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Krem sits on his bedroll in the tent and sighs heavily. He’s put this off as long as he can. He reaches up for the clasps on his armor and squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls it off, trying not to look down at himself. He hates days like this. Days when everything feels wrong, like his body is less his body and more a misshapen cage he can never claw his way out of. The armor looks right. It always does even when his body doesn’t, but he can’t sleep in it.
He pulls each piece off slowly, reluctantly, until finally he’s sitting in his cloth pants and shirt. He pauses there and takes a deep breath, eyes still closed. He whips the shirt up over his head before he can think about it, and that’s where he falls apart. His eyes squeeze tighter and he makes a noise of distress deep in his throat. He just wants to tug and pull all the wrong parts off of him, just like the armor.
All day as he was walking he could feel where his body was wrong, pieces of himself he doesn’t have and pieces he shouldn’t have but does rubbing and chaffing like a poorly fitted saddle, but he could look down at himself and see the armor. See the right shapes, hear the Bull and the other Charger’s calling him ‘he’ and it was okay. But now he’s alone and the armor’s off and everything is wrong. His fingers fist harder in his hair but before he can start yanking larger hands cover them and gently pull them away.
Krem makes a miserable noise as the Bull settles behind him, chest pressed to Krem’s back and fingers threading with his.
“Hey there, Krem,” the qunari whispers. The warrior says nothing in response just turns into the Bull’s embrace to press himself against him, face buried in his shoulder. The Bull’s arms come around him and Krem returns the embrace clinging to the other man. He makes a noise of frustrated anger into the qunari’s skin and Bull shushes him gently stroking his back.
“I know,” he says. They sit like that for a moment Krem clinging to Bull as he runs his hands gently along the human’s skin. After a moment has passed Bull taps his binder with two fingers of one hand. “You’ve had this on all day. You should take it off.”
Krem shakes his head, tightening his grip on the Bull’s shoulders.
“Alright,” the other man says soothingly, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “C’mon, though.” He leans back pulling Krem with him until they’re lying on the bedroll, Krem sprawled out on the larger man’s chest. “More comfortable, right?”
Krem snuggles a little closer shifting his grip and realizing he’s dug his fingernails into the Bull’s skin.
“Shit,” he mutters, rubbing the marks. “Sorry, Chief.” Bull shakes his head with a little smile.
“It’s alright. Better me than you, my hide is thicker,” the man jokes. Krem scoffs a small laugh, before pressing closer again, resting his hands on Bull’s skin this time rather than clutching and digging in.
“Thanks,” he whispers softly. Bull presses another gentle kiss to his hair. They lay like that in silence for a few moments. Krem is so grateful for the way Bull handles it when he gets like this. He doesn't try to say it's alright, it's not, or tell him over and over that it'll pass, it doesn't really it just gets easier to ignore.
“Think you can take it off now?” Bull asks after several long minutes of silence. His voice is gentle and light, careful not to push but concerned.
Krem scowls, but nods. If he sleeps in it, he’ll wake up sore and he won’t be able to wear it until tomorrow afternoon. Bull helps him work it over his head and as soon as it’s off Krem presses back into Bull’s chest trying not to feel the wrong places. Bull rests a hand on the back of his head and the other on his hip, stroking gently.
“Try to get some sleep, Kadan,” he says, quietly. Krem nods. He still feels wrong all over, but Bull’s arms are around him. That at least is right.