Like there was no stopping it

 When Amek appeared at August’s door, he knew.

It was a hesitant knock, so slight, he may have missed it if he were fully invested in his novel. But he wasn’t. And few others ever knocked, so it was obvious.

With only a blip of nerves, he opened the door, and he knew.

The sconce behind Amek threw their silhouette in shadow. Between the dim hallway and August’s dim room, this left their features hard to discern.

Amek took up much of the moss encrusted doorway, they were a good foot taller than August, and within the last year or so, had filled out considerably, especially when compared to August’s own twig-like physique. It hadn’t really struck him until that moment, standing there. A brief thought flitted in his brain, that Amek’s sheer height and bulk were likely intimidating to others who were not himself.

(But he was himself. Because of that, Amek was here.)

But he knew. Because, within their shadow, up in the murky area of their face, twin scarlet pupils were searing into the dark.

That, and Amek’s silence itself was damning. No hello, No quip, No mindless ramble of whatever was on their brain as a greeting.

His heart had already begun to sink at the implications, so he reached to take Amek’s hand, who flinched.

The full body kind.

And those glowing scarlet dots flared, a wavering line of pink following the movement. Then there was a hitch of breath, a shallow, aborted noise, when, combined with everything else, made something in August twist.

It was a cold amalgamation of concern, fear, and possibly fury that rushed through him, but he didn’t have time to parse through it properly.

Because, What had happened? What had happened to make Amek act like himself.

Just as abruptly as that roil of emotion, August straightened, August pushed it down – as best he could, not ever as good as Amek themself but – that was the point wasn’t it. The countless times Amek had done so for him, when he had come to them in shambles.

He tried to break the silence as softly, as gently, as he could. “O –Okay, no touching, sorry. Um –“

A low whine left Amek, making his words dry up.

He sputtered, eyes wide, “Oh, wait. Okay –“ as he tried to figure out where he’d already messed up.

Before he could ask, Amek held their hand out towards him.

It was twitching.

Visibly, even in the dim, shroom-light. Their skin was pale-blue like their primal form, speckled with dark grey markings, and their nails elongated to talons.

August took it without hesitation, as he had all the other times he’d seen them that way, what many would consider a beastly mish-mash of their primal and fragile forms.

“Here – Let’s,” He led them by their hand, Amek’s were clamy, August’s equally so,  “sit here, on my bed?”

They did so wordlessly. Both their hands were clasped between their thighs, sat next to eachother, though that was their only point of contact.

The shroomlight August had been using to read sat on his end table, glowing blue. Its light reflected off the metal bells and other trinkets that hung from the back of his door, still lightly swaying from the movement of closing said door. The faint trinkle of metal hitting metal was the only sound apart from their breathing.

Amek’s hand eclipsed his own.

And distinctly, terrifyingly, August knew he was the only thing holding Amek down to this world. That, if he were to let go, they would shatter.

Their hand was still twitchy in his. It was erratic, like that of a bug nearly dead, but not quite.

Helplessness crawled in August stomach, he didn’t know what to say, how much to push. He was too used to being on the opposite end of this scenario. And the longer Amek’s silence extended, the quicker his pulse pattered.

Ironically, what would Amek do?, flashed in his mind.

(They rarely asked what was wrong immediately, it made him freeze up, spiral, shut-down. They talked about other things, to get him out of his head. They moved slowly, fast movements scared him. They didn’t let him say sorry, he had nothing to apologize for. They asked what he wanted, they said it was okay, they were gentle. They were gentle. They were gentle.)

Gently, he squeezed their hand. Their twitching halted for a moment, but they didn’t respond otherwise.

He attempted words, “You were right, in the next chapter Tiola confessed to Jorum. I didn’t think she’d be brave enough, but she was.”

August watched their face as he continued. He was anxious enough to dread the eye contact, but it wasn’t an issue. Their eyes stared into nothing, dead.

“I only have around twenty pages left now, but it’s been, um. Nearly – fifty or so since she confessed – Jorum hasn’t said anything to her yet, whether she feels the same way, anything. She’s been avoiding her – Jorum has, I mean.”

The words felt wrong and pointless and thick on his tongue, but as he continued, a flicker of awareness began to return to their eyes.

“Jorum has been a bit mean in general. I was – you know I was trying to give her a chance, but I know you didn’t like her from the start. I think I’m seeing it now. I wonder if Jorum will avoid Tiola for the rest of the book.”

The color red had never looked so empty to august. The pastel greens and blues of August’s floral-printed comforter seemed vibrant by comparison.

