just... I don't want you to see me like this."

Ororon's smile doesn't waver. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are," he says gently. "You're still a man, enjoying the simple pleasures of life." He picks up his own piece of tart, taking a bite and closing his eyes in delight. The sweetness of the apple and the warmth of the spices dance across his tongue, a symphony of flavors that he savors.

The soldier's jaw clenches, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He doesn't know how to respond to such kindness, such acceptance. It's been too long since anyone has looked at him with anything other than fear or pity. He opens his mouth, but the words are lodged in his throat, a thick knot of emotion that threatens to choke him.

Ororon seems to understand this silent struggle, his thumb brushing gently over Capitano's bottom lip. The gesture is tender, filled with a compassion that speaks louder than any words could. "You don't have to say anything," he whispers, his eyes searching the depths of Capitano's soul. "I know."

Chapter Text

Two weeks have now passed.

Ororon tends to the fire, keeping the warmth alive as the winter sun sinks below the horizon. Capitano watches him, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over him as the flames dance in Ororon's eyes. The civilian is a warm light in the cold, harsh world outside, and the soldier finds himself drawn to that warmth like a moth to a flame.

Finally, Ororon turns to him, his expression serious. "I think you should be able ta take your dressings off by now," he says, his voice gentle. "The wounds are healing nicely, and the fresh air will do you good."

Capitano looks at him not understanding.

Ororon notices Capitano's gaze and suggests, "Why don't you take a bath while I keep an eye on things?" He nods towards the small bathroom. The thought of feeling clean again is almost too much for the weary soldier to bear. With a nod of thanks, Capitano rises from his chair, his body aching from days of inactivity.

In the bathroom, he peels off his layers of dirty, tattered clothes, revealing a landscape of bruises and scars. The water is hot, almost too hot, but it soothes his weary bones. He sinks into the tub, the heat seeping into his skin, and for a moment, he can almost forget the chilling cold of the winter outside. The water is steaming, a cloud of mist rising to kiss the ceiling, and he leans back, letting the warmth wash over him like a benediction. He sighs, feeling the tension in his muscles begin to ease as the water works its magic. The soap is a simple, unscented bar, but it's a luxury compared to the snow and dirt he's been using to clean his wounds. He scrubs at the grime that clings to his body, feeling the weight of the world slip away with every stroke.

Capitano's blue eyes gaze into the steamy abyss above, his mind a swirl of thoughts. He's survived battles that would have broken lesser men, but here, in this tiny house with the kind-hearted civilian, he feels more exposed than he ever has before. The water turns murky as the dirt and grime from his hair swirl around him, a visual representation of the darkness he's carried with him since the day he was maimed.

The door creaks open, and Ororon peeks in, holding a towel. "Is it okay if I come in?" he asks softly. There's a tentativeness to his voice that makes Capitano's heart ache. He nods, his eyes never leaving the water. Ororon steps in, placing the towel within reach before retreating back to the kitchen to give the soldier his privacy.

The water cools slowly.

Capitano sighs, dipping his head beneath the surface for a brief moment, letting the water wash over his face. When he emerges, he finds Ororon has returned, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. He takes it with a murmur of thanks, the warmth seeping into his chilled bones as he sips the sweet liquid.

Ororon watches him, his eyes filled with a quiet concern that speaks louder than any words. Capitano knows the man sees more than he lets on, the weight of his own turmoil reflected in the civilian's gaze. He's not used to this kind of attention, not from someone who isn't afraid of him, not from someone who doesn't look at him with revulsion or pity. It's a strange, uncomfortable feeling, but also a comforting one.

Ororon takes the empty cup from Capitano's hand, his fingers brushing against the soldier's calloused palm. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through Capitano's body, a reminder of their growing bond. He nods his thanks, his eyes lingering on the spot where their skin met. The room feels charged with an energy that neither of them can ignore.

"Once you're done, come by the fire," Ororon says, his voice a gentle nudge back to reality. "You need to keep warm."

Capitano nods and when he finishes the bath, he only puts his pants back on and wraps the towel around his broad shoulders, leaving the rest of his body bare. He carries his stained shirt with him, as he makes his way back to the warm embrace of the living room. The scent of the fire is tantalizing, mixing with the faint aroma of the tea Ororon had brought him earlier.

The civilian is sitting in his chair, the one that has become almost an extension of him over the past few days. He's reading a book, the same one he'd read to Capitano the night before, and he looks up as the soldier approaches. There's a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes Capitano's heart stutter in his chest. He holds out a hand, beckoning Capitano closer.

"Here," Ororon says, suggesting the space on the rug between his knees. "Let me brush your hair."

Capitano hesitates, the gesture seemingly so intimate and foreign in the harsh reality of war. But the warmth in Ororon's eyes is undeniable, and the comfort of the fire too tempting to resist. He sits down gingerly, feeling the softness of the rug beneath him, it is different from the hard ground he's grown accustomed to.

Ororon takes the shirt from Capitano's hand, his eyes scanning the fabric stiff with dried blood. "I can clean this for you," he offers, his voice soothing.

Capitano shrugs, the weight of his exhaustion evident. "It's just a shirt," he murmurs. "There's no point in keeping it clean. It'll just get dirty again."

Ororon's hands are careful as they comb through the soldier's long, black hair, untangling the knots that have formed over days of neglect. The civilian's touch is gentle, almost reverent, and Capitano can't help but lean into it. The simple act of grooming is one he hasn't felt in what seems like an eternity, and the warmth that spreads through him isn't just from the fire. It's a warmth that comes from being cared for, from being seen not as a monster but as a man.

As the brush glides over his scalp, he closes his eyes, letting out a sigh that's part relief, part contentment. The tension in his shoulders melts away, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Capitano feels something other than the grip of pain or fear. The house feels like a cocoon, protecting them from the horrors of the world outside, allowing them to indulge in moments of tenderness that seem so out of place in the midst of war.

Ororon's fingers work deftly through the long, black locks, separating them into sections, his touch gentle yet firm. Capitano's hair is surprisingly soft, almost silky to the touch, despite the harshness of his exterior. It falls like a dark waterfall over Ororon's hands, and he can't help but marvel at the contrast between the roughness of the soldier's calloused skin and the softness of his hair.

With each stroke of the brush, Capitano sighs in pleasure, his body unconsciously leaning into the warmth of Ororon's embrace. The heat from the fireplace kisses their skin, painting their cheeks a soft pink that complements the glow of the flames. Ororon's eyes trace the lines of Capitano's back, the tension in the muscles slowly easing with each pass of the brush. The intimacy of the moment is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings.

Ororon's thoughts wander to the battles Capitano must have faced, the screams of his comrades and enemies alike echoing in his mind. He wishes he could take away the soldier's pain, wipe the memories clean, and give him the peace he so desperately deserves. But all he can do is offer his touch, a silent promise that for now, in this small, safe space, Capitano is not alone.

Ororon's hand pauses in mid-stroke, the brush hovering over Capitano's hair. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the fragile tranquility that has settled between them.

Capitano doesn't open his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "It's more than okay," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through the room. "It's... it's heavenly."

Ororon's heart skips a beat at the admission, his grip on the brush tightening slightly before he sets it aside. He can feel the tension in Capitano's body, the way the muscles in his shoulders and neck have softened under his ministrations. It's a heady sensation, knowing that he has the power to ease the soldier's pain, if only for a brief moment.

Ororon shifts in his chair, making himself more comfortable as well. He doesn't dare move too much, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance they've found. Capitano remains still, his breathing even and deep, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, wrapping them both in a cocoon of quiet companionship.

But as Capitano moves slightly, his head tilts and Ororon catches a glimpse of the scarred side of his face. It's a jagged, puckered mess of skin. The sight of it makes Ororon's heart ache, not just for the physical pain it must have caused, but for the emotional scars that surely accompanied such a disfigurement. He wonders how many times the soldier has been on the receiving end of a horrified stare.

Impulsively, Ororon reaches out, his hand hovering over the damaged skin. His thumb brushes the scar lightly, his own skin warm against Capitano's cold flesh. He expects the soldier to flinch, to pull away, but instead, Capitano remains still, his eyes closed as if basking in the gentle touch. The gesture is so simple, so human, yet it feels like a profound act of trust between them.

Ororon's hand lingers, tracing the contours of the scar with the tip of his finger. He can feel the soldier's pulse, steady and strong beneath the pad of his thumb. Capitano's breath hitches, but he doesn't move away, instead, his hand slowly rises to cover Ororon's, the warmth of Ororon's touch seeping into his cold skin. Their fingers interlock, a silent testament to the bond that has grown between them in this solitary house amidst the frozen wasteland.

Ororon steels himself, drawing on the same courage that had led him to care for the injured stranger. "What happened to your face?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. The question hangs in the air, the crackling fire the only sound as they wait for an answer.

Capitano opens his eyes at the question, a flash of anger sparking in the depths of his gaze. He looks at the flames, his eyes narrowing as if the fire holds the answer to the pain he carries. He bites his tongue, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood, fighting to keep the torrent of emotions at bay. The scar is a constant reminder of his past, of the war crimes that had haunted him for so long.

Finally, he speaks, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "I'd rather not talk about it," he says, his eyes never leaving the fireplace. "It's not something I wish to remember."

Ororon pulls back, his cheeks a faint shade of pink. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice a whisper. "I didn't mean to—"

Capitano cuts him off with a swift movement that belies his injuries. He turns to face Ororon, his hand wrapping firmly around the civilian's wrist. "You don't have to apologize," he says, his voice firm, yet gentle. "It's just... it's a part of me that I'd rather keep hidden."

Their eyes meet, and Ororon can see the pain, the regret, and the exhaustion that lies beneath Capitano's stoic exterior.

Capitano can't help but feel attracted to Ororon's gentle touch, his soft voice, and the way he looks at him without the same horror or disgust he's grown accustomed to. It's a feeling he thought he'd lost, buried deep beneath the layers of war and the monster he's become. The civilian's eyes are like an ocean of tranquility, inviting him to dive in and escape the chaos.

Ororon's pulse quickens under Capitano's touch, his heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. He knows he's treading on dangerous ground, but he can't ignore the pull towards the soldier. He's seen the darkness in the world, the hatred that fuels the war outside their door, and yet here, in this moment, he finds something pure, something that makes him want to believe in the goodness of people again.

Their heads drift closer, the space between them shrinking until Capitano's hand is cupping Ororon's chin, his thumb tracing the plushness of the civilian's lower lip. The gesture is so intimate, so filled with longing, that Ororon can't help but lean into it. He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of Capitano's breath on his skin, the thumb sending shivers down his spine.

Capitano's eyes bore into Ororon's, searching for an answer, a reason to believe that he deserves this warmth, this gentle touch. The civilian's eyes are open, filled with understanding and compassion, and it's more than the soldier can take. He leans in, their mouths meeting in a soft, tentative kiss that speaks volumes of their unspoken feelings.

Ororon's eyes flutter open in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into the kiss, his hand coming up to rest on Capitano's bare chest.

Capitano pulls Ororon from the chair with surprising grace, his movements careful. Ororon gasps, his heart racing as he finds himself nestled in the soldier's lap, his legs curled up to fit the space. The heat of Capitano's body surrounds him. He's aware of the shift in their dynamic, the way the air between them has thickened with something unspoken but powerful.

Capitano's hand is firm but tender as it cradles the back of Ororon's neck, his thumb idly stroking the sensitive skin there. The warmth of his touch sends shivers down Ororon's spine, and he can't help but lean into it, craving more of that connection. The kiss deepens, the initial hesitation giving way to something more urgent, more needy.

But as their kisses become more passionate, Capitano can't shake the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Is this just a fleeting moment of comfort, a mistake born from his desperate need for human warmth? He's been a monster for so long, is he just taking advantage of Ororon's kindness? He pulls back, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching Ororon's face for any sign of regret.

Ororon, lost in the moment, feels the weight of Capitano's arm around him, the warmth of the soldier's body against his own, and the steady beat of his heart beneath his cheek. He smiles, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly, his eyes closed in contentment as he rests his head on Capitano's broad shoulder.

The soldier's touch is surprisingly tender, his large hands moving with surprising gentleness as they stroke Ororon's hair. But there's a clumsiness to it, an awkwardness that speaks of a man who's unaccustomed to such intimate gestures. Ororon can feel the tremor in Capitano's fingers, the hesitation in his touch, and he knows the soldier is fighting his own inner demons.

A soft chuckle bubbles up from Ororon's chest, breaking the quiet of the room. He opens his eyes to find Capitano looking down at him, a mix of concern and confusion etched on his scarred face. "What is it?" the soldier asks, his voice low and gruff.

Ororon shakes his head, his cheek still resting against Capitano's warm skin. "It's nothing," he says, his voice muffled.

Capitano sighs, the weight of his own doubt momentarily forgotten as he wraps his arms around Ororon, pulling the civilian closer. Then, without warning, he shifts, his body moving with surprising grace for one so large. He lets himself fall backward, taking Ororon with him. They land on a pile of blankets and pillows that Ororon had prepared by the fireplace, the soft cushions breaking their fall.

Ororon's eyes widen as he finds himself lying on top of Capitano, his heart racing. He can feel the soldier's warmth, his chest rising and falling beneath him with every breath. He's aware of the intimacy of their position, but it feels natural, as if this is where he's meant to be.

He pulls his face up slightly, intending to speak, but the words die in his throat as he sees Capitano's eyes are already closed, his expression one of peaceful surrender to sleep. The lines of pain and worry that usually etched his face have smoothed out, and for a brief moment, Ororon can see the man he must have been before the war claimed him.

Ororon feels a pang of regret for disturbing him, but he can't help the question that spills from his lips. "Capitano," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "Would you rather not sleep on the bed?"

The soldier's eyes open slowly, his gaze meeting Ororon's with a gentle understanding. "I'm used to the ground," he says, his voice a low rumble. "And besides, the bed is yours. I don't want to impose."

Ororon feels a swell of affection for the stoic man beneath him. "You're not imposing," he whispers, his breath warm against Capitano's skin. "I don't mind."

But Capitano shakes his head, his expression firm. "I've taken enough from you," he says, his voice gruff. "Now, shut up and rest."

Ororon opens his mouth to protest, but Capitano's hand is already there, pressing gently against his forehead, guiding him down until his head is nestled against the soldier's broad chest. He feels the steady beat of the man's heart beneath his cheek, a rhythm that lulls him into a sense of safety he hasn't felt in so long. The scent of soap and firewood fills his nose, a comforting blend that reminds him of simpler times.

Capitano reaches for the heavy blanket that lies folded nearby, his movements careful so as not to disturb Ororon. With a grunt, he pulls it over them both, the thick fabric enveloping them in a warm embrace. It's not the most comfortable of beds, but the warmth is a welcome change from the cold, hard ground he's been used to.

Ororon, feeling the weight of the blanket, opens his eyes slightly to see Capitano's hand adjusting the fabric. The soldier's eyes are closed, his breathing deep and even, and Ororon can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness. He shifts slightly, ensuring that the blanket is tucked around them both snugly, and then lets his own eyes drift shut again.

Capitano's breathing soon deepens, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. He can't shake the feeling that he's invading Capitano's personal space, but the soldier's arms around him are like steel bars, unyielding and secure. The warmth of the man beneath him is almost intoxicating, and he finds himself growing heavy with the weight of exhaustion.

Capitano's grip tightens around him in his sleep, his fingers digging into Ororon's side. It's a childlike gesture, one that Ororon finds both endearing and heartbreaking. Despite his size and the scars, the soldier seems so vulnerable when he sleeps. The civilian runs his hand through Capitano's hair, the soft strands that has seen so much war and bloodshed.

Maybe, Ororon thinks, as he closes his eyes, he could get used to this heartwarming feeling. He feels safe, cherished, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity, he feels happy. 

But time is a fickle beast, and it has a way of galloping forward with a speed that belies the moments of stillness it allows. 

Days bleed into one another, each one a blend of quiet moments by the fire and the ever-present rumble of distant battles. Capitano's injuries heal at a pace that seems to mirror their growing closeness, his skin knitting back together under Ororon's meticulous care. 

Yet, with each passing day, the inevitable looms larger, the war outside their haven growing ever more insistent.

And it's been one month. 

Thirty days of hiding, thirty nights of whispered confessions and stolen moments of peace. 

The war outside had become a constant, muffled drone. Capitano had learned the creaks of the floorboards, the patterns of Ororon's breathing, the smells of his fear and hope. They had grown into a routine, a strange dance of domesticity in the heart of a war zone.

Since that first intimate kiss, they hadn't dared to cross that line again. 

The memory of it lingered in the air between them, a gentle warmth that was almost tangible. Capitano knew that the time they had together was borrowed. But the way Ororon looked at him, the way his hands lingered on his skin as if memorizing every scar and bruise, made it hard to maintain that distance.

The soldier found himself drawn to the warmth and care that Ororon offered.

In the quiet hours of the night, when the only sounds were the distant rumble of cannons and the occasional shuffle of a lost soul in the snow, Capitano would lay awake, watching Ororon sleep. The civilian's face was peaceful, his features smoothed out by the gentle caress of slumber. It was then that Capitano would allow himself to think about the future, about the life they could have together once the war was over. 

But it was always followed by a cold, hard truth: he was a warrior in enemy territory.

Days turned into several weeks, and Capitano began to notice the little things that made Ororon unique.

Ororon had a habit of speaking to inanimate objects, like the old radio that would sometimes crackle to life with a tune from a distant station. He'd coo and murmur to it as if it were a pet, and the soldier couldn't help but smile at the endearing quirk. The civilian's world was so vastly different from the one Capitano knew—one of chaos and destruction—that it was easy to get lost in it. He found himself wanting to understand the quiet joy that Ororon found in his simple routines, the way he could find beauty in the harshness of their current life.

As they lay under the warm blankets, Capitano spoke of his past, of the battles he'd fought and the friends he'd lost. He talked of his longing for peace, his fear that he'd never find it. Ororon listened, his eyes shimmering, and when the soldier had finished, he reached up and cupped Capitano's scarred cheek.

"You're not a war machine," he whispered. "You deserve happiness, and you deserve to live without fear."

Capitano's hand tightened around Ororon's, his thumb brushing over the slender wrist. The words hung in the air, a little of hope in the sea of doubt that was his mind. He wanted to believe it, wanted it so badly it hurt.

"And what if I never find that peace?" he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

Ororon leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Capitano's cheek. "Then I'll help you find it," he murmured, his voice a soft promise in the darkened room. "You'll watch the seasons change without the shadow of fears and horrors."

Capitano's chest tightened at the thought, his eyes closing as he took in the civilian's sweet words. He knew it was a dream, a fairy tale that had no place in their reality, but he couldn't help but cling to it. He pulled Ororon closer, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart.

Ororon looked up at him, his eyes filled with a quiet determination. "Let's go outside tomorrow," he suggested, his voice soft. "To the frozen lake. Just for a little while."

Capitano's eyes widened in surprise, but there was something in Ororon's expression that made him hesitate.

He nodded slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a risk, a dangerous gamble, but the thought of spending even a brief moment in the cold beauty of the outside with Ororon was too tempting to resist. 

"Alright," he murmured. "We'll go."

Chapter Text

A new day dawned with a heavy silence that seemed to press down on the house.

Capitano could feel the tension coiled in the air, thick and suffocating. He watched Ororon as he moved around the kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast. The civilian's movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if he were trying to keep his anxiety at bay by focusing on the task at hand.

When they finally stepped outside, the cold was like a slap to the face. The world was painted in white and grey, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the distant echo of gunfire. Ororon took a deep breath, his eyes closing briefly as if he were trying to capture the moment. When he opened them again, they sparkled with excitement, a childlike wonder that Capitano hadn't seen in him before.

Ororon took Capitano's hand, leading him through the snow-covered streets with an enthusiasm that seemed almost out of place in the desolate landscape. The young male pointed out landmarks, the remains of a once-bustling city that now lay buried beneath the frost. The soldier couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he saw the joy in Ororon's eyes, knowing that this was the only world he had ever known.

Capitano looked down at their joined hands, the heavy contrast of their skin tones highlighted by the snow around them. He felt the tremor that passed through Ororon's body but the civilian's grip remained firm, a sign of pure trust.

He took a deep breath, his breath misting in the frigid air.

"What if they find us?" Capitano's voice was low, the words a mere whisper against the winter silence.

"They might," Ororon admitted, his eyes on the horizon where the sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky a soft pink. "But they won't. At least, not now." He squeezed Capitano's hand, feeling the warmth of the soldier's palm against his own. "Let's just... enjoy the moment, please?"

Capitano studied him for a moment, the doubt etched into his features. "How can you be so sure?"

Ororon shrugged, a tentative smile playing on his lips. "Well, I'm not actually," he said, trying for humor but it came out strained.

The weight of their situation was too heavy to ignore.

Capitano stopped in his tracks, his boots sinking into the fresh snow. He turned to Ororon, his eyes searching the civilian's face, looking for something, anything that could justify the hope that sparkled in the younger man's gaze.

Ororon's laugh was nervous, a brittle sound that shattered in the cold air.

"Good," Capitano said finally, his voice gruff but filled with a reluctant acceptance. He sighed heavily, shaking his head as if to clear it of the doubt that had been plaguing him. With a grimace, he took another step forward, his hand tightening around Ororon's. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, but kept his hand on the grip, a reflexive gesture that spoke of his unease.

They continued to walk, the snow crunching beneath their boots.

As they approached the lake, Ororon's steps grew lighter, almost skipping. The ice was a perfect mirror of the sky, unmarred by any signs of life except for the occasional bird that dared to land on its frozen surface. 

Ororon let go of Capitano's hand, breaking the spell that had held them together. He took a few tentative steps onto the ice, testing its strength.

Capitano's eyes narrowed, watching the smaller man with both anxiety and admiration. The warrior in him knew the dangers of the ice, the treacherous whispers it held. He called out, "Careful, the ice is thick, but it's not invincible." Ororon glanced back. "Spring is coming," reminded Capitano. "It won't be long before the snow melts away."

Their eyes met, and Ororon tilted his head, his child-like eyes filled with a mischievous glint. "Scared of water?" he teased, and laughed, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings. It was a laugh that seemed too bright, too alive, for the death that surrounded them.

The squirrel, a solitary creature, froze in its tracks, eyes locked on the two figures approaching.

Ororon's eyes seemed to gleam with mischief as he held out his hand, palm up, to the creature. It took a moment, but then, as if understanding the silent invitation, the squirrel darted forward. It scurried onto Ororon's outstretched arm, and for a brief instant, the world stood still.

Capitano watched, his eyes wide with wonder. He had seen many things in his time at war, but this, the trust of a wild animal for a man with eyes like a myth, was something else. The squirrel seemed to sense the soldier's presence, and it chittered in protest before scurrying off into the safety of a nearby tree, leaving a trail of tiny paw prints in the pristine snow.

Ororon couldn't hold back his laughter, the sound carrying on the wind. "It seems like you scared the little one," he teased, his voice filled with affection.

"Wh-" Capitano feigned offense, shoving his shoulders back and pretending to scan the area for danger. "Why would I care about a tiny creature," he said gruffly, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile.

They made their way to the lake's edge, the ice groaning beneath them. The sun was fully risen now, casting a warm glow over the frozen lake. It was almost beautiful, the way the light danced over the jagged edges of the trees, the way the snow sparkled like diamonds.

Capitano noticed the squirrel had followed them, perched on a low branch, watching them with curious eyes. Ororon caught his gaze and nodded towards the creature. "See, he's just a shy one," he said, his voice still holding a note of laughter. "Maybe he wants to get near but doesn't know how." Capitano couldn't help but smile at Ororon's wonder.

He felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he took in the serene scene before them. The lake was full of untouched snow, the only signs of life the occasional bird that dared to land on the frozen surface.

Ororon knelt down at the lake's edge, taking small pieces of bread from his pocket. He held them out to Capitano with a hopeful look. "Would you like to help me?" he asked, his voice soft.

Capitano hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the weapon at his side. He looked from the bread to Ororon's outstretched hand, then back to the squirrel watching them from the tree. With a sigh, he shook his head. "No, I'll leave the fun to you," he said, his voice gruff but his eyes warm. "I'll keep an eye out for any...unwanted visitors."

Ororon's smile grew, understanding the soldier's need to remain vigilant.

He stepped away from Capitano, his boots leaving deep imprints in the snow as he approached the ice. The squirrel chittered again, watching him intently. The tension between them was palpable, a dance of trust and uncertainty. As Ororon took his first tentative step onto the ice, the red birds that had been flitting around the tree line took flight. They hovered for a moment, a flash of color against the monochrome world, before landing a few feet away from him. They pecked at the bread in his hand, their tiny movements a mesmerizing ballet of hunger and caution.

Capitano's eyes followed them, his expression softening.

"I know you don't trust easily," Ororon murmured to the small birds, his voice barely carrying over the stillness. "But I won't harm you." He broke off a piece of bread and tossed it gently into the air. The closest bird darted up to catch it, only to dodge back to safety when it realized it had company.

Capitano chuckled, his deep voice contrasting the silence. "You and your animals," he whispered, a smile playing on his lips. He watched as Ororon tried again, a hint of amusement in his eyes. The boy's dedication to these small moments of peace was both endearing and confusing to the soldier.

In his world, trust was a commodity, something bought with blood and loyalty.

But as Ororon continued to coax the birds closer, the squirrel took its chance. It darted from the tree, a flash of brown against the white, and made a beeline for Capitano. The soldier's hand hovered over the rifle, instinct taking over, but then he saw the way the creature's eyes met his, the same way Ororon's had when they'd first met. There was something in those tiny, black orbs that spoke of a shared experience in the face of fear.

The squirrel paused a few feet away, tail twitching with excitement. It approached slowly, one paw at a time, until it was close enough to snatch a piece of bread from the ground. Capitano watched, his hand still hovering, as the squirrel took the food, retreated, and then returned for more. The soldier couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the creature, a fellow survivor in this harsh winter. He took a deep breath and made his move, extending his hand, palm up. The squirrel studied him for a moment, as if weighing the cost of trust against the allure of the bread. Then, with a sudden burst of courage, it scampered up his arm, tail wagging, and took the bread directly from his hand. Capitano's heart skipped a beat. He didn't dare move, didn't want to break the spell. He held his breath as the squirrel took a second piece, its tiny claws tickling his tanned skin.

Ororon watched with amazement and fondness. He knew the animals trusted him, but to see Capitano, this towering man, interact so gently with the squirrel was something else entirely. It was a moment of pure magic, a sliver of peace in the harshness of their world.

The squirrel, seemingly satisfied with the warmth of Capitano's hand, scurried up his arm. The soldier's eyes widened in surprise, but he remained still, allowing the creature to explore. It paused at his shoulder, looking up at him with curiosity before continuing its journey. Finally, it found the warmth it sought, nestling into the crook of his neck and burrowing into the collar of his coat. Capitano's breath hitched, his heart racing as he felt the tiny body against his skin. It was a strange, yet oddly comforting sensation.

Ororon's laughter bubbled up, light and free, and the tension between them melted away. He stepped closer, his eyes alight with joy. "He likes you," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "They don't usually come this close to anyone."

Capitano looked down at the squirrel, then back at Ororon.

"Perhaps it sees something in me that others don't," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. He reached up to gently stroke the creature's back, feeling the warmth of its body, the softness of its fur. It was a simple thing, this act of trust from a creature so small, but it felt like a victory; there was still goodness in the world.

And then, without warning, the world was a blur of white as a snowball smacked into the side of his head. Hard.

Capitano yelped, his eyes flying open in shock.

Ororon was standing a few feet away, a mischievous grin on his face, another snowball in his hand. The squirrel took off in a flurry of snow, disappearing into the tree line with a final chitter of protest.

"What was that for?" Capitano roared, his voice echoing off the tree around them. 

Ororon giggled, the sound light and infectious. "For being so serious," he said, tossing the second snowball. This one hit Capitano square in the chest, and he stumbled back, his eyes narrowing.

"You're going to pay for that," he said, his voice a low growl. But there was a spark of amusement in his eyes, a spark that had been absent for too long. He bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it into a tight ball. The coldness of it seemed to invigorate him, reminding him of the simple joys that life still had to offer him, even in a place as harsh as this.

Ororon's laughter grew louder as he turned and bolted away, his legs slipping and sliding on the ice. Capitano took off after him, his long strides eating up the distance between them. The cold didn't bother him, not with the warmth of Ororon's laughter filling his ears.

The chase was on, a playful escape from the shackles of war, if only for a moment.

Capitano's snowball hit Ororon with surprising force, the impact sending him sprawling onto the icy ground. The civilian yelped, his body skidding to a stop on the slick surface. For a moment, he lay there, breathless, his cheeks red from the cold. Then, he rolled over, his eyes alight with challenge. Ororon pushed himself to his feet, his movements quick and graceful despite the slippery terrain. He scooped up a handful of snow and formed it into a tight ball, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. The soldier's smirk grew wider, a playful glint in his glowing eyes, as he watched the smaller man's determination. Their snowball fight was a whirlwind of white, their laughter piercing the cold silence that usually enveloped the woods. It was the complete opposite to the battles Capitano was accustomed to, a battle of joy and camaraderie rather than fear and destruction. They ducked and weaved around each other, the sound of snow crunching beneath their boots a symphony of freedom.

"You're too tall!" Ororon whined, a snowball missing Capitano's head by mere inches. "It's not fair, you can see over everything!"

Capitano chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the frigid air. "Is that so?" He bent down, scooping up a handful of snow, and packed it tightly. "Then perhaps you should admit you just haven't a good aim," he teased, tossing the snowball towards Ororon.

Ororon ducked, the snowball exploding against the side of a nearby tree with a wet thump. He grinned up at Capitano, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I have an excellent aim," he quipped, bending down to make another snowball. "I just didn't want to hit you too hard. You might get hurt."

Capitano's responding snowball hit Ororon in the shoulder, the force sending him staggering.

The civilian's laughter filled the air as he stumbled, the sound a delightful melody against the harsh backdrop of the scenery's silence. "Hurt?" Capitano scoffed, his own eyes twinkling with good-natured rivalry. "I've faced worse than a snowball on the battlefield."

But Ororon was undeterred.

He took a moment to catch his breath, the cold air painting his cheeks a rosy pink.

Then, with a sly grin, he began to gather snow again, his movements swift and precise. "I'll show you who's in charge," he called out, his voice carrying on the wind.

Capitano's eyes narrowed, the challenge accepted.

He bent down to form another snowball, feeling the cold stinging his hands. He threw it with all his might, watching with satisfaction as it connected with Ororon's chest. The impact was enough to knock the civilian back, his legs sliding out from under him. He landed with a thump on the ice, the snow around him a cloud of white. Ororon's laughter was cut short as the second snowball smacked into his face, the coldness of it taking him by surprise. For a moment, he was blinded, the snow clinging to his lashes and melting into his eyes. He wiped at his face, the cold burning his skin as he tried to clear his vision. When he could finally see again, Capitano was standing before him, a third snowball in hand, his grin wide and unyielding. Ororon's cheeks were flushed, not just from the cold but from the exertion of their playful fight. He stared at the soldier, his heart racing. It was a strange feeling, to be so alive in a world that often felt so devoid of life.

"Mercy," Ororon gasped, holding up his hands in surrender, his eyes wide with feigned fear. The snow was candid against his dark lashes, his breath coming out in short puffs of mist.

Capitano's grin grew even wider, a hint of pride in his gaze.

The squirrel, having observed the battle from a safe distance, decided it had had enough. With surprising agility, it darted back over and scurried up Capitano's arm, seeking refuge from the flying snow. It chittered in protest, its tiny body a flurry of movement. Capitano's hand paused mid-air, the snowball hovering just above Ororon's head. He looked down at the creature with a mix of amusement and surprise. "Looks like you've got yourself an ally," Ororon said, his voice shaky with laughter.

Capitano's grin softened as he looked into the squirrel's tiny, black eyes. "What do you say, little one?" he murmured, his deep voice gentle. "Should we spare him?" The squirrel seemed to consider the question, then it scurried down his arm and jumped into Ororon's waiting hand.

The civilian's eyes lit up, his cheeks still flushed from the cold.

Ororon brought the squirrel closer to his face, whispering sweet nothings to it. It nibbled at the bread in his other hand, seemingly unfazed by the battle it had just interrupted. "I think he's on your side now," Capitano said with a chuckle, his hand dropping to his side. He took a step back, the snow crunching under his heavy boots. "We should head back," he said, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "We've had enough fun for now. We don't want to push our luck." Ororon nodded, his own breaths coming out in clouds of mist. He knew Capitano was right. The danger didn't pause for games, and they couldn't afford to get careless.

Capitano stepped off the ice, his boots crunching into the fresh snow. He slung his rifle back over his shoulder, his movements fluid and practiced. The squirrel scampered down Ororon's arm and followed Capitano, its tiny paws leaving a trail of footprints in the untouched snow.

Ororon took one final look at the lake before turning to follow.

But as he took his first step, the ice beneath him cracked, a spiderweb of fissures spreading out from his boots. He held his breath, his heart skipping a beat as the world seemed to shift.

"Ororon." Capitano's voice cut through the sudden silence like a knife, and Ororon's eyes shot back to the soldier in panic. "Ororon, let's head back," he said again, his tone sharper this time. "Don't waste time."

But Ororon didn't answer. He couldn't. His voice had abandoned him, leaving only a silent murmur of panic as he watched the cracks in the ice spread. He felt the cold seep into his boots, the water below lapping hungrily at the edges of the ice.

Capitano's eyes widened with understanding, and without a moment's hesitation, he hurled himself back onto the ice. His long legs slid over the treacherous surface, his hand shooting out towards Ororon. The civilian's heart hammered in his chest, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he stared at the offered hand. "Here, come on!"

But it was too late.

With a deafening roar, the ice gave way beneath them. Ororon's voice was swallowed by the icy embrace as he plunged into the frigid water.

The shock was instant, the cold stealing his breath.

Capitano didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, reaching for Ororon's hand. For a heart-stopping moment, their fingers brushed together, but the current was too strong.

The water closed over Ororon's head, the cold wrapping around him like a vice. His lungs burned for air, but his legs felt like lead in the icy grip of the lake. He flailed, trying to kick towards the surface, but the weight of his wet clothes and boots was too much. Panic set in, his mind racing with images of the warmth of the house, of the life he'd left behind. Capitano's face was a blur above him, his hand outstretched, his grip tightening around the fabric of Ororon's sleeve. The soldier's expression was contorted in horror, his strength straining to pull the civilian to safety.

The squirrel chattered anxiously from afar.

Ororon's teeth chattered uncontrollably as the icy water stole the warmth from his body, silently pleading for help. The soldier's grip was steadfast, but the ice was unforgiving, pulling them apart with a final, resounding crack. Ororon slipped beneath the surface, the water closing like a frozen tomb. Above, Capitano roared in desperation, his eyes never leaving the spot where Ororon had disappeared. His hand remained outstretched, as if by sheer will he could pull him back.

The squirrel, sensing the gravity of the situation, darted forward, leaping onto Capitano's shoulder, and clung there, trembling with fear. Then, it happened. The squirrel's eyes grew sharp, and it pointed its tiny, quivering nose towards the lake's surface. With surprising agility, it leaped off Capitano's shoulder and onto the ice. The creature's paws darted back and forth, tracing the path Ororon had taken. Capitano's heart raced, understanding dawning on him. The squirrel was leading him, showing him where Ororon had fallen. He followed the squirrel's movements with his gaze, his eyes widening as the animal stopped at a particularly large crack in the ice. It chittered urgently, its body a blur of fear and determination. Capitano knew that time was running out. 

Without another thought, he raised the butt of his weapon and brought it down with a resounding crack. The ice shattered under the impact, revealing the dark water beneath.

With a lament of determination, Capitano thrust his arm into the icy abyss, his heart pounding in his chest. The water was frigid, stealing the warmth from his skin in an instant. But he didn't care about the pain. He cared about Ororon, whose life was slipping away like the water through his fingers. His hand moved with a speed and precision that defied his large size, reaching into the freezing depths, feeling for the slightest trace of the civilian.

Ororon's eyes were closed, his body limp, as the water pulled him away into the abyss. Capitano's heart skipped a beat, his fear growing stronger with every passing second.

But then, his fingers brushed against something solid. He clamped down, his grip like a vice around Ororon's wrist. With a surge of strength born of desperation, he hauled him out of the water, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.

The civilian was blue with cold, his eyes closed, and his body unresponsive. Capitano's heart hammered in his chest as he laid Ororon on the ice, the squirrel chirping anxiously from the safety of his shoulder.

"Ororon," he shouted, his voice a desperate echo across the lake. But there was no answer, no movement, not even a flutter of lashes. The world around them stood still, the snowflakes hanging in the air as if in suspense. Capitano's panic grew with every silent moment, his hands trembling as he rolled Ororon onto his back. He had seen death before, had felt it brush against him like a cold wind. But not like this, not in the arms of someone he had come to care for. He tilted Ororon's chin up and checked for a pulse, his own heart racing in his ears. Nothing. With a steely resolve, Capitano placed his ear to Ororon's chest, listening for the faintest sound of life. There it was, a weak and stuttering beat. He had to act fast. The soldier leaned over, his breath a warm mist in the frigid air, and placed his mouth over Ororon's, pushing air into his lungs with a gentle yet firm force. He watched as the civilian's chest rose and fell, praying that he was getting enough oxygen. After several agonizing moments, he pulled back and listened again, his heart pounding in his ears.

Ororon coughed, water spilling from his mouth and nose. His eyes snapped open, wide with terror, before recognition set in. Capitano's face was a mix of both relief and urgency as he rolled Ororon onto his side, allowing him to expel the water.

The squirrel chittered anxiously.

Capitano quickly took off his long coat and wrapped it around Ororon's shivering frame. He could feel the civilian's tremors through the layers of clothing, and it only served to fuel his own panic. He had to warm him up, and fast. With a swiftness that belied his size, the soldier scooped Ororon into his arms, the coat providing a barrier against the cold. The squirrel watched as Capitano began to walk back to the house. His eyes never left Ororon's contorted face, the cold having painted it with a sheen of blue. The path before him was a blur of white and grey as he navigated the frozen landscape. His boots sank into the snow, each step a testament to the urgency of the situation. Capitano's breath came out in great, steamy puffs as he moved, his muscles straining with the effort of carrying Ororon. But he didn't feel the weight. All he felt was the need to keep Ororon safe, to get him somewhere warm.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath him gave way.

