[ Cain's been fretting for days. He's confined to bedrest, his injuries great enough that he can't even protest, barely able to wake for more than a few hours at a time. It's maddening, rescued from the long days of torture and exhaustion, only to have to endure more days of exhaustion, his own body forcing him unconsciousness rather than a spell this time.
And through it all, that nagging worry — where is Percival? That aching, cold place in his chest, the empty space where usually he can feel a hot snap of flame — Percival's flame, vibrant and alive. Missing. He knows why. There's only one reason why he wouldn't be able to feel Percival's warm presence, and that, more than his own injuries, more than the torture he's endured, is what's kept Cain quiet and subdued in bed for the past days.
Feeling that flame in his chest re-ignite is like coming back to life himself, lets him sleep easily for the first time since his abduction. He's asleep when Percival gets home, curled up in bed — in their bed, that's felt so empty — tucked into the corner against the wall, looking pale and small and fragile, swathed in bandages. Unlike Percival, he hasn't had the benefit of the Natha restoring him to health.
As the door to the room swings open, he stirs. His hand flies to his chest, to where that warmth is, steadily burning, noticeable now after its long, aching absence. He turns, sitting up abruptly, tangling himself in the sheets with his haste, twisting himself up in them as he scrambles to see who it is, his hope naked and desperate on his face. ]
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And through it all, that nagging worry — where is Percival? That aching, cold place in his chest, the empty space where usually he can feel a hot snap of flame — Percival's flame, vibrant and alive. Missing. He knows why. There's only one reason why he wouldn't be able to feel Percival's warm presence, and that, more than his own injuries, more than the torture he's endured, is what's kept Cain quiet and subdued in bed for the past days.
Feeling that flame in his chest re-ignite is like coming back to life himself, lets him sleep easily for the first time since his abduction. He's asleep when Percival gets home, curled up in bed — in their bed, that's felt so empty — tucked into the corner against the wall, looking pale and small and fragile, swathed in bandages. Unlike Percival, he hasn't had the benefit of the Natha restoring him to health.
As the door to the room swings open, he stirs. His hand flies to his chest, to where that warmth is, steadily burning, noticeable now after its long, aching absence. He turns, sitting up abruptly, tangling himself in the sheets with his haste, twisting himself up in them as he scrambles to see who it is, his hope naked and desperate on his face. ]
You're alive—