nudge of nerses

Minoth hadn't been there, at the encampment where Amalthus aided the Ardainian soldier who'd betrayed him. Of course he hadn't been; it was their separation, Driver and Blade, that had allowed the swiftness with which Amalthus dispatched with the robber, and then the child left alone in a cruel world without its, their, parents.

Still, his horizons sometimes cloud that same dim beige which Amalthus had so dully described to him. Away over flatlands, Omrantha, detached from the forest and the cliff, stood, then fell, to Malos.

Coeia, to Minoth, represents desolation and isolation. No matter his influence, Malos perpetrated an alarming number of his destructive acts alone. And thus, Minoth walks the remaining Titans of Alrest also alone, and also fearful of what in him is cruel, is unthinking, is subverted from "normal" behavior in human society.

He'd never been able to do right by Amalthus. Of course he hadn't. The Quaestor's demands had always been very precise, very impregnable, very unpredictable, even after years. But at least, having a master, he'd also never quite been able to do any sizable wrong. That much Minoth was, had been able to keep, nearly sure of.

Addam, too, supplants in him impulses or misgivings of unsavory behavior, even as the prince himself is so fearful of his potential wrongdoing before scores of soldiers who only believe in a greater good; who have to, in order to be able to act.

But Minoth will never stop being a consummate worrier. At least he's good at that, right? At least his ruminations upon the observable value of his actions will constitute their own sort of good works, even if the shape of a good work that he had been taught, had learned, in the Praetorium had been wholly distorted and unworthy.

All of that is enough on its own to cast a shroud about the Flesh Eater, that he feels untouchable and certainly like damaged goods. All of that is...yes, quite enough, to handle.

Separate to the moral concerns is his personal predisposition against most forms of touch - at least, those unexpected. When he can precipitate a moment of connection by his own volition, he does so, and avoids the predominance of bad feeling. When someone else (Amalthus, on the rarest occasion, or fellow mercenaries a bit too alternately brusque or casual) makes the first move, Minoth will surely flinch.

He's learned to contain it, and to preempt such movements by careful placement of his body in a given space, with fluid dodges making each social interaction akin to a battle, but when you trust someone, and keep in close quarters with them for extended periods of time, it's harder.

Namely, Addam presents a quandary to Minoth's internal disquietude. He would like very much to be able to abandon his former habits of standing apart from Amalthus, especially now that he's seen what can happen when he keeps completely away (he knows an arbitrary observer would be wrong to blame him, but that doesn't stop him from blaming himself), and Addam is someone not entirely unpleasant to be around, but...therein lies the rub.

Half a statement: Addam is someone. The only one Minoth can trust, de facto and de jure, to act in a way that doesn't send him jumping and screaming, is Minoth himself. And Addam is someone.

Driver and Blade, one in body and soul. Ain't that the truth?

But it's not.

Addam squeezes Lora's shoulder, or pats Hugo on the back, or even teasingly ruffles Mythra's hair, and where in any other circumstance over the past several years Minoth would have cringed at the sight, he now considers it a sign, of sorts. There's a gulf that needs to be crossed, and there's a hand or two somewhat pre-extended across it. Minoth has long limbs, hasn't he?

Come nighttime, Addam certainly does keep to his own allotment of personal space, for the first few nights Minoth is with the group. He's a broad man, shoulders and chest both, and it takes an obvious and considerable degree of posturing for him to even manage the arrangement of arms over arms to fit sensibly onto one blanket, but he doesn't sprawl out, like others with a similar personality might.

He's also much more judicious with his touches to the arm or back than he used to be; that is, if Minoth has a plot in his mind of incidence versus age, it seems the sum hadn't ballooned out to exponentials, but instead has stayed reasonable. Still characteristic, though. Addam is still someone who displays his affection with tactility.

Is it merely a problem of logistics? Of semantics, rather? Since Minoth has no earthly idea how to go about asking the question: Y'see, Amalthus was a very hands-off person, in general, and I'm not exactly averse to that, myself, but I like you, and I think you like me, so-

What?