A hidden patch of ice had melted slightly, leaving a treacherous slickness that his boot couldn't find purchase on. He slipped, the world tilting precariously around them. For a moment, he thought they would both go down, but his instincts took over. He planted his other foot firmly and managed to stay upright, his knee bending to absorb the impact. The motion was fluid, a testament to his years of training and discipline. Ororon's head lolled against Capitano's chest, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. The soldier's heart clenched at the sight of him, so fragile and cold, the light in his eyes dimmed by the icy embrace of the lake.

"Hold on," Capitano whispered fiercely, his voice a warm contrast to the biting wind that howled around them. "We're almost there."

Suddenly, the crunch of snow beneath his boots was drowned out by a sharp snap, echoing through the silent forest. Capitano's head whipped up, his senses on high alert.

He knew that sound all too well.

It was the unmistakable sound of a twig breaking underfoot, a sign of movement in the otherwise still woods. He tightened his grip on Ororon, his eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of danger.

The weight of the unconscious man in his arms made him feel more exposed than ever.

Normally, he moved like a ghost, his tall frame bending and weaving through the snow-covered landscape with the grace of a predator. But now, with Ororon's limp body cradled against him, he felt like a target. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a silent prayer that they wouldn't be found.

Capitano's eyes darted from tree to tree, his mind racing. 

But with the snow thickening, it was hard to distinguish shadows from threats. The wind whispered through the branches, carrying the distant sound of gunfire; the war still raged outside their brief bubble of momentarily happiness. Then, as if by some divine intervention, a wild hare bounded out of the forest and skidded to a stop before them. It stared at them for a moment, its eyes wide and curious, before it took off again, darting away into the safety of the trees.

For some reason, the sight of the creature, so free and untouched by the chaos around them, didn't seem to ease Capitano's tension.

He adjusted his grip on Ororon, who had started to stir in his arms. The civilian's eyes fluttered open, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as he whispered, "It's...cold." The words barely made it past his chattering teeth, but Capitano heard them loud and clear.

"I know," he murmured back, his voice low and soothing. "We're almost home, just hold on."

Capitano took one last look around them, ensuring they weren't being followed.

The woods were eerily silent, the snowfall muffling any potential sounds of pursuit. Satisfied, he turned and sprinted towards the distant house, his boots punching through the fresh layer of snow. His breaths came out in great clouds, the exertion warming his cheeks and the cold air stinging his lungs. But he ignored the discomfort, his sole focus on getting Ororon to safety.

The house grew closer with each stride, its warm glow beckoning like a lighthouse in the storm. As they approached, Capitano could feel Ororon's body growing heavier, his shivers more violent. He knew he had to get him out of the cold quickly. As he approached the house, Capitano's legs almost gave out from under him. The pain from his injuries flared up. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the agony as he stumbled up the porch steps. His vision swam, and for a brief moment, he feared he would drop Ororon.

But he couldn't, not now.

With a gigantic effort, he kicked the door open and stumbled inside, the warmth of the house enveloping them. He laid Ororon carefully on the bed, his trembling hands smoothing the soaked hair away from the civilian's face.

Capitano rushed to the fireplace, his eyes scanning the room for more wood. He found a neatly stacked pile next to the hearth and began to build a roaring fire, the crackling flames throwing shadows across the room. His movements were swift and sure, a dance of survival that had been ingrained in him from countless winters spent in the field.

Once the fire was blazing, he returned to Ororon's side, his hands moving with trembling urgency as he began to peel the soaked layers from the unconscious man. The fabric stuck to his skin like a second layer of ice, revealing the pale flesh beneath. With each item removed, Ororon's shivering grew more violent, his body desperately trying to fight the cold that threatened to claim him. Capitano had to get them both warm, and quickly. He ripped off his own sodden clothes, his tall frame shivering uncontrollably in the cold room. He grabbed the warmest blankets from the bed, wrapping them around Ororon first, tucking them tightly around his shivering body. Then, he climbed in beside him, pulling the blankets over both of them. Holding Ororon close, he pressed their bodies together, sharing his warmth. He felt the chill of the other man's skin against his own and began to rub his back, his large, rough hands moving in gentle, soothing circles.

The civilian's muscles were tight with cold, but very slowly, they began to relax as Capitano's warmth seeped into him. Ororon's teeth stopped chattering, his breathing grew steadier, and a faint warmth returned to his skin.

Capitano leaned over, his breath hot against Ororon's ear. "Everything is going to be okay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You're going to be okay." His hands moved to Ororon's sides, his thumbs tracing the curve of his ribs, feeling the warmth spread beneath his fingertips.

Ororon's skin was cold to the touch, but it was the unpleasant feeling of his body that hit Capitano like a punch to the gut. Under the blankets, he felt the sharpness of Ororon's bones, the deprivation he'd suffered during these hard times. His ribs jutted out like the branches of a winter tree, and his thighs were as slender as the trunk of the squirrel's home. The soldier's heart clenched with a fierce protectiveness, a need to shield this fragile body.

The fire grew, casting a warm glow across the room. Capitano held Ororon tightly, his own warmth slowly seeping into the civilian's body. He felt the rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm. His hand hovered over Ororon's heart, feeling the beat that grew stronger with each passing minute.

Time stretched on, the silence only broken by the crackle of the fire and the occasional whistle of the wind outside.

Capitano's eyes never left Ororon's face, the fear of losing him still fresh in his mind. As the light outside began to fade, the shadows grew long, dancing across the ceiling in a silent ballet of warmth and comfort. The cold from the lake was slowly banished, replaced by the warmth of the hearth and the heat of their entwined bodies.

Ororon's lips, once a vibrant pink, had turned a worrying shade of blue. Capitano leaned in closer, his own breath warm and gentle against the icy skin.

"Please," he murmured, the words barely audible even to his own ears. It was a prayer to whatever gods might still be listening in this war-torn world. His hand trembled as it hovered over Ororon's chest, feeling for the reassurance of his heartbeat. Each thump was a promise, a vow that he wouldn't let go.

Slowly, the color began to return to Ororon's skin, a gradual pinking that started at the tips of his ears and spread down his neck and across his chest.

Capitano's own warmth was fading, but he didn't dare move. He held Ororon tighter, his heart pounding in time with the other man's. He whispered words of comfort, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. "You're safe now," he murmured. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Ororon's eyes fluttered open, the pupils dilated with cold. He blinked up at Capitano, confusion swirling in his gaze. The soldier's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding. "You're okay," Capitano repeated, his voice steady despite his trembling.

Ororon's teeth chattered, and he mumbled something unintelligible. His eyes searched Capitano's face, his voice barely a whisper. "Cold," he managed to get out, his teeth knocking together. Capitano nodded, his hand coming up to cup Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing over his chilly skin.

"I know," he murmured, his voice soothing. "I'm here, okay?" Ororon nodded, his eyes sliding shut again. The warmth of Capitano's hand was enough. He clung to it, his mind fuzzy with cold and fatigue. The soldier's touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

With gentle care, Capitano adjusted their position, turning Ororon onto his side so that they were spooning. He curled his large body around the smaller man, offering his own heat as a shield against the lingering chill. The room was still, except for the crackle of the fire and the muffled sound of their breathing.

Ororon's shivering subsided gradually, his body succumbing to the warmth of Capitano's embrace. The soldier's arms, once powerful and strong from years of fighting, now cradled him with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place on such a battle-hardened man. Yet, here in this quiet moment, it was as if the war had never touched them, as if there were no danger lurking just outside the walls.

Capitano's hand stroked Ororon's hair, the cold strands turning damp and warm under his touch. He whispered words of comfort, his gruff voice soothing the civilian's shattered nerves.

Ororon's eyes snapped open at the sensation. He looked up into Capitano's concerned gaze, his own eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to defy the cold. "I'm sorry.”

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Capitano's voice was a gentle rumble in his ear, his breath a warm caress against his skin. Ororon swallowed hard, his throat raw from the icy water. Capitano's expression softened, his grip on Ororon tightening slightly. "Accidents happen," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble.

Ororon's smile grew a little stronger, the warmth seeping into his very soul. He reached up to touch Capitano's arm, his hand trembling slightly. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Capitano didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes. They searched Ororon's face, the depth of his concern clear in the dark blue pools. His hand tightened around Ororon's, giving it a gentle squeeze. The silence that followed was filled with unspoken words, a conversation of touch and glances. Ororon felt a warmth spread through him, not just from the fire or Capitano's embrace, but from the soldier's unspoken reassurance.

Finally, Ororon broke the silence. "What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, his voice still weak but gaining strength. "I hope your wounds haven't reopened."

Capitano sighed. "Still looking after me, aren't you?"

"Who is the soldier who broke into my house seeking shelter and care?" Ororon playfully accused, trying to lighten the mood.

Capitano's chuckle rumbled through his chest, the sound vibrating against Ororon's back. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, his tone still tinged with weariness.

Ororon's eyes fluttered closed, the warmth of the fire and Capitano's body lulling him back into a state of semi-consciousness. He felt the soldier shift, his large frame moving to get out of the bed.

He dressed swiftly, his movements efficient despite his shaking hands. His gaze never left Ororon's form, ensuring that the warmth didn't abandon him.

Once dressed, Capitano pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, his eyes never leaving Ororon. His large frame filled the chair, making it seem almost dainty beneath his bulk. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the room that danced over Ororon's peaceful face. 

The squirrel watched them from the windowsill, its tiny chest rising and falling rapidly.

Capitano took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing thoughts. He knew he needed to eat, to regain his strength, but the thought of food was almost repulsive. Yet, for Ororon, he knew he had to push through. With a sigh, he stood and padded over to the small kitchen. He rummaged through the meager supplies, his hand finally landing on an apple. With trembling hands, he picked up a knife, the metal cold and unforgiving in his grip.

Settling back into the chair by the bed, he began to peel the fruit with practiced ease. The sound of the blade slicing through the skin was oddly soothing in the quiet room. He took a bite, the flavor a welcome distraction from the fear that still gnawed at him. He watched Ororon's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, willing him to stay alive.

Capitano's gaze grew introspective, his thoughts dark as he took in Ororon's relaxed face. The man was so vulnerable in sleep, so unlike the spirited soul that had captured his heart. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was imposing, that his presence in Ororon's life was a temporary aberration in the chaos of the war. Despite the bond that had formed between them, he was still an outsider, an enemy soldier in his world. He had been trained to move swiftly and decisively, not to linger in the warm embrace of a man whose life he was supposed to annihilate, not claim for his own.

The thought of what might have been had they met under different circumstances weighed heavily on his soul; he might have seen Ororon as an obstacle to be eliminated, a target to be swiftly and brutally erased from existence. The realization that he had been that kind of monster once, capable of such cold-hearted violence, filled him with a self-loathing that was almost palpable.

For a moment, his gaze lingers on the knife in his hand.

If Capitano had been in full strength when he'd first stumbled into this house, Ororon might not be here now. He would have been just another casualty in the war, a life erased by the very hands that now held him so carefully. 

The thought twisting in his gut.

The apple's skin fell away in a perfect spiral, revealing the pale flesh beneath. Capitano took another bite, his teeth sinking in with a satisfying crunch. But the sweetness did little to alleviate the bitter taste in his mouth.

He took another bite.

With each chew, the guilt grew, a monster that he could never truly vanquish. The apple was gone, but his hunger remained unabated. With a snarl of anger and self-loathing, he threw the knife to the ground. It clattered against the wooden floor, the sound echoing through the cabin like a gunshot.

Ororon stirred at the sudden noise, his eyes snapping open to find Capitano hunched over, his head in his hands. The sight of the discarded knife sent a shiver down his spine.

"Are you okay?" Ororon asked, his voice a soft whisper.

"It's nothing," Capitano said, his voice cold and distant. He didn't want to burden Ororon with his thoughts, with the guilt that weighed him down like a leaden cloak.

Ororon, however, wasn't so easily deterred. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, the blankets sliding down to reveal his bare form.

"Are you sure? Please, tell me if you need," he pleaded, his voice earnest. "You look... haunted."

Capitano's eyes snapped up to meet Ororon's, his jaw clenching. The concern etched on the other man's face only served to fuel his agitation. He didn't want to be seen as weak, not by Ororon of all people. "I said it's nothing," he barked, the words harsher than he intended. The civilian flinched, and the guilt in Capitano's chest grew heavier.

"I'm sorry," Ororon murmured, his eyes dropping to the knife on the floor.

Capitano took a deep breath, trying to rein in his emotions. He knew his behavior was unsettling, but he couldn't bring himself to explain the tumult of guilt and doubt that plagued him. He didn't want to taint this fragile peace with the horrors of his past.

Ororon's eyes searched Capitano's for any hint of softness, but all he found was the cold resolve of a man who had seen too many horrors.

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down and turned his back to Capitano, his bare skin exposed to the warmth of the fire. The gesture was as much about hiding his sadness as it was about seeking comfort. He didn't want to burden the soldier with his feelings, not when Capitano had his own demons to face.

Capitano took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him. He knew that his feelings for Ororon were dangerous, that they could lead to both their downfalls. He was a soldier, bred for war and destruction, not for love and tenderness. Yet here he was, in a house that smelled of herbs and hope, caring for a man who had every reason to despise him.

He forced himself to stand, the cold from the floor seeping into his feet. He walked to the fireplace, he tossed the apple core into the fire, watching as it caught alight with a fiery pop. The heat kissed his skin, melting away the ice that still lingered in his soul.

Turning, he looked back at Ororon, who had curled into a ball, his eyes tightly shut. Capitano felt a pang of regret for his harshness, but he knew that he couldn't let the man see the turmoil within him.

He approached the bed.

His eyes fell on Ororon's back, the pale skin marred by dark lines where the cold water had left its cruel kiss. Gently, so as not to startle him, Capitano reached out a hand and laid it on Ororon's shoulder. The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into the man's very bones, his body relaxing almost imperceptibly under the soldier's heavy palm. Ororon's breathing grew steadier, his shoulders unknotting as Capitano's thumb traced small, soothing circles. The gesture was almost parental, a silent apology for the harshness that had colored his voice moments before.

Ororon felt the change in Capitano's demeanor before he saw it, the tension in the air easing slightly. He turned to face the soldier, their eyes locking in a silent conversation. Capitano offered a small, kind smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to melt Ororon's heart.

The fire crackled, sending sparks up the chimney like fiery embers of hope. The warmth it provided was different to the coldness that had settled between them after the incident with the knife. Ororon searched Capitano's eyes for any sign of the man he had come to care for, the one who had saved his life and offered him a semblance of peace amidst the chaos of the world outside.

Capitano's gaze softened as he watched Ororon, his hand hovering above the mattress, palm up and open, a silent invitation. Ororon's hand was small and cold. He reached out, his fingertips brushing against Capitano's palm, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. 

Their eyes held each other's, the unspoken words passing between them like whispers in the night.

With his free hand, Capitano carefully pulled the blankets back over Ororon's bare shoulder, the fabric sliding across his skin like a lover's caress. Ororon shivered at the sudden influx of cold air, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. The soldier's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were handling the most fragile of treasures.

"Did the noise wake you up?"

Capitano's question hung in the air, filled with a gentle concern that was the opposite to the coldness from moments before. Ororon looked at the hand that still hovered over him, unsure of what to say.

"No," he lied, his voice still shaking slightly. "I was just...I dreamt of my parents and woke up."

Capitano's gaze softened, and he nodded, understanding the pain that accompanied such memories. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.

Ororon leaned into Capitano's thigh, drawing comfort from his solid presence. The soldier's hand found its way to his hair, stroking the damp strands with a gentle touch that seemed to soothe the very core of his being.

Capitano leaned back against the bed, his eyes never leaving the fire. The flames danced and flickered, casting an orange glow over the room that seemed to warm more than just their bodies. It was as if the very essence of their souls was reflected in the fiery dance, the passion and pain of their hearts laid bare before the flickering light.

Capitano couldn't help but wonder what had made Ororon the man he was today. What kind of child had he been to grow up and trust a stranger so readily, especially in times like these? Was it innocence, or was it a strength born out of necessity? He had seen so many people in his life, soldiers and civilians alike, and none had the unbridled trust that Ororon had placed in him. It was a peculiarity that intrigued him, a quality that stood out in the harsh landscape of war.

"What about your parents?" Capitano asked gently, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "Were they good to you?"

Ororon took a moment to answer, his eyes still on the fire. "They weren't the best," he admitted finally, his voice tight with pain. "Even though they were all I had, they couldn't stand my silent behavior."

Capitano's hand stilled in Ororon's hair, "What do you mean?"

"I've always been a weird kid," Ororon whispered, his eyes still on the dancing flames. "I didn't talk. Not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to. They thought I was strange, that I was doing it on purpose. They'd poke and prod, try to coax me to speak, but all it did was make me withdraw further."

Capitano's hand began to move again, his strokes slow and comforting. "Why?" he asked, his voice low.

Ororon took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the fire. "Talking to people, to adults, it was always so... loud," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Their words, their expectations, their disappointment. It was like trying to navigate a storm with no map. But with things, with objects, they didn't ask anything of me. They just were."

He felt Capitano's hand tighten slightly in his hair, a silent show of support that made him bite his lip.

"They tried everything," Ororon continued, his voice distant. "Even bribery. They said I could have anything if I would just speak. But I didn't want anything they could give me. I didn't need toys or sweets. I just wanted them to leave me alone. I was happy being quiet."

The fire crackled, the only sound in the cabin that seemed to echo the loneliness in Ororon's heart. Capitano's hand remained still in his hair, his mind racing with the thought of Ororon as a child, struggling to find peace in a world that didn't understand him.

"When did you start speaking again?" Capitano's voice was a gentle rumble, a stark contrast to the turmoil that Ororon knew raged within him.

Ororon's eyes remained glued to the fire, the flames painting a grim picture on the back of his eyelids. "My parents..." he began, his voice cracking. "When their patience grew thin, they turned to... other methods. They thought I was just being stubborn, that I needed to be taught a lesson." His voice was barely above a whisper now, the pain of the memories too raw to be spoken loudly. "They would hit me, shout at me until I was too exhausted to resist."

The room grew colder, the warmth from the fire unable to penetrate the chill that had settled in Ororon's heart. Capitano's hand in his hair felt like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him tethered to the present. He didn't flinch as Ororon's words painted a picture of a childhood marred by pain and misunderstanding.

"I don't remember when it stopped," Ororon said, his voice small and defeated. "But I was old enough to run away, to find my own silence. I've been searching for it ever since."

Capitano felt a surge of anger, his muscles tensing at the thought of child enduring such pain. He had seen parents lose their children to the ravages of war, and the idea that some were more deserving of that loss than others was a bitter pill to swallow. "Some parents shouldn't have the privilege of raising children," he murmured, his voice thick with venom.

The words hung in the air, a dark cloud casting a shadow over their sanctuary.

Ororon closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, as he nestled his head closer to Capitano's large thigh. "It was a long time ago," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. "It doesn't matter now."

But Capitano knew it did. He knew the scars of the past didn't just disappear. They remained, etched into the soul, shaping who a person was today. And as he looked at Ororon, he saw someone who had been forged in the fires of pain and rejection, and had emerged stronger for it. His hand moved of its own accord, the heavy weight of his palm shifting from Ororon's shoulder to the nape of his neck. The skin there was cold to the touch, but it grew warm under his caress. Ororon's eyes snapped open, a surprised look crossing his face before he closed them again, his body relaxing into the gentle touch.

For a moment, Capitano allowed himself to simply be there, to offer comfort without words. It was a rare thing for him, to be able to provide something other than destruction and death. He felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was almost uncomfortable, this sense of...care.

The sensation was foreign, yet oddly comforting, a strange desire that he couldn't quite comprehend.

Capitano leaned closer, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin on Ororon's neck. He didn't realize how close he was until Ororon's eyes shot open, staring at him in surprise. Capitano's heart pounded in his chest, his hand still on the other man's shoulder, his thumb idly tracing patterns against the soft skin.

The soldier took a deep breath, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "That day I thought my time had come. I was terrified," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "Then I stumbled upon this house by chance. When I saw you, I was fucking tired. I didn't know if you'd be my salvation or my end."

Ororon listened silently.

"You helped me even though you were scared. I was a threat."

Ororon looked up at Capitano, his eyes wide with confusion. He didn't know how to respond to such a declaration. He had always thought of himself as weak, a burden that needed saving. "You needed help. I couldn't let you die," he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse with unshed emotion.

Capitano took a moment, his hand still on Ororon's shoulder, his thumb continuing to trace patterns that seemed to calm the trembling man before him. "You had every right to do so," he said, his voice gruff but filled with something that sounded suspiciously like admiration. "But you didn't. You survived the war, the cold, the hunger, the fear, me. And you're still here."

Capitano leaned in closer, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet cabin. "You're stronger than you think, Ororon," he said, his dark blue eyes intense. 

Ororon looked away, unable to hold Capitano's gaze.

"Luck. It's just luck," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Luck that you found me, luck that you didn't kill me, luck that we haven't been discovered."

Capitano's hand stilled.

"It's all just luck. And I know, eventually, my luck will run out."

Chapter Text

He had closed his eyes for what felt like the briefest of moments, but when he opened them again, the room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn. 

The sun's rays pierced through the cabin window, casting a warm light over the scene that seemed almost too peaceful for the chaos outside.

Capitano's eyes searched the room, his gaze lingering on the now-dim embers of the fireplace. The fire was dying, the warmth it had provided slowly fading away. 

Carefully, he extricated himself from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb Ororon. He walked to the pile of firewood in the corner, his feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards. Each piece of wood was chosen with care, the soldier's eyes assessing the size and dryness of each log before selecting the ones that would burn the longest and the brightest. The cold air kissed his skin as he knelt beside the fireplace, his muscles protesting slightly from the lack of movement. He placed the logs in the grate, arranging them with the precision of a sculptor. The kindling caught first, a small flame licking at the dry wood before growing into a roar.

Capitano watched the fire with a solemn expression, his thoughts a tumult of emotions. 

He grunts, a slight discomfort pressing against his temples, maybe the lack of sleep or the heavy burden of his thoughts. He brings his hands up, the warmth from the fire playing against his palms as he massages the tension from his forehead. 

The cabin is quiet, the only sound the occasional pop and crackle of the embers in the fireplace. But then, it pierces the silence. A soft murmur, a sound so faint it could be mistaken for the whispers of the flames. Capitano's hand stills mid-motion, his eyes darting to the side to find Ororon sprawled out on the bed, his face peaceful in sleep. His breathing is even, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. 

The murmur comes again, a quiet melody of words that are lost to the air.

The soldier smiles to himself as he returns his attention to the fire; the sight of Ororon sleeping peacefully brought a rare warmth to his chest. He had never been one for gentle moments, but here, with the little man he had come to care for so deeply, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Ororon's eyes flutter open. He looks around the cabin, the memories of the night before slowly coming back to him. The warmth from the fireplace, the feel of the Captain's hand on his neck, and the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from the soldier's very being. Captain notices his movement and smiles warmly at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes Ororon's heart skip a beat. The gesture is so genuine, so filled with affection, that Ororon can't help but return the smile, his own eyes lighting up like stars in the night sky.

Capitano moves closer, he reaches out a hand and gently cups Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin. "Your cheeks are flushed," he murmurs, his voice thick with concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Ororon blinks up at him, "I... I think I'm okay," he stammers, his voice shaky. 

Capitano's eyes narrow as he feels Ororon's forehead with the back of his hand. "You're burning up," he says, his voice tinged with alarm. He pulls away, the gentle warmth of his touch leaving an emptiness behind. 

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving the other man's face.

Capitano kneels beside the bed, the cold wooden floor biting into his knees. He reaches out, his hands brushing against the soft fabric of the blankets. His touch is gentle as he finds Ororon's shoulders, the heat from his palms seeping into the chill of the smaller man's skin. He starts to rub, his movements slow and methodical, trying to generate warmth from the very core of his being to chase away the cold that seems to have taken hold of the civilian.

"Are you cold?" Capitano's voice is gruff, the tenderness in his eyes belying the harshness of his tone.

Ororon shakes his head, his eyes searching the soldier's face. "No," he murmurs, "I'm just... disoriented."

Capitano's gaze falls on the bare skin of Ororon's chest, peeking out from beneath the blanket. The memory of the previous night's incident with the ice, and the subsequent need to strip off wet clothes, rushes back to him. He coughs, suddenly aware of the intimacy of their situation. "You should put on some clothes," he says, his voice belying the sudden tightness in his chest.

Ororon blinks sleepily, his eyes finding Capitano's. 

For a moment, neither man moves, their eyes locked in an unspoken conversation that speaks of the complexities of their relationship. 

The civilian nods, his cheeks flushing a deeper red under the soldier's scrutiny.

"Over there," Ororon whispers, his voice hoarse from the cold and the weight of his words. "Could you... check the last drawer of the chest over there?" He points weakly across the room, his arm shaking slightly from the effort.

Capitano nods, his eyes never leaving Ororon's face, the concern etched deeply into his features. He rises from his knees, the muscles in his legs protesting the sudden movement. He crosses the cabin, making no sound. The chest's drawers are stiff with disuse, the wood groaning as he pulls the bottom one open. Inside, there's a neatly folded pile of clothes, likely the warmest Ororon had been able to salvage. Capitano picks out a shirt and a pair of pants that look like they might fit him, along with a thick, hand-knitted sweater. He returns to the bed, the fabric clutched in his hands. "Can you manage?" Capitano asks gruffly, holding out the clothes. Ororon nods with a sweet smile that makes Capitano's heart clench. It was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was earnest and hopeful all the same.

Ororon sits up with a wince, his body protesting the sudden movement. Capitano's hand shoots out, steadying him before he can topple over. The smaller man's eyes widen with surprise, his hand coming up to clasp Capitano's forearm, the touch feather-light but firm. "Thank you," he murmurs, the words barely a breath on the cold air.

Capitano nods, his eyes never leaving Ororon's face. "Take your time," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. Ororon nods, his teeth chattering slightly. He reaches for the clothes, his fingers brushing against Capitano's.

Their eyes meet again, and for a moment, the air between them seems to crackle with something unspoken. Capitano's hand tightens around the fabric for a brief second before he releases it, allowing Ororon to take the warmth into his own shaking hands. The civilian's eyes drop to the clothes, a sudden shyness overtaking him as he realizes the intimacy of the gesture. Ororon slowly pulls the shirt over his head, his movements stiff from the cold. Each layer of clothing feels like a shield against the harshness of the world outside their little cabin, a barrier that holds in the warmth and the hope that had begun to bloom between them.

Capitano watches him, his expression unreadable. 

The sight of Ororon's bare skin sends a jolt of something through him, something that feels dangerously like desire. He swallows hard, forcing himself to look away as Ororon pulls on the pants and sweater.

When Ororon is dressed, Capitano pulls the blankets back up around his shoulders, his eyes lingering on the pale skin of his neck. The urge to lean in and press his lips there is almost overwhelming, but he resists. He's a man of war, not a lover. His duty is to fight, not to complicate things further with feelings that could get them both killed.

"Sit," he orders gruffly, his voice belying the tenderness in his eyes. "You're in no condition to do anything."

Ororon nods obediently, his body still weak from the fever that had gripped him in the night. He watches as Capitano moves about the cabin, his movements sure and steady despite the exhaustion etched into his face. The soldier's eyes dart to him often, a silent question that Ororon answers with a nod or a smile.

Capitano opens the cabinets, his brow furrowed as he searches for something. He's not used to the domesticity of cooking, his hands more accustomed to the rough grip of a gun than the gentle touch required to handle kitchen utensils. The sight of him trying to navigate the foreign terrain of pots and pans brings a soft smile to Ororon's lips. 

A gentle giant in a world of flour and spices.

Ororon watches as Capitano clumsily cracks eggs into a pan, the whites spilling over the sides and onto the stove. The smell of burning fills the air as the shells sizzle, but Capitano doesn't flinch. His focus is solely on Ororon, ensuring he's warm and fed, his care as fierce as his combat skills. The simplicity of the act is surprisingly endearing, making Ororon's heart swell with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fireplace.

"Fuck!"

A clatter echoes through the cabin as a plate falls from Capitano's grasp, shattering into a hundred pieces on the floor. Ororon jolts, his eyes snapping to the soldier. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Capitano swears under his breath, his large frame tense as he glances over his shoulder. "I've got it," he grumbles, reaching for the broom.

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving Capitano's back as he watches him sweep the shards of porcelain into a neat pile.

Finally, Capitano turns around, a steaming plate of food in his hand. The smell of scrambled eggs and toast fills the air, a simple meal that seems like a feast in their dire circumstances. His face is drawn with the effort of controlling his frustration, but his eyes are soft as they find Ororon's. The civilian's stomach rumbles, the scent of food cutting through the fog of fever and weakness. He takes the plate with trembling hands, his gaze never leaving the soldier's face.

The sight of Capitano, so large and powerful, reduced to swearing at a simple task like cooking, brings a chuckle to Ororon's lips. It's a sound so unexpected, so filled with genuine mirth, that it catches the soldier off guard. He stops mid-stride, his eyes widening at the sight of Ororon's smile, the laughter lighting up his face.

"What?" Capitano asks gruffly, his eyes searching Ororon's, trying to understand what he's found so amusing.

Ororon's chuckles turn into a full-blown laugh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "You," he says between gasps for air. "You're so...so..." He can't find the words, his laughter taking over.

Capitano's expression remains unchanged, his mouth a firm line as he watches Ororon laugh. But the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, a hint of a smile threatening to break through the stoic mask he wears. "Oh, yes," he says, his voice as dry as the snow outside. "Very funny. Eat."

Ororon nods, his laughter subsiding into gentle chuckles as he takes a tentative bite of the eggs. 

The food is simple but hot and filling, and it's the best thing he's tasted in weeks. He chews slowly, savoring the taste, his eyes never leaving Capitano's face. The soldier watches him, his own hunger forgotten as he ensures that Ororon is okay.

Capitano's hand rises almost of its own accord, and before Ororon can react, he's gently ruffling his hair. The gesture is surprisingly tender, different from the firm grip he usually has on his gun. Ororon's cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, his eyes wide with surprise. He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. Instead, he ducks his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips as he continues to eat.

"At least breakfast is good," Ororon says, his voice a quiet attempt at reassurance. The words hang in the air, a gentle reminder that amidst their struggles, there are moments of comfort to be found. Capitano's eyes find his, the warmth in Ororon's gaze reaching into the cold, dark corners of his soul.

Ororon sets his plate aside, his stomach satisfied but his concern for Capitano gnawing at him. He stands, his legs wobbly but determined. "You can't go without eating," he insists, the strength in his voice surprising even himself. The soldier opens his mouth to argue, but Ororon is already moving towards the kitchen, his smaller frame seemingly at odds with the firmness of his resolve.

Capitano follows, his steps slower, heavier. "You need to rest," he says, his voice a mix of frustration and tenderness. But Ororon waves him off, his eyes sparkling with a stubbornness that is as fiery as the embers in the hearth.

"Shut it," Ororon says with a playful smile, pushing past Capitano's broad chest.

The blanket slides down slightly, pooling around his feet like a cape. He moves to the kitchen area, the fire's warmth a comforting presence at his back. The wooden counter-top is scarred from years of use, but it holds the promise of sustenance and comfort in the form of a kettle and a small loaf of bread. With a gentle touch, Ororon places a teacup and saucer on the counter, his eyes flickering to the shelf above for the tea leaves.

Capitano remains close, his eyes never leaving Ororon's working hands as he prepares the tea. Ororon's small frame seems to radiate warmth as he moves about the kitchen, the blanket trailing behind him like a royal cape. His eyes are focused on the task at hand, but he's acutely aware of the soldier's presence.

The kettle whistles, a sharp sound that pierces the quiet.

Ororon jumps, his hand shaking as he pours the steaming water over the tea leaves. The scent of mint fills the cabin, a sweet aroma that mingles with the smoky scent of the fireplace. Capitano watches him, his own hands resting on the counter, his gaze a silent question that Ororon seems to understand.

"Sit," Ororon says, his voice gentle but firm as he hands the cup to Capitano. The soldier's eyes never leave his, searching for any sign of weakness or protest. But all he finds is a quiet determination that seems to have taken root in the civilian's soul.

Capitano takes the tea, the warmth of the cup a stark contrast to the coldness of his hand. He wraps his fingers around it, savoring the heat that seeps into his skin. His eyes never leave Ororon's as he takes a tentative sip, the minty flavor a balm to his dry throat.

Ororon watches him, his expression unreadable. The air in the cabin feels charged, the silence stretching between them like a tightrope threatening to snap. Capitano sets the cup down with a clink, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

"Thank you," he says gruffly, his voice a rumble that seems to shake the very foundation of the cabin.

Ororon nods, his own hands busy with preparing a second cup. As he pours, he can't help but steal glances at Capitano's profile, the strong lines of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls over the collar of his jacket. The way he sips his tea, the furrow between his brows as he considers the taste.

"You know," Ororon says softly, breaking the silence, "you're not so bad at this."

Capitano raises an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "This?"

"Cooking," Ororon says with a shrug, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Capitano's half-smile widens into a full grin, a sight so rare it could have melted the icicles hanging from the eaves outside. "Is that what you call it?" he teases, taking another sip of the tea. The warmth of the liquid seems to ease the tension in his broad shoulders.

Ororon laughs, the sound like music in the otherwise quiet cabin. He pours a cup for himself and joins Capitano at the small table, their legs brushing underneath. The intimacy of the moment is palpable. They sip their tea in companionable silence, the warmth seeping into their bones and chasing away the chill of the winter morning.

But as the minutes tick by, Capitano notices Ororon's strength waning, his cheeks growing paler despite the heat from the fire and the food. Concern etches lines into the soldier's forehead as he watches the smaller man struggle to keep his eyes open, the tremor in his hand growing more pronounced with each sip.

"You return to bed," Capitano says finally, his voice a gentle rumble that seems to carry the weight of the world. Ororon looks up, his eyes heavy with fatigue. He opens his mouth to argue, but the words die in his throat as a cough racks his body. 

He nods, his smile weak but genuine.

Capitano moves quickly, setting aside his own tea to help Ororon to his feet. He wraps an arm around the smaller man's waist, his hand large and warm against the chill of Ororon's skin. Ororon's hand finds Capitano's shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform as he leans into the soldier's strength.

Together, they navigate the short distance to the bed, their steps careful and measured. 

As if the universe had conspired to bring them closer, Capitano's boot catches on the edge of Ororon's blanket. In a blur of motion, he stumbles, his arms flailing in an attempt to regain balance. The world seems to slow down as he falls, pulling Ororon with him. They collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the mattress protesting with a soft groan under their combined weight. For a moment, all is still except for the crackling of the fire and the harsh panting of their breaths.

Ororon feels the heat of Capitano's body pressing down on him, the soldier's eyes wide with surprise before they soften with concern. He opens his mouth to apologize, but the words are lost in the sudden realization of their proximity. The warmth of Capitano's breath tickles his cheek, and the scent of gunpowder and leather fills his nostrils. His heart hammers in his chest, a mix of fear and something else entirely. Capitano's hand comes up to gently cradle Ororon's face, his thumb brushing the softness of his cheek. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Ororon shakes his head, the movement slight but firm, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. 

The question lingers in the air, thick with unspoken meaning.

Ororon can't help but admire the disfigured face that hovers above his own. The harsh lines and shadows play across the other man's features, telling a story of battles fought and scars earned. His own heart skips a beat at the raw honesty of it, the way it seems to mirror the tumult of emotions he feels within. Capitano's eyes bore into his soul, searching for something unspoken.

He reaches up with his free hand to trace the line of Capitano's jaw, the stubble rough under his fingertips. It's a gesture of comfort, of understanding, but it sends a jolt of something electric through them both. The tension in the air is thick, a silent testament to the feelings that have been building between them. For a moment, the war seems a distant memory, replaced by the warmth and comfort of this shared space.

Capitano's gaze drops to Ororon's lips, and he seems to be fighting an internal battle, his eyes flickering with indecision. Ororon's breath hitches, his eyes never leaving the other man's. The room feels smaller, the air charged with the weight of unspoken confessions.

Suddenly, as if the intensity of the moment has become too much, Capitano tries to stand, his hand moving to Ororon's chest to gently push himself up. But Ororon's hand is faster, grabbing the collar of his shirt to hold him still. The fabric bunches in his fist, and for a heartbeat, Capitano's eyes flare with surprise before they soften again.

"Wait," Ororon whispers, his grip on Capitano's shirt tightening slightly.

"What is it?" Capitano's voice is hoarse, his eyes searching Ororon's for any sign of distress.

Ororon's eyes soften as he looks up at the towering soldier, his own hand trembling slightly from the effort to hold him there.

Capitano's gaze is tender, filled with a vulnerability that Ororon has never seen before. The hardened lines of his face seem to melt away, revealing the gentle soul beneath the warrior's exterior.

Ororon feels a sudden rush of courage, fueled by desperation and the warmth that has been growing in his chest since the moment he met Capitano. He leans up, closing the space between them, and presses his lips to Capitano's, surprising the larger man. For a moment, Capitano is still, his breath caught in his throat. Then, with a soft sigh, he surrenders, his hand sliding from Ororon's chest to cup the back of his neck, holding him close.

The kiss is gentle, tentative, as if each man is afraid to shatter the fragile moment. The warmth of Capitano's mouth is like a brand, searing the memory into Ororon's soul. He tastes the tea on Capitano's lips, feels the roughness of his stubble against his skin, and it's all he can do to keep from deepening the kiss. Capitano seems to read the desperation in Ororon's eyes, and with a groan, he gives in, his arms wrapping around Ororon's waist to pull him closer. The smaller man's legs wrap around Capitano's hips, his hands tangling in the long black hair that spills over his shoulders.

The heat from their bodies melds together.

Ororon's fever has painted his cheeks a bright pink, making him look almost ethereal in the flickering firelight. His eyes, with their mismatched hues, shine with a fierce determination that Capitano has never seen before. 