And now it was August’s turn to be brave. “Do you…what do you think?”

Watching Amek as carefully as he was, there was a pronounced pause before he thought Amek even realized they were being asked a question, their eyebrows shifting just slightly. And then nothing. Silence still.

“That – that’s okay, you don’t have to talk.” August felt like their throat was closing. “I can just. Keep talking. Or not, I can be quiet too, or –“ and he itched to blurt what’s wrong, what happened, you’re scaring me, I’ve never seen you this way and I’m scared.

Amek’s silence was a solid thing in the room, and it prickled and snapped at August’s nerves. This feeling only worsened as he stopped talking, he couldn’t think of something else to say.

They were never that silent, not like this. There was calm silence, when he and Amek would sit and read together, do art together. There was contemplative silence, where their brows would furrow and their hands would fidget but their eyes were alight with thoughts. There was mischievous silence, where a toothy grin would slip across their face before they did something they probably shouldn’t do.

This was none of that. This was nothing. They weren’t moving, they were barely even breathing. August stared at Amek, and he couldn’t see them in there at all.

He laid his other hand ontop of theirs, begging for some kind of reaction, anything. “Ameokk,” his breathing shuttered, “What do you need right now? I’m sorry, I don’t – I don’t know what to do.”

Amek’s hand twitched. Not involuntary, purposeful. But they were still a statue, staring straight ahead.

August squeezed their hand, encouraging. Desperate.

(Amek’s voice echoed in their head “What do you need from me, August? It doesn’t matter if it’s silly, I won’t laugh, I promise.”)

Maybe they needed to hear that too?

“It – It doesn’t matter if it’s silly, it’s okay. You know I wouldn’t laugh, I promise I won’t.”

A beat passed.

The clouds of their hair were moving rapidly, catching the red from their eyes and the blue from the shroomlight as the clouds billowed.

Then, slowly and shakily, they turned and curled into August.

Their head fell onto his lap, their cloudy hair pressing against his stomach. The hand he had been holding dislodged to tuck close to their chest, and the other tentatively fisted the fabric of August’s shirt. Their legs folded against the comforter to a fetal position, and with how close they were, their knees brushed against his back, two warm points of pressure on his spine.

August was startled by how small someone so large could make themself. 

Not just someone. His brother. The life of the party, always ready with a sarcastic quip, a jolly grin. His brother, who handled crowds easily, who preened under their attention.

His hands hovered over their body, the way you do when you are afraid to break something fragile.

But that was silly. He was being silly.

Everyone felt fragile sometimes, even his brother, who rarely showed it.

His brother, who wanted to be held. And, gods above, he would hold them for all the times they held him.

August draped himself over Amek and wrapped his arms against their back.

(And he tried to put every feeling of care of safety of love into his simple flesh, so that Amek would know, even without seeing his face, without hearing any words, that he was here for them now. That it was okay for them to fall apart.)

They shuddered at the touch, making August’s chest ache, and pressed themself closer.

Going on instincts, his tail wriggled blindly around, and once he met Amek’s peach-fuzz fur, softly, he coiled the ends of them together. After Amek realized what he was doing, they moved to coil the entirety of their tails, not just the tips. His spines must have been uncomfortable, with how tightly they pressed togther, yet Amek didn’t loosen them, and if Amek was comfortable, he was too.

Instead, August let just the tip of his tail escape so that he could trace soothing circles onto the side of Amek’s. The clouds billowing at the end of their tail were getting his fur damp, but he didn’t mind. Similarly, wet fabric clung to his stomach from where Amek still had his face hiding against him.

Amek’s chest hitched occasionally, bouncing August upward since he was laid against him, and abruptly, August realized that their hair likely wasn’t the only thing dampening his shirt.

With his cheek rested on their shoulder, he brushed his hands slowly up and down their back. They melted into the touch, though they still shook with uneven, quiet breathing.

Instinctually, he slipped into a purr. It was for himself as much as it was for Amek, a crackly, small drone of noise that vibrated his throat.

And he held Amek. Not like something fragile, but like something precious. Because that was the way Amek had always held him.

He felt them breath, the shallow rise and fall, and the soft heat of their body curled against his. Curling as close as he could manage, like he wanted to disappear.

Then their next hitch of breath fell out as a sob, making August’s heart drop in his chest.

It was strangled and high-pitched, like a wounded beast, and it was the worst noise August had heard in his life.

Once that one escaped, it seemed they couldn’t stop more from tumbling out, each just as heart-wrenching as the last. They sounded painful.