So poke me on my armored shoulder? So take me in your arms, for a loving embrace? So let's draw up a classical portrait of a vaguely homoerotic gesture and see how that is, for trust and bonding?

Minoth, the most articulate soul on the planet, finds himself a little lacking when it comes to articulating these personal predilections. He supposes he might as well trade the rockface he's leant against for one closer to Addam, and see how that is. He sits there, sure, and watches Addam snore, and doesn't know what to feel about it, but he does so with his hands dangling in his lap, suspended by his knees, without even a pensive fist tucked to chin. And that's how the night passes.

The next night, Addam is faced not outward to the forest but inward, towards Mythra. Minoth, additionally a very private person in these matters, scurries himself back to the other side of the camp, and thinks about warm hands caressing the sides of his face.

Oh. Those are his.

Addam is someone.

And Minoth spends the next week ping-ponging around the camp, exhausting the locations of every possible insect nest without even any real enthusiasm as he goes through the motions.

How come he has such an easy time letting arachnids crawl across the back of his hand and into his palm, but human feelers, big and bumpy, are strictly out of the question?

Well, there's the easy answer: humans are so much more complicated than bugs. Humans have feelings that other humans (or Blades or in-betweens) can understand, have to understand, are tasked with understanding if they're to get anywhere of any heart and value in this world. Whatever it is bugs think about, it's not Minoth's responsibility to tell. He could imagine any number of complex, intricate, intimate scenarios, but he'd never know himself to be right or wrong.

How do all the rest of the humans get along, knowing that they might not really have the right of knowing somebody? Don't they all feel it so keenly, this pressure to understand?

Most depressing of all, Minoth realizes, I must be difficult to understand at least as much as everyone else, if not wretchedly more so. And if I'm difficult to understand, Addam will never even want to try to touch me.

What a strange thought to have to think. "You don't worry about that, do you?" Minoth says dejectedly to the Berryhopper whose acquaintance he's making this moment. "You just scuttle from one place to the next, and unless you're working together, the lot of you stay out of each other's way. Yet there's no doubt in my mind that you do have...a society."

The Berryhopper crosses out of view, then hops unseen back down to the ground. Sighing, Minoth dusts off his hands.

"It'll be cold, tonight," a familiar voice interrupts his lonesome thoughts. "Sleeping on your own, again?"

"You've been counting?" Minoth asks, without stopping to marshall his response unbothered.

"You're always on my mind."

Well, that's halfway to a vaguely homoerotic embrace, isn't it? Minoth finally looks up into Addam's waiting face and is startled, now as ever, at the keenness of the prince's expression. Limitless patience, combined with vibrant enthusiasm.

In turn, Minoth says, "I think about you more than I'd like to admit."

"Oh? Anything in particular?"

"How I'm...not good, with people touching me, but I'm not sure I'd mind you."

"Ah. I was hoping so."

"I don't like it," Minoth says crossly. "Why you? Why should anyone get to" -he waggles his fingers in an exercise of a mocking disdain- "override my defenses?"

Addam chuckles. "I'm not sure, but I think I rather like being special. And that-" he makes a motion as if to tap on Minoth's Core Crystal, but from afar "-would have something to do with it, I imagine."

Minoth doesn't respond.

"If it were me, I'd tell myself not to beat myself up too much, for whatever it is that is. Just make your best step forward from where we are now."

Minoth still doesn't respond.

"But be warned, I tend to hug people in my sleep."

That, at least, is actionable. "So if I keep you in front of me, I'll be free of wandering arms, yes?"

Addam laughs. "Inviting me to sleep in your lap?"

"If that could ever be considered a best step forward, then yes, my prince, I am."

Seemingly satisfied with this fragmented bit of conversation, Addam gestures to the ground in front of Minoth, and Minoth nods. Off comes the usual slate of armor pieces from upper and lower arms, on comes a mixed handful of almost comical groans as Addam settles himself down, and then, of all things, an elbow lands in Minoth's lap, braced on his own lingering forearm.

"Fine?"

"Dandy."