The boldness in Ororon's movements is in contrast to his usually timid demeanor, and it sends a thrill down Capitano's spine.

He knows he should be the one taking charge, the one setting boundaries, but something about the way Ororon is looking at him, something about the fiery passion in that feverish gaze, makes it impossible for him to resist.

His grip on Ororon's hips tightens, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the bony prominences as if trying to imprint his own strength into the fragile frame beneath him. The young male's moan is muffled by the kiss, the sound vibrating through Capitano's chest like the bass notes of a war drum. His heart hammers, a rhythm that matches the pulse he feels in Ororon's neck.

Capitano's eyes drift closed, the warmth of the smaller man's mouth overwhelming his senses.

He's desperate for more, for the sweet taste of Ororon's lips, for the feel of his skin against his own. His hand slides up to cup Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing over the plumpness of his lower lip. 

The civilian's eyes flutter open, the intensity in his gaze sending a shiver down Capitano's spine.

Ororon's own hands hover above Capitano's shoulders, as if unsure of where to land, what to do with the restless energy that pulses through his veins. He wants to touch, to explore the broad expanse of the soldier's back, to feel the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt.

But something holds him back, a fear of going too far, too fast.

Capitano seems to sense his hesitation, his own hands moving to cover Ororon's, pressing them firmly against the side of his head, holding him in place as their kiss deepens. The gesture is possessive, yet tender, a silent promise of protection in a world that has shown them little of it. Ororon's pulse quickens under the soldier's touch, his body responding instinctively to the dominance.

They break apart to breathe, panting as if they've just run a marathon. 

Strands of saliva link their lips, a tangible connection that neither seems willing to sever. 

Their eyes lock, and for a moment, it's as if the outside world ceases to exist. The only things that matter are the warmth of their place, the crackling fire, and the beating of their hearts.

But as they stand there, their hearts beating in sync, their world is shattered by the sudden sound of knocking. It's a harsh, unexpected intrusion, echoing through the cabin like a gunshot. Both men freeze, the air thickening with tension. The knock comes again, insistent and heavy.

"Ororon," a voice calls out, one that sends a chill down Ororon's spine.

The forest had gone silent, and it wasn't because of the snowfall.

Silently, a solitary soldier emerged from the shadows of the forest, his face obscured by a thick scarf that matched the whiteness of the winter landscape. His eyes, however, remained uncovered, scanning the large figure that was Capitano as he moved away from the lake, his burdened steps growing more and more distant. The soldier's eyes narrowed, the only indication of the recognition that dawned within him.

The figure of Capitano grew smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the veil of the blizzard, the line between him and the horizon blurring until he was no more than a shadow. The soldier took a step forward, his breath misting in the freezing air.

Filthy liar.

The words echoed in the soldier's mind as he watched Capitano vanish into the storm. 

Ororon had deceived them from the start, playing the innocent while knowing full well the enemy's whereabouts. The betrayal stung deeper than any winter's chill.

He took a step back, the snow crunching under his boots, and let out a sigh that was swallowed by the wind. The thought of returning to base with this revelation brought a grim satisfaction. He had always had his suspicions about the outlander, and now, finally, there was evidence. Proof that would lead to Ororon's downfall.

The soldier's hatred for Ororon was a slow burn that had simmered since the first day he'd laid eyes on the young man. The way he talked, the way he walked, his very presence was a reminder of everything that was wrong with this war-torn land. The outlanders were the ones who brought the chaos, the destruction, and the pain that seemed to never end.

He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pictured Ororon's face when the truth came to light. The way his eyes would widen in shock and fear, the tremble in his voice as he tried to protest his innocence. It was all too satisfying. The trek back to base suddenly didn't seem as arduous, the cold wind and heavy snowfall a mere inconvenience compared to the warmth of his impending triumph.

Once within the fortified walls of the camp, the soldier's boots clomped against the wooden planks of the barracks, the sound echoing through the corridors. He pushed open the door to the commander's quarters, expecting to find the man poring over maps or strategizing with his advisors. Instead, the room was empty, save for a few candles flickering in the gloom. A piece of paper lay on the desk, a hastily scribbled note that read: "Gone for urgent commission. Expected return in two days."

The soldier's heart sank as he crumpled the paper in his fist. Two days. Two days before he could reveal Ororon's treachery and watch him pay for his crimes. Two days for the outlander to slip away, to escape the justice that was so rightfully his. He swore under his breath, the words a mix of anger and frustration that seemed to hang in the stale air.

With a heavy stomp of his foot, he turned on his heel, his mind racing. The vice commander. He had to be the one to know. The vice commander had always had an eye for the shady characters that slithered through the camp. If anyone would understand the gravity of the situation, it would be him.

The soldier marched through the bustling camp, the wind whipping snow into his eyes. The flurry of activity around him was totally different  to the stillness he'd left behind in the forest. The smell of roasting meat and burning wood filled the air, along with the murmurs of weary soldiers seeking warmth and solace. He shoved aside a few of them, ignoring their protests, his thoughts consumed by the urgent need to share his discovery.

As he approached the vice commander's tent, the flaps fluttered in the wind like the wings of a caged animal. He ducked inside, his breath catching at the sight of the vice commander lounging on a makeshift throne of crates, surrounded by a group of soldiers who were clearly intimidated by his presence. 

The room fell silent as he stepped forward, his boots thumping against the ground like a war drum announcing his arrival.

The vice commander looked up, his piercing gaze sizing the soldier up and down. He had a way of making men feel small, but the soldier held his ground, the weight of his discovery giving him a newfound confidence. "Sir, may I have a word with you?"

The vice commander's eyes narrowed, the flicker of a question crossing his face before he waved a hand dismissively at the others. "Leave us," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the tent. The men scattered like leaves before a gust of wind, the sound of their retreating footsteps muffled by the thick fabric walls.

The soldier stepped closer, his breath coming out in short, sharp bursts. "It's about Ororon," he began, unable to keep the accusation from his voice. "He's a traitor, I know it. I saw him with the enemy today."

The vice commander's eyes remained unreadable, his expression as still as the frozen lake they'd left behind. "Sit," he said, his voice a low command that washed over the room, as cold and sharp as the winter air outside.

The soldier hesitated for a moment, his hand on the back of the chair. It was a gesture that seemed to challenge the very fabric of the hierarchy they were bound by. But the urgency of the situation overrode his pride, and he took the seat, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to jump back to his feet at any moment. The chair groaned under his weight, the wood protesting against the sudden pressure.

"Tell me," the vice commander said, his tone flat, betraying no emotion. He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin as if he were listening to a mildly interesting campfire story rather than a report of treason.

The soldier recounted his tale, his voice tight with anger and accusation. He spoke of hiding in the trees, of the sudden appearance of a man in uniform, and of the way he'd cradled Ororon's limp body in his arms with a tenderness that seemed almost obscene. The sight had filled the soldier with revulsion, confirming everything he'd ever thought about the two of them.

The vice commander listened, his expression unchanged, his eyes unblinking. He was a man of few words, his thoughts a fortress that few could breach. But as the soldier spoke, a flicker of something crossed his face—something that could have been pain, or perhaps a hint of understanding that he quickly masked.

"I see," he said when the soldier had finished, his voice as even as the snow-covered ground outside. The soldier waited, his anger simmering, for the vice commander to react with the fury and disgust he felt. But the man merely nodded, his eyes drifting to the flickering candle flame as if lost in thought.

"What do we do?" the soldier demanded, his voice tight with frustration. "He has to be stopped before he does any more damage!"

The vice commander took his time to respond, his gaze lingering on the candle flame. "We will handle it," he said, his tone as unyielding as the ice that coated the trees outside. "But now is not the time for rash actions."

The soldier's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. "But, sir," he began, his voice strained, "Ororon is dangerous. He could betray us at any moment."

The vice commander's gaze snapped up, his eyes locking onto the soldier's with an intensity that made him feel exposed. "Your loyalty is commendable," he said, his voice as smooth as a serpent's, "but your emotions are clouding your judgment."

The soldier pushed himself to his feet, the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a sound that seemed to pierce the very air. "My judgment is clear, sir," he spat, his anger a palpable force in the small space. "Ororon is a traitor, and he must be dealt with."

The vice commander leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the soldier's. "You speak of things you do not understand," he said, his voice a warning growl. "Your suspicions are not enough to condemn a man."

The soldier's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle that was the vice commander's demeanor. Why was he defending Ororon? The question burned in his gut like a hot ember. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed the vice commander by the collar, his eyes blazing with accusation. "Did you already know?" he spat, the words coming out like venom.

The vice commander's gaze remained on the candle flame, his hand slowly moving to cover the soldier's grip. He didn't flinch, his eyes never leaving the flickering dance of fire. "Let go," he said, his voice a soft command that seemed to resonate in the quiet tent. "I had my suspicions, yes. But suspicion is not the same as certainty."

The soldier's hand tightened around the fabric, the veins in his neck standing out with his effort to contain his rage. "How could you not tell the commander?" he hissed, shaking the vice commander slightly. "How could you not tell me?"

The vice commander's eyes remained on the candle, the flame casting eerie shadows on his face. His hand came up to cover the soldier's, but instead of pushing it away, he held it there, his thumb brushing against the man's skin in a gentle, almost comforting manner. "Some truths are better left unsaid," he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper.

The soldier felt a sudden chill run through him, as if the very air in the tent had turned to ice. He stumbled back, his grip on the vice commander's collar loosening, the reality of his words sinking in. Betrayal was a disease that had spread through the camp like wildfire, and now it had reached the very heart of their command.

"You're as much a traitor as he is," the soldier spat, his voice shaking with fury and disbelief. The vice commander's eyes snapped up, the intensity in them making the soldier's blood run cold.

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, the tension in the tent as thick as the winter fog outside. The vice commander's grip on the soldier's hand didn't waver, his gaze unflinching. "I will handle it," he repeated, his voice firm and unyielding. "But not now."

The soldier's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. "Why?" he demanded, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. "What possible reason could there be to let a traitor walk free among us?"

The vice commander's grip on his hand tightened almost imperceptibly. "Because the commander is a terrible man," he said, his voice low and measured. "You've seen how he treats Ororon, the way he...touches him." The words hung in the air, thick with the unspoken implication of the commander's true nature. The soldier felt his stomach twist as the full weight of the vice commander's revelation hit him. The thought of Ororon enduring such treatment was almost too much to bear. "He could be his own son," the vice commander continued, "and yet he treats him as if he were...less than human."

"He deserves whatever he gets."

The vice commander remained silent, his eyes never leaving the flickering candle flame.

The soldier's anger had not yet abated. "Sir," he said, his voice low and tightly controlled, "what are your intentions with this information?"

The vice commander's gaze remained on the candle flame, his eyes seeming to dance with the light. "My intentions..." he murmured.

The soldier stepped back. "If you won't tell him, then I will," he said, his voice as sharp as the icicles that hung from the eaves outside. The weight of his accusation hung in the air, a silent challenge to the man he had once looked up to.

The vice commander's eyes finally left the candle flame, meeting the soldier's with a sadness that seemed to cut through the anger. "Do what you must," he said, his voice resigned. "But remember, war makes monsters of us all."

The soldier nodded, his jaw set with determination. He turned and left the tent, the snow outside biting at his cheeks as he stepped into the blizzard. The wind howled around him, the snow stinging his eyes, but he didn't care.

Dawn crept into the camp like a thief, the pale light illuminating the canvas of the tents and casting a soft glow over the sleeping soldiers. The vice commander waited until the first signs of light pierced the darkness before making his move. He stepped out of his tent, his boots sinking into the fresh snow as he approached the soldier's quarters. The man's sleep was fitful, plagued by the haunting images of the day's revelations.

With a hand on the tent flap, the vice commander paused, allowing the cold to seep into his skin, bracing himself for the confrontation that was to come. He took a deep breath, the frigid air filling his lungs before letting it out in a cloud of mist. The flap parted with a soft rustle, and he stepped inside, the warmth of the sleeping bodies within a stark contrast to the frozen world outside.

The soldier lay on his cot, one hand clutching the edge as if he were fighting a nightmare. The vice commander approached, his footsteps muffled by the layers of fur that lined the ground. He knelt beside the man, his hand hovering over his shoulder. The soldier stirred at the presence, his eyes snapping open to find the vice commander so close.

"Get dressed," the vice commander said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We leave in an hour."

The soldier sat up with a start, the warmth of sleep leaving him as the cold reality of the situation set in. "Why?" he grumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and anger.

The vice commander's expression was unreadable. "No questions," he said, his voice as cold as the snow outside. "Follow in silence. We have a mission to perform."

The soldier's eyes searched his superior's face, seeking an explanation, a glimmer of understanding for the sudden change in plan. But the vice commander offered none, his gaze as impenetrable as the frozen lake. With a grumble, the soldier swung his legs over the side of the cot, his boots hitting the fur-covered ground with a thump. He began to dress in the dim light, his movements mechanical and swift.

The vice commander stood, his eyes lingering for a moment longer before he turned and left the tent.

The camp was eerily quiet, the only sounds the occasional snore from the other soldiers and the distant howl of a lone wolf. He knew something was off, something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The soldier followed the vice commander through the snow-covered camp, his breath coming out in quick, harsh puffs. The man's stride was long and purposeful, his shoulders squared as if carrying the weight of the world. They reached the stables, where their horses were tucked away from the storm. The vice commander handed him the reins of a strong, dark-haired steed. "Take this one," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "He's fast and sure-footed. We'll need that today."

The soldier took the reins, his hand trembling slightly. "Where are we going?" he asked again, the question burning in his throat like a mouthful of hot coals. The vice commander's only response was a curt nod towards the horizon, where the first hints of sunrise were just beginning to color the sky.

They rode in silence, the only sounds the crunch of the horses' hooves in the snow and the occasional gust of wind that whipped around them. The path grew familiar, the trees thinning out as they approached the edge of the forest. The same edge where the soldier had seen Ororon in the arms of the enemy.

The small, almost insignificant house came into view, a solitary speck of color in the vast sea of white. It seemed to shrink under the weight of the accusations that surrounded it. The soldier felt a mix of anger and pity as he stared at the place that had been the setting of his love's downfall.

Ororon's house was a simple structure, made of logs and covered with a thatch roof that was now heavily laden with snow. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, hinting at the warmth and comfort that lay within. A stark contrast to the icy grip of the blizzard that had followed them from the camp.

The soldier's eyes searched the vice commander's face for answers as they approached the house. "Why are we here?" he finally asked, his voice tight with tension.

The vice commander didn't look at him, his gaze fixed on the distant house. "You will hold your tongue," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Let me do the speaking."

They dismounted their horses, the crunch of the snow beneath their boots the only sound. The soldier felt his heart race as they approached the house, his hand instinctively reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder. The vice commander's hand stopped him, his grip firm but gentle. "Don't," he murmured.

The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but the vice commander's eyes held him in place, the intensity in them a silent argument that he didn't dare challenge. The vice commander took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots. "Why?" the soldier managed to whisper, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding in his anger.

The vice commander didn't look back. "Because he's just a boy," he said, his voice barely audible above the wind. "A scared, lonely boy who has suffered more than anyone should have to. He doesn't need our fear, or our accusations."

The soldier felt the weight of those words, heavy as the snow that clung to the branches above. He knew what it was like to be scared, to feel alone.

But every time he pictured Ororon's face, it was marred by the memory of his deceit. The warmth of empathy was a distant ember, smothered by the cold, hard truth of treason. His grip tightened on his rifle, the cold metal a reassuring presence against the heat of his anger.

The vice commander noticed the soldier's hand hovering over his weapon. He didn't turn, didn't say a word. Instead, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It was a deliberate action, one that the soldier recognized from his own moments of struggle. The man was fighting his own demons, his own fears and frustrations. But the soldier had made up his mind.

He pulled his rifle from his shoulder, the cold metal feeling surprisingly warm against his palm. The decision to bring it was made with a mix of anger and a strange sense of protection. Protection for the camp, for his comrades, for the fragile trust that held them all together. And perhaps, deep down, a twisted form of protection for Ororon as well.

They stopped a few paces from the door, the vice commander's hand raised to knock. The soldier felt the world around him slow to a crawl, the only sound the erratic beat of his own heart. The vice commander's knuckles rapped against the wood, a sudden, harsh noise that echoed through the quiet.

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. The soldier could feel it pressing against his eardrums, his breath held in his chest. It was as if the very air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm that was about to break.

The door to the house remained closed, but the tension was palpable, like the calm before the storm. The soldier's senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body singing with anticipation. He could feel the fear emanating from the other side of the wood, a pulse that seemed to match his own racing heartbeat.

The vice commander's voice broke the silence, calling out Ororon's name with a firmness that brooked no argument.

"Ororon," he called, his voice carrying over the howl of the wind. "We know you're in there.”

Chapter Text

Panic flits across Ororon's face.

His eyes dart to the door, the knocking growing louder and more insistent. He looks at Capitano, his mind racing. "They're here.” He whispers urgently, his voice barely audible over the hammering.

Ororon tries to push Capitano away, his hands pressing against the broad expanse of the soldier's chest. But Capitano doesn't move, his gaze never leaving Ororon's face. The look in his eyes is unyielding: he will not leave his side.

"Move. Please!" Ororon whispers, his voice steady.

Capitano's eyes search his, with a heavy sigh, he nods, reluctantly rolling off of him. But Ororon's legs give out as he stands, the weakness from his fever making his knees buckle. Capitano's hand snaps out, wrapping around his wrist, keeping him upright.

"I'll handle it," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

The promise of violence in his tone sends a shiver down Ororon's spine, but he knows it's not directed at him. The soldier moves swiftly, his boots heavy on the wooden floorboards as he strides towards the door. Desperation etched into his features, Ororon shakes his head vigorously, fear pooling in his mismatched eyes. "No," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. "You can't risk it. Not now. You have to hide, again."

Capitano's jaw clenches tightly, his teeth grinding together as he fights the urge to argue.

The knocking grows more insistent, the voice outside more demanding.

"Wait, not there," Ororon's voice is a desperate whisper, his eyes wide with doubt as he watches Capitano's hand hover over the bathroom door handle. He glances around the cabin, his gaze finally landing on the narrow space under the bed. It's a tight fit, but he knows Capitano can squeeze into it. With a nod, the soldier complies, sliding under the bed with surprising grace. The floorboards creak as he adjusts his position, trying to make himself as small as possible. The space under the bed is dusty and cramped, but it's the only place that seems safe at the moment. Ororon's heart hammers in his chest as he watches the soldier's boots disappear from view, his hand lingering on the edge of the mattress.

Ororon's eyes dart to the door as the knocking grows more insistent, the voice outside growing louder. He forces his legs to move, to take the steps necessary to pull the blankets over the space where Capitano is hiding. His trembling hands shake the fabric, sending clouds of dust into the air. He coughs, trying to keep the sound quiet as he works. His heart races, every beat a countdown to when the door will open and their secret will be discovered.

Once the blankets are in place, he smooths them out, trying to make the bed look as undisturbed as possible. His mind is a whirlwind of fear and affection, the two emotions fighting for dominance like armies on a battlefield. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and turns to face the door.

The handle rattles, the wood groaning under the pressure.

On the other side of the door, the soldier's voice is now a growl, "He's not going to open up, sir. I’m sure we should just barge in." His impatience is palpable. But as soon as he finishes his words, Ororon opens the door slowly, with his eyes cast down. His heart races as if it's trying to escape his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like the pounding of war drums.

The man outside is tall and broad, and the hatred in his gaze is as cold as the winter outside.

"Finally."

The soldier's voice is gruff, a harsh sound that shatters the quiet of the cabin as he barges in, pushing Ororon aside with a rough hand. Ororon stumbles, his feet slipping on the cold floorboards. The man's eyes scan the room, a sneer curling his lip when he finds no immediate threat.

They're without the commander, and for a moment, Ororon allows himself to hope that this might mean they'll be gentler. Maybe the absence of the man who'd always led the harassment will give them pause, make them see him as something other than a target.

"So, Ororon, how are you holding up?" The more calculated man asked.

He forces a smile. "As well as can be expected, considering."

The vice commander nods, his eyes searching Ororon's face. He's not fooled by the bravado. "You look feverish," he says, his voice laced with concern. "Are you sure?" He asks as he reaches out, taking Ororon's chin and tilting his face upward to inspect his eyes. They're glassy with illness, the pupils dilated. Ororon flinches at the touch, but doesn't pull away. With a sigh, the vice commander takes off one of his gloves and feels the back of his hand against Ororon's warm forehead. "You're burning up."

Ororon's eyes dart to the other soldier, who's now standing by the door, his gaze lingering on his form. "I'll manage," he replies, his tone tight.

The vice commander nods, his eyes scanning the room before returning to Ororon's face. He seems to understand the unspoken message, his gaze lingering on his face. "Well, while we're at it... is there something I can help you with, Ororon?" he asks.

The other man steps forward, his eyes raking over Ororon's body. "Yeah, we're just checking on you," he sneers. "Making sure you're not hiding anything... or anyone." His leer is unmistakable, and Ororon feels his skin crawl.

But before the situation can escalate, the calm soldier interjects, his hand on his comrade's arm.

"Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. He turns to Ororon, his gaze softening. "Why don't you sit with me?" he suggests, gesturing to the small table. "You look like you could use the company."

Ororon nods, swallowing hard as he sits up. He's acutely aware of Capitano's presence in the room with them, his heart aching with the need to protect him. The soldier scoffs, his eyes darkening with malice, but he steps aside, allowing Ororon to shuffle over to the table.

The high ranked man pulls out a chair with a quiet scraping sound. They sit, the table a barrier between them as the other man prowls around the cabin, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. Ororon's eyes follow his movements, his grip on the chair tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The vice commander's eyes never leave his, a silent apology in their depths.

"So, Ororon," the calm soldier says, his tone deceptively casual. "Has anyone come by this place in the past few days?"

Ororon's heart races, his mind racing for a believable lie. "Why, no," he replies, his voice shaking slightly. "Just me."

The soldier, who's been prowling around the cabin, suddenly stops. He turns to face them, his eyes glinting with malice. "Cut the bullshit," he snarls, striding over to Ororon. "Tell us the truth, and maybe we'll go easy on you."

Ororon's eyes widen in horror as the soldier reaches out, his hand closing around a fistful of the boy's hair. The pain is sharp and immediate, but Ororon doesn't make a sound, his gaze locked on the calmer man's; his jaw tenses, his hand clenching into a fist on the tabletop. He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say a word, his comrade interrupts him.

"Look at me when I talk to you, treacherous snake," the grinning soldier snarls, his breath hot and rancid on Ororon's face. His eyes bore into Ororon's, demanding the truth. "You're hiding something, I know it. I saw you with that piece of scum."

The vice commander's hand shoots out, gripping his comrade's wrist with surprising strength.

"That's enough," he says firmly, his voice a warning. The malicious soldier glares but releases Ororon's hair, taking a step back. Ororon's eyes water from the pain, but he doesn't dare look away from the vice commander.

"Wait outside," the calm soldier says, his eyes never leaving the other man's.

"You're too soft on him," he spits out. "They're all the same, just waiting for a chance to stab us in the back. He would not last an hour in our camp with the others."

"I said, wait outside," he repeats, his voice a warning.

The soldier's eyes narrow, and for a moment, it seems as though he might challenge his superior. But then, with a huff of disgust, he strides to the door, slamming it shut behind him. The room seems to breathe a sigh of relief, the tension dissipating slightly with his departure.

The man turns back to Ororon, his eyes searching the other's face. "I'm sorry for his behavior," he says, his voice tight with anger. "He's..." He trails off, unable to find the words.

Ororon nods, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's alright," he whispers. "I'm used to it."

The vice commander's jaw clenches at the words.

"Ororon, I need you to be honest with me," he says, his voice a low, steady rumble. "Is there anything you need to tell me? Anything that could compromise you?"

Ororon's throat tightens, his mind racing as he weighs the consequences of his words. The vice commander's gaze is intense, but it's not the same as the other man's; there's a glimmer of something else in his eyes—understanding, perhaps, or pity. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the strength to lie again.

"No, sir," Ororon says, his voice steady.

The man's eyes dart to the closed door before he speaks again.

"You're lucky he told me," he says, his voice a mix of anger and relief. "If our commander had heard of what he saw at the lake..." His words hang in the air, trailing off into a grim silence.

Ororon holds his breath, the lie heavy on his tongue.

He knows Capitano is listening, his hand likely clutching the weapon under the bed, ready to protect him. The vice commander's gaze is unwavering, searching for the truth. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating.

"Ororon, where is he? I can help you… both." His eyes are filled with a desperation that mirrors Ororon's own fear.

Ororon shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the soldier's. "You can't," he whispers, the words a tremor that runs through his entire body. The weight of his decision presses down on him, the knowledge that he's endangering Capitano by keeping his presence a secret.

The vice commander's eyes narrow, his gaze searching Ororon's face. He's not fooled by the act; he knows there's more going on than the young man is letting on. The tension in the cabin is palpable, a silent battle waging between the two as they dance around the truth.

"Are you crazy?" he asks, his voice low and urgent. "Do you know what the commander will do to you if he finds out?"

Ororon swallows hard, the weight of his secret pressing down on his chest like a boulder. The vice commander's question hangs in the air, echoing the fear that's been his constant companion since Capitano first sought refuge in his cabin.

"I know you feel like helping that man," he says softly. "But once the commander finds out, it'll be worse for everyone."

Ororon's heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vice, his chest tight with the weight of his decision. He shakes his head again, more firmly this time. "But he doesn't have to know," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The vice commander sighs heavily, his eyes dropping to his own hands, which are resting on the table. They're calloused and scarred, a testament to the battles he's fought and the lives he's taken. He looks up, his expression one of sadness and resignation. "Ororon, I wish it were that simple. But you know as well as I do that this isn't a game. He'll tear this place apart if he thinks you're hiding something."

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving the other man's. He can see the internal struggle playing out across the vice commander's features: the conflict between duty and empathy. For a moment, Ororon dares to hope that perhaps he's found an ally, someone who could help him protect Capitano from the horrors that awaited them outside.

"I understand," Ororon says, his voice barely a whisper. "But if you could just... look the other way."

"If it were up to me," the vice commander says to Ororon, his voice low and gruff, "I would let you both go." His eyes are filled with a pained sincerity that Ororon finds hard to believe.  "But I can't. Not without orders."

Ororon's mind races, trying to find a way to convince the soldier to leave Capitano be. "Please," he begs, his voice cracking with fear. "He's not a threat anymore."

The soldier's gaze softens slightly, his hand moving from Ororon's wrist to cover his own heart. "I know what it's like," he says, his voice a low rumble. "To find something...someone...worth fighting for."

Ororon's eyes widen in surprise, hope flickering in his chest. "Please," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. "Let him go."

The vice commander's gaze hardens, his hand moving from his heart to his holstered gun. "This isn't about what I think," he says, his voice tight with regret. "But I'm giving you one last chance, Ororon. Tell me where he is, and I'll do my best to ensure he's treated... humanely."

Ororon bites his lip hard, the coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth as he feels his legs tremble beneath the table. He looks up, his eyes locking with the soldier's, the resolve in his voice unmistakable. "No," he says, his voice shaking but firm. "You can't make me do that."

The vice commander's expression remains unchanged, his gaze unwavering as he considers Ororon's words. "Ororon, you're not thinking clearly," he says, his voice a gentle warning. "The commander won't spare you. You know what he does to those who harbor fugitives."

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving the other man's. The fear is there, but there's something else, too—determination. "I know."

The vice commander's eyes narrow, and he stands up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He takes a step towards the bathroom door, his hand reaching for the handle. Ororon's breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum in a battle march.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Ororon's voice is a desperate whisper, his eyes wide with fear.

The vice commander's hand lingers on the bathroom door handle, his eyes locked with Ororon's. He hesitates, the weight of his decision palpable in the taut silence.

Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the burden of a thousand regrets, he pulls the door open. The room beyond is empty, save for the cold porcelain tub and the chilly draft seeping through the poorly insulated walls.

Ororon's heart sinks, his breath coming out in a rush of relief that's almost painful.

The vice commander's gaze sweeps the room, his eyes narrowing as he searches every shadowed corner. Ororon watches him, his own heart racing in his chest like a caged bird desperate to fly free.

"Alright," the man says, his hand dropping from the door handle, "but know that this isn't over." His eyes are filled with a mix of anger and disappointment as he turns to Ororon. "If I find out you're hiding him, I won't be able to protect you. You're playing with fire, boy."

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving the vice commander's.

"You have less than two days," the vice commander says, his voice soft but firm as he turns away from the empty bathroom. "After that, I won't be able to cover for you anymore." His gaze sweeps the cabin, lingering briefly on the space under the bed before returning to Ororon's face.

"Do what you need to do. But make it quick."

It was as if those words were not truly meant for Ororon's ears, but rather for someone else's—someone who was present in the room with them.

Ororon nods, his throat tight with fear and gratitude. The vice commander nods back, his eyes never leaving Ororon's. Without another word, he strides to the door, pulling it open with a heavy sigh.

"Remember, less than two days," he repeats, his voice a low rumble that seems to echo in the small cabin.

Ororon nods, his eyes never leaving the vice commander's. His heart is a wild thing in his chest, racing with a mix of fear and hope. The door closes behind the soldiers with a thud that seems to shake the very foundation of the cabin. He stands frozen for a moment, listening as their boots fade into the distance.

Then, with a trembling sigh, Ororon leans his head against the cold, solid wood. The relief that floods him is overwhelming, a warm wave that washes away the icy fear that's been gripping him. His eyes drift shut, and a smile, small but victorious, curves his lips.

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even notice the sound of the floorboards creaking as Capitano emerges from under the bed. The dusty blankets shift and fall away, revealing the soldier's disheveled form. Ororon's eyes snap open at the sound, his heart jumping in his chest. But before he can say anything, Capitano is there, his large hand landing gently on Ororon's shoulder.

"They're gone," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that seems to fill the cabin.

Capitano nods, his eyes never leaving Ororon's face. He can see the exhaustion etched into the other man's features, the toll the constant fear and hiding has taken on him. He reaches out, his large hand cupping Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that's slipped down the pale skin.

Ororon's eyes are closed, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the tension drains from his body.

"Yeah... you did it..." Capitano says softly, his voice filled with a warmth that seems to cut through the cold of the cabin. His thumb brushes Ororon's cheek again, wiping away the last remnants of the tear. Ororon opens his eyes, looking up at him. The soldier's eyes are dark with unspoken words, his face a mask of concern.

Ororon's legs finally give out under the weight of his fear and exhaustion. He slumps against Capitano, his body trembling. The fever has not broken, and now the adrenaline that had been keeping him standing dissipates, leaving him weak and vulnerable.

Capitano's hand moves from Ororon's cheek to his forehead, cold sweat coats Ororon's skin. The touch is gentle, almost tender, as he assesses the extent of Ororon's illness.

Without a word, Ororon wraps his arms around Capitano's neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Surprise flits across the soldier's face, but he returns the embrace with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around the smaller man, holding him close. Ororon's body shakes with relief, and for a brief moment, he allows himself to believe that everything will be okay.

Outside, the soldier marches alongside his superior, his face filled with both confusion and growing anger. The wind whips at their faces, stinging their cheeks with icy shards of snow. "What the hell was that?" he snarls, his voice a harsh contrast to the serene silence that had enveloped them moments ago. "Why didn't you take him in?"

The vice commander's eyes remain fixed on the path ahead, his jaw clenched tightly. "We have our orders," he repeats, his voice a low growl. "But that doesn't mean we have to be monsters."

The subordinate sneers, his eyes narrowing. "They're the enemy," he spits out. "They're not people anymore."

The vice commander's gaze snaps to him, his expression darkening.

"They are people," he says, his voice a warning. "And we're supposed to be better than that. Ororon is not our enemy," he says firmly. "He's a victim of this war, just like us. And if you can't see that, then maybe you're the one who's lost your humanity."

The other man scoffs, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Victim? He's a traitor, cozying up with the man that has killed too many of our men." His gaze shifts to the cabin, his grin widening. "And once we get back, I'll make sure h e knows exactly what I saw."

The vice commander's eyes follow the line of sight, a flicker of sadness passing over his features before he turns away. "What happened to you?" he asks, his voice tinged with regret. "What happened to the man I knew?"

The soldier's smirk falters, his eyes narrowing at the unexpected question.

The vice commander sighs, his eyes meeting the other man's, holding his gaze with a look that's both sad and resigned. "You were once different," he says, his voice a low rumble. "We both were."

Meanwhile, the night had descended upon the cabin, cloaking it in a thick blanket of darkness that was only pierced by the flickering flame of the candle. Capitano sat by Ororon's side, his only seeing eye never leaving the pale face of the man he cared for. The shadows danced across the walls as he held a cool cloth to Ororon's forehead, the rhythm of his breathing shallow and erratic.

The fever raged within Ororon, his body a battleground for the invisible enemy that threatened to consume him. Capitano knew he couldn't heal the fever, but he could offer comfort and protection at least.

He sat by the bedside, his eyes never leaving Ororon's kind features. The candlelight played across them, painting his face in a warm glow that seemed to belie the cold reality of their situation.

Then slowly, Capitano began to tidy his uniform. His movements were precise, almost mechanical as he pulled the fabric straight and checked for any signs of wear or tear. Each button was secured with a firm press, each crease smoothed out with gentle but firm strokes. His one good eye remained focused on his task, as he worked. Once his uniform was in order, he took his heavy coat, the fabric worn but still functional, and slipped it over his shoulders; the leather creaked slightly as he moved. He checked the ammo in his rifle, his hands moving with a practiced ease that spoke of years of training and combat. His gaze never left Ororon, even as he prepared himself. With everything in its rightful place, Capitano settled into the chair by the fireplace. His eyes remained on the flames, watching them dance and crackle.

It was in the subtle tensing of Capitano's shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes took on a distant look as he sat by the fireplace—

A decision had been made, one that hung in the air like the sharp scent of impending rain.

Ororon's eyes fluttered open, the room coming into focus with a gentle ease. He blinked slowly, the heaviness of sleep giving way to the lightness of reality. He searched the room, his eyes finally settling on the figure by the fireplace. Capitano. The sight of him filled Ororon with a warmth that seemed to fight the lingering chill of the cabin. He watched as the flames played across the soldier's broad shoulders, casting an orange hue over his usually stern features.

But there was something different about Capitano.

His posture was rigid, his eyes focused on something beyond the flickering flames. Ororon's smile faltered as he took in the scene: he looked ready to leave, not to stay by his side in the warm embrace of his little house.

The shadows on Capitano's face speaking louder than any words could. 

Ororon's heart clenched in his chest, his hand reaching out to the soldier's arm. 

"Capitano? Is everything ok?" he asks, his voice hoarse and filled with fear.

Capitano's head jerks up at the sound of Ororon's voice, snapping out of his grim thoughts. He turns his gaze to the bed, his hand moving to cover the one that's reached out to him.

"Capitano?" Ororon's voice is weak, the fear in it clear even in his weakened state.

Capitano turns his head, his gaze softening as it meets Ororon's. "I'm here," he says, his voice a gentle rumble that seems to fill the room.

"Yes, you're here." Ororon nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But why does it feel like it's just for a little while longer?" he whispers, his voice trembling with the weight of his question.

Capitano sighs heavily, his hand tightening around Ororon's. "You know I can't stay," he says, his voice filled with a sadness that matches the expression on Ororon's face. "They'll come back, and they won't be so understanding next time."

Ororon's hand tightens around Capitano's, his eyes pleading. "No," he whispers, the word barely audible. "You can't go."

Capitano's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of Ororon's hand.

"I have already made my choice," he says, his voice a solemn echo in the quiet cabin.

Ororon's eyes widen, the color draining from his face. He pulls his hand back, the suddenness of the movement contrasting to the gentle touch they've been sharing. The hurt in his gaze is unmistakable.

"You're leaving?" he chokes out, his voice a harsh whisper that seems to echo in the small space.

Capitano nods, his jaw clenched. "I have to," he says, his voice thick with regret. "They won't be fooled twice. And I won't let them hurt you."

The tension in the cabin grows thicker, the air heavy with unspoken words and the weight of their situation. Ororon's eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, a way to change the course of their fate. But there's only the cold, unyielding reality staring back at him—the starkness of the room, the unyielding grip of winter outside, and the inevitability of the war that has torn their lives apart.

With a sudden burst of strength, Ororon pushes himself up from the bed. Capitano is there in an instant, his large hand reaching out to steady him, but Ororon slaps it away, his eyes flashing with a determination that seems to belie his frail condition.

"I'll run away with you then," Ororon says, his voice fierce despite the tremble in his chest. "We can leave this place together, go somewhere they'll never find us."

Capitano's gaze softens, but he shakes his head. "That's not a life for you," he says, his voice gruff. "You'd be on the run, always looking over your shoulder."

Ororon's eyes flash with a stubbornness that seems to belie his weakened state. "I don't care," he says, his voice hoarse. "I want us to be together."

Capitano's hand moves to Ororon's shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "You don't understand," he says, his voice low and gruff. "They won't just let you go."

Ororon's eyes flash with anger, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking. "I don't care," he says, his voice a harsh whisper.

Capitano's jaw clenches, his hand tightening on Ororon's shoulder. "But I do care. You don't get to decide that," he says, his voice low and firm. "You're not thinking clearly."

"Oh, but you do?" The words fly out of Ororon's mouth, hot and accusatory.

Capitano's eyes darken, the lines around his mouth deepening as he shakes his head. He reaches for his helmet, his hand trembling slightly as he places it back on his head. The action seems to add an invisible barrier between them, the symbol of his rank and duty sliding back into place.

Ororon's eyes follow the movement, his heart sinking. "Don't," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

But Capitano doesn't hear him.

Or rather, he chooses not to. His features, obscured by the shadow of his helmet, take on a stoic, almost cold expression that Ororon has never seen before. The man he deeply cares for is gone, replaced by the unyielding soldier, the commander of a war-torn world where feelings are a liability and compassion is a rare currency.

With a gentle but firm push, Capitano stands, his hand reaching for the cabin door. Ororon reacts instinctively, throwing his own body against it, his arms spread wide as if to form a barricade with his own flesh and bone. "No," he says, his voice a desperate whisper.