Welling tears burned August's throat as he attempted and failed to make his voice come out even. “It’s okay. It –It’s okay.”

(That’s what you were meant to say, right? That’s what you said when someone was crying. That’s what happened in the scenes of his novels, that’s what Amek said to him.)

“It’s okay.” August rubbed their back, their tail, held them, because that’s all he could do. “Just breathe – it’s okay.”

He purred harder, not really meaning too, and the combined sound of Amek’s choked sobbing and his frantic purring was a special kind of miserable.

Then a third sound joined, sharp and loud and –oh, his eyes widened, that was August’s shirt ripping.

The brothers’ misery was temporarily halted, both falling silent. August sat up and looked down to find Amek’s talons had ripped through the bottom of his shirt. Sniffling, Amek peeked out as well.

Both of them stared, not really knowing what to do about that. It was ripped. That wasn’t good. Something should probably be done about that. Or maybe not. Both of their brains were frazzled at this point.

August turned to Amek when they made a small noise. Their eyes were still scarlet, though they looked less dead. They were focused on the tear.

Then, carefully, they untangled their talons from the fabric and brought the hand close to their chest, next to the other.

Maybe it was worse that their eyes weren’t dead, because August could plainly see the guilt and fear, burning, in their gaze.

He rushed to reassure them. “Hey, I have other shirts – I don’t really like this shirt anyways,” he patted their shoulder, “so don’t worry about it, okay?”

They seemed to consider that a moment, a frown pulling at their face. Then their eyes squinted shut. With a small sob, they hid their face in both their hands.

“Amek, I really, really don’t care, I promise. It’s-“

They clicked a no, quiet. Then again, a bit louder. Followed by another and another and another and –

 And the noise made his pulse race like a prey beast. Because Amek didn’t sound like that, why did Amek sound like that, those feverish, piercing noises spilling out of their throat like a faucet with a broken handle, gushing onto the floor unbidden. 

“–Ameokk!” He tried to stop them, gripping their shoulder “Please – tell me what’s wrong, even just a little of it, you’re scaring me –” Oh no, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

They froze.

And, oh.

They had clutched their hands so close to their chest, and they had flinched when he had reached for their hand earlier.

“You… are you scared you’ll hurt me?”

There was another pause. Their tails had remained coiled together through all of this, somehow, and when he felt Amek trying to pull away, he only tightened the hold.

August had three dozen reassurances and protests at the ready, but was beaten to it.

Amek clicked yes.

Two little clicks. Both the same tone, denoting affirmation. Meaning; yes, his brother was scared that they would hurt him.

The confirmation shouldn’t have felt as devastating as it did. Immediately, he fought against it.

“You wouldn’t hurt me –“

A sharp, no. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me –“ another no clicked, “– let me finish!” He growled. “On purpose, you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. If you did it would be an accident. Creatures hurt creatures on accident, it happens!”

Amek didn’t click anything, though their hands still covered their face.

They breathed in, almost like they were about to speak, but then the air only rushed out of them. They fell, limp, against August’s lap. He hadn’t realized how much tension they’d been holding in their body before.

He gave them a moment, seeing if they’d find the words. When it didn’t seem like they were going to, August tried again. He had an idea.

“Can… can I touch your hands?”

Another moment. Then, Amek clicked a yes.

Slowly, August ghosted his fingertips over Amek’s knuckles. Gently, he pulled at their hands until they peeled from their face.

He cupped their hands in his, brushing a thumb over the gray-blue markings across the tops of them. Carefully telegraphing his movements, he trailed two fingers over some of their talons, Amek stilling as he did so. They gleamed, ink-black and sharp, in the shroomlight.

“You’re not hurting me now,” He said softly. “And it would – well, it would be very easy for you to. But it never even crossed my mind, when you came in here like this, that you hurting me was a possibility.”

A huff of hot air puffed against his hands, they were roughly at the same level as Amek’s face. Their brows were pinched, eyes far off. They didn’t believe him.

Then Ameokk spoke their first and last words of that night.

Their voice wrecked with crying, and their soul crushed by whatever had happened earlier that day to make them come to August in this state.

“I’ll hurt you,” Amek murmured.

(Like it was a warning. Like they were looking at gray clouds and reasonably determining it was going to rain. Like there was no stopping it, it was a natural occurrence after all.)

August shrugged, half annoyed half earnest. “Okay, maybe.” It wasn’t impossible, and he had a feeling fully denying it would only rile them up again. He would say it until Amek believed it.

“But if it does happen, it’ll be an accident, and if it’s an accident, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”