"You have to move," Capitano says, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the very air. His hand hovers over Ororon's shoulder, but he doesn't touch him. There's a wariness in his eyes, a sadness that speaks of a thousand regrets. "You know I can't stay. And you can't come with me."

Ororon's eyes narrow, the feverish heat in his gaze clashing with the cold resolve in Capitano's. "You're a coward," he spits out, the words sharp as shards of ice.

Capitano's hand clenches into a fist at his side, his whole body tensing. "Move," he repeats, his voice a low growl.

Ororon's chin juts out, his eyes flashing with defiance. "Or what?" he challenges, his voice unsteady but strong.

Capitano's eyes narrow, the sadness in them replaced with a flicker of anger. "Or I'll make you," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Ororon's chest tightens. He knows that he's pushing the limits of Capitano's patience, but the desperation in him refuses to let go. "I'm stronger than you think."

"Except for me." Capitano's voice is a quiet thunder. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch Ororon's face, the metal of his gauntlet cold against his skin.

Then, without warning, Capitano's arms are around Ororon, his strong hands slipping under his armpits. He lifts him effortlessly, the smaller man's legs dangling as he's moved aside. The door is freed, and the cold winter air rushes in, biting at their skin like a thousand tiny teeth. "I said to move," Capitano murmurs, his voice filled with a gentle warning that seems at odds with the situation.

He opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Capitano's neck, his eyes squeezed shut. For a brief moment, he allows himself to believe that this is it—that Capitano will stay with him, that they'll find a way to be together. Capitano holds him, his arms tight around Ororon's waist, his breath warm against his neck. It's a strange feeling, being held off the ground like this, as if he's floating in a sea of uncertainty, anchored only by the solid warmth of the soldier. Ororon's eyes stay closed, his face buried in the crook of Capitano's neck. He can feel the rapid beat of the man's heart, the pulse of his life force beneath the layers of armor and duty. He clings to it like a drowning man to a lifeline, desperate to hold on to something real, something that feels like home. 

And Capitano just holds him simply there, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, as if trying to memorize the feel of him.

But reality is a cruel thing, and it doesn't allow for moments like these to last. With the same softness that Capitano had picked him up, he sets Ororon back down on his feet, his hands moving to gently but firmly spin him around. Now Capitano has better access to the door, the barrier to the outside world that's been standing between them and freedom.

He watches as Capitano opens the door, the cold air rushing in like a harsh slap to the face.

The snow is falling outside, thick and fast, painting the world in stark monochrome.

Capitano takes one step out, his boots crunching in the freshly laid snow, leaving behind a trail of disturbed white powder that seems to scream his presence to the world. He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, his body tense and poised for whatever fate awaits him beyond the cabin's meager protection.

Ororon stumbles forward, his hand reaching out to grab at the edge of Capitano's heavy coat. "So you're just leaving me behind?" he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper that seems to get lost in the howling wind.

Capitano's gaze lingers on Ororon, his hand tightening around the doorknob as if he's fighting the urge to turn back. "I have to," he says, his voice gruff with regret.

Ororon's eyes widen, the childlike plea clear in them. "But why?" he asks, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why can't I come with you?"

"You'd slow me down," he says, his voice a harsh knife that slices through the warmth of the cabin.

Yet he doesn't look back as he says it, his gaze fixed on the snow-covered landscape that awaits him.

Ororon's eyes widen with shock, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. "You're going to die," he whispers, the horror in his voice barely audible over the wind.

Capitano turns to him, his gaze unknown in the shadows of his helmet. He reaches up, his hand shaking slightly as he lifts the heavy piece of metal away from his face. The cold air hits him like a slap, his long black hair fluttering in the breeze.

Ororon's breath catches in his throat as Capitano leans down, his eyes never leaving his.

Capitano's hand slides around the back of Ororon's neck, his grip firm and a little painful painful. His thumb traces the line of his jaw, a gentle touch that sends shivers down Ororon's spine.

Then, without warning, Capitano's lips are on his, a bruising but longing kiss.

And just like that, Capitano's helmet is back in place, his face hidden once more. He turns away from Ororon, the softness in his eyes now hidden behind the cold, unyielding visor.

With one last look that seems to carry a world of unspoken goodbyes, he steps out into the night.

"What will be, will be," Capitano murmurs.

Chapter Text

He’ll come back.

Ororon repeated those words to himself, his breath misting in the chilly air.

The young man darts his eyes around like a trapped animal, not knowing where to put his shaking hands. He takes a step forward, then back, his booted feet crunching against the icy porch. The cold seeps through the worn wooden boards, but he barely feels it. The snow has increased, flakes now clinging to his eyelashes and obscuring his vision. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep the world in focus. The house seems to loom over him. In a sudden burst of energy fueled by desperation, he grabs a blanket from inside the house and carries it outside. It’s old and battered, but it’s warm. It’s something to hold on to. Something to keep him tied to this place. He wraps the heavy blanket around himself, the fabric rough and thick. It’s not enough to keep out the cold, but it’s better than nothing.

He sits down against his front door, his breathing ragged, and watches out.

The snow is coming down harder now, and it's starting to stick to the blanket. He doesn't care.

He can't believe Capitano left him here. 

Why would he do that?  

He’ll come back. He repeated it to himself.

The wind had risen madly, howling and biting like a pack of starving wolves as Capitano stood in the open. The snow was a wall of white, obscuring everything beyond a few feet. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the icy air, feeling the sting of it as he let it out again. His boots sank into the fallen snow with every step, leaving behind a trail that marked his passage.

Even though he wouldn't admit it, leaving Ororon like that opened a wound in his heart; a heart he didn't know could beat so hard for someone. The feeling was foreign, unwelcome. He had long ago buried his emotions, entombed them in the solid fortress of his resolve and duty. But now, as he looked back something stirred within him—a painful, desperate yearning.

He shakes his head, commanding himself to just forget about that boy—the one whose eyes had searched his soul, whose touch had sparked a warmth he hadn't felt in years. The one whose laughter had filled his nights and whose whispers had brought him comfort in the paralyzing, lonely darkness. 

But the coldness of the outside world seeps into his heart, turning his thoughts to ice.

Capitano marches without a precise goal, the nothingness swallows him whole. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the weight of his decision is dragging him down into the frozen earth. He stops when the storm's intensity doubles, the snow stinging his eyes like a thousand tiny knives. His breath forms clouds around him, dissipating into the frosty air. With a grunt of frustration, he looks around for shelter, his eyes squinting against the relentless onslaught. 

The world is a blur of white, and he feels like he's walking through a memory—a nightmare that refuses to release its grip. It's not the first time he's faced such harsh conditions. The battlefield was often cruel, but this is different. The cold here feels personal, like it's trying to claim him, whispering that he's lost and forgotten.

For a fleeting moment, he considers turning back, but he quickly shakes his head. No, he can't. He has a duty to perform, a mission to complete.

With a sigh, he pulls his arms across his chest, his breath fogging in the frigid air. He brings his hands up to his face, cupping them around his nose and mouth to capture the warmth. The simple act feels futile, but it provides a small measure of comfort. He watches his breath dance and swirl in the space between his palms before disappearing into the abyss of the night. The cold is so intense that it seeps into his very soul, making him feel weary. The thought of rest, of lying down in the embrace of the snow and letting the world melt away is tempting. Capitano's eyelids grow heavy, his body begging for just a few moments of reprieve from the endless march. He shakes his head vigorously, trying to dispel the fog of fatigue that threatens to envelop him. He can't afford to falter now, not when there's still so much at stake.

But perhaps a short nap would be fine, no one would ever know. 

His eyes droop, his breaths come out in great clouds of steam that vanish into the night. The storm is a cocoon around him, muffling all sounds except for the beating of his heart, which seems to echo in his ears like a funeral drum.

He leans heavily against a nearby tree, his mind swirling with thoughts of the warm little house, of Ororon's gentle touch, and the safety that seems so far away now.

Then, without warning, the past crashes into the present. 

The screams of men fill the air, the smell of gunpowder and blood is suddenly thick around him.

The snow under his boots turns to mud and chaos, and he's back on the battlefield, the taste of fear and adrenaline coating his mouth. His eyes fly open, and for a second, he's lost in the horrors of war—the shouts, the explosions, the pain of losing men who had become more than just soldiers under his command. 

Capitano trembles, his hand going to the side of his head as if he could physically push the memories away. 

His breaths come in ragged gasps, the cold air burning his lungs as the nightmare recedes. Hallucinations—his mind's cruel way of dealing with the trauma that still haunts him. 

The trees are skeletal sentinels, their branches reaching out like the arms of the dead, begging for mercy that never comes. The ground is no longer the pristine white of winter but the dry, burnt soil of a land that has known only war and despair. The wind carries the whispers of the lost souls, his friends, and men he'd led into battle—now they lay in the cold embrace of the earth, their eyes frozen open in silent accusation.

The whispers of the dead seem to rise with the wind, a symphony of sorrow and anger that clings to him like a second skin.

His mind takes him back.

And Capitano is standing there, tired and dirty, and around him only death and destruction. His eyes scan the horizon, searching for any sign of his men, but all he sees are shadows and flames. He stumbles through the battleground, his eyes glazed over with the horrors he's witnessed, his mind numb to the pain.

He keeps walking, his boots sinking into the dirty ground that's churned to mud by the boots of soldiers and the hooves of horses. His legs feel like they're made of lead, each step a struggle against the weight of his own body and the uniform that clings to him like a second skin. His eyes are gritty and sore from the constant sting of the wind and the lack of sleep, but he refuses to blink, to miss anything that could be a threat.

All is silent, only the echo of the gunshots remains. 

Capitano's heart races, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he looks around. His eyes are drawn to the figures lying on the ground. He knows them all—each face etched into his memory.

Then, through the smoke and the haze, he sees a movement—a hand reaching out, fingers curling into the mud. He stumbles over to the man, dropping to his knees, his own injuries forgotten in the face of his comrade's pain. His eyes widen with horror as he sees who it is.

“Guthred...”

The man's eyes are wide with shock and pain, his chest heaving as he gasps for air. His uniform is shredded, stained with the crimson of his lifeblood, which pools around him like a grim halo. Capitano's hand trembles as he reaches out to touch the man's shoulder, his eyes blurring with tears that freeze on his cheeks.

The man's hand grabs his, a plea for help that Capitano can't ignore. His mouth moves, trying to form words, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling sound. The wound on his neck is a gruesome sight, a gaping maw that seems to drink in the very life force of the man. Capitano's stomach turns, bile rising in his throat, but he forces himself to look, to acknowledge the pain and fear in his comrade's gaze.

He tries to speak. But the words won't come—his throat is tight with the weight of his own fear, the cold steel of reality pressing down on him. He opens his mouth again, willing the words to form, to offer some semblance of comfort or hope. But the only sound that emerges is a strangled whisper that's lost in the storm.

Capitano holds the man's hand close to his chest, the warmth of the man's life seeping into his own cold flesh. His other hand is pressed against the wound, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood that seeps through his gloves like water through a sieve. The man's eyes are locked onto his—fear, pain, regret. But more than anything else, there's a desperate plea for salvation that Capitano can't ignore. 

His own eyes, blue pools of pain, reflect the dying flare of the setting sun.

The man's breaths are shallow, his chest barely rising and falling with the effort. The hand gripping Capitano's is weak, the once firm grip now a mere tremble. The blue of his eyes fades, the light within them dimming like a candle about to be extinguished.

With a trembling hand, Capitano reaches up to close his comrade's eyes, his thick gloved fingers brushing gently against the cold, clammy skin. It's a gesture of peace, a voiceless goodbye to a brother in arms. He whispers a prayer under his breath, the words are lost in the wind, but the intention is clear. His eyes burn with unshed tears as he watches the last spark of life leave the man's gaze. He holds his hand there for a moment longer, as if trying to hold onto the humanity that's slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The nightmare ends as abruptly as it had begun, leaving him standing alone once again, in the snow. 

His chest is tight, his breaths short and ragged, as if the very air has turned to ice in his lungs. He can't think straight—his mind is a jumble of memories and fears.

"What am I doing? Where am I going?" he asks himself, his voice barely audible over the wind.

But there's no answer, just the relentless howling of the storm that seems to laugh at his plight.

His hand rests heavily on his chest, as if to keep his heart from shattering into a million pieces. It beats erratically, a wild, painful rhythm that seems to mirror the chaos of his mind. He doesn't understand why he's crying; he's not supposed to feel, not supposed to care. Yet here he is, a man lost in the wilderness of his own emotions, weeping like a child. He wipes at them furiously with the back of his glove, but they keep coming, blurring his vision and turning the world into a watery mess of white and gray. 

Capitano's legs wobble, threatening to give out under the weight of his grief. He's not used to feeling this way. His heart feels too large for his chest, a beast that's woken from hibernation and is now trying to claw its way out. He stumbles through the storm, his eyes searching for anything that isn't the cold embrace of the night.

And then, through the veil of snowflakes, a flicker of light pierces the gloom. It's faint, a warm glow that seems to pulse with a life of its own. His breath catches in his throat as he squints into the distance, trying to discern its source.

Capitano moves towards it, his steps unsteady and unsure. The light seems to dance away from him, like a mirage playing tricks on his exhausted mind. Yet he follows, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Stumbling through the drifts, his legs feel like they might buckle at any moment. Yet he continues, driven by an instinct that's stronger than the pain, stronger than the fear that clutches at his heart. And just when he thinks he can't go on, his knees hit something solid, and he crumples to the ground. He's so tired—tired of the war, tired of the pain, tired of being alone.

A sound pierces the silence—a sound that's more beautiful than the sweetest lullaby. It's a voice, faint and distant, calling out to him. Capitano's heart jumps in his chest, the beat echoing in his ears like a war drum. He shakes his head, sure he's imagining things, the cold playing tricks on his mind.

He hears his name being called. Once more.

At first, he thinks it's a trick of the wind—a cruel joke played by the howling gusts. But the voice is persistent, growing louder, closer.

The voice is a familiar warm embrace, cutting through the icy grip of his thoughts. He feels something against his chest—soft, gentle, and alive. Capitano's eyes fly open, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he thinks it's another hallucination—until he feels someone's arms around him. The pain is gone. The cold, the fear, the memories—everything has been washed away by this embrace. He looks down and sees Ororon, the boy's eyes wide with concern and hope.

Capitano's hand rises, his thick, bruised fingers gentle as they cradle Ororon's cheek, lifting his chin. The touch is electric, a spark that jolts him back to life. The warmth, the scent of Ororon's skin, the feeling of his heart racing—it's all here, all real, all against the frost, dead world outside.

He pulls Ororon closer, their bodies entwining as if they were two lost souls finding each other for the very first time.

For a moment, he doesn't understand how he managed to come back here. The storm had been so thick, the world had been so indifferent and unforgiving. Yet, here he was. The light from within the cabin spills out through the cracks in the wooden planks, casting a warm glow onto the surrounding snow. He looks back, the snow swirling around him like a living entity, and for a brief second, he's unsure if he's truly standing in front of Ororon's house.

The footprints in the snow were already disappearing from behind him.

Ororon accompanies Capitano back into the cabin, his eyes never leaving the man's face. The warmth of the fireplace envelops them as the door shuts out the storm's fury. Capitano's boots leave a trail of snow and ice behind, melting into the wooden floorboards, but the boy's concern is for the man himself.

He carefully takes Capitano's heavy winter coat, feeling the cold, wet fabric cling to the man's broad shoulders. The weight of it seems to mirror the burdens that Capitano carries within, burdens that Ororon knows he can never fully understand. He hangs it up, hoping the warmth of the cabin will soon seep into the fabric, bringing comfort to its wearer. Ororon's eyes are drawn to the weapon. He handles it with a mix of awe and fear, and he places it gently against the wall, a promise that for now, it will not be needed.

With trembling hands, he reaches up to unbuckle Capitano's helmet. The act feels almost sacred, a symbol of trust. As the helmet comes off, Ororon's eyes meet Capitano's, and he sees a depth of pain and weariness that he's never seen before. The man's eyes, once cold and hard as ice, are now warm and full of affection. It's a sight that steals the breath from his lungs, for it isn’t the harsh exterior Capitano usually presents.

His eyes follow Ororon's every move, his gaze softening as he watches the younger man tend to him. He feels a warmth spread through his chest. The touch of Ororon's hands on his cheeks is a gentle caress that grounds him, reminding him of the warmth and humanity he's been denying himself for so long.

Ororon soothes the raw edges of his pain. 

Capitano's eyes flutter shut as Ororon's thumbs brush away the tears that still cling to his lashes.

The gesture is so tender, so filled with care and comfort, that Capitano feels his legs give way beneath him. He's used to being the one in control, the one to offer reassurance—not the one receiving it. But roles have shifted, and the weight of it all is almost too much to bear. He drops to his knees, his body moving almost of its own accord, as if in silent surrender to Ororon.

The boy's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around Capitano's shoulders, his touch gentle as he holds the man he loves. His voice is a murmur, a soft stream of words that Capitano can't quite make out. He tries to focus, to listen, but he's too overwhelmed by his own thoughts to respond.

The soldier's hands come up, grasping at Ororon's wrists. Then, with a tremble that starts in his chest and travels down his arms, he guides the other's hands to his face, placing them palms down on either cheek.

Ororon's eyes widen in understanding, and he leans in, pressing his warm, soft lips to Capitano's cold ones. The kiss is gentle, a silent question that asks if it's okay, if this is what Capitano needs; he feels the tremors that run through the soldier's body, the unspoken agony that seems to have taken up residence in his very bones.

As their lips meet, Ororon opens his eyes, searching Capitano's gaze. There, he finds the unshed tears that had been gathering, poised to spill forth again. The sight of them sends a jolt through him. He's never seen Capitano like this—so vulnerable, so human. He leans in, his own eyes filled with a fierce tenderness. He kisses the tears away, one by one, as they roll down the man's cheeks, leaving a warm, wet trail.

Capitano pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, as if trying to absorb the warmth and life that radiates from Ororon. His grip is almost desperate, as if he's afraid that if he lets go, he'll be lost again.

Ororon's own hands find their way into the thick, damp strands of Capitano's hair, his nails scraping gently against the man's scalp. The sensation sends a shiver down Capitano's spine, and he groans into the kiss, the sound muffled by their joined lips; and his grip on the boy tightens, his trembling subsiding slightly as the kisses become more insistent.

Capitano's hands slip under Ororon's shirt, the suddenness causing Ororon to gasp. His palms are icy against Ororon's back, but the boy doesn't flinch. The soldier's fingers dig into Ororon's flesh, a plea for something more substantial than the fleeting moments of comfort.

Ororon breaks the kiss and pulls Capitano's face to his stomach, the soft fabric of his shirt muffling the man's sobs. He runs his hands over Capitano's broad shoulders and down his arms, feeling the tension in every muscle as the man cries against him.

The man's crying is silent, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. He clutches at Ororon's back, as if by holding on, he can keep himself from slipping away.

Ororon drops to his knees.

He gently cups Capitano's face in his hands once more, his thumbs brushing away the trails of wetness on the man's cheeks. "If you have to cry," he whispers, his voice so soft, "I'll hold you through it all."

Capitano's gaze locks onto Ororon's; shock and gratitude swirling in the depths of his eyes. It's as if Ororon's words have reached into his soul and unlocked something that had been trapped there for too long. He nods, the barest of movements, but it's enough for Ororon to understand.

Slowly, almost tentatively, Capitano lowers his head onto Ororon's lap.

The weight of his head feels like a heavy burden to Ororon, but one he's more than willing to bear. His heart swells with a protective instinct that surprises even him. He looks down at the scarred face, the harsh lines and the stormy eyes that have seen too much pain. For a moment, Capitano seems to have shrunk, his broad shoulders hunched and his usually stoic demeanor replaced with the vulnerability of a lost child.

The man's sobs slowly diminish, replaced by comfortable sighs that escape his lips. 

Ororon continues to stroke Capitano's long hair, his touch soothing the storm within the man. He feels the warmth of Capitano's breath against his stomach, and it's like a balm to his own fears.

The quiet moments stretch. But then, Capitano feels the wetness on his scarred cheek. He looks up at Ororon, whose single tear has escaped and now traces a path down the man's rough skin.

"Please don't you leave me behind again," he says, his voice cracking. It's the first time he's ever asked for anything.

Capitano slowly raises his head, his gaze never leaving Ororon's. The intensity of their connection seems to thicken the very air between them. Before the boy can even attempt to say another word, Capitano acts on the raw emotion coursing through him. He wraps his hand around the back of Ororon's neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

This kiss is different from the first—it's slower. 

Ororon melts into the embrace, his hands coming to rest on Capitano's broad chest. The warmth from his touch spreads through Capitano's body, thawing the icy grip fear had held over him. As the kiss deepens, Ororon feels the large man's grip on his neck tighten, almost unbearably so. Panic flutters in his chest, but it's not fear. It's the realization that Capitano is drowning in his own emotions, desperately seeking air. 

He gently pulls at the man's wrists, urging him to ease up.

Capitano's eyes widen, a flash of guilt crossing his face as he realizes his own strength. He releases Ororon immediately, his hands falling to his sides like weights. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, the words thick and heavy.

Ororon shakes his head, a small smile ghosting over his lips. He reaches up and gently kisses Capitano's eyelid, the one that covers the blind eye—the eye that had seen the worst of battles and lost comrades.

"No. You don't ever have to be sorry with me," he whispers.

Capitano's expression relaxes slightly.

He leans into Ororon's touch, his eyes drifting shut.

Then, with a deep breath, he pulls away, standing tall once more, helping Ororon to his feet. With a gentle tug, Capitano pulls Ororon closer, bridging the gap between them. He leans down, his face just above the smaller man's, his breath is warm against the boy's skin.

Ororon looks up at him, his own eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I never thought I would need someone so badly," Capitano confesses, his voice low and raw with emotion. The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his longing. It's a vulnerability Ororon has never seen from him before.

The boy's heart skips a beat as he gazes up at Capitano, his slender frame trembling slightly. He feels a rush of affection and a fierce need to protect this man who has become his sanctuary. "And you don't have to be alone," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here for you."

Capitano's expression tightens, the shadows of his past battles etching lines into his handsome face. "I can't guarantee your safety—" he says, his voice gruff with pain.

Ororon tries to interrupt, his eyes wide with determination, but Capitano's hand gently covers his mouth, silencing him. "But, I'll do what's in my power" he continues, his thumb brushing against Ororon's plush lower lip, "to keep you from harm."

The room is filled with the sound of their mingled breaths.

Capitano's gaze drifts down to Ororon's neck, where his pulse beats a frantic tattoo against his skin. The sight of it sends a shiver of desire down his spine. He leans in, his teeth grazing the delicate skin, leaving a love bite that's sure to bruise.

Ororon gasps, his eyes fluttering shut as pleasure shoots through him.

The sensation is new and overwhelming, but he doesn't push Capitano away.

Instead, he arches into the touch, welcoming the claim the action signifies.

The soldier's grip on Ororon's waist tightens as his mouth moves to the other side of his neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. He whispers against his skin, "I'm not leaving you behind. I promise."

Ororon's eyes are squeezed shut, his breaths coming out in small pants. He nods, his voice trembling as he whispers back, "I trust you."

Chapter Text

The bed looms in the corner.

His gaze lingers there for a second, the desire to collapse onto it with Ororon is an overwhelming need that he can't ignore. Gently, Capitano guides the young man backwards, his eyes never leaving the latter's. His movements are swift, driven by an urgency that Ororon can't quite keep pace with. 

As they reach the bed, the young male's legs hit the edge, and he stumbles slightly. Capitano's arms tighten around him, and with gentleness, he lowers the slender man onto the soft mattress. Ororon watches as the soldier’s face hovers over him, their bodies almost touching but not quite. His hand traces the line of Ororon's collarbone, sending shivers down his body. The touch is feather-light, but it leaves a trail of fire wherever it goes. Ororon's own hands hover in the space between them, unsure of where to land. But Capitano seems to sense his uncertainty. He takes the other's hand in his own, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. "You take my breath away," he murmurs, his eyes full with endearment.

Encouraged, Ororon's trembling fingers trace the line of muscles that stretch tautly under Capitano's cloth, feeling the power beneath. He can't help but wonder how those muscles would feel bare, against his own body.

Capitano notices the other's curiosity and leans back slightly, allowing the younger man to explore. His eyes slip shut as Ororon's touch becomes bolder, his smile widening into something more genuine and less forced. His hand slides under the soldier's shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and the contours of his muscles. He gasps as Capitano leans down to suck and nibble on his neck, the sensation making him squirm under the older man's weight. The pressure is delicious. Capitano's teeth clamp down harder, feeling the vein pulse under his bite. He's marking him, claiming him, and the thought sends a thrill of power through him. He feels Ororon's nails dig into his back in response, the sharp sting showing the passion that simmers just beneath the surface.

One hand slips under Ororon's nape, his fingers threading through the dark soft hair, keeping him in place as his mouth continues to leave a trail of kisses along the delicate skin of his throat. The other hand starts to roam, tracing the contours of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

With a gentle tug, Capitano pulls away from Ororon's neck. 

He presses their foreheads together, their breaths fogging the space between them. 

His smile is soft, almost tender, as he looks down at his lover .

Ororon's heart skips a beat as he reaches up, his fingers framing Capitano's face. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he pulls the man's head down to meet his own. Their lips come together in a kiss filled with a quiet desperation. It's as if Ororon is trying to infuse all of his love and longing into this single, perfect act of passion.

"Will you keep smiling at me like this?" He whispers against Capitano's mouth, the words barely audible. 

It's a simple request.

Capitano's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looks down at Ororon. "I will," he promises, his voice a gentle rumble.

While Ororon tucks a long black lock of the soldier's hair behind his ear, the undisturbed man insinuates a large hand under Ororon's shirt; his breath catches in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut as the hand glides upwards, tracing the line of his ribs. Ororon's heart is racing as Capitano's hand moves higher, cupping a small, perky nipple. He gasps, his body arching into the touch, the sensation a sweet agony. A thumb brushes against the sensitive peak, eliciting a soft moan from the man underneath. And he can't help but lean down to capture it with his mouth.

Ororon's hands come up to grip Capitano's shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of the shirt. He can feel the tension in the man's body, the restrained power that's just waiting to be unleashed.

With a sudden move, Capitano buries his head under Ororon's shirt, his nose pressing into the softness of his chest. He inhales deeply, the scent of him filling his lungs. A scent he's come to crave, a scent that represents home, comfort, and affection. His mouth finds the other untouched nipple, and he sucks hard, feeling it harden against his tongue. Ororon's reacts instantly, his mouth open in a silent cry. Capitano's teeth graze the sensitive flesh, nipping and tugging gently before his mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of hungry kisses and rude bites that map Ororon's body. His hands roam further, the pale skin begging to be touched. Ororon's breath hitches as the man's lips touch the sensitive flesh of his stomach, eliciting a whimper that makes the older man's cock throb.

The tension is getting hotter, the anticipation thick and heady. 

Ororon's eyes are glazed with desire as he watches Capitano's dark head move lower. He can feel the warmth of the man's breath against his skin, the wetness of his tongue as he laves at the love bites he's placed there. The sensation sends bolts of pleasure through him, making him squirm and writhe.

Capitano's mouth moves lower, grazing the waistband of Ororon's trousers. He tugs at the fabric, his hands moving to the fastenings, but before he can pull them down, Ororon's hands come down to cover his, stopping him.

"Is everything alright?" Capitano asks, his voice a soft rumble of confusion. He looks up at the younger man, his eyes filled with concern.

Ororon's face is flushed, and he bites his lower lip nervously. "I don’t know…I’ve never…" he admits in a shaky voice.

Capitano's expression softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. He brings his hand to Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing away an eyelash that has fallen. "It's alright, me neither," he murmurs, his voice soothing and gentle. "We'll go as slow as you need."

Words said, Ororon's eyes relax, his grip on Capitano's wrists loosening. He nods, his eyes never leaving the other's. The gentleness in those eyes is reassuring, telling him that he's safe. Capitano leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Ororon's lips. " You’re in control," he whispers, his breath ghosting over the young man's skin. "Tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll comply."

Ororon swallows, "I really want to see you," he says, his eyes darting to the shirt of the uniform that clings to Capitano's broad frame: he sits up, his movements slow and deliberate as he grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The fabric slides over his torso, revealing the intricate tapestry of scars that mar his dark skin. Ororon's gaze traces the path of each one, his heart aching for the pain Capitano has suffered. He reaches out tentatively, his fingertips brushing over the scars. "Do they still hurt?" he asks.

Capitano looks down at the scars. He smiles gently, his thumb brushing over the one that runs diagonally across his ribs. "They don't hurt like they used to," he admits, his voice filled with quiet appreciation. "You've taken such good care of me."

"Smooth talker," Ororon whispers with a shy smile

Capitano's chuckle is low, the sound sending a warm rush through Ororon's body. "I'm not that good with words," he admits, his cheeks tinged with color.

Ororon's hand moves from the scars to the warm, solid planes of the soldier's chest, his fingertips tracing the curve of a pectoral muscle. Capitano's own hands wander over Ororon's shirt, waiting for permission. Ororon nods, his cheeks flushed with desire. The fabric rises, exposing Ororon's slender torso to the cool air. Goosebumps pebble his skin, but it's not from the cold. Capitano helps Ororon remove the shirt with gentle hands. His eyes trace the path of the shirt as it slides upwards, revealing the pale, untouched skin that's been hidden beneath.

Ororon watches him, as the fabric is lifted away, he feels exposed.

They take a moment to admire each other's diversity of form; Capitano's body, a result of years of hard labor and battle, and Ororon's, so much thinner, so much more delicate. Their evident contrast is undeniably beautiful.

Ororon's eyes roam over the expanse of muscle and scar tissue, his heart swelling with protectiveness. Ororon moves as he reaches out and places his hands on Capitano's broad shoulders, urging the larger man to sit on the edge of the bed. Capitano complies, his legs dangling over the side, as Ororon kneels before him. The position feels almost reverential, a silent offering of his vulnerability and trust. Their eyes lock, and Ororon whispers, "You said I'm in control." His voice is steady, but his hands tremble. Capitano's gaze holds his, the intensity of his emotions reflected in his eyes. He nods. Ororon's hands move to Capitano's belt, his fingers fumbling with the clasp. Capitano watches quietly as the younger man's nimble fingers work the buckle free.

Ororon's gaze drops to the bulge, his cheeks burning with a bit of shyness. He's seen glimpses before, but this is the first time he's allowed himself to truly look, to acknowledge the desire that's been growing between them.

Capitano's breath hitches as Ororon's hand traces the outline of his cock, the fabric growing taut under his touch. The younger man's eyes are wide with wonder, his gaze flickering up to meet the other's. The man nods, giving Ororon the encouragement he needs. His hand shakes as he reaches for the button of the trousers, his breaths coming in short pants. He can feel the heat radiating off the larger man's body, his own skin prickling with excitement. With trembling hands, he undoes the button, his eyes never leaving Capitano's; whose hands are balled into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched tightly. He watches as the zipper whispers open, revealing the briefs beneath. Ororon's hand hovers there for a moment, his pulse racing.

Capitano's cock strains against the confines of his underwear, the fabric tenting obscenely. His body is begging for relief, but he remains still, giving Ororon the power to dictate their next move. Ororon's hands shake as they reach for the waistband of Capitano's briefs. He hooks his thumbs into the elastic and pulls it down, revealing the base of the man's thick, hard cock. It's so much bigger than he ever imagined.

The soldier's breath hitches as Ororon's cool fingers make contact with his heated skin. He's painfully aware of every single touch, the way Ororon's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of him. He wants to tell Ororon that he's perfect, that he's beautiful, but the words get caught in his throat.

Ororon's gaze lingers on the impressive length of the other's cock, his mind racing with the thought of what it would feel like in his mouth. He reaches out and touches it gently, feeling the heat and the pulse of life beneath his fingertips. Capitano's eyes close, his head tilting back with a soft groan as Ororon wraps his hand around the base of his cock. It's a gentle squeeze, tentative, but it sends a jolt of pleasure through his body that makes his toes curl. He opens his eyes to see Ororon's face, the look of awe and apprehension etched into his features. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He murmurs, his voice strained with need. But Ororon's eyes are determined as he nods. "I want to," he says, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hand. "I want to make you feel good."

Capitano's chest heaves with a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Ororon's as the younger man leans in closer. Ororon's breath is warm and soft against his skin as he exhales, his gaze locked on the tip of the older man's cock. He swipes his tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that beads there. The sensation sends a shiver down Capitano's spine, his body tightening with anticipation.

Ororon's grip on Capitano's cock tightens slightly, his thumb rubbing the sensitive spot just below the head. Capitano's hips jerk at the touch, a sound escaping his throat that's somewhere between a groan and a sigh. The sight of Ororon, kneeling before him is almost too much for him to bear. The latter takes a deep breath, his eyes still locked on Capitano's, and then he leans in, his mouth engulfing the head of the cock. Capitano's eyes fly open, watching as Ororon's lips stretch around his girth. He's never seen anything so erotic in his life. The younger man's mouth is hot and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste and explore. His movements are clumsy at first, but Capitano's gentle guidance helps him find a rhythm. He takes inch by inch, his throat working to accommodate the size. He's aware of the way Capitano's hands are clenched into fists at his sides, the way his knuckles are white with the effort of holding back. He doesn't want to gag, doesn't want to disappoint, but the need to make him feel good is overwhelming.

Capitano's breathing grows ragged as Ororon takes him deeper, his hips rocking slightly with the younger man's movements. His eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, his head thrown back. Ororon's cheeks hollow as he sucks, his own breathing erratic. He can feel the pulse of Capitano's cock against his tongue, the throb of his need.

The urge to wrap his hand around Ororon's slender neck, to guide him and claim him fully is almost too much for Capitano to resist. His hand moves to Ororon's head, his fingers threading through the soft, short hair. He wants to grip it tightly, to control the pace, but he stops himself. He doesn't want to scare him, doesn't want to ruin this moment of pure trust.

Instead, Capitano clenches his hand into a fist, his teeth sinking into the flesh of his own palm to distract himself from the overwhelming desire. His self-control is tested to the limit as he watches Ororon's mouth move over him, the young man's eyes watering slightly as he takes him deeper. He's so focused on not moving, on not pushing Ororon too far that he doesn't even notice the blood welling up in his palm.

Ororon, however, is fully in the moment, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. He can feel the muscles in the larger man's thighs tensing beneath his grip, the way his cock swells with each stroke of his tongue. It's as if he's reading the cues of Capitano's body like a map to pleasure. He's surprisingly good at this, his mouth moving with a hunger that belies his inexperience.

Capitano's eyes widen as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. He's never felt this way before, never been so close to losing control with someone who's touch was so gentle, so loving. He's about to come, and it's Ororon's mouth that's going to do it. The thought sends a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through him, and he can't help but moan.

Ororon's grip tightens on Capitano's thighs, his nails digging into the fabric of the man's trousers. He's never felt so powerful, so desired. His mouth works faster, his tongue swirling around the tip of Capitano's cock as he feels the man's body begin to shake with the effort to hold back.

"Oh fuck," Capitano groans, the words torn from his chest as he feels the orgasm building. He tries to hold back, doesn't want this to end, but Ororon's mouth is too perfect, too eager. The pressure builds until he can't hold it in anymore, and he comes with a shout, his hips jerking as he spills into Ororon's waiting mouth.

Ororon swallows, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. He's not sure what he's supposed to do, but the look of pure bliss on the man's face tells him he's done something right. He licks his lips, tasting the saltiness of the other's release, feeling a sense of pride swell in his chest.

Capitano's head is thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the waves of pleasure that crash over him. His chest heaves with deep, ragged breaths, and his body quivers with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He's lost in the feeling, the sensation of Ororon's mouth on him still resonating through his core.

Ororon, his cheeks flushed and eyes watering slightly, pulls away and makes his way up Capitano's body. He straddles the man's hips, his own erection pressing against the older man's stomach. His hands come up to wrap around Capitano's neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape. He gasps for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly with excitement and exertion.

Capitano slowly opens his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks up at the younger man. His eyes are filled with warmth and affection, the intensity of the moment making his chest tighten. He brings his hand to Ororon's cheek, his thumb tracing the line of the younger man's jaw as he whispers, "You were amazing."

Ororon's face lights up at the praise, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. "Was I?" he asks, his voice small and unsure.

Capitano nods, his eyes shining with affection. "Yes, you were," he whispers, his voice low and husky. He leans in, his mouth brushing against Ororon's ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down the younger man's spine. "But now," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "it's my turn to take care of you."

Capitano wraps his arms around Ororon's waist and lifts him up, the man's body easily cradling the smaller frame. He lays him down on the bed once again, his body towering over Ororon, the mattress sinking slightly under their combined weight. They shift their position, but there's a tenderness in the way he handles Ororon.

Ororon's eyes follow as Capitano's strong hands come to his waist, gripping the fabric of his trousers. With a firm tug, Capitano starts to pull them down, his movements swift and sure. Ororon watches, his heart racing as he feels the fabric slide over his hips, exposing his own arousal.

Capitano's eyes never leave Ororon's as he reveals inch after inch of his own body. His pants hit the floor with a soft thud, his cock springing free, still semi-erect. Ororon's eyes are glued to it, the sight of the man's bare skin sending a thrill through him. Capitano's underwear finally follows, leaving him completely bare before the younger man.

Ororon can't help but stare, his gaze tracing the lines of the scars that mar Capitano's legs, his eyes lingering on the muscular thighs and powerful calves. Capitano seems to read his thoughts, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he leans down, his hand brushing over the younger man's cheek.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs.

Ororon's face flushes, his eyes flicking down to the floor, embarrassed by the praise. Capitano leans in closer, his hand moving to Ororon's cheek, tilting his face so they're eye-to-eye. "Look at me," he whispers, his thumb brushing over the younger man's plump lower lip. Ororon's different eyes dart up, meeting Capitano's gaze. "I mean it," he says, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. "Every part of you is perfect."

Ororon's knees tremble as Capitano moves between his legs, the weight of the man's body pressing him into the mattress. He can feel the man's cock, now fully hardened, brushing against his thigh, leaving a wet trail of precum. Capitano leans in, his breath warm against Ororon's cheek. "Relax," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to the younger man's nerves. "I'll go slow, as I promised."

Ororon nods, his eyes squeezed shut. He can feel Capitano's hand moving down his body, the calloused fingers gentle as they trace the line of his hip and then dip lower. A shiver runs through him as he feels Capitano's wet fingers at his entrance, the slickness of his saliva cool against his hot skin. His touch is gentle, his eyes never leaving Ororon's face as he inserts one, then two, fingers into the tight heat of the younger man's body. Blue and pink eyes fly open, a gasp escaping his lips. The sensation is strange, a mix of pleasure and slight discomfort that has him wriggling against the bed. Capitano's movements are slow, deliberate, as he works Ororon's body, stretching him open, preparing him for what's to come.

"Shh," he murmurs, pressing his own body closer to Ororon's, his cheek against the soft skin of his shoulder. "Just breathe."

Capitano's fingers are a gentle invasion, the pressure increasing in small, steady increments. Ororon's body tenses with each push, his muscles clenching around the intrusion before gradually relaxing. The warmth of his breath against Ororon's neck sends a shiver down the younger man's spine. He focuses on the rhythm of the other's breathing, matching his own to it, allowing his body to melt into the safety of his embrace.

The third digit joins the first two, the stretch feeling unbearable at first, but with each slow, careful movement, the discomfort morphs into a burning need that pools in the pit of his stomach. Ororon's breathing becomes ragged, his nails digging into the bed sheets as he tries to find purchase, to anchor himself in this new sensation. Capitano's eyes never leave his, the intensity in their depths speaking volumes of his desire and the gentle care he takes with Ororon's inexperienced body.

Ororon starts to give in to the rhythm, the burn turning into something almost... pleasurable. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but right now, he feels safe. The larger man's hand is a reassuring presence on his hip, grounding him as the digits inside him work their magic. He can feel his walls stretching, adjusting to the new sensation, and the anticipation of what's to come is almost unbearable.

With a final, gentle push, Capitano withdraws his fingers, leaving Ororon feeling empty yet somehow more alive than ever before. The man leans down again, placing a tender kiss on one of Ororon's closed eyelids, his breath a warm caress against his skin. The action is so tender, so loving, that it takes Ororon's breath away. He opens his eyes to find Capitano's gaze filled with a fierce love that steals his breath. The larger man's hands move to Ororon's thighs, his strong, calloused fingers spreading them wider apart. The younger man feels a thrill of anticipation mixed with a hint of fear as he watches Capitano's cock, slick with both their arousal, nudge against his opening. The tip presses in, and he can't help but tense up again, his body instinctively protecting itself from the unfamiliar intrusion.

Capitano notices the tension in Ororon's body and stops, his expression a mix of concern and determination. He leans in, whispering sweet nothings into Ororon's ear, his breath warm and comforting. "You're okay," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I've got you." Ororon nods, his eyes fluttering closed as he feels the tip of Capitano's cock retreat slightly. The larger man's hands move to his hips, holding him firmly but gently as he starts to kiss along the younger man's neck. The tender touches are like a balm, easing the tightness in Ororon's chest.

Capitano's cock nudges against his entrance again, and Ororon's breath catches in his throat. This time, he's ready, his body anticipating the sensation. The pressure builds as Capitano pushes in, the head of his cock breaching Ororon's body. A small whimper escapes Ororon's lips, his body tensing with the effort to accommodate the larger man's size.

Capitano's eyes never leave Ororon's. He whispers reassurances, his voice low and soothing, his movements slow and deliberate. Inch by inch, he sinks into Ororon's heat, the tightness making him grit his teeth to hold back.

Ororon's eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth clenched as he feels Capitano fill him up. He tries to relax, to remember the gentle words spoken in his ear, but the pain is intense. The mattress creaks beneath them as Capitano's hips rock forward, his cock sliding deeper. Ororon's nails dig into the sheets, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Capitano pauses, his body tense with the effort to hold back. He can feel Ororon's tightness around him, the way the younger man's body is trying to adjust. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice tight with concern.

Ororon nods, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes through the sensation. "It... it's just... different."

Capitano leans in closer, his own breathing heavy with arousal. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispers, his voice thick with need. "Or if you need more time."

Ororon shakes his head, his eyes finally opening to meet Capitano's gaze. "I trust you," he says, the words barely a murmur. "I know you won't hurt me."

Capitano's expression softens, his affection for Ororon shining brighter than ever. He nods, his eyes never leaving the younger man's face. With one final, gentle push, he's fully seated within Ororon, his cock buried to the hilt. The feeling of being so deeply connected to the person he cares for most is overwhelming, and he has to fight the urge to come right then and there.

Ororon's body tenses around him, the pain of penetration slowly giving way to something more. Capitano gives him a moment to adjust, his own body trembling with the effort of holding back. He starts to move, his hips rocking gently at first, the movement slow and shallow. Ororon gasps, his eyes flying open, his nails digging into Capitano's biceps. It's a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, the kind that makes his toes curl and his body arch. Capitano watches him intently, his eyes dark with need, his movements painfully slow. It's as if he's savoring every single second, every tremor that runs through the other's body. His thrusts become deeper, the slow, deliberate motion of his hips causing Ororon to whine with each stroke. The sound is like music to his ears, a symphony of passion that he never wants to end.

Ororon's eyes are locked on Capitano's, the intensity in them a silent communication of their shared vulnerability. Capitano's strokes become a little more forceful, his grip on Ororon's hips tightening. He can feel Ororon's body start to move with him, the younger man's legs wrapping around his waist as he tries to get closer, to take more of him.

Ororon's eyes are wide, his breath coming in short pants as he adjusts to the feeling of being filled so completely. The pain has dulled to a throbbing ache, replaced by a need that's building with every thrust. His hands are now clutching at Capitano's back, his nails scoring the man's skin as he tries to pull him closer, to get him deeper.

Capitano's movements grow more urgent, his strokes faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the cabin, punctuated by Ororon's gasps and moans. The scent of their mingled arousal is heavy in the air, a heady perfume that only serves to heighten the tension between them.

Ororon's body starts to move in sync with Capitano's, his hips rising to meet each thrust. He's lost in the feeling, his mind a whirl of sensation. He can feel every inch of Capitano's cock moving within him, stretching and filling him in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating. His own cock is trapped between their bodies, leaking pre-cum onto their stomachs, the friction driving him closer to the edge.

Capitano's movements become more urgent, his strokes more powerful. Ororon's moans grow louder, filling the cabin with the sound of their lovemaking. He can feel the younger man's body tensing, can see the way his eyes glaze over with pleasure. He knows Ororon is close, and he wants to be there with him.

Ororon's arms tighten around Capitano, his nails digging into the muscular flesh of his back. His legs are wrapped around the man's waist, holding him close as he moves in sync with every thrust. His hands move lower, reaching for Capitano's ass, his fingers sinking into the firm flesh as he tries to get a better grip. The feeling of Ororon's touch sends a jolt of pleasure through Capitano, making his own hips stutter in their rhythm.

Their bodies are slick with sweat, their skin sticking together as they move as one. Ororon's cock is trapped between them, the friction causing him to moan with each movement. He's so close, the pressure building in his balls, his hips bucking up to meet Capitano's every thrust. Capitano's own release is just within reach, the pleasure coiling in his gut, his cock thick and hard inside Ororon. He leans down, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep as he feels the younger man's body tighten around him.

Ororon's body convulses as he hits his peak, his back arching off the bed as he cries out. His nails dig into Capitano's back, his eyes squeezed shut as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him. His cock, trapped between their bodies, pulses and releases, painting their stomachs with a trail of warm cum.

Capitano feels the contractions around his cock, the sensation sending him closer and closer to his own climax. His hips stutter, his body fighting for release. He's so close, so very close, and he can't hold back much longer. Ororon's eyes fly open at the sudden stillness, his own orgasm still pulsing through him. He looks up at Capitano, his eyes pleading. "Inside me," he whispers, his voice hoarse from moaning. "Please, don't pull out." The raw vulnerability in Ororon's eyes is too much for Capitano to resist. He nods, his own need overwhelming him. "I'm not sure if..." he starts, his voice trailing off as Ororon's nails dig deep into his back, a silent demand. Capitano hisses at the sudden sting, his cock jerking inside the younger man.

"Do it," Ororon says, his voice firm despite the tremble in his chest. "Finish inside me."

Capitano's eyes widen at the demand, his body stiffening. And he finds himself at the mercy of Ororon's desire. He nods, his breathing shallow. "If that's what you want," he murmurs, his voice thick with need.

With a final, powerful thrust, Capitano lets go, his cock pulsing deep inside Ororon's body. The feeling of warmth and fullness is overwhelming, and Ororon can't help but moan as the larger man fills him. The sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and it sends his senses reeling. He feels so connected to Capitano at this moment, so utterly consumed by their love.

Capitano's eyes are closed, his head thrown back as he rides out his own orgasm, his body trembling with the force of it. Ororon watches him, his own pleasure subsiding as he focuses on the man above him. He can feel the warmth of Capitano's cum filling him, the sensation strange but somehow right.

When Capitano finally stills, his breathing ragged, he opens his eyes to find Ororon's gaze on him. There's a softness there, a tenderness that makes his heart swell. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ororon's forehead. "Are you okay?" he whispers, his voice hoarse from their passionate exchange.

Ororon nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he says, his voice a little shaky. "It was..." He trails off, searching for the right words. "Amazing," he finally whispers.

Capitano's body relaxes slightly, his weight pressing down on Ororon as he fights to catch his breath. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice filled with concern. "Was it too much?"

Ororon shakes his head, his arms still wrapped tightly around Capitano's neck. "No," he whispers. "It was perfect."

Capitano lets out a relieved sigh and kisses Ororon's forehead again. As he is about to pull out, Ororon's grip tightens around him, a gentle request in his eyes. "Not yet," he murmurs, his voice a soft plea. Capitano pauses, feeling the warmth and fullness of Ororon's body around his cock, the aftershocks of their shared climax still resonating. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes a mix of pleasure and uncertainty. He licks his lips nervously. "Can you... stay like this for a moment longer?" The vulnerability in his request is palpable, and Capitano's heart swells with affection. He nods, his cock still twitching inside Ororon as he gently strokes the younger man's hair.

They lie there, their hearts racing together, the silence of the cabin completing the emotions inside them. Ororon's chest heaves with every breath. The larger man can feel the warmth of their mingled seed inside Ororon.

Capitano takes a moment to study the beautiful picture they make together. Ororon's skin is flushed with passion, his cheeks a rosy hue that makes him look even more delicate. His eyelids are slightly closed, his pupils blown wide with pleasure. His lips are swollen from their kisses, the corners tipped up in a contented smile. With one hand, Capitano gently card his fingers through Ororon's side, tracing a line from his hip to his ribcage. The movement is slow, almost lazy, as if he's committing every inch of Ororon's body to memory. His touch is feather-light, but the heat of his palm seems to sear the skin beneath it.

Ororon's breath hitches, his eyes fluttering closed.

Capitano smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watches Ororon's reaction to his gentle touch.

"I should probably pull out," he murmurs, his voice filled with reluctance. "Don't want to hurt you."

Ororon nods, his eyes fluttering open. The warmth and fullness of Capitano's cock slipping out of him is almost painful in its absence. He bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to spill from his mouth as cum slowly starts to seep out of Ororon's body, the sticky warmth trickling down his thighs. Capitano watches him. He gently withdraws, the sensation of Ororon's tightness releasing him making him hiss with the effort of not coming again. He rolls to the side, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with their combined arousal.

Ororon's body relaxes with the absence, but he feels empty, a strange sensation that makes him want to pull Capitano back into him. He looks at the man next to him, his chest heaving with the aftermath of their love-making. "I didn't know it would be like that," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Capitano's gaze is filled with warmth and a hint of concern as he strokes Ororon's cheek with the back of his hand. "Was it okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Ororon nods, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that are coursing through him. Instead, his eyes fixate on Capitano's full, inviting lips, his own mouth feeling dry and needy. He can't help but think about how those lips felt against his, how they had claimed and soothed him all at once.

What if I bit those lips again? The thought is a whisper in his mind, a secret he's not quite ready to share. He craves the feeling of Capitano's skin under his teeth, the way the man's body responded to his touch earlier. The idea sends a thrill of excitement through him, making him shiver slightly.

"You okay?"

Ororon nods, unable to tear his eyes away from Capitano's mouth. The desire to feel those lips on his skin again is overwhelming. "I'm just... thinking," he murmurs.

"About what?"

He swallows, trying to form a coherent response, but his mind is still a haze of pleasure.

Instead, he decides to act on his desires. He leans in, capturing Capitano's full lips with his own, and bites down hard enough to draw a surprised gasp. The taste of blood is metallic and sweet, and the way Capitano's body tenses against his own sends a thrill through him.

Capitano's hand comes up to grip the back of Ororon's neck, holding him in place as he deepens the kiss, his own teeth grazing Ororon's bottom lip in return. The exchange is raw, animalistic, and it sends a bolt of desire straight to Ororon's core. He can feel his body responding, his cock growing hard once more despite the recent release. He doesn't break the kiss as he moves on top of Capitano's body, his legs straddling the larger man's waist. The shift in weight causes Capitano to grunt, his abs flexing under Ororon's thighs. The kiss turns into a battle for dominance, their tongues clashing and dancing together. Ororon's nails dig into Capitano's shoulders, his body moving instinctively as he grinds down against the man's still-hard cock.

Capitano's hands move to Ororon's hips, his fingers digging into the slender flesh as he tries to hold him still. But Ororon is insistent, his body moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has Capitano's own hips rising to meet him. The feeling of their cocks sliding together is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through both of their bodies.

Ororon can't help but squiz one of Capitano's full pecs, his thumb and forefinger pinching the nipple lightly. The larger man's hiss of pleasure is like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire in Ororon's belly. He does it again, a little harder this time, watching as Capitano's eyes flutter closed and his head falls back into the pillows. The sight of the man he loves, so strong and powerful in every other aspect of their lives, giving in to the pleasure Ororon can give him is intoxicating.

Capitano's hand snaps up to cover Ororon's, his grip firm. "Careful," he warns, his voice thick with need. But the look in his eyes says he doesn't really mean it. Ororon smirks and squeezes harder, watching as Capitano's body arches off the bed. The feeling of power is heady, making him feel alive in a way he never has before.

The man's breath hitches, his eyes squeezing shut as Ororon plays with his nipples. His hand slides down to grip Ororon's hip, guiding his movements. The friction between their cocks is too much, and Capitano can feel his own need building again. His body is a live wire, every touch and kiss setting him alight. Ororon takes advantage of Capitano's distraction to lean down, his teeth grazing the man's neck. He bites down, hard enough to leave a mark, and feels the throb of Capitano's pulse beneath his teeth. The taste of skin and sweat is intoxicating, and he can't get enough.

Capitano's hand tightens on Ororon's hip, his eyes flying open as he gasps for breath. "Again," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Ororon's smirk widens, his eyes dark with lust as he leans in to repeat the action, his teeth scraping along the taut flesh of Capitano's neck. 

"What if I stop?" he says, his voice a teasing challenge.

Capitano's eyes darken, the smoldering embers of his desire flaring into a full-blown fire. He pinches Ororon's waist, not hard enough to truly hurt, but with enough force to make the younger man gasp. "Ororon," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with promise.

The air in the cabin crackles with tension, the unspoken challenge hanging between them. Ororon's breath hitches, his hips stuttering as he considers the implications. He leans down, his teeth grazing Capitano's collarbone before he bites down, harder than ever.

Capitano's grip on his hip tightens, his hips jerking up in response. The sensation of Ororon's teeth on his skin is a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, sending shockwaves through his body. He can feel the younger man's cock growing hard against his stomach, the heat of it a silent demand. Ororon takes the cue, his hand moving to wrap around Capitano's cock. His grip is firm but gentle, his thumb tracing the vein that runs along the underside. Capitano's eyes roll back in his head at the sensation, a low moan escaping his lips. Ororon's body moves almost of its own accord, bending forward to align Capitano's dick with his already-prepared hole. His skin is sticky with their combined fluids, making it easier for the larger man to glide into him. He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing as he feels the blunt head of Capitano's cock nudging against his entrance.

Capitano's hand moves to Ororon's hip, his grip firm as he stills the younger man's movements. "Take your time," he whispers, his voice filled with concern. "Your body's still tender."

Ororon nods, his eyes fluttering open to meet Capitano's gaze. The love and care in the larger man's eyes is almost too much to handle. He takes a deep breath, his body relaxing slightly as he nods. "Okay," he whispers, his voice shaky with anticipation.

Capitano's hand moves to Ororon's cheek, his thumb brushing away the damp strands of hair that are sticking to his forehead.

Ororon takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut again as he lowers himself onto Capitano's cock. The initial pressure is intense, a reminder of their earlier coupling. But he's more relaxed now, his body more accustomed to the sensation. He takes his time, feeling every inch as it stretches him open.

Capitano's eyes are locked on Ororon's face, watching for any signs of discomfort or pain. But all he sees is a look of concentration, mixed with a hint of desire that makes his own cock throb even more. He gently guides Ororon's hips, letting him set the pace. He can feel the warmth and tightness of the younger man's body surrounding him, the sensation more exquisite than he ever could have imagined.

Ororon's breaths come in short gasps as he takes Capitano's cock all the way in, his body quivering with the effort. When he's fully seated, he pauses for a moment, letting his muscles adjust to the intrusion. The feeling is overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes him dizzy. Capitano's eyes are wide with awe, watching Ororon's every move, his hand still gently cradling the side of his face. "Look at me," he murmurs, his voice a gentle command. Ororon's eyes fly open, meeting Capitano's gaze. The love and lust in those eyes is almost too much to handle. Ororon starts to move, his hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Every inch of Capitano's cock drags against his insides, setting off a cascade of sensations that make his toes curl. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, his breath hitching with every movement.

Capitano watches him, his eyes hooded with pleasure. His hand moves from Ororon's cheek to the back of his neck, his fingers threading through the soft strands of hair. He pulls him down for another kiss, his hips rising to meet Ororon's movements.

Ororon's moan is swallowed by Capitano's mouth, the kiss growing more frantic as their bodies move together. He can feel the larger man's grip on his hip tightening, urging him to go faster, harder.

Capitano breaks the kiss, panting as he sits up, taking Ororon with him. The shift in position has his cock sliding out of Ororon slightly, and he whines. But Capitano doesn't let him go, instead pulling him closer until their chests are flush. Ororon's knees are now straddling Capitano's thighs, and he gasps as the larger man's cock slams back into him, hitting that perfect spot that makes his vision swim with pleasure.

The new angle allows Capitano to bury his nose in Ororon's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of their mingled arousal. His teeth graze the delicate skin, leaving a trail of new love bites that Ororon can feel pulsing with each beat of his racing heart. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through him, making him gasp and arch into the larger man.

Capitano's hips begin to piston upward, his cock filling Ororon in a steady, relentless rhythm that has the younger man's eyes rolling back in his head. Ororon's nails dig into Capitano's hair, pulling and tugging as he tries to anchor himself in reality. The feeling of the larger man's cock stretching and burning him.

Suddenly, Capitano's thumbs press firmly into the hollows of Ororon's navel, the unexpected pressure sending shockwaves through his body. Ororon gasps, his eyes flying open to meet Capitano's intense gaze. The larger man's thumbs circle and press, creating a new source of pleasure that makes Ororon's body tighten around him. Ororon's forehead falls to Capitano's shoulder, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he tries to keep up with the overwhelming sensations. Each thrust is met with a soft whine, his body moving almost of its own accord. Capitano's hips are a blur of motion, his cock plunging into Ororon's tight heat with an intensity that leaves them both panting. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the cabin, punctuated by Ororon's moans and Capitano's grunts of effort.

Ororon's body is a tight coil of pleasure, wound tighter with every stroke. He can feel his orgasm building, a pressure building low in his belly that threatens to overwhelm him. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to hold on, not wanting this moment to end.

Capitano senses Ororon's impending climax, his own need spiraling out of control. He grips Ororon's hips, his fingers leaving bruises as he pulls him down, his cock sliding deep with each punishing thrust. "Come for me," he whispers against Ororon's ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Let me feel you come around my cock."

Ororon's body obeys the command, his muscles spasming as he reaches the peak. He throws his head back, a keening cry tearing from his throat. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, his body shaking with the force of his release. He feels Capitano's warmth fill him, the larger man's orgasm pulsing deep inside as he claims Ororon's body once again.

As the last waves of pleasure subside, Ororon goes limp, his body boneless against Capitano's shoulder. His chest heaves with deep breaths, his heart hammering in his ears. The warmth of Capitano's embrace is the only thing keeping him anchored as the world spins around him. Capitano's hand moves to cradle the back of Ororon's head, his thumb gently stroking through the sweat-damp strands of hair. He pulls out slowly, the sensation of Ororon's body releasing him almost painful. He's careful not to cause any more discomfort, his movements tender as he rolls them over so that Ororon is lying in the crook of his arm.

The fire in the hearth has burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The flames dance in the semi-darkness, their flickering light playing across the two men's sweat-slicked skin. Ororon's eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Capitano watches him for a moment, his own breaths coming in short gasps as he tries to regain control. 

Capitano shifts, the movement bringing a small, pained noise from Ororon. Capitano's eyes fly to his face, fear and concern etched into his features. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice gruff with emotion.

Ororon's eyes flutter open, a soft smile playing on his lips. "No," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. "It's just... intense."

Capitano nods, understanding the unspoken words. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to Ororon's forehead, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the passionate storm they just weathered together. His hand runs soothingly down the younger man's spine, tracing the contours of his back. Ororon shivers under the tender touch, his eyes drifting shut once more. He feels safe, loved, and cherished. It's a feeling he never knew existed before this moment, and he clings to it with every fiber of his being.

Capitano's hand continues its gentle path down Ororon's body, his touch feather-light as it trails down to the younger man's hip. He pulls him closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly, as if they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match.

Ororon's eyes open slightly, his gaze locking onto Capitano's disfigured cheek. He leans in, his lips brushing against the rough skin, tenderly kissing the marred area as he has learned to do.

Capitano's voice is soft, almost a whisper. "Does this... bother you?" He gestures to the jagged scar that runs from his blind eye to the corner of his mouth.

Ororon exhaustedly shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Capitano's disfigured cheek. Instead, he nuzzles nearer, his nose brushing against the roughened skin. "Why, no," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "It needs even more love."

Capitano's heart swells at Ororon's words, his hand stilling on Ororon's hip.

"You're superb," Ororon whispers, his voice filled with awe and love. The sincerity in his words brings a rare smile to Capitano's lips.

Capitano's hand continues to stroke Ororon's back, his touch gentle and soothing. The warmth of his embrace is like a balm to Ororon's exhausted body, and he can feel sleep beginning to tug at his eyelids. Each breath is a little deeper, a little slower. The exhaustion is finally catching up to him.

Ororon's head shifts, his cheek coming to rest on Capitano's chest. He can feel the steady thump of the larger man's heart beneath him, a reassuring beat that lulls him further into the abyss of slumber. Capitano's arms tighten around him, holding him closer, as if afraid that he might slip away.

Capitano carefully shifts, his movements deliberate so as not to disturb Ororon. He reaches for the blanket that's crumpled at the foot of the bed, his muscles flexing as he pulls it up over their entwined forms. The warmth of the fabric envelops them, trapping their combined heat in a cocoon of comfort.

Ororon stirs slightly at the change in temperature, his eyes fluttering open to gaze up at Capitano's concerned expression. He smiles sleepily, his hand reaching out to trace the worry lines on the larger man's face. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Capitano's features soften at the sight of Ororon's contentment, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Rest," he whispers, his arm tightening around the slender form. "I've got you."

Ororon nods, his eyes drifting closed once more.

Capitano's chest rises and falls with each breath, his heart thudding against Ororon's cheek as he holds him tightly.

His eyes remain open a little longer. His hand continues to stroke Ororon's back, feeling the softness of his skin, the curve of his spine, and the warmth of their connection.

But then, Capitano's eyes drifted shut. His breathing evened out, matching the rhythm of Ororon's. The weight of his arm across Ororon's back grew heavier, a comforting pressure that signaled the larger man had succumbed to sleep.

Chapter Text

The blizzard outside had abated, leaving a serene silence that was only pierced by the occasional howl of a distant wind.

Dawn approached, the light of the rising sun peeking through the cracks in the cabin's shutters. The gentle warmth began to creep into the room, disturbing Ororon's closed eyes. He blinked sleepily, his body feeling a little worn out from the intense night. 

With a soft sigh, he shifted his position in bed, his body automatically reaching out for Capitano's embrace. But his hand met only cold, empty space.

Panic surged through Ororon's veins as he sat up with wide eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. The fear of being left behind once again washed over him like a tidal wave. The bed was rumpled, the blankets thrown haphazardly aside, but Capitano was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank as he feared Capitano was gone. He started to mumble under his breath, his words a jumbled mess of fear and frustration. "He can't leave again," he murmured, his eyes searching the shadows for any sign of his lover. "I'll drug his sorry ass back even if I have to..." The words barely left his lips before a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his lower back. With a grimace, he tried to stand, his legs protesting the sudden movement. The hard ground of the cabin floor met his knees with a jarring thud, a sad whine escaping his throat as his body refused to cooperate. He reached behind him, his hand finding the tender spot where the pain was originating from: his muscles protesting from the unaccustomed exertion.

With trembling hands, Ororon grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to cover his naked body. The soft fabric was a cold caress against his sticky skin, and he shivered as the remnants of their lovemaking coated his thighs. A trickle of cum trailed down his inner thigh. The emptiness in his heart grew, filling him with a desperate yearning for the man he'd just given himself to completely.

The anger bubbled up, hot and fierce, in the pit of his stomach. How could Capitano just leave like that? After everything they'd shared, the trust, the passion, the love—was it all just a fleeting moment for him? Ororon's hand clenched into a fist around the blanket, his teeth grinding together as the urge to scream tore through him like a wild animal.

But before the first syllable of a curse could pass his lips, a familiar voice cut through the quiet of the cabin. "Ororon?" It was tentative, unsure, filled with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place in the morning light.

Ororon's head snapped up, his eyes searching the shadows. There, standing by the door to the small bathing area, was Capitano, his hair dark and damp, a towel slung around his broad shoulders. His eyes widened when he saw Ororon's distress, and he rushed over, dropping to his knees beside the bed.

"Is everything okay?" Capitano's voice was thick with concern, his hand reaching out to gently touch Ororon's arm. His touch sent a shiver down Ororon's spine, the fear and anger momentarily forgotten.

Ororon took a deep, shaky breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

Capitano's eyes searched Ororon's face, the confusion in his gaze slowly morphing into concern as he took in the younger man's trembling form. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, his hand moving to Ororon's back, stroking softly.

Ororon's breath hitched. He turned to face the larger man, his eyes wide with both terror and anger. His hand shot out, the palm of it landing with a soft thud against Capitano's chest, his fist clenched tightly. "I thought you left," he accused, his voice hoarse.

Capitano's expression was one of shocked confusion, his hand freezing mid-stroke. "I was just getting clean," he explained, his voice gentle, as if speaking to a spooked animal. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

Ororon's eyes searched Capitano's face, looking for any sign of deceit or intent to leave. The larger man's eyes held only worry and care, his hand easing Ororon's bruised heart. With a heavy exhale, the anger dissipated, leaving behind only fear and vulnerability. He leaned into the touch, his body craving the reassurance that Capitano was still there, still with him. His hand stilled on Ororon's back, his thumb gently stroking the taut muscles. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice soothing. "I'm not going anywhere..." He could feel the tension in Ororon's body slowly ease under his touch, the trembling lessening.

Ororon's shoulders relaxed at the reassurance. The concern in the other's gaze was genuine, and he felt his own fears dissipate like mist in the early morning sun.

Capitano carefully helped Ororon to his feet, his arms steady and strong around the younger man's waist. As Ororon tried to stand straight, a wince of pain crossed his face, and his legs wobbled. "Take it easy," Capitano murmured, his eyes filled with tenderness as he watched Ororon's struggle. "I'll make you breakfast," Capitano said, giving Ororon's shoulders a gentle squeeze before releasing him. "Why don't you sit back down for a bit?"

Ororon nodded, his legs giving out as he sank back onto the bed. Capitano's gaze followed him, his expression a mix of worry and affection. He disappeared into the kitchen area, the clank of pots and pans a comforting sound in the early morning silence.

A few moments later, Capitano returned, a steaming tray in his hands. The scent of a hot cup of tea and a small plate of sliced fruit filled the air, making Ororon's stomach growl in response. Capitano set the tray down on the bed, the delicate aromas of breakfast wafting up to tempt them both.

"Eat," he urged. "You need your strength." He took the towel from his shoulders, using it to dry his hair in quick, efficient movements.

As Capitano continued to dry his hair, Ororon's gaze was drawn to the marks of their coupling that marred the larger man's back and waist. His eyes widened, and he almost choked on his hot drink as he took in the sight. He shyly looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. He couldn't believe he'd been so... aggressive, so needy. The thought of his nails digging into Capitano's flesh, his teeth nipping at his skin, filled him with embarrassment and a fierce possessiveness that surprised him.

But before he could apologize, before he could say anything at all, the words tumbled from his mouth without thought. "I regret nothing." The phrase was barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the cabin it sounded like a shout.

Capitano stills, his hand paused mid-stroke through his hair. He turns to face Ororon, his expression one of confusion. "You said something?"

Ororon's cheeks flush a darker shade of red, his eyes darting away from the larger man's intense gaze. He shakes his head, trying to brush off the slip. "Nothing," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. He picks at the blanket, suddenly very interested in the frayed threads.

Capitano sets aside the towel, his movements deliberate as he crosses the small space to the bed. He sits down beside Ororon, his weight shifting the mattress. The warmth from his body radiates outwards, enveloping the younger man. He reaches out and rests his hand gently on the back of Ororon's neck.

Ororon can't resist the comfort of the gesture, his body leaning into the touch. He relaxes against Capitano's broad, bare chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under the firm muscle. The larger man's arm wraps around him, pulling him closer, and Ororon lets out a sigh of contentment. But then, his gaze falls to Capitano's chest. There, standing out starkly against the skin, is the mark of his teeth—a small, swollen bitemark on the darkened areola of one of the man's nipples. The sight of it sends a jolt of embarrassment through him. He tries to look away, but his eyes are drawn back to it like a moth to a flame.

"You okay?" Capitano's voice is a gentle rumble.

Ororon nods, unable to meet his eyes. "Yeah," he says, his voice small.

After some time, Capitano gently encouraged Ororon to stand, his strong arms supporting the smaller man as he wobbled unsteadily on his legs. "Let's get you into the bath," he murmured, guiding Ororon with care. The floorboards creaked softly underfoot as they made their way to the bathroom, the single light from the cabin's only window casting a comforting glow over the space. He helped Ororon to step into the tub, the water coming up to his chest and eliciting a sigh of pure relief from his lips. The warmth seeped into his muscles, soothing the ache that lingered from their intense night.

Ororon leaned back, his body supported by the curve of the tub, his eyes drifting shut as Capitano began to wash him. His hands were firm yet gentle, his touch tender as he scrubbed away the sweat and grime from Ororon's skin. He started with the younger man's shoulders, working his way down the slender arms to his hands, which were trembling slightly. Each stroke of the washcloth sent a shiver of pleasure through Ororon's body, as if every inch of him was still sensitive to the touch.

Capitano's movements were methodical, almost meditative, as he worked his way down Ororon's chest, paying special attention to the areas where Capitano's fingers had dug in. He kissed each bruise, his lips tracing the purple marks with a gentle pressure. Ororon's eyes remained closed, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he let himself be pampered by the man he had come to cherish so deeply.

The water grew tepid, and Capitano knew he had to be careful not to push too hard, but he couldn't resist the urge to clean Ororon thoroughly. He washed the tender skin of Ororon's inner thighs, the spot where their bodies had been joined just hours before. The sight of it made his cock twitch with remembered pleasure, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. Moving up, Capitano reached for the shampoo, his eyes lingering on the thick, dark blue strands of hair that fell around Ororon's face. He'd never seen anything quite so beautiful, so vivid and alive. With gentle hands, he began to massage the soap into Ororon's scalp, his fingertips working through the knots and tangles.

Ororon's head lolled back, a soft moan escaping his lips as Capitano's strong fingers worked their magic. The scent of the soap filled the small room, clean and fresh, and Ororon felt the last vestiges of the night's passion slipping away with each stroke. With a gentle touch, Capitano placed a large hand over Ororon's closed eyes. The younger man's breath caught in his throat at the sudden contact, his heart skipping a beat.

"I don't want the soap to get in your eyes," Capitano murmured, his voice low and soothing. His other hand reached for a nearby bucket, the sound of water sloshing as he filled it with clean, lukewarm liquid.

Ororon nodded slightly, his breath hitching as he felt Capitano's fingers pressed lightly on the lids, effectively blocking out the light and the sight of the world beyond.

Capitano carefully tipped Ororon's head back, the water from the bucket cascading over his hair and down his neck. The warmth was soothing, the pressure of the water a gentle caress as it rinsed away the soap. The younger man leaned into the touch, his body melting under the tender care.

The only sounds were the soft splashes of water and their mingled breaths, quick and shallow. Capitano's eyes searched Ororon's face, taking in every feature: the high cheekbones, the plump lower lip, the softly closed eyes, the scarlet blush that painted his cheeks.

Ororon felt the warmth of Capitano's gaze and shivered, his eyes fluttering open. He found himself staring into the depths of Capitano's soul, the blue orbs dark with a tumult of emotions that Ororon couldn't quite decipher.

Capitano's silence was palpable as he carefully squeezed the water from Ororon's hair with a soft towel, his movements tender and deliberate. Ororon watched the larger man's face, his own thoughts racing. What was going through his mind? Was he regretting their night of passion?

Once Ororon's hair was sufficiently dry, Capitano wrapped the towel around the younger man's slender frame, his hands lingering for a moment before guiding him back to the bed. The fabric clung to Ororon's wet skin, he shivered slightly, his eyes never leaving Capitano's. The larger man's expression was unreadable, his gaze intense and searching.

Ororon sat on the edge of the bed, the towel pooling around him as Capitano bent to pick up his discarded clothes. He watched, his heart racing as Capitano carefully folded each item before setting them aside. The tender care in such a simple act spoke volumes about the depth of their connection.

Capitano knelt before him, holding out a pair of soft and clean underwear. The silence stretched taut between them as Ororon lifted his legs, one at a time, allowing the larger man to slide the fabric up his slender legs.

Ororon's skin was flushed, and his eyes remained glued to Capitano's, watching every movement with both agitation and hope. The underwear reached his hips, and Capitano paused, his gaze locking with Ororon's for a brief, charged moment; the younger man felt the weight of that stare, his breath catching in his throat. The air in the cabin grew thick with unspoken words, the space between them charged with an electric current. He didn't dare move, afraid that even the slightest shift would break the delicate balance they'd found in this quiet, intimate moment.

Capitano leaned in, his breath warm against Ororon's skin as he helped lift him slightly to slide the underwear into place. Ororon's arm slipped around the larger man's neck, his fingers curling into the short hairs at the nape, his grip tightening reflexively as the fabric passed over his bruised and sensitive skin. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down Capitano's spine as he felt the warmth of Ororon's body against his. His eyes never left the latter's, the intensity of their gaze a silent conversation filled with unspoken truths and unanswered questions.

"Thank you," Ororon whispered, his voice hoarse from the night's exertions and the weight of his emotions. The words were a declaration, an acknowledgment of the care Capitano had shown him in this vulnerable moment.

Capitano nodded, his eyes never leaving Ororon's. He reached up to cup the younger man's face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently brushing the high cheekbones. "Always," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with promise and unspoken fear. Ororon's heart clenched in his chest, the doubt etched in Capitano's face reminded him of the precarious balance of their world. As Capitano continued to dress him, the gentle touch of his hands on Ororon's skin was a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.

Not yet, at least.

Capitano took a step back, his hands lingering on Ororon's thighs for a moment longer than necessary. His palms lingered there, the heat of his touch searing into Ororon's skin, as if branding him as his own. Ororon's eyes searched the larger man's face, trying to read the emotions swirling in those deep blue eyes.

With a deep, shuddering inhale, Capitano's grip tightened slightly, his knuckles whitening with the effort. His eyes dropped to Ororon's, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to still.

"What is it?" Ororon asks, his voice cracking with anxiety as Capitano remains silent. He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above Capitano's shoulder, unsure of how to bridge the sudden distance that seemed to have opened between them.

Capitano's silence was a wall, one that Ororon desperately wanted to scale to understand the turmoil that lay beneath. He could see the tension in the larger man's jaw, the way his eyes had gone distant, and it made his chest ache. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely a breath. "Talk to me."

The words seemed to break the spell, and Capitano's gaze snapped back to him. His eyes searched Ororon's face, as if looking for something, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "Remember what the soldier said?"

Ororon holds his bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Capitano's eyes bore into him, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. "They're going to come for me," he says, his voice a low, pained rumble. "I can't stay here."

But Ororon doesn't let him finish. His emotions boil over, and before he can stop himself, he's on his feet, his voice rising in anger. "Wh—you promised!" he snaps, his eyes flashing.

Capitano's eyes widen in surprise at the sudden outburst, but he quickly regains his composure. He reaches for Ororon's shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he tries to ease him back down onto the bed. "Wait," he starts to explain, but Ororon resists, pushing his arms away.

Ororon's chest heaves with the force of his emotions. "You can't just leave again." He says, his voice thick with anger. "You promised we'd figure this out together!"

Capitano's eyes widen in surprise, his grip tightening reflexively. "Ororon," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You're misunderstanding. I'm—" Ororon tries to stand again, but Capitano's arms wrap around him, pulling him back down to the bed. "You're scared. I get it." His thumbs brush against Ororon's cheekbones, guiding his chin up until their eyes lock. "But you're not listening to me," he repeats, his gaze unyielding.

Ororon's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes searching Capitano's for a hint of what he's trying to say.

Capitano sighs heavily, his hands moving to cover Ororon's, which are clutching the bed sheets. "What I was trying to say," he starts, his voice measured and calm, "was that I can't stay here," he repeats. "I'll leave— but only if you're coming with me."

Ororon's eyes widen in shock. The words he'd feared had been twisted into something entirely different. "With you?" he whispers, his voice trembling with disbelief.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he says, his voice softer now. " And if we're found..." He trails off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

But Ororon doesn't care. All he hears is the promise in Capitano's voice, the hope that they can escape this together.

Capitano's hand covers Ororon's, his thumb rubbing over the knuckles that had just struck him. He smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. "I didn't want to drag you into this," he admits. "But now... now I can't imagine doing it without you."

Ororon's heart skips a beat.

He looks around the cabin, the walls that had been his sanctuary for so long now feeling small, suffocating. The fireplace, the bed, the simple wooden chair that had been his only companions during his solitude—it all feels like a distant memory, a part of a different life that is now fading away.

Ororon sighs deeply, feeling a pair of arms around him, anchoring him to the present. He's torn between the comfort of the embrace and the fear of the unknown that lies ahead.

"You don't have to follow me," Capitano says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have the opportunity to choose your own path."

"I just want to be where you are," he says finally, turning in Capitano's arms to face him. "Whether that's in the middle of a blizzard, or on the run from your enemies. I'll follow you anywhere."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Capitano seems to waver.
Then, with a gentle smile, he leans in and kisses Ororon, a soft, lingering press of his lips. "Okay."

The room was silent, the only sound the occasional sizzle of the blade against the apple's flesh. His eyes were focused, his mind racing with thoughts that only he knew. The candlelight cast shadows across his furrowed brow, highlighting the contours of his face as he sat at the simple wooden table in his cabin.

The knock at the door was like a gunshot in the stillness, making him jump and nearly nick his thumb. He set the knife down with a sigh, the apple forgotten for a moment as he stared at the wood-paneled barrier that separated him from the outside world. The interruption was unwelcome, but he knew it was inevitable.

"Enter," he called out with a low, annoyed voice, his tone a warning to whoever was on the other side. He didn't bother to get up, instead watching as the door creaked open and a figure stepped into the candlelit room.

The soldier who had interrupted his thoughts looked at him tentatively, his eyes flicking down to the knife on the table before returning to meet the commander's gaze. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," he began, his voice wavering slightly.

"Make it quick," the commander said, his eyes narrowing as he took a bite of the apple. The crunch was loud in the quiet space, the sweetness of the fruit doing little to ease the bitter taste in his mouth.

The soldier took a deep breath, his hand hovering over his chest in a silent salute. His stoic face was etched with doubt and hesitation, his eyes flicking from the commander to the ground and back again. "Sir," he began, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hand. "I... I have information regarding the man we've been searching for."

The commander's gaze remained on the apple, his teeth sinking into the flesh with a deliberate crunch. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the soldier's existence. The silence stretched out, the tension in the room thickening like the smoke from an unseen cigar.

"Well?" the commander finally barked, his voice a whip-crack in the quiet.

The soldier took a step forward, his eyes flicking up to meet the commander's. "It's Ororon, sir," he said, his voice filled with a mix of disgust and anger. "He's been helping them—the outlander."

The commander's hand stilled, the apple hovering in front of his mouth. The room grew colder, the candlelight seeming to dim as the air grew heavy with a sudden, palpable tension. For a moment, there was no sound, no movement, as if the very fabric of the cabin had frozen in anticipation. Then, the commander chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down the soldier's spine. He took a slow bite of the apple, the juice trickling down his chin as he chewed thoughtfully. "Are you quite certain about that, soldier?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very floorboards.

Before the soldier could respond, the door swung open with a snap, the handle still trembling from the haste. The deputy commander entered without waiting for permission, a hard expression etched onto his face like a carving.

"Commander. I have urgent matters to discuss—"

The commander lifted his gaze from the desk, his grey eyes, sharp as ice shards, fixed on his subordinate with irritation. But it wasn't the irritation that struck the vice commander. It was the thin, crooked smile--the one the commander only showed when chaos worked in his favor. Beside the man, the soldier stood rigid as a statue. Something in his gaze, evasive and guilty, tightened the deputy commander's nerves.

"Something that can wait," the commander replied, his voice slow and thick. "We've just received some very...interesting information."

The soldier avoided his gaze, but the vice commander recognized the tension. "Information, you say?"

The commander rose from his chair, his heavy uniform rustling against the worn wood. He gestured to the soldier. "Why don't you repeat everything to our dear deputy?"

The soldier hesitated, but the implicit order gave no refusal. "Ororon's been lying to us from the start."

The vice commander felt his blood turn to ice. His eyes darted from the soldier to his superior, who now stared at him with a contemptuous grin.

"Oh, it seems that our dear vice commander isn't quite as thrilled with this revelation as I am," the commander said with a smug grin, his eyes flicking over to the stoic figure of his second-in-command. "I wonder why?"

The vice commander remained motionless, but his silence betrayed an inner turmoil. The mistake had been allowing even a single fragment of his concern to surface.

“Don’t you understand?” the commander continued, his eyes cold and sharp like splinters of glass. “That boy—Ororon—has betrayed our trust, my trust. And you seem almost... disappointed that the truth has come to light.”

“I had my suspicions, but I wasn’t sure it was true,” the vice commander replied, his voice strained, like a thread pulled to the breaking point. “If it had been, I would have taken the necessary measures.”

“Ah, yes, the necessary measures...” The commander smiled, a smile that was anything but friendly. “That’s the problem, you see. Your heart has always been a little too... weak. Too inclined to seek understanding where order should be imposed.” The word weak slipped from his lips like an insult disguised as forgiveness.

The commander slowly turned toward the soldier, as if the vice commander was now irrelevant. “You did well to report everything,” he said to the young man, whose back straightened under the illusion of recognition. “Now, leave us. We have more important matters to discuss.”

The soldier nodded quickly and left the room with rigid steps, not daring to meet the vice commander’s pained eyes.

As soon as the door closed, the commander turned his attention back to his subordinate.
“So, we will deal with this matter.” His words came out slow, deliberate, as if savoring each syllable. “And this time, I will not tolerate mistakes.”

The vice commander stiffened, but his gaze did not falter. “And... What about that man? About Ororon?”

The commander smiled, a glacial gleam in his eyes. “He will get what he deserves. The law is clear, and I have no intention of showing leniency.” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy like a blade suspended. “As for Ororon...” His smile widened, twisted and sharp. “His actions will have consequences. And I’ll decide when the right moment comes.”

The snow was slowly melting, breaking into dirty patches that shattered the uniform white of the landscape. Under the pale morning sun, water dripped from bare branches, and the air smelled of damp earth. It was as if the world was trying to wake up from its long winter sleep.

“Spring is coming,” Ororon murmured, trying to fill the heavy silence. “Soon, all of this will be green.” Capitano barely nodded, his face turned forward, his gaze constantly alert to the movements between the trees. The rifle rested firmly on his shoulder, like a natural extension of his body.

“Don’t get distracted,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Walk behind me and make less noise.”

Ororon obeyed without protest, but his heart tightened. Capitano didn’t leave him the slightest space to stray or relax. He was always there, on guard, as if even the smallest sound could betray them. They walked another stretch in silence, their steps sinking into the soft snow with a noise that seemed far too loud in the muffled quiet of the forest.
“We’re not being followed,” Ororon ventured, trying to mask his anxiety with an uncertain smile. “If someone were there, we’d have seen them by now, right?”

Capitano slowed down just a bit, turning toward him with a stern look. “It’s exactly when you think you’re safe that you’re most vulnerable.”

“Maybe...” Ororon lowered his gaze, biting his lip. 

“Walk behind me, Ororon.” Capitano ignored the plea, falling back into his rigid silence. It was as if he was afraid to allow even a moment of distraction.

Ororon let out a sigh. The hope he had felt that morning, the warmth of Capitano’s arms, was beginning to fade, smothered by the fear and caution of the man he loved.

The world was waking up, but for them, spring still seemed so far away.

Suddenly, Capitano stopped.

Ororon nearly walked into him, startled. “What is it?” he whispered.

Capitano didn’t answer right away. He crouched, brushing aside a wet patch of snow with his gloved hand. There, half-buried in the mud, lay a single cartridge — not old, not rusted. Recently fired.

His jaw clenched. He stood slowly, eyes sweeping the treeline. His body was tense, too tense, like something inside was about to snap.

“They’re not far,” he muttered. “Someone's been here.”

Ororon stepped closer, trying to make sense of the cold dread in Capitano’s voice. “Then... we should hide?”

Capitano didn’t respond. For the first time, his eyes met Ororon’s — and in them, for a flicker of a moment, there was something raw. Fear. Not for himself. For him.

“I can’t protect you if you slow down,” he said, but his voice broke slightly at the end. Just barely. Enough for Ororon to hear it — and his heart cracked open.

“I’m not asking you to protect me from everything,” Ororon said gently. “Just... don’t push me away.”

The silence was unbearable. Only the dripping of water from branches above, the creak of snow under their feet. Then Capitano looked away, not in dismissal — in defeat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, low and hoarse, as if confessing something shameful. “Not with someone beside me.”

Ororon took a step forward, slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

“You don’t have to know. Just don’t leave me behind.”

They walked on in silence, their breath visible in the chilly morning air. Snow turned to slush beneath their boots, the melting forest coming alive with the distant chirp of returning birds. Yet the quiet between them felt heavier than ever.

Ororon didn’t speak anymore. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and every now and then he rubbed his hands together, not just from the cold — Capitano knew that posture. That shrinking into oneself. 

Capitano's steps slowed.

He didn’t say a word, but gradually adjusted his pace, letting their strides match. No longer one behind the other, but side by side. Ororon blinked in surprise, glancing sideways.

Capitano kept his gaze ahead, but his hand brushed Ororon’s briefly — a touch that was rough, awkward, but deliberate.

“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he murmured, barely audible.

Ororon’s lips parted, caught between a smile and a tremble. “Like what?”

“Like you're already somewhere else.”

Ororon let out a soft breath, mist curling from his mouth. “I’m here. I just...” He looked down.

Capitano faltered for a second. Then, without stopping, he reached for Ororon’s hand again. This time, he held it. Firm. Warm. Unsteady.

They walked like that — together — just for a while. No words. No commands. Just the rhythm of two people trying, clumsily, to believe in a world where they could exist like that.

It was in that fragile peace, in that flicker of something almost gentle, that the sound reached them.

A sharp crack — unmistakable. Not the wind. Not a branch. A gunshot.

Capitano froze. The warmth drained from his fingers as he dropped Ororon’s hand. His eyes scanned the trees, his body snapping back into soldier-form.

“Down,” he barked.

Before Ororon could react, Capitano’s large hand was already pressing down against the back of his neck, forcing him to the ground with a rough, practiced motion. The snow, cold and wet, bit through his clothes as he hit the forest floor. It wasn't violent, but firm — instinctive, efficient. Protection delivered like a blow.

Startled, Ororon didn’t resist. The sensation of Capitano’s hand on his neck, commanding and heavy, stunned him more than the sound of the gunshot itself. As his knees scraped into the slush, he instinctively clutched the bundle beneath his cloak tighter against his chest. It was a small cloth bag, filled with what little food he’d been able to bring from home. He’d packed it for both of them (apples, bread, a bit of dried meat) things meant for a journey he had hoped would feel like an escape, not a pursuit. His arms curled around it protectively, not for the food, but for what it represented: care, intent, hope.

The shot echoed in the cold air, but Capitano didn’t move right away. His mind, trained to assess danger, tried to calculate the distance, to judge the direction. His experience told him that the shot wasn’t close. Perhaps further into the woods. Another hunter, maybe.

Capitano lowered his head slowly, focused. The forest felt too silent to hide an immediate threat. But Ororon was there, beside him, and without meaning to, something inside him shifted. His heartbeat slowed, and that brief peace he’d felt, even just for an instant, made him falter.

“Stay calm,” he said in a low voice, but his hand, which had been ready to raise the rifle, now trembled slightly.

Ororon leaned forward a bit, trying to catch Capitano’s gaze, but he avoided it, staring at the horizon as if trying to regain his composure.

Capitano let a few seconds pass. The sound of the shot seemed now far away, too distant to be a threat to them. There was no movement around them, no other sounds that indicated any hostile presence. The tension in his body eased, his breath grew heavier, less controlled.

A long sigh. A breath that carried with it the weight of a realization that should have come earlier. “No one’s here.” Capitano slowly turned to Ororon. “We’re not in danger.”

Ororon nodded, but the expression on his face still betrayed a subtle concern. As if he could feel the same uncertainty that Capitano had tried to hide.

Capitano took a step back, feeling the gravity of the moment. But Ororon was still looking at him. And for a moment, Capitano wanted to stay there with him, breathe in that air of peace. A moment of quiet. Just for the two of them.

Capitano stopped for a moment, just long enough to close his eyes. His pulse was hammering in his chest, faster than he’d expected. He needed a second. Just a second. He took a slow, controlled breath, feeling the tension in his body slowly ebb away.

After a long beat, he opened his eyes and looked back at Ororon, his gaze steady again. “Let’s keep moving.”

Capitano took a deep breath, trying to push away the agitation that threatened to overwhelm him. Ororon watched him with eyes full of concern, but there was nothing he could say to change Capitano's armor.

"There’s no time for distractions," he said, his voice as stern and sharp as ever. He moved ahead of Ororon without giving him a chance to respond. He fell back into his rigid march, his footsteps heavy in the snow, which was now starting to melt.

Ororon watched for a moment. Then he moved closer, walking alongside him with a lighter step. He couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. Not for himself, but for Capitano. The fear he saw in his eyes, from time to time, gnawed at him. It wasn’t that he was afraid. Not with Capitano by his side. But he knew the burden that man carried—his love, his protection—was wearing him down.

“Capitano…” Ororon began, but the word was immediately cut off.

“Walk behind me, Ororon.” Capitano’s voice was still cold, but with a hint of exhaustion that he couldn’t conceal. "No distractions."

Ororon stopped for a moment, looking at Capitano, his face marked by a pain that he couldn’t hide. Then, without a word, he fell back in line behind him. Capitano needed space, that distance that gave him a false sense of security. But Ororon knew he wasn’t invulnerable. His rigidity, his coldness, was nothing more than a mask against the fear he struggled to keep under control.

The silence that enveloped them was heavier than ever. The world around them seemed to begin to wake, but they, in that moment, were still trapped in a winter that wasn’t just seasonal. The shadows they had left behind would never leave them.

Capitano took a deep breath, trying to push away the agitation that threatened to overwhelm him. Ororon watched him with eyes full of concern, but there was nothing he could say to change Capitano's armor.

"There’s no time for distractions," he said, his voice as stern and sharp as ever. He moved ahead of Ororon without giving him a chance to respond. He fell back into his rigid march, his footsteps heavy in the snow, which was now starting to melt.

Ororon watched for a moment. Then he moved closer, walking alongside him with a lighter step. He couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. Not for himself, but for Capitano. The fear he saw in his him gnawed at him. It wasn’t that he was afraid. Not with Capitano by his side. But he knew the burden that man carried was wearing him down.

“Capitano…” Ororon began, but the word was immediately cut off.

“Walk behind me, Ororon.” Capitano’s voice was still cold, but with a hint of exhaustion that he couldn’t conceal. "No distractions."

Ororon stopped for a moment, looking at Capitano, his face marked by a pain that he couldn’t hide. Then, without a word, he fell back in line behind him. Capitano needed space, that distance that gave him a false sense of security. But Ororon knew he wasn’t invulnerable. His rigidity, his coldness, was nothing more than a mask against the fear he struggled to keep under control.

The silence that enveloped them was heavier than ever. The world around them seemed to begin to wake, but they, in that moment, were still trapped in a winter that wasn’t just seasonal.

The shadows they had left behind would never leave them.

Chapter Text

The cabin’s door slammed open, the wood splintering with a sharp crack. 

The commander strode inside, his boots heavy on the floorboards as he surveyed the empty space. His sharp eyes scanned the room, disappointment and fury in his gaze. The silence in the cabin felt suffocating, as if it were mocking him. “They’re gone,” he muttered darkly, his voice like ice. His hands clenched at his sides as he began to pace the room, the sound of his boots scraping against the wood ringing in the silence. “Dammit. They couldn’t have gone far.”

Behind him, the soldier who had informed him about Ororon shifted uncomfortably, his eyes nervously darting between the commander and the vice commander. He stood at the back of the room, trying to remain invisible, but the weight of his betrayal hung heavy in the air.

The deputy stepped inside behind the commander, lingering at the doorway for a moment before moving deeper into the room. He looked around with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the commander's frustration. The cabin was still, the fire long extinguished. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of relief. They had escaped. Ororon and that man were gone, and there was no confrontation. No bloodshed. The weight on his chest, which had been heavy with dread, began to lift, just a little.

"It's clear they’ve made it out," he said softly, almost with a sigh of relief. He glanced over at the recruit, who stood silently at the door, looking nervous and unsure.

The commander spun around, his eyes flashing with anger. “Made it out?” He snapped. “They’ve fled, and we need to bring them back. Now.”

The vice commander remained calm, meeting his superior’s anger with quiet resolve. “They’ll be harder to catch now, but at least we didn’t make things worse,” he replied, his voice steady. He allowed himself another small sigh, one that went unnoticed by the commander but was a sign of the relief he was trying to hide.

“We’ll track them down,” the vice commander said quietly, his tone still measured, though the undercurrent of hope was clear. “But... maybe they’ll find a way to escape. Maybe they won’t be caught.”

The commander shot him a sharp, questioning look. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded, his tone harsh.

The vice’s eyes flicked briefly to the door, his expression neutral, but there was something in his gaze that spoke volumes.

The commander’s expression darkened, but his mind momentarily drifted to darker thoughts. His gaze turned inward, and the image of Ororon flashed before his eyes—his soft, fragile neck exposed as he knelt before the commander. The delicate skin of his throat would be so easy to bruise, to break. He imagined Ororon’s breath hitching as he begged, pleading for mercy, but the commander didn’t intend to show any. His fingers would tighten around that slender neck, and the thought of hearing Ororon’s desperate pleas, the tremble in his voice, sent a rush of sick satisfaction through him. He would be so easy to make suffer.

But no, not yet. Not now. He clenched his jaw and forced the thought aside, shoving it into the dark recesses of his mind. There would be time for that later. For now, he had to focus.

The vice commander, sensing the shift in the air, took a step back, his hand brushing the grip of his rifle in a subtle motion, ready to draw it if necessary. The commander’s mood was volatile, dangerous, and he knew better than to provoke him further.

“We’ll finish this. I don’t care how far they go.”

The deputy gave him a look. He followed the commander out of the cabin, his heart still heavy with the hope that Ororon and that man might escape—but also weighed down by the knowledge that this wasn’t over.

The forest stretched endlessly ahead of them, the trees creaking softly in the wind. Ororon slowed his pace, breath coming in small clouds in the air. His legs were aching, unused to so much walking, and every root that caught his foot felt like a betrayal.

“Can we stop for a moment?” he asked, voice hushed.

Capitano didn’t answer right away, his eyes scanning the path behind them. Always alert. Always listening. But then his stomach betrayed him: a low growl, unmistakable in the quiet.

Ororon turned, an eyebrow raised. “That was dramatic,” he said gently.

Capitano exhaled slowly, half a sigh, and gave a quick nod. “A short break.”

They moved off the narrow trail, settling beneath a crooked pine whose low branches swayed gently above them. Ororon crouched down, pulling out a bundle of cloth. Capitano sat beside him without a word, his rifle across his knees, eyes still occasionally darting toward the path. Ororon handed him a piece of bread and meat, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.

Capitano took a bite, chewing slowly. The food was cold and tough, but it was enough to keep moving.

Ororon watched him, his gaze lingering on the hard lines of Capitano’s jaw, the tension in his broad shoulders. He knew what he was doing—keeping them safe, keeping them moving.

The quiet was unnerving.

As Ororon handed Capitano his water flask, their eyes met. There was something in Ororon’s gaze that made the man pause. For a moment, he forgot they were on the run, that every second counted.

Capitano finished his food quickly, brushing the crumbs from his coat with a curt motion. He stood, rifle slung back over his shoulder.

“We need to move,” he said without looking at him. “Can’t stay in here too long.”

Ororon glanced up from the half-eaten bread still in his hands. “Wait,” he said softly. “I haven’t finished.”

Capitano turned slightly, his face half-obscured by shadow. “We don’t have time,” he repeated, his voice tighter than he meant.

Ororon looked down again. When he spoke, his voice was gentler, quieter. “Just a few more minutes. I don’t think I can keep going right now.”

The man’s jaw tightened. His hand gripped the rifle strap, knuckles pale. Then, slowly, he exhaled and lowered himself back beside Ororon. He said nothing, but the way his shoulders remained tense made it clear. He didn’t like this.

Ororon didn’t speak again. He didn’t eat either. He just sat there, letting his body rest. He could feel Capitano beside him, steady and quiet, like a wall he couldn’t see but knew was there. And for a moment, despite the cold and the ache in his bones, that was enough.

Then Capitano shifted again.

He stood and stepped away, brushing the needles off the back of his coat. Ororon’s gaze dropped to the ground, a small knot tightening in his chest. Maybe he’d leaned too close. 

He stayed still, pretending not to notice, pretending it didn’t matter.

But Capitano didn’t go far. He moved only a few steps, just enough to settle again with his back against the wide trunk of a tree. His rifle rested just beside his lap, and for a few seconds he simply looked ahead, unreadable as ever.

Then he turned his head, eyes finding Ororon.

With a small motion of his hand, he beckoned.

Ororon hesitated. His hands clenched slightly around the uneaten food, his body tense with uncertainty. Capitano didn’t say a word—just tapped two fingers softly against his thigh, an invitation wordless and sure.

The boy stood, slowly, and crossed the short distance between them.

He lowered himself into the space Capitano had opened for him, settling between his legs with care. At first, he kept his back straight, unsure how much to lean. But then he felt it—the warmth of Capitano’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breath. One arm came to rest lightly across his waist, not pulling, just there.

And this time, that was enough too.

Ororon turned his torso just enough to reach up, fingers brushing along the edge of Capitano’s helmet. He loosened the strap and slid it off, slow and gentle, cradling it in his arms. Capitano let him do it without a word. Their eyes met for a moment. Ororon offered a soft, fleeting smile, almost shy. He didn’t look away. Capitano still said nothing. He simply drew his arm tighter around Ororon’s middle, pulling him in, until the boy’s back rested snug against his chest. Then he lowered his chin onto the top of Ororon’s head, letting it rest there for a long breath.

He tilted his head slightly, cheek brushing against the soft strands of bluish hair, his eyes half-lidded, his breath calm. “If you want,” he murmured, voice low, “you can close your eyes for a while, and rest.

Ororon shook his head slightly. “I’m not sleepy,” he whispered.

Capitano gave a soft huff of air, tilting his head back just enough to glance skyward through the shifting branches above them—as if appealing to some unseen force for patience. His lips curled faintly, almost a smile.

“You’re a terrible marcher,” he muttered. “You’d never make it through a week of training.”

Ororon shifted slightly in his arms, tilting his head back just enough to glance up at him. “It’s not the walking,” he said quietly, his tone more serious now. “It’s not knowing where we’re going. That’s what gets to me.”

Capitano didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the line of trees ahead, unreadable. Then he looked down at Ororon and spoke softly.

“I know.”

There were no promises, no reassurances.
Just those two words, spoken with quiet honesty.

After a while, Ororon began to feel the weight of his eyelids. His body was finally giving in to the exhaustion it had been holding back. He stared lazily at the helmet in his hands, the rough texture of it under his fingers, and a question that had been lingering at the back of his mind seemed to slip out on its own.

“Capitano…” Ororon said, his voice soft, as if the question weighed as heavily as the sleep pressing against him. “Is that your real name?”

Ororon didn’t push for an answer, and he didn’t look up.

Capitano didn’t move for a moment, and then, with a slow exhale, he responded. “It’s the only name I have left,” he said quietly, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to Ororon.

Ororon nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering a little with the weight of sleep, but the answer seemed to settle something in him, even if it didn’t completely answer the question he had asked.
He wasn’t sure if he expected Capitano to say more.

The soldier was silent for a long while, his eyes turned towards the fading light filtering through the trees. The air between them felt heavier now, the question hanging like a mist in the quiet.

Ororon didn’t press him.

Finally, Capitano spoke, his voice softer, almost wistful. “I have a real name… yes, I do.” His gaze drifted to the ground, as if the memory itself was something that slipped between his fingers. “But it’s been a long time since anyone has used it…” He trailed off, the words slipping into a heavy silence.

Ororon could hear the quiet ache in his voice, the distance in his words. He didn’t interrupt, sensing that whatever this was, it was something Capitano had carried for a long time—something that couldn’t be shared easily.

"It feels… distant," he continued. "Like someone else’s name. Or maybe like a name for someone I’ve forgotten."

He looked at Ororon, his expression unreadable for a mere moment. “It’s hard to explain... When you’ve lived without it for so long, it starts to fade. A name becomes just a sound."

Ororon listened quietly, feeling the weight of Capitano’s words. He didn’t know what to say, so he waited. His hands tightened slightly around the helmet in his lap. He turned his head just enough to glance at him.

“What was it?” he asked softly.

Capitano hesitated.

The pause was heavy, almost trembling.

Then, almost too quietly to be heard, he said it.

 “ Thrain .”

The name hovered in the air for a moment, raw and unfamiliar, like the sound of an old song remembered after years of silence.

Ororon looked down at the helmet, then back up at Capitano. 

Capitano didn’t speak. He only tightened the arm he had around the boy and leaned his head back against the tree, eyes closed. And Ororon leaned a little more into the curve of the man’s arm, his head resting against the firm line of his chest. The helmet still rested in his hands, but his grip had relaxed. His fingers didn’t tremble anymore.

He let his eyes fall closed.

And just before sleep pulled him under, barely louder than a breath, he murmured, “Thrain.”

It slipped out like a secret, soft and reverent.

Capitano didn’t move— not really. 

Thrain. He hadn’t heard that name from another’s lips in years — not like that. Not gently. Not kindly. He lowered his head again and let his forehead rest briefly atop Ororon’s head, just once. Just enough to feel the soft rise of his breath, to ground himself in that fleeting moment.

Then he looked away, toward the forest beyond.
Dark.
Endless.
And for the first time, Thrain felt afraid of where it might end.

Light was threading faintly through the branches overhead, pale and grey, filtered by a sky thick with mist. The cold had grown sharper, nipping at their fingers, their breath visible once more.

“Ororon.”

The voice broke through the fog of sleep like a stone on still water.

“Ororon, get up.”

He startled awake, blinking hard. 

Capitano— no, Thrain — was crouched beside him, his voice low but urgent. Not harsh. Just… worried.

Ororon tried to sit up too quickly, and the world tilted. His legs didn’t want to move the way he told them to, and as he stumbled forward, a hand caught him firmly by the forearm.

“Hey—careful.”

He was steadied before he could fall.
Capitano’s grip strong, warm through the fabric.

“Wake up,” he said again, softer now. His brow furrowed, and his voice was touched by something that sounded dangerously close to guilt. “We’ve lost too much time already.”

Ororon looked up at him, dazed, still fighting the fog of sleep, and nodded slowly.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, though it was only half true. His body felt far behind his mind. He could still feel the trace of Capitano’s name on his lips. His head was still foggy, his vision blurry around the edges. But before he could collect himself, a gloved hand cupped his face—large, firm, but careful. The leather creaked under the pressure, and he could feel the weight of the fingers pressing lightly into his skin.

Capitano’s hand framed Ororon’s face.
Gently, almost tenderly, he tilted his head up, forcing their gazes to meet.

Ororon blinked, still trying to adjust, and Capitano wiped the pine needles from his hair, his fingers brushing softly against his scalp. “You have to focus now, Ororon.” He murmured, his voice low and serious, but with an edge of something softer beneath. “Stay alert. We don’t have time to lose.”

Ororon’s pulse quickened as he looked into those eyes—always so distant, yet at that moment, so present. For just a breath, the world seemed to narrow down to that brief connection.

Capitano pulled back, releasing his grip and moving to stand. He adjusted his helmet, the metal scraping softly as it settled back into place. His face hidden once again, but the silence between them felt more like a soft, reluctant goodbye to the moment.

Without a word, he turned, the sounds of his boots crunching against the earth echoing as he moved ahead. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice muffled beneath the helmet, but no less urgent. “Keep up.”

Two days had passed. The march had been relentless, with no time to rest or recover. Ororon, still not accustomed to such continuous walking, was beginning to feel the strain. His legs ached with each step, and his body protested the cold, biting winds that whipped through the trees. Yet he kept moving, his mind set on keeping up with Capitano. They trekked through dense woods, the wind shifting directions at will, howling through the tall pines and casting shadows over the path. The nights were unforgiving, the cold seeping into their bones, making sleep a rare, fleeting comfort. But they pushed on, one foot in front of the other, driven by the knowledge that there was no turning back now.

At one point, after yet another stretch of hard walking, Ororon found himself leaning against a tree, gasping for breath. 

He had to pause, his body demanding respite from the relentless pace. His eyes closed for just a moment, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He could hear the crunch of Capitano’s boots, the sound of him moving ahead without stopping.

It was in that quiet moment, when Ororon was almost lost to exhaustion, that Capitano suddenly called out.

"Ororon."

Ororon blinked, lifting his head at the sound of Capitano’s voice.
There was a rare note of excitement in it.

"Come here," Capitano said, his voice eager. “Take a look."

Ororon, still winded, pushed himself away from the tree and made his way over to Capitano, who was standing at the edge of a steep drop. He could see that the other man was looking down below, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

Curious, Ororon approached, his breath still shallow from the exertion.
When he reached Capitano, he looked over the edge, and his heart skipped a beat.

Down below, cutting through the forest, was a river. The water glistened in the fading light, reflecting the gray sky above like a winding, silver snake. Ororon’s exhaustion seemed to lift for a moment, his mind clearing at the sight.

Capitano’s voice broke the silence again, soft but with that same edge of excitement. “We’ll just have to follow it,” he said, nodding down at the river. “It will lead us. Beyond the border... to my land.”

For the first time in days, Ororon allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they were finally close to a place of safety. The thought of crossing the border, of finding something beyond this endless journey, was a hope he hadn’t dared to cling to for a long time.

Ororon nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the river below. "Let’s get moving then," he said, his voice still tired but with a note of determination.

The forest had grown quieter, the trees towering around them.
The air carried a peculiar stillness. Ororon’s exhaustion was growing more evident with each step, his movements slower, the strain of days spent in endless motion wearing him down.

Capitano, on the other hand, though tired, carried himself with his usual steady pace, his gaze constantly shifting to the landscape around them, alert, ever watchful. Yet, there was something about the way he walked today—a slight easing in his posture, a breath held just a little longer, like the tension had loosened for a second. A small flicker of relief, as if he, too, had allowed himself to believe in the possibility of escape.

Ororon’s legs ache, his body begging for rest, but the thought of stopping was too dangerous. He was too aware of how close they were to the border, the faintest trace of hope making him push on, even as his limbs screamed in protest.

Then, a sound broke through the silence—a low, almost imperceptible exhale of relief from Capitano.

He stood at the edge of a ridge, looking down toward the valley below. The snow there was thinner, patches of earth breaking through, and in the distance, Ororon could just make out the faint glimmer of water.

“Th— Capitano?” Ororon’s voice was soft, cautious, his gaze flicking to where the man stood.

"The river is near,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was savoring the words. “We’re almost there.”

Ororon stared at the distant river, his heart quickening. A promise. Something solid. The kind of hope he hadn’t allowed himself to believe in for days now. They could make it. They were making it. The thought almost seemed too easy. But in that moment, it felt real. He could almost taste the freedom in the air.

Capitano turned toward him, his hand brushing against the cold metal of his helmet before he unbuckled it with a quiet, practiced motion. “We’ll be out of here soon,” he murmured, and for the first time in days, Ororon saw something else in his eyes. Not the usual cold resolve, not the guarded warrior’s mask. Just... a fleeting trace of something human. Something hopeful.

Ororon smiled, his body still aching, but a glimmer of light brightening the corners of his heart. He didn’t speak, just nodded, feeling the weight of Capitano’s words.

But just as quickly as it came, the warmth began to slip away.
The snow was falling harder now, the wind biting, and the reality of their situation was never far behind.

Capitano adjusted his rifle and gave Ororon a small, reassuring nod. The brief moment of warmth had passed, and they were on the move again, following the river's distant path.

Capitano halted abruptly, his sharp eyes catching the sound of Ororon's struggle behind him. He turned to see the younger man collapsed on his knees, his hands braced against the ground. Ororon’s breath was shallow, his chest heaving as he coughed violently, his body trembling from exhaustion. Sweat clung to his brow, a stark contrast to the coldness of the snow around them.

"I’m… i’m sorry…" Ororon murmured, his voice strained.

The soldier's heart clenched, though his face remained stoic. He approached Ororon quickly, kneeling beside him, his rough hands gently supporting the younger man. "You don't need to apologize," he said, his voice low, filled with something softer than he intended. "Just… breathe, Ororon."

The words felt foreign on his tongue, but they came without thought. He didn't let go of him immediately, his gloved hand resting on Ororon’s shoulder as he helped him sit up.

Ororon, still breathing heavily, slowly met the other's eyes, searching for reassurance. 

The light from the sun danced on the snow, but Ororon felt an unsettling heaviness on his chest, as if the world itself was bearing down on him. He didn’t speak, just nodded weakly, unable to form the words to express how much the journey had drained him.

Capitano, however, seemed to sense the weight of it all.

He gave a small nod, his gaze softening, then gently helped Ororon stand up. "We’ll keep moving," he said. "One step at a time."

And though it felt like an eternity of silent walking ahead, in that moment, Ororon was grateful for the quiet support of the man beside him.

Capitano helped Ororon to his feet, his hand steady and reassuring on his back. The latter staggered slightly, still disoriented, but the soldier's presence anchored him, keeping him upright. For a brief moment, Ororon rested his weight on the older man, taking in deep breaths to calm the tightness in his chest.

"Just a little longer," Capitano murmured, more to himself than to Ororon.
His voice had an edge to it, a subtle tension that Ororon recognized. It wasn’t anger, but determination, driving the man forward.

Ororon nodded, though he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. But they were close to something, weren’t they?

The snow beneath their boots crunched with each step, and Ororon kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, the distant trees looming like sentinels. Despite the fatigue gnawing at him, there was a part of him that refused to surrender, that wanted to keep moving toward the unknown.

"How much farther?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Thrain didn't immediately answer. He only glanced back at Ororon with a look that held something between caution and encouragement. "Not far," he finally said, though the words were clipped. "Keep going."

They moved in silence again, each step a little heavier, but the sun seemed to guide them, its rays filtering through the tree branches and casting long shadows on the snow. Ororon’s thoughts drifted, his eyes flicking to the side where the trees parted for a moment, revealing a small clearing up ahead.

Thrain, noticing the shift in Ororon’s gaze, followed his line of sight. The clearing seemed insignificant, just another stretch of snow, but something about it caught his attention.

“Stay close,” the soldier murmured, as they approached it, his instincts on high alert. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Ororon nodded. Despite the fragile hope that lingered, both knew that they were far from safe. The journey was far from over.

Capitano helped Ororon down onto a low, snow-dusted stone, his large hands bracing him carefully, like he might fall apart if handled with any less care. Ororon gave him a tired smile, lips pale and chapped from the cold, then let himself sink into the hard surface. The stone was freezing beneath him, but his limbs were too heavy to care. The soldier stood over him for a beat longer, watching his breathing, then turned and moved forward, the snow crunching quietly beneath his boots.

The forest opened up a little ahead—tall trees spaced just far enough to let the sunlight spill in. Capitano lifted his gaze to the light, and allowed himself to hope.

If they stayed on this path, if they moved fast enough… they'd reach the river.

He could already feel it—freedom, home, something like peace, just ahead. He squinted into the distance, marking a natural slope between the trees that would lead them down into the valley. His back was relaxed for once, his posture loose. Hope had made him let go of the tension he'd carried for days.

Behind him, Ororon sat breathing heavily.

His hands were trembling slightly, resting on his knees. He blinked, eyes half-closed, and tried to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t the pounding of his heart in his ears.

That’s when he saw it.

A flicker of silver.

At first, he thought it was light catching on ice, a harmless glint scattered from the snow—but something about the shape, the stillness of it, the way it hovered in the exact same place—it pulled at his gut like a cold hand.

Ororon squinted, straightening slightly.

Not ice. Not snow.

Glass.

A scope.

Aimed.

And the barrel—steady, distant, but unmistakable—was pointed directly at Capitano.

Everything slowed.
The blood drained from Ororon’s face.
His pulse thudded once, twice—and then everything inside him screamed move.

"Watch out!" he gasped, but his voice was too thin, lost in the wind.
His body surged forward before thought could catch up. His boots slipped slightly on the snow as he launched himself off the rock. Time blurred. The sharp cold bit into his lungs. The wind whipped his face.

The soldier had just begun to turn, sensing the disturbance.

Ororon slammed into him, full-force, knocking the much larger man off his feet. They crashed into the snow, a tangle of limbs and gasps.

And then—

The gunshot shattered the air like glass.
Splinters exploded from the tree trunk just behind where Capitano had stood seconds earlier.

Snow rained down from the impact. A bird took off from the trees in a panic.

Silence followed, abrupt and menacing.

Ororon lay over the soldier, chest heaving, heart a wild drumbeat in his throat. His hands were clenched in his coat, as if he needed something solid to anchor himself to. The other was still beneath him, eyes wide, stunned. He hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t even heard it until after they’d hit the ground.

And now Ororon was panting over him, blue hair dusted with snow, eyes wild, alive.

"I—" Ororon breathed out, voice cracking. "I saw it. There was—someone—"

Capitano sat up slightly, his hands already moving with practiced precision to check for wounds, brushing Ororon’s arms, his sides, his chest. No blood. Just cold, breath, and life.

His jaw tightened.

"Stay low," he said, voice a low rumble, already scanning the trees.
His hand closed around the hilt of his rifle, dragging it into position.

But before he moved, before he could return fire, his eyes met Ororon’s again.

He was still shaking, but there was no fear in his expression. Just something like quiet defiance. Like he would’ve done it again, no hesitation.

Capitano’s gaze softened, just for a breath.

"You’re insane," he murmured. "You realize that?"

Ororon gave a shaky laugh. "You're welcome."

And then the moment was gone—stolen by the threat still looming in the trees. But it lived in Capitano’s chest now, that echo of something warm and terrifying.

Someone had tried to take what little he had left.

And that changed everything.

For a second, all he could hear was the wild hammering of his own heart, the crunch of ice under their bodies, and the distant echo of the gunfire that had missed its mark.

Thrain's instincts kicked in.

Without a second thought, Capitano hauled him upright, half-carrying him.
"We have to move," he muttered against his hair, voice raw.

They stumbled forward, deeper into the woods, driven by sheer will. The snow reached their ankles, their knees — Ororon tried to keep up, but the soldier could feel him fading with every step.

His breath was loud and shallow, like a small animal cornered by hunters.

When they finally found a hollow tucked between two rocks, shielded from sight, Thrain dragged them both inside. He pressed Ororon down to sit, hands trembling as he checked him over once more— no bleeding, but the boy was shaking violently from cold and exhaustion.

"Stupid," Thrain muttered, voice breaking at the edges as he knelt in front of him, removing his own gloves to touch Ororon's face. His palms were rough, scarred, but unbearably gentle. "You're a damn fool."

Ororon gave him a small, crooked smile.

Capitano swallowed hard. He sat back, letting the silence stretch between them, broken only by their ragged breathing.

Somewhere, far ahead, the river still ran.
A silver thread cutting through the forest.
A promise of somewhere else.

Capitano leaned his head back against the stone, closing his eyes for a moment. His whole body ached, not from wounds, but from the fear.

"You'll see it," he said suddenly, voice low. "The river's close. My home... it’s past it." He opened his eyes, looking sideways at Ororon. "A place where no one will touch you. No one will hurt you. Not ever again."

Ororon listened, his breathing slow, shallow.
The boy’s gaze drifted toward the sky, and a soft, tired wonder crossed his face.
"Promise?" he breathed.

Capitano reached out, brushing snow from his tangled blue-black hair.
"I swear it," he said.

Below the distant sound of the river, the world held its breath.

Capitano helped him up carefully, his hands steady under Ororon's arms, mindful of his trembling legs. They moved with urgency now, staying low against the trees, the river's muted murmur their guide through the quiet.

Snow crunched under their steps— too loud, every sound sharper now, painfully clear in Ororon’s ears.

The path narrowed. Thick brambles scratched at their cloaks.
The soldier pushed ahead, clearing a way with his body when he could, keeping Ororon behind him, shielding him without a word.

They didn't speak.
Speech felt too heavy now, too dangerous.
Only looks, small touches. The brush of fingers against a sleeve, the light pressure of Capitano’s hand at Ororon’s back to keep him steady.

Ororon stumbled once, and Capitano caught him — not roughly, but with a slowness that made the boy’s throat tighten. He wanted to tell him something then, something stupid and simple like I’ll try harder , but the words died behind his teeth.

Capitano's hand lingered for half a breath longer, steadying him.
Then, with a silent nod forward, he urged them on.

The river glittered to their left, a thread of silver leading them home.
Ororon kept his gaze on it, fixing his steps to the rhythm of the other’s.

Behind them, invisible but inevitable, the weight of pursuit grew heavier.

They managed a few more steps, weaving through the thinning trees.

But Ororon was faltering.

Each breath rattled in his lungs; each step dragged more than the last.

Capitano slowed without thinking, adjusting his pace to stay close, always close — but it wasn't enough.

A sharp crack tore through the still air.

Snow exploded at Capitano’s feet, the bullet striking too close, cutting his path cleanly.

Capitano stopped, body tensing, automatically shielding Ororon behind him with an arm.

Silence followed. Thick, heavy. Broken only by the soft click of boots crunching over snow.

Then a voice— clear, commanding — from somewhere beyond the trees:

"Don't move. Turn around. Slowly. Throw away the gun."

Capitano exhaled through his nose, the mist of his breath curling like smoke. Without a word, he shifted his weight, first looking briefly at Ororon— a glance full of things he didn’t have time to say— and then he obeyed.

He turned.
The rifle was thrown away.

Across the clearing, stepping out from the broken cover of the trees, came the commander. His men flanked him— rifles steady.

The commander’s eyes — cold, sharp — fixed on Capitano with a mix of triumph and calculation. "So," the man said, voice carrying easily across the snow, "this is the infamous man they've sent me chasing."

Capitano said nothing.
His hand, hidden behind his body, gripped Ororon’s wrist lightly.
A silent signal: stay behind me, stay still.

Ororon obeyed, clutching at the folds of Thrain’s cloak for balance.

The commander took a slow step forward.

"You're not half as terrifying in the flesh," he said almost conversationally. "Though..." His gaze slid briefly to Ororon. "...dragging dead weight might explain a lot."

The grip on Ororon’s wrist tightened for a heartbeat before he forced himself still again.

No sudden movements.
No sudden words.
Not yet.

The men behind the commander shifted, rifles trained, eager.

The river murmured at their side, endless and indifferent.

Capitano straightened slowly, his other hand lifting slightly, open and empty— a show of peace, or perhaps surrender. But his body stayed braced, his weight ready.

Ready for whatever came next.

Ororon pressed his forehead lightly against Capitano’s back, almost without realizing it, grounding himself against the only thing between him and the men who would tear him away.

The cold wind stirred the edges of Capitano’s cloak, snapping it like a flag.

For a moment, everything hung suspended— between breath, between heartbeats— between hope, and the long fall into loss.

The commander’s gaze shifted — from apitano to the small, exhausted figure half-hidden behind him.

Ororon.

There was a flicker of satisfaction in the commander’s eyes, cruel and heavy, as he strode forward with deliberate steps. The soldiers stayed tense, weapons raised, but none moved yet.

The commander wanted the pleasure of this himself.

Capitano stiffened, hand twitching at his side, but didn’t dare move.
Not with all those rifles trained on him, not yet.

The commander reached out, and without ceremony, he grabbed Ororon by the hair, yanking him forward.

Ororon gasped sharply, stumbling into the snow, his fingers scrambling to catch onto Capitano’s cloak —missing— his balance lost.

"Pretty little thing, aren’t you," the commander murmured low, mockingly, leaning close to Ororon’s ear. "No wonder you slowed him down."

Capitano’s blood boiled.
His whole body tensed to lunge forward— to rip the commander away, consequences be damned.

But before he could move, there was a harsh barked order from the side: "Stay where you are!"

It wasn’t the commander this time. It was the younger soldier, his rifle aimed with hands that trembled slightly, caught between fear and duty. The boy, barely older than Ororon, repeated himself, voice cracking: "Stay put! Don’t move!"

Capitano froze, teeth grinding, his muscles screaming with the need to do something . But he knew how this worked. He had taught others to do the same, once. Corner your enemy. Take away their choices.

Slowly, his hands rose slightly in surrender, every motion deliberate, controlled.
The weight of all the rifles pressing on him like a mountain.

The vice commander stood nearby, silent — his eyes meeting Capitano’s briefly.
There was sadness there. Regret, even.

But no interference.

He only watched as the commander jerked Ororon’s head back more harshly, examining the bruises, the exhaustion, the weakness written all over him.

Ororon didn't cry out.
He only squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek.

Snowflakes fell between them, soft and innocent.

Without warning, the commander struck him.

The sound was sharp.
Brutal against the quiet snow.

Ororon’s head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, his body staggering a step back before the commander yanked him cruelly upright again by the front of his coat.

"Tsk," the commander said, voice dripping with mockery, his lips twisting into a bitter sneer. "And here I thought I was being kind ."

Ororon’s lip was split, blood dark against the pale of his skin. It trickled slowly, painting his chin in a thin line. His breath came in shallow bursts, but he still found the strength to lift his gaze. Not fully, just enough to let the words pass beneath it, defiant and raw.

“Your kindness,” he croaked, tongue thick with copper, “always did stink of rot.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed.

“What was that?”

Ororon didn’t blink.
Even with the blood, even with the ache— he didn’t blink.

“You heard me.”

The next slap cracked through the air like a branch snapping.
The commander struck with more force this time, and Ororon hit the ground hard, the snow crunching beneath his weight.

He barely had a moment to catch breath before a hard boot landed square in his stomach.

A choked sound escaped him, half gasp, half cry, as the breath was driven out of him.
His body curled instinctively, arms wrapping around his middle.

Capitano tensed. So slightly it could have been mistaken for the wind catching in his cloak. But it was there, in the way his gloved fingers flexed. In the way his stance shifted half a step forward, like something barely restrained.

The commander exhaled through his nose, straightening his coat and smoothing his hair back with his fingers as if he’d just finished some routine task.

Then, he turned toward Capitano.

“He used to be quiet, you know,” the commander said, almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather. “Skittish. Simple.”

A pause. His eyes sparkled with cruel delight.

“I see now you’ve been a bad influence.”

He offered a crooked, ironic smile— as if it were a compliment.

Capitano’s face remained unchanged, his glacial eyes fixed on the man who stood between him and the boy still coughing in the snow.

But something deeper stirred beneath the stillness. Not rage, not yet. But the slow, inevitable weight of it.

The commander’s breath fumed in the cold as he circled Capitano slowly, step by deliberate step. Snow cracked under his boots, each crunch like the ticking of a clock running out. His gaze was razor-edged, unblinking.

“I used to dream of this,” he said, low and bitter. “Of standing in front of you like this. You, stripped of glory. Silent. Powerless.”

He stopped directly before Capitano, their faces inches apart, divided only by the steel of the battered helmet.

“You remember the northern ridge?” he asked, voice tightening. “Thirty-seven men. My men. Their bodies were found in pieces. Some never at all.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t expect one.

“And you just disappeared. Like a shadow. Like a fucking curse .”

There was a tremor under the commander’s words— rage, yes, but grief, too, buried deep and long-festering.

“You were the monster in every trench whisper, every dying breath. Mothers cursed your name. Widows spat it through their teeth.” He smiled then, cruel and thin. “And look at you now. Running through the woods with some soft-eyed brat. Love makes beasts into men, is that it?”

He reached up, quick as a lash, and ripped the helmet from Capitano’s head.

The world seemed to still.
Cold wind kissed the raw air where the steel had been.

Capitano’s glacial eyes met his — calm, burning, unfaltering.

But the commander’s gaze traveled lower. Across the deep scars gouged into that once-beautiful face. The ruined side that still hadn’t healed right.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he smiled wider. Victory curdled in his mouth like spoiled wine.

“Ah,” he murmured. “There it is.” His voice dropped, syrupy with venom. “A fitting punishment. For what you did. For the lives you took.” He raised a hand as if to gesture broadly to the broken world behind them.  “All of this blood… and now you’re playing at redemption?”

His fingers brushed Capitano’s mangled cheek — not with compassion, but with taunting reverence.

“Every time that boy looks at you,” he sneered, “he sees what we see. What you are . The cracks in your skin, the rot beneath the silence.” A sharp breath, bitter amusement. “Poor thing probably pities you.”

Still, Capitano didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

The commander’s grin faltered. He wanted a reaction. Needed it. And Capitano's defiance, this unwavering stillness, was an insult he couldn’t bear.

“What’s the matter?” he said, teeth gritted now. “Nothing to say for yourself? No righteous defense for the piles of corpses you left in your wake? No tears for my men?”

He grabbed the front of the man’s cloak, twisting the fabric, dragging him forward an inch.

“Say something, you coward. Say it was worth it.”

But Capitano’s lips stayed shut. His eyes burned like glacial fire.
His breath fogged in the space between them, steady and calm.

Then, at last, he spoke. His voice low, rough, but firm. “We warned you.”

The commander blinked, his hands still fisted in the man’s cloak.

“You were told. Again and again. Civilians were being burned out of their homes. Children bayoneted in the snow. You called it strategy.”

Capitano’s words weren’t loud, but they landed like falling axes.

“You refused peace. So we did what we had to. We stopped you.”

A pause. The commander’s jaw clenched.

“And I would do it again,” Capitano said.

There was no fury in his voice. That made it worse. There was only conviction. The kind that could not be twisted or shamed.

The commander let go of him abruptly, as if burned.

For a heartbeat, he just stood there. Breathing. Seething.

Then his mouth twisted.

“Still sanctimonious,” he spat. “Still pretending you're the hero of your own story.”

He took a step back and glanced at Ororon, still on the ground behind them, struggling to rise.

“But I wonder…” he said, voice silked with venom, “if your dear little friend knows the full story. About how many of your own died under your watch. How many trusted you to get them out alive.”

Capitano’s expression flickered.

The commander saw it.
And pounced.

“You remember them, don’t you?” he hissed. You let them die.”

Capitano’s fists clenched at his sides.

“You left them bleeding in the frost while you crawled away. Just like now. Only this time, it’s not them who’ll pay the price.” He took a step toward Ororon.

“It’ll be him .”

“Don’t,” Capitano said.
A single word, sharp as a drawn blade.

The commander froze, just for a second.
There it was. The crack. The shift in tone.

Capitano hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t moved. But something cold and final settled into his stance, into the air around him. Like a storm gathering behind still water.

“Touch him again,” he said, “and I will take that hand from you.”

The commander’s smile thinned.

“We’ll see about that.”

The commander’s boots crunched slowly over the snow, deliberate, predatory. His gaze was fixed on Ororon. Each breath was a wheeze, white mist escaping his lips like smoke from a dying fire.

Ororon’s wide eyes tracked the commander’s approach. He tried to shift backward, legs kicking against the snow as he pushed himself clumsily away, the pain bending him in half. But he couldn’t go far.

The commander knelt, reaching out with one gloved hand, fingers curling in anticipation.

But he never reached him.

Capitano was on him in a blink of motion, metal crashing into flesh and ice. With a guttural snarl, Capitano slammed into the commander, the sheer force sending both men sprawling sideways into the snow. The crunch echoed, snow flung up in a spray of white.

The two tumbled, Capitano wrenched his wrist away and struck him across the face. The commander spat blood and lunged back, landing a punch across the man’s jaw.

Their grappling was savage, close, wordless. Not a duel— a reckoning.

A gasp caught in Ororon’s throat. He tried to rise, one hand stretched feebly toward the brawl.

But the vice commander moved first, stepping sharply forward.

“Hold your ground,” he barked to the two soldiers, who had instinctively begun to move.

They froze, casting uneasy glances at one another. The younger recruit’s hand hovered near his weapon, uncertain. The older one clenched his jaw, indecision clear in his stance.

“That’s an order,” the vice commander said again, more quietly now. His voice carried no malice, only weight. Something in it struck deeper than authority— a flicker of understanding, or perhaps guilt.

And so the two soldiers remained still. Watching. Waiting.

The fight in the snow raged, brutal and inelegant. The commander snarled curses between strikes. Capitano’s silence was more frightening. He struck with surgical precision, not rage but focus, as if every movement had been rehearsed in nightmares.

Finally, with a twist of his arm, Capitano flipped the commander onto his back and straddled him, forearm pressed across his throat.

The commander choked, eyes bulging, struggling beneath the weight.

But Capitano didn’t move. His breath came hard through clenched teeth. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, his cheekbone smeared with blood.
Beneath him, the commander grinned despite himself, even while struggling.

“There’s the monster,” he rasped. “Knew he was in there somewhere.”

Capitano’s eyes narrowed.

But he didn’t strike again.

The commander’s laugh cracked the silence like something rotting splitting open. He lay half-buried in the snow, face smeared with blood, yet smiling as though he’d won something.

“Go on,” he rasped, his breath shallow. “Break my jaw. Shatter every bone in my face. It won’t save him.”

Capitano’s chest heaved. The air was sharp in his lungs, the weight of his own body pinning the man below him. His fists were slick — blood, sweat, melted snow — but he didn’t lift them again.

“Because once you’re done,” the commander went on, voice coiling low, “I’ll have all the time I want to teach your little pet some manners. He’s too pretty for his own good. Fragile. Soft. I’ll make sure he learns to scream just right.”

Capitano moved before he knew it.

His fist slammed into the commander’s cheek with a brutal crack that jarred his own shoulder. A second hit burst the man’s lip open. The third struck the already swelling eye socket.

Again. 

Again.

Each hit was a silent scream.

A cry of rage, of helplessness.

The vice commander said nothing.
His face, cold and taut, barely flinched.
The snow around him glowed pale and untouched, like a false peace.

The two soldiers looked to him for guidance, but he raised a single hand, a wordless order to stay back. And so they did, nervous, but obedient. One slung his weapon behind his back. The other shifted from foot to foot, eyes wide.

Then the commander moved.

Fast .

A flicker of muscle and intent.

Capitano didn’t see the blade until he felt it.

A punch of pain, sudden and hot, like fire in his side. 

The commander had drawn a knife from beneath his belt. 

And the blade sank into Thrain’s side, just beneath the ribs. A brutal, practiced thrust.

The world narrowed.

His breath caught, froze. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but white — snow, sky, pain. Then his body buckled inward, instinctively curling to protect what couldn’t be protected. His hand clutched at the wound. Warm blood poured between his fingers, soaking through leather and cloth. He gasped, teeth clenched.

Someone shouted.

It might’ve been Ororon, or maybe no one at all.

The soldiers finally moved, grabbing his shoulders, trying to drag him off the commander, who was gasping beneath him like a fish stranded on land.

Capitano let them, barely resisting now. The pain was sharp, singing. His vision tilted. But he kept his footing, even as he staggered upright, hand pressed hard to the bleeding.

He turned.

Ororon was still on the ground, frozen, one hand clutching his ribs, the other reaching toward him without moving. His eyes were wide. So wide, and wet. And his lips trembled with words he couldn’t find.

Capitano stared at him, chest burning.

And then, softly — with a voice roughened by agony and something deeper — he spoke.

“Run.”

Ororon didn’t move.

“Run, Ororon. Now.”

His voice broke slightly on the last word. He wasn’t ordering. He was begging.

Capitano stepped forward, a mistake, and nearly fell, catching himself on one knee. Pain lanced up his side. Blood spilled faster now.

“Please,” he rasped, lifting his gaze again, forcing steadiness. “I’ll find you.”

He saw it, the exact second Ororon believed him.
Something in those mismatched eyes shattered, and then solidified into something else: resolve.

Ororon took one shaky step back, then another.

He looked at Capitano as though memorizing every detail: the torn lip, the glint of the snow-damp hair, the blood darkening black fabric. And then he turned and ran, fast and stumbling at first, but gaining speed.

Into the woods.

Into the white.

Gone.

Capitano stayed on one knee, watching the empty path where Ororon had disappeared. 

The commander laughed again from the ground.

Capitano didn’t look at him.

He lowered his head instead, closed his eyes for a moment, and exhaled. A breath full of pain and resolve.

Ororon was alive.

He would stay that way.

Even if Capitano didn’t.

Chapter Text

Capitano’s breath came shallow, ghosting from his lips in pale bursts as he knelt, one hand pressing firm and slick against his side. Blood seeped fast, hot against the cold, staining through wool and leather. His vision pulsed at the edges, dark fingers creeping inward.

He would not fall. Not yet.

The commander writhed upright with a howl of pain, crimson spilling from his split lips.
He staggered, legs trembling under his own weight, and was caught. One soldier under each arm, propping him up like the broken puppet of a man he had become. His jaw was swollen, one eye barely open, blood bubbling between his teeth.

“After him!” the commander roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “Go after the boy, you pathetic cowards! ”

The soldiers didn’t move at once.

Their eyes darted between Capitano, still kneeling, bloodied but unbowed, and the treeline where the boy had vanished. Hesitation twisted their faces. Not fear, but doubt. As if something in the air had changed. As if what they had just seen had pushed the limits of what they believed a man could endure.

The commander snarled at their indecision, his voice cracking because of the pain. “ Now! ”

Capitano let out a breathless laugh .

Low.

Dry.

Mocking.

He lifted his head just enough to meet the commander’s glare, the corner of his mouth curling despite the blood at his lips. “Can’t even stand without help,” he rasped. “And you still bark orders like a dog.”

The commander froze, lips parting.

Capitano’s eyes narrowed, glacial and clear, unwavering even as pain stitched fire through his gut. “No wonder they’re afraid to follow you.”

The air tensed.

The vice commander, still standing a few paces back, looked away, but not before Capitano caught the flicker of something behind his eyes. Not pity. Not respect. Recognition.

The commander’s chest heaved, rage boiling in his veins. He shook off the soldiers, stumbling forward with fury burning brighter than sense, hand twitching near his belt again, but there was no second blade left to draw. Nothing to reclaim what he had lost.

His pride. His control. His mask.

“I should’ve killed you the moment I saw you,” he spat.

Capitano’s lip twitched, half smile, half snarl.
Blood ran down his chin. “You tried.”

A tense silence followed.
The only sounds were the wind and the wet patter of blood into snow.

Capitano’s arm began to tremble from holding pressure on the wound. He could feel the wetness seeping deeper, though the worst of the pulse had slowed. Not fatal. Not yet.

But the cold.
The cold was climbing.

His vision swam for a moment.

He grit his teeth, anchored by the promise still echoing in his mind: I’ll find you.

Ororon’s figure, vanishing into trees.
His wide eyes, his voice caught in panic. The way he ran even though he didn’t want to.
Capitano held onto the ache of it, and he breathed.

He was still here.

He had to be.

The commander wiped his own mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek, nostrils flaring with disgust. He spat into the snow.

"You’re a damn stain," he muttered, pacing in the snow like a caged animal. His boot crunched close. Too close. "But I don’t have time to finish this mess."

He turned, glancing toward the tree line, the path Ororon had vanished into.
That glint was in his eyes again, feral, hot with something dark and ugly.

Capitano’s breath hitched.

He couldn’t follow him.

He couldn’t .

Capitano lifted his head, icy gaze slicing through the air like a blade.

"What’s the matter?" he said, voice rough, lips cracked and bloodied. "Tired of someone finally fighting back?"

The commander paused, head tilting back toward him. "You want more? I’ll gut you here."

"I think," Capitano growled, rising slowly to his feet with sheer force of will, "you’re afraid to lose again."

The commander’s jaw clenched, his mouth twitching with rage. "Afraid?"

Capitano’s stance was unsteady.

One hand still clutched the bleeding side, but there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. It was no bluff. It was defiance born from something deeper than pride. From love. From terror. From purpose.

“You’ll never catch him,” he said lowly. “You’ll die by my hand, before you can.”

The commander’s rage boiled over.
With a snarl, he drove his boot directly into Capitano’s wound.

Capitano let out a ragged sound, body crumpling again as the pain overwhelmed him, but still, still , he refused to cry out. His jaw clenched, his hand still pressed firm.

“Let him crawl in his own blood.” The commander snapped, breath ragged. 

He turned to the younger recruit, whose face had gone pale beneath the grime. 

“With me. Now.”

The recruit faltered for a moment, eyes darting between the deputy and the commander, whose mouth was still smeared red from their earlier brawl. But obedience won.

“Y…yes, sir.”

The commander spat again, this time with disgust, and strode toward the woods, the recruit trailing behind him. As he passed the vice commander and the other soldier, he barked: “You two. Keep your eyes on him. If he moves, you put him down.”

Then he was gone, swallowed up by the trees, the boy following his shadow.

Only the snow remained, and the slow drip of blood pattering onto it.

Capitano didn’t lift his head for a moment.
He could feel the two soldiers watching him: one with caution, the other with unease.

The vice commander said nothing. But his silence was a choice.

Capitano slowly looked up and the forest ahead began to spin. His breaths came shallow and fast. The cold crept into his bones, numbing the sharp edges of pain, but not dulling them entirely. He shifted, teeth grit tight as he tried to straighten up, one hand still pressed against the aching wound in his side. His legs trembled beneath him, slick with blood and sweat.

He wasn’t done.

He couldn’t be.

Ororon was still out there. 

With a low grunt, Capitano forced himself upright, boots crunching through the bloodied snow. He took one shaky step forward.

“Don’t,” the soldier snapped, trying to sound decisive, though his voice cracked under the weight of fear. Not of Capitano, but of doing the wrong thing .

Capitano didn’t flinch.
He simply looked at him, face expressionless but for the growing pallor of blood loss.

“Get out of my way.”

The soldier held his ground, shaky but still firm, until…

“Enough,” came the voice behind them.

The vice commander’s boots crunched through the snow. He stood beside the soldier, eyes hard, unreadable.

“What—” the soldier asked, confused.

The vice didn’t answer right away. He looked at Capitano. Really looked at him. At the pale face, the long and black hair damp with sweat and snow, the blood darkening his side. He saw a man not ready to fall, not yet. A man broken but still burning with something that hadn’t been crushed out of him. Not by war. Not by pain. Not even by betrayal.

His jaw clenched.

“We can’t let him,” the soldier muttered. “If he escapes—”

“He won’t make it,” the vice replied, too quickly. Almost like he was trying to convince himself . “Not in that state.”

But the lie didn’t land. Not even for him.

Capitano stared at him, jaw clenched.

The vice commander approached, silent as ever. The fur collar of his uniform caught the wind, but his expression was as composed as stone. Only his eyes betrayed him. He stopped a breath away from Capitano, gaze flicking briefly to the crimson soaking through the other man’s coat.

“You won’t make it far like that,” he said flatly, but not without a trace of weight in his voice.

Capitano didn’t flinch. “I’ll make it far enough.”

The man looked at him, long and level. Snowflakes caught in the lashes of his eyes, and for a moment he seemed a figure carved out of winter itself.

“You’re wasting time,” the other soldier muttered, uneasy. “We should restrain him or—”

Capitano shifted his attention, lifting his chin. “You already did the right thing once,” he said softly, to the vice. “When you kept the truth from him. About Ororon.”

The vice commander’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

For a second, nothing moved.

Then the man exhaled through his nose, sharp, quiet, resigned.

“Let him go.”

The soldier blinked. “What—”

“I said let him go .”

The soldier froze, eyes darting from one man to the other. Capitano was already shifting forward, but the vice raised a gloved hand, signaling him to wait. Then he stepped in. Not in opposition, not anymore, but closer, slowly, like a man crossing a line he knew he couldn’t return from.

He stopped just in front of Capitano, his boots nearly brushing the bloodied prints. He looked at the wound, at the wet fabric stuck to torn flesh. The smell of blood was thick now, sickening.

He didn’t speak at first.

Then, quietly: “I really do hope you make it,” the vice commander said. “Both of you.”

He didn’t look up as he reached behind his shoulder and pulled his rifle from its strap. The weapon was dark wood and steel, worn smooth with use but immaculately cared for. Without ceremony, he offered it to Capitano.

Capitano didn’t hide his surprise. He met the man’s eyes, searching, and for the first time, found no mask. No coldness. Only that same strange gravity, like something heavier than either of them, was at stake.

He took the rifle.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low.

The vice gave a small nod, unreadable. 

“If you find the commander…” he added, voice trailing briefly before firming again. “Let the boy go. He doesn’t belong in this.”

Capitano gave a single nod in return.
One of understanding, or maybe a promise.

Then he turned, breathing in sharply through his teeth, and limped past them into the trees. His silhouette disappeared quickly among the white trunks and falling snow, leaving only the blood behind.

The soldier shifted uneasily, still watching. “What if he doesn’t die?”

The vice commander didn’t answer.
He just stared at the crimson trail, and the shadow moving through the woods beyond.

“Then we’ll live with it,” he said finally, almost to himself.

He didn’t say whether that would be a mercy — or a curse.

The woods swallowed him in silence, branches bare and skeletal, the snow beneath his feet crackling with each step. Capitano moved forward, leaning hard against the trees, his breath ragged and clouding in the freezing air. The gun in his grip was heavy, but not as heavy as his limbs, or the pull of his own blood seeping, hot and thick, into the lining of his coat.

Every movement sent pain arcing up his side. The fabric of his uniform stuck wet to the wound; he didn’t dare look. Didn’t need to. It burned, it throbbed, it dragged him under. He stumbled again. His shoulder slammed against the rough bark of a pine. The snow trembled beneath him. His vision blurred at the edges, then steadied again, almost.

Something whispered in the trees.

Not a voice. Not yet.

Just wind, maybe. Or maybe not.

He pushed off the trunk and kept moving, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. The silence had changed. There was no more river. No more distant voices. No more pursuit. Only white. White and red and the long, slow pulse of his own heartbeat echoing in his skull.

Then he saw…

No.

He imagined.

A flicker in the trees ahead. The sway of a coat hem. A silhouette too slight to be the commander. Too still.

Ororon?

He stumbled again. The trees spun for a moment. He caught himself just barely, hands raw on the frozen bark. His breath came out in a gasp. Wait! He didn’t know if he said it aloud.

A memory brushed over him like smoke: soft, warm laughter. The feel of smaller fingers slipping between his, the scent of snow and firewood and something older, something safe . He blinked.

The woods were empty again.

A drop of blood landed in the snow at his feet, vivid and obscene. He stared at it. A second followed. His side screamed.

He forced himself forward. Step. Tree. Breathe. Step.

But the hallucinations bled in.

A voice, low, mocking, the commander’s voice, whispering filth in his ear again.

“When I’m done with you, he’s next.”

Capitano gritted his teeth. The rage helped him move.

But then: “Thrain…”

Soft. Tender. He turned, heart dropping. Ororon stood in the trees.
Ororon. Smiling, faintly, with a shadow behind his eyes and blood on the corner of his mouth, but standing. Reaching out.

Capitano lurched toward him, but his boot caught on a root hidden beneath the snow, and he fell onto his knees and hands.

Pain exploded up his side, black and white and red.
The image of Ororon blurred, shimmered…and vanished like mist.

Capitano knelt, gasping, staring at the snow.
The rifle lay beside him. Blood painted the drift in wide smears beneath his knees.

He stayed there, unmoving, eyes burning.
He couldn’t tell if the wind howling now was real…or in his head only.

The snow pressed around him like silence made flesh.
Capitano stayed on his knees, his breath shallow, the pain sharp and hot beneath his ribs.
The forest spun slightly, not in full circles, but in slow, dipping waves, like the world itself was beginning to sway.

His hands were trembling, one stained red, the other half-numb. He blinked hard.

Ororon’s face was gone. It had never been there. Just the trees. Just the cold.

Capitano lowered his head for a moment, eyes closing.
He let himself stay like that: one long, suspended breath caught in the hush of the woods. A brief mercy. Then, with a low grunt of pain, he pushed his hand into the snow and forced himself to rise.

“It'll be okay,” he whispered, voice rough. “it’ll be okay.”

He didn’t know who he was saying it to. Himself, maybe. Ororon. Maybe someone who was already dead.

The wind didn’t answer. It only moved through the trees in long sighs.

Capitano drew in another breath, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and began again. His boots dragged. Every step was borrowed from something inside him that had no more to give. But he moved.

“Ororon!”

His voice echoed back at him, carried in fragments through the skeletal forest.

“Ororon…!”

A pause.
He leaned against a tree, eyes wide and searching, breath puffing like smoke.

“It’s me. It’s—” His voice caught. He swallowed. “...Thrain. You hear me?”

Only the quiet. The sound of snow falling from high branches. A single bird’s cry, far, far away.

Capitano’s legs threatened to give again, but he didn’t let them. “Please…” His voice broke now, gentler. Not a command. Not a cry. Just the soft, stupid hope of a man too tired to do anything but hope. “Please, answer me…”

He turned in place, scanning the trees.

No sign.

Ororon had run until his legs gave out beneath him. Now he moved on instinct, stumbling, slipping, crawling at times, his hand still pressed tight to his stomach where the dull throb of pain made it hard to breathe. The snow was deeper here. The trees thicker. Shadows long. He didn’t know where he was going. He hadn’t known from the moment he tore himself away, half-blinded by fear, half-dragged forward by the command that still echoed in his ears.

Run, Ororon, run.

So he had.

And now everything was white and cold and quiet.

He was alone.

His breath came out in sharp bursts, burning his throat. Each step was a decision he didn't know how to make. Go left? Go right? Stay put? Everything felt wrong. Everything felt far away. Capitano would be okay, right?

The thought came like a whisper. Ororon flinched from it.

He didn’t have time to cry. The tears would freeze anyway.

He slowed, turned in place, eyes wide. The forest stretched around him, gnarled branches and pale trunks, no path, no signs, only the sound of his own breathing.

Maybe he should go back.

The thought twisted something deep inside him. Fear, guilt, something worse.
But maybe…maybe Capitano needed…

Then he heard it.

Distant. Faint.

A voice.

Not just any voice.

Capitano’s.  

Thrain.

It cut through the silence like a blade.

He froze.

The blood in his ears thundered louder now, but under it—there it was again. Just a syllable. A name. Almost torn apart by wind, but still there.

Calling for him.

He turned toward the sound, lips parting, breath caught, heart rising in his chest like a flare.
He tried to follow it. Feet heavy. Arms trembling.

But the sound was far away. The woods twisted it, spun it, made it scatter.

He called out in return, but the sound died in his throat. He pushed forward anyway. Veering through the trees, stumbling over roots hidden beneath the snow, breath hitched in panic and hope. He moved like a thread pulling loose, frayed at the edges.

The voice came again, but farther now. Or closer?

He couldn’t tell.

The woods were playing tricks.

Still, he kept moving.

He had to find him. He had to.

The trees thinned, and the fog thickened, swallowing Ororon’s breath and sight alike. Snow clung to his lashes, damp against his cheeks, but he didn’t dare wipe it away. All that mattered was the voice, Capitano’s voice, echoing in and out of the wind like a memory refusing to die. He had called, again and again, throat raw, lungs burning, his own name. And then…he had heard something back. A whisper, maybe. Maybe not. But it was enough.

He pushed forward, stumbling, heart hammering in his chest. His legs ached, one hand clutching his side, though he didn’t remember when he had fallen. The cold gnawed through the thin fabric of his clothes. Still, he moved. He had to move.

And then—blood.

A smear on the snow, sharp and stark. It stood out like a scream, fresh and vivid. Ororon dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they reached for it. The stain was still wet.

“Capitano…?”

No answer. But the trail continued. A broken thread of red in the pale hush.

He rose and followed, nearly slipping as the ground sloped, trees bowing over him like silent sentinels. The trail bent around a thick cluster of birches, and there, he saw him. A tall figure, dark against the snowfall. Broad shoulders. Long coat. A posture he knew. The air caught in Ororon’s throat. It had to be him. He stumbled faster, tears finally slipping free from the corners of his eyes. He wanted to call out, but his voice failed him. His legs burned with effort, knees nearly giving, but he didn’t stop. Not now. He was so close.

Capitano.

But then the figure shifted.

Too late, he realized.

A flicker of movement stirred in the mist ahead. Ororon stumbled forward, heart hammering, lungs burning from the cold and the run. The silhouette he had seen—large, still, and half-slumped—had begun to shift. He moved closer, whispering Thrain's name beneath his breath, like a prayer he didn’t believe in.

Then something else moved. Not one figure. Two.

Farther back, unseen by Ororon, the younger recruit had spotted him first, his pale shape emerging between the trees like a ghost. The boy gasped, his breath caught between panic and uncertainty, and pointed.

The commander turned on his heel.

His face was still wet with blood—some dried, some fresh, flaked on his jawline and clinging like war paint. His eyes caught the movement in the trees, then the boy’s outstretched arm.

And he smiled.

Not a smile of relief, nor cruelty alone—but hunger. Victory. As if the cold hadn't frozen the savagery in his chest.

He raised his gun slowly, savoring the motion like an artist admiring the final stroke. His fingers, gloved but caked with dried blood, adjusted his aim as if it were routine, the butt of the weapon firm against his shoulder.

Capitano's boots dragged more than stepped now, carving uneven lines in the snow that the wind was quick to start erasing. He couldn’t tell how far he’d gone, nor how long he’d been walking. 

The forest wavered in front of him, trees smeared into shadow and mist. Every step hurt, each one less steady than the last. Snow swallowed his boots, caught his coat, and begged him to stay down. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Then, movement.

Far ahead, blurred by the fog and distance. Capitano froze. His breath hitched in his throat, a burst of steam rising in front of his mouth. His heart, slow and dulled moments before, began to hammer.

It was him.

He started moving before the thought fully formed. Faster. Faster. His legs buckled and caught, blood dragging heavy behind him, but he pushed forward, teeth clenched, one arm pressed to his wound.

“Ororon—!”

He didn’t shout it—he couldn’t. The name cracked in his throat like a prayer.

The figure grew clearer.

He recognized the slope of the shoulders, the dark hair swept against the wind. It was him. It had to be. Relief struck like lightning through the haze.

But then, Capitano slowed.

Ororon’s back was turned to him. His arms—They were up.

Raised.
Not in greeting. Not in relief.

In surrender.

Capitano’s heart dropped into the frozen soil.

And past Ororon, through the mist, another figure stood. 

The glint of metal caught the dull gray light.

A rifle.

Raised.

Pointed.

Capitano’s breath left him all at once, a hollow gasp that didn’t make a sound. His legs moved before he could think—faster than pain, faster than fear, driven by something deeper and darker and older than either.

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Mist swirled around their legs, thick and disorienting, drowning out all sound, leaving only the biting cold and the frantic pulse of fear. Ororon stood, his back turned to Capitano, arms raised in surrender. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, eyes flicking nervously between the two men. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder, didn’t dare move. His heart raced in his chest, pounding against his ribs as if it wanted to escape.

Beyond him, the commander’s gun was aimed squarely at Ororon’s chest. The barrel gleamed in the dim light, unwavering. His grin was cruel, satisfied, as though he had planned this moment, relished it for far too long.

And yet, Capitano stood there, weapon in hand, unwavering as he aimed at the commander—his rifle trained just past Ororon, but there was no question where his true target lay.

The tension between them crackled like a thunderstorm in the air. The coldness of the world around them only seemed to intensify the heat of the standoff. Each man locked in their position, neither willing to break.

“You never know when to give up, ” the commander finally said, his voice a low, venomous purr.

His finger hovered just above the trigger.

The recruit behind the commander looked between the two men, his own rifle held loosely in his hands, unsure, torn. His gaze flicked from the commander’s rifle aimed at Ororon’s chest to the one trained on the commander by Capitano. His eyes flickered, uncertain, unable to move, caught between loyalty and confusion.

The wind blew once more, pushing through the trees with a chilling sigh.

“Go on, Capitano,” the commander mocked, a dark thrill in his voice. “Be the hero. Let’s see how this ends.”

Thrain didn’t respond with words. He simply took a step forward, his movements steady despite the blood that soaked his side. His grip tightened on the rifle. His gaze was fixed on the commander: cold, unblinking, the weight of the situation settling into every step he took.

Behind him, the trail of red marked his path.

The silence between them was suffocating, stretching with every passing second. The sound of Ororon’s breathing was all that could be heard, the quick, shallow gasps that betrayed his fear, his uncertainty. His body was trembling, the raised hands shaking ever so slightly, as if he expected the next moment to be his last.

Capitano’s grip on the rifle tightened, his knuckles white, his chest heaving with exertion. The pain from the wound at his side, raw, burning, was becoming unbearable, yet it felt like a distant throb, far from the pain of seeing Ororon in such peril. His vision blurred, but he focused. His heart raced not just with blood but with urgency. Every part of him screamed to protect Ororon, to do something, anything—but he was frozen in place.

The commander’s grin widened as he observed Capitano’s stance. The satisfaction was palpable, an energy that rippled in the thick air between them. His eyes flicked toward Ororon for a moment, cold and calculating, before he focused once again on Capitano.

“I knew you’d come,” the commander purred, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. His words dripped with venom, curling around them like a noose. “Now we see who’s really in control.”

The recruit stood still, his hands shaking, unsure of where his loyalty should lie. He cast a brief, desperate glance at Capitano, then at his commander, as if trying to find an answer, trying to decide.

The commander didn’t wait for him. “Do it,” he ordered, voice sharp and impatient.

Capitano’s voice cut through the tense silence like a blade, rough with pain and exhaustion. “Don’t touch him.” His words were low, forced through clenched teeth, but they rang clear in the cold air. His rifle remained steady, but his pulse thundered in his ears.

The commander’s eyes gleamed with something far darker than before. He could taste the fear in the air, the uncertainty of the moment. “Oh, I’m not done yet,” he said, as if savoring the moment. His finger slid along the trigger, teasing it, the slow deliberate motion of someone toying with their prey.

And then, just as the air thickened with dread, Capitano took a slow, measured step forward. His legs moved, hesitant but determined. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he moved nonetheless—closer, inch by inch, his gaze never leaving the commander’s, challenging, unflinching.

“Walk to me, Ororon,” Capitano whispered, his voice strained. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.

But the commander, with an almost casual smirk, fired a shot—loud, echoing, deafening in the stillness. It rang out, the sound slicing through the air like a knife, and the bullet slammed into the ground just beside Ororon’s feet, kicking up a spray of snow and dirt.

“Stay where you are,” the commander barked, his voice cold and merciless. He aimed his rifle at Ororon’s chest, the threat hanging in the air like a cloud of poison. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Capitano’s heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, all he could do was watch, helpless, as Ororon flinched from the bullet, his body jerking back in fear.

Capitano clenched his jaw, his side screaming with every shallow breath he took. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let them take Ororon.

The commander’s grin only deepened. 

The silence that followed the commander's warning shot was suffocating, thick with the weight of what could happen next. Time seemed to slow, the space between Capitano and Ororon stretching out like a chasm neither could cross. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the cold air biting into their skin, the blood that pooled at Capitano’s side seeping deeper into his clothes, soaking through to the fabric of his soul.

Capitano’s breath came in ragged bursts, his ribs aching with every inhalation. His wound throbbed, but he barely registered it anymore, too consumed by the urgent need to act, to protect. His gaze remained fixed on Ororon, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, beating for the both of them.

Ororon was trembling, his entire body shaking as he stood there, frozen. His hands were still raised in surrender, but now his face was a mix of confusion and raw fear. His eyes darted between the commander and Capitano, each movement a small, desperate attempt to understand what was happening, to make sense of the chaos that had come crashing down around them.

The commander’s grin only deepened. He took a step forward, taunting. “This is your last chance.”

“Ororon—” Capitano’s voice cracked, breaking through the silence once more. His words were strained, laced with desperation. He had no strength left to speak with calm authority, only raw urgency.

The commander laughed. A low, mocking sound, filled with cruel amusement. “Do you really think he’ll make it, Ororon?” The words were a taunt, but they cut deep, and the way the commander spoke them made them feel like a death sentence. “You’re just a brat, and he’s already a dying man.”

Capitano clenched his jaw, the anger that bubbled within him almost too much to bear. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let that man have the satisfaction of seeing him break. He took a step forward, deliberately, to show the commander that he wouldn’t be intimidated, not by his words or his weapon.

"Stay where you are!" The commander’s voice rang out, a command that held a threat in its every syllable. He was growing impatient, his rifle steady in his hands, trained on Ororon’s chest. “I won’t repeat myself. Not one more step, or I’ll—"

Before the commander could finish, Capitano’s voice broke through again, stronger this time, though still trembling with pain. “If you want to shoot someone, shoot me.”

There was no hesitation in Capitano’s tone, despite the unbearable weight of his blood loss, despite the wounds that continued to sap his strength. He would die for Ororon, if it came to that. He had to—there was no choice, no other option.

For a long moment, the commander just stared at him, his eyes gleaming with that predatory glint, calculating, savoring the power he had in this moment. Then, his lips twisted into something that was almost a smile, but it was cruel, twisted with malice.

“You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” he said. The words were soft, too soft, like the calm before the storm. He raised his rifle slightly, pointing it at Ororon’s chest, and for a moment, it seemed like time would stop altogether. “But this is the end, Capitano.”

Ororon’s chest tightened at the commander’s words. He couldn’t take it any longer—his whole body screamed to move, to run to Capitano, to make it stop. But his feet felt frozen to the ground, his hands still raised as if surrendering to the inevitable. He didn’t know what to do anymore, didn’t know where to go. Every instinct told him to retreat, to save himself, but another part—his heart—screamed to reach for Capitano, to make him promise that everything would be okay.

Capitano’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m right here, Ororon.”

He spoke as if the commander was nothing, as if he were a distant, irrelevant force. He wanted to say so much more, to promise things that seemed impossible in the face of everything falling apart. But there wasn’t time. There never was.

The commander’s voice rang out, colder than the wind that bit at their skin, each word a calculated jab. “You think your dying breath means anything?” His words dripped with venom, a mockery of the desperation that clung to Capitano’s every movement. “You’re nothing more than a corpse still walking.”

Capitano’s grip tightened on his rifle, his entire body screaming at him to ignore the commander, to focus on Ororon. But the commander’s voice cut through him, like a blade. The laughter that followed only deepened the feeling in his chest. "And you, Ororon..." The commander’s voice softened, mocking now in its gentleness. “You really think you can make it out here on your own, don’t you? You’re just a scared boy in the snow. You’ll freeze long before you find your way out of this mess. So go ahead. It’ll be your last mistake.”

Every word felt like it was chipping away at the fragile hope they had, trying to suffocate it under the weight of reality.

Capitano’s side screamed in pain as he fought to stay on his feet, the blood still seeping, the darkness at the edges of his vision growing. But he couldn’t falter. Not in front of Ororon. Not when the commander’s poison was so close to taking root.

The mockery didn’t stop. “You two are a pathetic pair, aren’t you? One of you is already dead inside, and the other doesn’t even know how to survive on his own. You’ll never make it. You’ll never be free.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the howling wind and the distance between them: the ache in Capitano’s side, the cold in Ororon’s limbs, the uncertainty of what would come next.

Then, the commander broke the silence again, a grin spreading across his face, all teeth. "Go ahead, keep pretending, Capitano. It’s almost over. You just don’t know it yet." The rifle remained trained on Ororon, his finger twitching as if he couldn’t wait to pull the trigger.

But Ororon, despite the suffocating fear in his chest, refused to back down. He turned, slowly, one trembling step forward, as if trying to make his way towards Capitano, towards the only thing that made him feel safe.

Capitano’s heart skipped, the sudden movement from Ororon the last thing he’d wanted, but there was no time to stop him now. Not when Ororon was already so close to the breaking point.

“Ororon—no,” Capitano gasped, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the wind, his body screaming in protest as he struggled to take another step.

The commander sneered, his eyes flashing with cruel amusement. 

 “You still don’t understand, do you, Ororon?” He let the words hang in the air like a poisoned promise. “You don’t have to die with him. You can walk away. You can save yourself.”

Capitano’s chest tightened. He could feel the commander’s gaze now, the cold weight of the threat that lingered in the space between them. The commander was trying to fracture them, to drive a wedge between them, but Capitano would not allow it. Ororon was his , and no one would tear them apart.

The commander continued, his voice slick with condescension, his lips curling into a smile that made Capitano’s blood run cold. “You can choose the right path, Ororon. All you need to do is come to me. Leave him to die like the broken thing he is. You still have a chance.”

Ororon stood there, his body trembling from exhaustion, his breath shallow, but there was a flicker in his eyes: sharp and defiant. His heart hammered in his chest, the wound in his stomach no longer feeling like the pain of his flesh but a distant, numbing echo compared to the burning fire in his chest. He couldn’t back down now, not after everything he’d suffered.

With all the strength he could muster, he lifted his chin, his voice coming out hoarse, yet dripping with disdain. “I’d rather die than walk your filthy path,” he spat, each word a blade aimed at the commander’s heart. The bitterness, the rage he had suppressed all these years bubbled up like an open wound, and he let it out, raw and venomous.

The commander’s grin faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. Then the smile reappeared, more twisted, more furious. His voice was a low growl now, dark with contempt. “You choose him, then?” The words were like acid, venom dripping from his lips. “You choose this dying man over me? You’d rather follow this broken creature into the grave?”

His breath came in short, ragged gasps as the fury burned through him. The decision was made. There was no coming back from this.

“You will die, then,”

The gunshot rang out in the freezing air, so quick and so sharp that for a moment, it seemed like time had frozen completely. The sound echoed through the trees, splintering the fragile silence like glass. Ororon flinched, his breath catching in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t his blood that he was hearing. It wasn’t his life on the line—not yet.

Capitano moved faster than he had ever moved before. He saw the commander’s finger on the trigger, saw the barrel of the rifle raised with malicious intent, aimed squarely at Ororon’s chest. His body acted on instinct before his mind could catch up. In a single, fluid motion, his rifle was raised, his finger pulling the trigger. The world went blank, the thunderous sound of the shot drowning out everything else.

Two shots, almost as one.

The smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the mist as silence descended once more. The world held its breath, as though the earth itself were waiting to see who would remain standing. Neither the commander nor Ororon moved. Neither the rifle’s echo nor the chilling wind could shatter the heavy stillness.

Then, the commander’s legs buckled, his body crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. His rifle fell from his hands, landing beside him in the snow. His once-gleaming eyes, full of arrogant superiority, were now dull, lifeless.

The recruit, still wide-eyed and trembling, hit the ground, unable to look away as the man he’d followed into this nightmare crumpled before him. His pulse hammered in his ears, his body unwilling to move.

Capitano, still standing tall, his legs barely holding him up, took slow, measured steps toward the fallen commander. His own breath was ragged, each inhalation a struggle. His rifle was still raised in his hands, though now it was a lifeline rather than a weapon. The weight of the moment sank deep into his bones, his body barely keeping up with his mind.

He stepped over the commander’s body, each footfall heavy in the silence, until he was kneeling beside him. Blood pooled around the fallen man, dark and thick, staining the snow beneath him.

Capitano reached down, his hands shaking as they hovered near the commander’s face, as if to confirm what he already knew—he was dead.

For a long moment, he simply looked down at the lifeless body, his chest tight with the weight of it. He had done what needed to be done, but there was no triumph in the act. Only the suffocating certainty that everything had changed, irrevocably.

He let out a slow breath and turned, his focus immediately landing on the young recruit still frozen in place. The boy had dropped his rifle in a panic, his hands trembling, his face ashen. He didn’t speak, didn’t even dare to move. Capitano’s eyes narrowed, his face impassive, but there was a hard edge to his voice as he stepped forward.

“You can go if you want,” Capitano said, his tone flat, the words almost casual despite the life-or-death nature of the situation. He wasn’t asking for pity, and he certainly wasn’t offering it. It was simple—leave, if he wanted to live.

The recruit stood still, blinking in confusion. His mind clearly struggled to comprehend what he was hearing. He looked at the fallen commander, then back at Capitano, as though waiting for the catch, for the order to fight or die. But there was no order. Capitano wasn’t interested in more bloodshed today. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

Capitano took another step toward him, his voice rising just a little, commanding. “Go back. Now.”

For a moment, the recruit hesitated, his eyes wide with disbelief. He took a step back, then another, his knees shaking. Could he really just leave? Walk away? The noise of battle was fading, leaving only the sounds of their breathing, the wind rustling through the trees. The recruit’s breath came in short bursts, but finally, he nodded, once, sharply.

But then, his hand—his trembling hand—shot out in front of him, pointing behind Capitano. His eyes were wide with terror, his voice barely a whisper, choked with fear.

“What?”

“He…” he stammered, his words faltering.

At first, he didn’t understand.

Capitano furrowed his brow, his gaze darting from the recruit’s shaking hand to where it was aimed. His heart sank a little as the direction of the pointing finger became clear. He followed the boy’s trembling gesture, eyes narrowing as he looked over at Ororon.

Ororon wasn’t looking at him, no, not at all. His eyes were focused downwards, and there, on his abdomen, was the unmistakable crimson of blood: a large, dark stain spreading across the center of his stomach.

It felt like time stopped.

Capitano’s body froze, the weight of everything crashing down on him. His breath, shallow and strained, hitched in his throat. His rifle, once held steady in his hands, dropped with a sickening thud to the ground. He couldn’t feel the cold anymore, couldn’t feel anything except the pounding of his heart, each beat driving him deeper into a state of numb disbelief. The blood—the blood staining Ororon’s clothes—was too much. It consumed his vision, his thoughts. He took a step forward, but his legs trembled beneath him, his movements slow, unsteady, as though the very weight of his own grief had crushed him. His shoulders sagged, the muscles in his back sore and strained, as if he was carrying the weight of a thousand regrets all at once. He barely registered the sound of his own footsteps in the snow as he moved toward Ororon, each one heavier than the last, his breath erratic and shallow.

Ororon’s eyes finally lifted, locking with his. 

Capitano’s heart clenched at the sight, his throat tightening, choking on the words he couldn’t speak. Ororon’s lips parted, but there was no sound. A broken word, a name, a plea. Capitano couldn’t tell.  All he knew was that Ororon’s voice, if there had been one, had been swallowed by the heavy silence that surrounded them.

Then, just as quickly, Ororon’s body crumpled. No lament. He fell, crashing into the snow with a soft, sickening thud, his limbs awkwardly sprawled beneath him.

Capitano’s vision blurred as he moved closer, his body moving on instinct alone. His breath quickened, and his movements became jerky, uncertain. He didn’t want to go to him, didn’t want to face the truth of what had just happened, what was happening. But he couldn’t stop. Every part of him screamed to stay away, to not see it, to not face him. But he crawled forward, a fight against himself.

Capitano reached him in a breathless stumble, knees slamming into the dirt beside Ororon’s crumpled body. The young man was still conscious, his chest trembling with each labored breath. Capitano didn’t waste time—his hands flew to the bloodied wound at Ororon’s stomach, pressing down hard.

A choked cry burst from Ororon’s lips, his back arching in reflexive pain, and his hand shot up to seize Capitano’s wrist, nails digging into flesh.

“I know,” Capitano breathed, hoarse and frantic, voice cracking at the edges. “I know. I know, it hurts—and I’m sorry—but it’s going to be okay, Ororon. I swear.” But even as he said it, his gaze dropped to the deep, spreading red that seeped through his fingers. Too much. Too fast. He needed to believe it would be okay, needed Ororon to believe it too. 

With one hand still pressed to the wound, Capitano moved without thinking, his panic surging into clumsy action. “Hold on—hold on,” he whispered, more to himself than to the boy, voice tight, cracking.

He shifted his grip and pushed Ororon onto his side, rougher than he meant to—too rough. Ororon let out a sharp, broken cry, his fingers clawing weakly at Capitano’s arm as pain surged through his body.

Capitano choked out, his breath catching as he looked.
There was nothing. No exit wound. No second hole. Just smooth, pale skin marred only by a faint smear of blood from Capitano’s hands.

His stomach dropped.

The bullet was still inside.

He froze for a second too long, staring at the unbroken flesh as if it might change, as if it might offer him a different answer. But it didn’t. No clean pass-through. No way to know how deep the damage went. No time. He eased Ororon back onto the ground, trembling hands fumbling for the wound again. Blood kept coming, hot and slick and far too much. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, but it sounded like a lie now. “You’re okay—you’re going to be okay.”

Ororon didn’t answer. Just lay there, breathing shallowly, his eyes fluttering. And still bleeding.

Still bleeding.

Capitano slid his arms beneath Ororon, trying to lift him gently. But the moment he applied pressure, Ororon let out a soft, broken whimper—high and pained, the sound of a body too close to its limits.

Capitano froze. “Alright,” he said instantly, his voice raw with panic and guilt. “I won’t move you. I won’t, I promise. Just— hold on.”

He eased Ororon back down with painstaking care, hands trembling as he adjusted the boy’s limbs in the snow. His breath came short and sharp, mind racing as he searched for anything— anything —he could do.

Then his gaze landed on the commander’s corpse, sprawled just beyond them like a discarded shadow.

Capitano lurched toward it, knees hitting the frozen earth as he fell into a crouch beside the body. His fingers gripped the stiff, bloodstained uniform, and he yanked hard at the sleeves. The fabric tore with a harsh sound, uneven at first, but he kept going, breathless, determined. He sat back on his heels and used his hands to slice the thick wool into narrower, cleaner strips, hands moving fast, heart pounding.

He fashioned one into a tight, folded square, pressing it hard against the wound on Ororon’s stomach. Blood soaked it quickly, but he didn’t stop.

With the others, he wrapped around Ororon’s torso, looping the makeshift bandages tightly and securing them with trembling knots. His fingers were numb, scraped raw, but he didn’t care. He only cared that the bleeding might slow. That Ororon might stay.

“I’ve got you.” Capitano muttered, half to himself, half to Ororon. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed down gently on the folded cloth again, his hand firm and steady now. Then, after a moment, he leaned in, brushing his forehead lightly against Ororon’s temple, eyes shut tight.

“I won’t leave you,” he whispered. “Not for a second.”

Ororon didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch this time. His body, once so tense and stubbornly alive, now lay limp beneath Capitano’s hands. The boy’s lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, but his eyes barely opened. There was no fight left in him—just shallow, strained breaths and the faintest tremble in his limbs.

Capitano’s heart clenched. 

His silence scared him.

Moving quickly now, he shrugged off his cloak and spread it across the snow. Then, as gently as he could manage, he rolled Ororon onto his side again—not because he wanted to, but because he had to. The boy let out a low, broken sigh, but didn’t resist. Capitano slid the cloak beneath him, then folded the thick fabric over Ororon’s small, bloodied frame, wrapping him up as tightly as he dared.

“There,” he murmured. “Warm now. We’re getting out of here.”

His arms slipped under Ororon once more: one beneath his knees, the other behind his back. This time, there was no struggle, no sound of protest. Capitano lifted him, and though Ororon’s head lolled slightly against his shoulder, he remained eerily still, only the faint rise and fall of his chest betraying life.

The weight wasn’t much, but now he felt like the heaviest thing Capitano had ever carried.

He pushed aside the fire in his own ribs, the deep, stabbing pain in his side, the dull ache of bruises forming beneath his skin. He couldn’t afford to feel any of it now. All that mattered was Ororon. Getting him across the river and through the forest and over the hill to where the world was quieter. Where maybe—maybe—he could still be saved.

“Just hold on,” he muttered, breath fogging the cold air, jaw clenched. “Please.”

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he rose to his feet.

And for the first time since it all began, Capitano turned his back on the battlefield—his arms full of everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

Night had fallen again, and the cold bit deeper now. Colder than it had any right to be. The fire Capitano had managed to build crackled weakly, casting flickering light over the snowy clearing like a feeble heartbeat in the dark. He’d found a small overhang of rock, just enough to shield them from the wind, and set the flames close to it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Behind him, Ororon lay curled in his cloak, barely a shape under the thick folds of fabric. He hadn’t spoken in hours. Capitano could still hear his breath, soft and uneven, but it was a ghost of what it should be. Every shallow inhale struck him like a blade.

Capitano crouched by the fire, rummaging through the little leather sack Ororon always kept slung at his side. His hands were clumsy, shaking from fatigue and cold and fear, but he pressed on. A few hard crackers, too dry to eat, and an almost-full canteen. He unscrewed it quickly, nearly spilling the contents as he rushed to Ororon’s side.

“Ororon,” he whispered, voice hoarse, kneeling in the snow. “Hey. Come on.”

Ororon didn’t stir, but when Capitano slid a hand beneath his head and lifted it gently, the younger man let out the faintest sound, a sigh caught between pain and surrender. Capitano pressed the canteen to his lips and tilted it slowly. At first, nothing. Then a swallow. Then another. The tiniest amount of water made it past his lips, and Capitano could’ve wept with relief.

“That’s it,” he breathed, brushing a knuckle softly against Ororon’s cheek. “Good. Good boy.”

He eased his head back down and turned again to the fire, reaching once more into the bag. This time, his fingers closed around something solid and cold. He drew it out—a small knife. Familiar. Worn. He stared at it for a moment, blinking slowly.

Then the thought came.

His hand instinctively went to his side, fingers pressing against the dampness seeping through his shirt. He hadn’t had time to care about it before—not when Ororon was bleeding out in his arms—but now, the throbbing burn was impossible to ignore. He had no choice. It needed to be closed.

He sat by the fire and unsheathed the blade, holding it over the flames until the metal turned a dull, angry orange. The heat shimmered in the air. He stared at it, jaw tightening, breath shallow. For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then he clenched his teeth and pulled his shirt up and aside, exposing the bloodied wound on his ribs. It wasn’t deep, but it was wide: weeping blood sluggishly down his side. His skin was pale, drawn tight with cold and tension.

The knife trembled in his grip as he braced it against the wound.

A second of hesitation.

Then—

Contact.

Pain exploded through his side like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. Capitano gasped, a guttural, wounded sound, ripped from the bottom of his lungs. He dropped the knife with a clatter onto the snow, the glowing blade sizzling against the ice. His hand flew to the cauterized wound, pressing down hard as if he could shove the pain back in.

“Ah—fuck—!” he choked, doubling over, forehead pressing to his knee, rocking himself in small, involuntary movements. Tears welled unbidden in his eyes, hot and bitter, as he hissed through gritted teeth. Every breath stabbed like a dagger. His muscles locked, his jaw ached from the pressure of holding in the scream.

It hurt—it hurt more than anything should have. But it was done.

And all the while, behind him, Ororon remained silent. Still.

Capitano turned, chest still heaving, and crawled back to the boy. His arms moved sluggishly now, each breath a battle.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered again, voice cracking. “You have to be.”

The fire sputtered and snapped nearby, its warmth just barely reaching them.

Capitano eased down beside him, curling his body protectively around the man’s smaller form. He slipped one arm under the cloak and wrapped it around Ororon’s narrow shoulders, drawing him close, close enough to feel his faint, fluttering heartbeat against his chest. The snow hadn’t yet melted beneath them. The earth was still too cold. But he’d warm him with his own body, if he had to. He’d burn for him.

Ororon whimpered. Just the faintest sound, not even a word, more an echo of pain breathed into the crook of Capitano’s throat. His fingers twitched beneath the cloak.

Capitano pressed his lips into Ororon’s hair and closed his eyes.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything before—not when there were enemies nearby, not when the blood had been pouring from Ororon’s side, not even when he’d had to make fire with half-frozen hands. But now, in the stillness of the night, with Ororon shivering faintly against him and the fire sighing behind them, the weight of it all threatened to crush him.

He didn’t cry.

But he trembled.

The fire crackled. Time passed without measure. The forest around them lay in deep slumber, blanketed in snow and stillness.

And then, a rustle of fabric. A breath caught.

Ororon stirred, just slightly, his body curling more into Capitano’s. His brow knit faintly, lashes fluttering, and slowly, like the unfurling of a fragile flower, his eyes opened.

Barely. Just slits of glistening color beneath heavy lids.
The firelight reflected in them, dull and fever-glazed.

Capitano didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. His eyes were still closed, lashes dark against hollow cheeks, but he was trembling again.

Ororon watched him through the haze of pain and heat and snowlight. His hand moved without thinking, sluggish and uncertain, until his fingers found Capitano’s cheek. He brushed against the rough stubble there, the salt-streaked skin.

Capitano flinched, then woke.

His breath hitched as his eyes opened, wide and grey and tired. They locked onto Ororon immediately, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His gaze moved over the boy’s face, feverish, pale and pain-bright, and then dropped to the hand still cupping his cheek.

He shifted, just enough to see him better, and his mouth moved in quiet questions: Are you in pain? Do you need water? Should I move you?

But Ororon’s head moved faintly—not yes, not no. Just the smallest gesture of something like understanding. Like acceptance. Like I’m still here.

Capitano understood.

He brushed a hand down Ororon’s arm, gentle as snowfall, and pulled him in closer, as if to shield him not only from the cold but from the world itself. His breath warmed Ororon’s temple, steady despite the pain in his side.

And then, in the stillness, Capitano began to speak.

It was more breath than voice, a thread of thought unraveling in the silence.

When the sun rises, I’ll carry you once again, he said. The river’s not far now. I have men waiting, down the bend—loyal men. They’ll help us. Help you. I had the plan before I ever met you, a way out if it ever came to this. But I didn’t know I’d use it for someone else. For you. I didn’t know I’d care this much. That I’d give everything just to keep you warm tonight. That I’d feel like breaking because you’re hurting and I can’t fix it with my hands.

Ororon trembled against him.

He swallowed thickly and let his hand rest over Ororon’s, thumb stroking once over the curve of his knuckles. The fire had burned down to embers now, but it still glowed.

I will get you out. I’ll get us both out. You’ll live. You’ll live, even if I have to drag you through hell myself.

Snowflakes drifted gently outside the rocky shelter, catching on the folds of the cloak and the curve of Capitano’s shoulder. Time moved on.

And still he held him, as if by holding him he could defy the cold, the pain, the war. 

At some point fatigue claimed him.

Capitano’s breath had slowed against Ororon’s brow, his hand resting protectively over the younger man’s side, his body curved like a shield around him. Sleep had not come gently. It was the kind that swallowed a man whole when pain and effort had scraped him hollow. He didn’t dream. He simply fell, like a stone in deep water.

But Ororon did not sleep.

He remained awake, eyes half-lidded beneath the heavy drag of fever, his lips slightly parted to ease the shallow breaths he managed through the pain.

The fire’s dying glow painted soft golden lines across Capitano’s face—lines Ororon traced in silence, drinking him in, trying to etch every detail into whatever part of him still remained untouched by pain.

Capitano’s lashes were long and dark. His lips were parted just slightly, a furrow between his brows even in rest. There was blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. Ororon’s own blood still stained his cloak. He could feel it now, drying against his skin like the memory of something that couldn’t be undone.

He didn’t even have the strength to cry.

But his eyes glistened, and in the hollow of his chest, something ached so fiercely it almost felt clean. He knew, deep down, had known for hours now, perhaps since the moment he had first collapsed into Capitano’s arms, that he wouldn’t make it. Not far. Maybe not even across the river.

There wasn’t enough blood left in him to live on.

And still, he stayed quiet, not because he wished to hide it, but because he didn’t want to burden him. Not now. Not yet. Not while Capitano’s arm still held him close. Not while this moment still existed.

So he curled closer, and he held him through the night. He held on, even as the cold pressed in and the pain in his belly bloomed sharper with every breath. He held on, not out of hope, but out of love. Because Capitano was still here. Because his warmth was real.

Because this was the last time he would be held.

And he didn’t want to let go.

Dawn came slowly, dragging pale light across a sky still rimmed with stars. Capitano stirred with a groan, his body protesting even the smallest motion.

He sat up stiffly, rubbing his side once, and hissed at the pain. But when he turned and saw Ororon’s eyes still open, glassy but aware, something in him softened, even as his jaw clenched.

No words passed between them.

Capitano gathered what was left of his strength and pulled himself to his knees before the boy. The world around them was deathly quiet, the snow untouched, the river still just a distant whisper in the forest.

He brushed Ororon’s cheek with his fingers, then nodded to himself, as if steeling his own will. He shifted closer, wrapped the cloak more securely around Ororon’s frail body, and gently—tenderly—placed his hands beneath his back and knees.

But he didn’t lift him.

Not yet.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly to Ororon’s. And then he whispered, so low only Ororon could hear it.

It will hurt a little.
But I need to carry you now.

Ororon didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

But his head moved faintly in agreement, and when Capitano carefully slid his arms beneath him and lifted him onto his back, he didn’t resist. His body, too light, too still, allowed itself to be moved like something already half-unmoored from life. But when Capitano stood, clutching Ororon’s legs to keep him steady, Ororon let out a sharp, broken sound, a whimper like a knife dragged across an open wound.

Capitano froze.

His breath caught. His eyes closed.

And then he whispered, hoarse and raw, I’m sorry.

He adjusted his grip, securing Ororon’s legs more gently, and then reached back to touch the boy’s arm.

“Hold on,” he said—not aloud, but in the way his fingers tightened.

Ororon obeyed.

With the last flicker of strength in his trembling limbs, he reached for Capitano’s collar and clutched it, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. His nails dug in. His teeth clenched to stop another sound from escaping. 

And he held on.

The forest around them remained unchanged. The snow still fell in tiny flakes, catching on branches, quiet as breath.

But inside Capitano’s chest, something broke and remade itself.

He took his first step toward the river.

It was hard to say how long it had taken to reach the river.

Minutes. Hours. A lifetime. Maybe it was all the same by now.

Capitano's legs moved without thought, heavy and slow, and each step came like a quiet vow pressed into the snow. His breath came hard and fast, vapor rising from his lips in little clouds, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. The shape of the land had begun to change, ever so slightly, the ground beginning to slope. He recognized the way the trees leaned here, how the wind carried a sharper bite. The river had to be close. He could feel it.

And yet.

Time was slipping.
He could feel that, too.

Ororon stirred against him.
A shift of weight. A soft, ragged breath close to his neck.

Capitano felt it. Felt everything.

The slight tremble in Ororon’s grip, the way his legs had started to slip from their hold around his waist, the way his body leaned heavier and heavier on his shoulders. He could tell what the boy wanted—he could feel the silent plea in that weakening grasp: Let me down.

But Capitano only tightened his hold.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Ororon, as if saying it aloud would make it true. “Just hold on. A little more. Just a little more.”

He adjusted his grip, securing Ororon higher on his back despite the faint groan of pain it caused. He hated that sound. It cut deeper than any blade could. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Not when they were so close. Not when he had promised.

The river. His men. Safety. Something. Anything.

But then came the cough.

Soft at first, a breath caught in the throat. Then again, rougher. Wet. Capitano flinched, trying to shift his hold to ease whatever discomfort had stirred it. But it happened again. And again. The sound twisted into something raw.

Capitano flinched. The sudden force of it reverberated through his body. He heard it before he saw it: the sharp, terrible sound that came from Ororon’s chest, then the warmth that splashed against his neck and shoulder.

His boots faltered. His breath hitched.

And in the very same moment, his own vision swam. A wave of dizziness washed over him like ice water. His knees gave. The world tilted violently.

Then the fall.

His body hit the snow with a crash of limbs and cloth, and Ororon slipped from his back, falling beside him with a soundless gasp.

Capitano lay stunned for a heartbeat, eyes wide to the sky, lungs burning as he tried to breathe again. His muscles screamed in protest, his side throbbed with that wound he had cauterized only hours ago. Snow pressed cold against his cheek, and everything around him felt far away.

But only for a second.

Then came the panic.

He scrambled to Ororon—dragging himself through the snow, dragging pain and guilt behind him like chains. “No—no, no, I’m sorry—” he gasped, voice cracking, reaching out. His hands found Ororon’s body, too light, too still.

Ororon was on his back now, eyes open to the gray sky above. His lips were smeared red, and more blood trickled from the side of his mouth, painting his skin in fragile threads. But his eyes—his eyes—

They looked at Capitano and smiled .

A soft, distant smile. Not cruel. Not resigned. Something like…peace. Like the last flicker of light before sleep.

Capitano stopped breathing.

He hovered above him, hands trembling, unsure of what to do—what he could do. The apology died on his tongue as he leaned closer, watching that broken, bloodstained teeth, watching those eyes—glassy and glinting, not yet gone but almost.

A gust of wind swept through the trees.

The snow beneath them was stained in small patches of red now. Ororon’s blood. And still, he smiled. As if to tell him it was alright. As if he had always known this would be the end. As if he had made peace with it long before Capitano could.

But Capitano hadn’t.

He couldn’t.

He pressed his forehead to Ororon’s temple and closed his eyes. His body curled in around the boy’s frail frame as if to shield him from death itself—as if the warmth of his arms, his chest, his tears could hold off the inevitable.

But the morning kept coming.

And Ororon’s breaths were slowing.

Capitano pulled him into his arms—carefully, reverently—cradling him between his knees and chest, as if holding the most fragile thing in the world. He rested Ororon’s head against his heart, one hand cupping the back of it, burying his fingers in those tangled dark strands that always felt too soft for this cruel place. For a breath, for a heartbeat, Capitano looked away from the horizon and down at the boy’s face. The gentle curve of his cheek. The flutter of his lashes.

Then, as if the voice that had once bellowed commands had never existed, he whispered, like a child: “Can you wait just a little longer?”

There was no answer, just the faint quiver of Ororon’s breath, and Capitano leaned down, ear pressed near his lips. He felt it—soft, like the wind. And the words were not the ones he wanted, but the only ones Ororon had strength to give:

“You already know I won’t,” he breathed.

Capitano stayed like that, frozen in the silence that followed, until his hand remembered itself and reached once more for the canteen. He brought it to Ororon’s mouth and tilted it gently, letting the water pass his lips. Just enough. Just to cleanse the taste of iron. Just to offer something gentle before the end.

But the end was already there.

Ororon’s breath faltered—with weariness. He didn’t gasp. He didn’t fight. It left him quietly, without sound, like something slipping beneath the surface of a still lake. His eyes moved once—sideways, searching for something not in this world—then stopped, unfocused, open.

Capitano didn’t cry. 

He didn’t scream. 

He didn’t even blink. 

He only lowered his head until his lips brushed over Ororon’s in a final kiss, warm and unmoving. His hands, slow and steady, reached up and gently closed Ororon’s eyes with his fingers. There was no tremble in the touch. Only a reverent silence.

And then he stayed there.

Sat still, holding Ororon to his chest, bowed low with his forehead resting against the boy’s temple. Snow fell quietly around them—light, almost kind.

Ororon’s dark hair lay across his shoulders and sleeves, framing a face now quiet.

His hand brushed back the locks from Ororon’s cheek, again and again, the way he had seen lovers do, as if hoping movement could breathe life back into flesh. But there was nothing left to bring back.

The wind sang low through the trees, and somewhere far off, a bird called once into the emptiness. Capitano’s chest ached, not from fatigue, but from the sheer pressure of everything that could no longer be undone. His shoulders trembled beneath the stillness, but his eyes remained fixed. Heavy-lidded. Hollow.

There would be no spring for them. No river to cross. No plan waiting on the other side. 

Capitano stayed, unmoving, as if the snow could not touch him now. As if the still form in his arms was only asleep. As if, by refusing to move, he could keep time from pushing forward.

And the man he held—his Ororon—remained with him, wrapped in the warmth of love and too much silence.

Forever caught in the ache of one last time.

It is not known how much time had passed.

But they found him as the thaw began.

The forest, once sealed by snow, had started to breathe again. And among the brittle trees, beneath a gray sky heavy with unshed rain, they found their captain—kneeling in silence, his cloak wrapped around a boy’s lifeless body.

No one spoke at first. No one dared.

Capitano did not turn to greet them, nor acknowledge the crunch of their boots through frost and slush. His shoulders remained rigid, his head bowed low. Only when the ginger-haired soldier approached, eyes wide with both fear and compassion, did he lift his gaze.

“Captain…? Who…?”

He did not answer. His eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, flicked past the boy. Not at the question. Only toward the body in his arms.

From behind him, boots crunched into the thawing snow.

Then a voice spoke, colder than the winter, disturbingly amused.

“Well now,” came the eerie rasp, “this is interesting.”

The soldier winced. “Dottore—don’t—”

But the man was already crouched near the body, his fingers extended toward the dark stain blooming on the inside of the cloak. He was about to speak—some cold assessment, no doubt—when Capitano moved.

It was slight. A twitch. A shift of breath

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

His eyes locked with Dottore’s.

Don’t you dare.

Something in the way he looked—like an old god, half-broken, still ready to kill—froze Dottore where he crouched. After a heartbeat, the doctor leaned back with a smirk and lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“No autopsy,” he muttered. “Understood.”

They carried them both back—not just Capitano, but Ororon, too. Carefully. As if something fragile still lingered in the shape of their bodies. As if moving them wrong might undo the final moments they’d shared.

And when they reached home, it was not a military order that ensured Ororon would not be buried as an unknown, but Capitano’s own voice—quiet, raw, hoarse from silence.

He spoke only once.

“He’s one of us.”

Ororon’s grave was placed in the hills outside the fortress, where the wind sang through pine trees and the morning sun could touch the earth. The tomb bore no title, no rank. Just his name.

Capitano did not return to duty immediately. His wounds were severe. New scars bloomed along his side and shoulders. But none were as sharp as the one he carried inside.

He spent days alone. 

Sometimes he would be seen at dawn walking toward the hills, the dark cloak still wrapped around him. He never stayed long. Just stood there.

Unmoving.

Watching the sky.

Days will pass…I don’t know how many winters.
And how many years.

He kept the canteen.
He never washed the cloak.

But not for an hour.
Not even for a breath—Will I forget the day when you were with me…

He never spoke of the journey again.
But those who knew him—those who had seen the way he looked at the grave and how carefully he touched its stone—understood.

The Captain had loved.
And been loved.

Once.
For the last time