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It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed.
It happened often, back when they were kids, when Ballister wasn’t sure of who he needed to become to fit in and Ambrosius carried the weight of a legacy he didn’t fully understand. They snuck into each other’s beds and made forts out of blankets and pretended they were enough to shield them from the outside world.
It happened when they were teenagers, too, and were eager to see what this thing between them could be. As time passed and their relationship established itself, the arms of the other under the cover of night became a synonym of safety, of care and love.
So no, it’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed.
It is, however, the first time since, well, everything.
After Nimona… well, they had been separated almost immediately, rushed to the waiting hands of the medics. After getting more or less patched up —the city had suffered quite a bit of destruction and it had, unfortunately, left its own trail of wounded— each had been pulled away by interested parties, from the media to whatever remained of the Institute’s leadership. Both Ballister and Ambrosius had been so caught up in starting to fix more than a thousand years of false history, along with the city itself, that the time they had had for themselves, much less each other, was practically non-existent.
And it had been like that for the past weeks, until Ballister had presented himself at the door of Ambrosius’ rooms, asking if he could stay the night.
The answer had been an immediate yes.
Now here they are, under blankets that have long since stopped being enough shield, but together, and that is more than what Ambrosius could have dared to wish for weeks ago. Falling asleep with his lover in his arms, Ambrosius almost fools himself into thinking everything is going to be okay.
A sudden whimper in the night, waking him up, is quick to shatter that illusion.
“Bal?”
Rubbing sleep away from his eyes, Ambrosius turns around to see his boyfriend squirm in place, eyes squeezed shut and an anguished expression on his face, another whimper escaping his mouth when Ambrosius moves to touch him.
“Bal, wake up.” He’s not a stranger to nightmares, and he knows Ballister isn’t either: how could they be, after all they’ve been through. “Wake up, it’s okay, you’re just dreaming.”
Ambrosius places his hand on Bal’s shoulder and it’s in that moment in which the other wakes up: he sets his eyes on Ambrosius and…
…And recoils in fear.
Ambrosius takes his hand off him immediately, going to the other side of the bed in the blink of an eye. Ballister is still breathing heavily, his remaining arm going to his shoulder; it takes him a moment to recognise his surroundings, where he is, who he is with.
There’s no question of what he was dreaming about.
For a moment they do nothing but stare at each other, the distance between them extending into a full ocean neither is fully sure how to cross.
Ambrosius finds his voice first.
“I’ll-I’ll leave.” He has to. He’ll go back to the barracks if he must, but there’s no way he’s staying here, next to someone who just had a nightmare about him.
“What? No.” Ballister looks up then, getting closer to the other. Ambrosius does his best to stay still. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Don’t I? How can I stay here knowing you’re…” Afraid of me is not said, but it hangs in the air all the same.
“I’m not,” he says, a finality in his tone that leaves no room for doubt. “Ambrosius, I could never be afraid of you, even when I tried.”
“Maybe, but… Bal, are you angry with me?” It sounds stupid when he says it, because the answer is so obviously clear that he-
“Not anymore.” Wait, what. “I don’t think so, at least. I think I-” Ballister interrupts himself to take a deep breath, a look in his eyes older than his years. “I think I’m angry at what made us this way. You being so quick to cut it off, me rushing to try and explain it away.”
He lets out a laugh, bitter. “Who were we, Ambrosius? What were we going to become?”
Ambrosius doesn’t know how to answer that.
His whole life his fate had been decided for him: descendant of Gloreth, hero of the realm, monster-slayer and villain-hunter. Nobody taught him anything different, and he never bothered to try and change that; why would he, when he had his best friend by his side.
Until he didn’t.
He opens and closes his mouth several times, unsure of what he could possibly say.
“I am so sorry,” is what ends up coming out from his mouth, because he is, and even that seems to fall short. “I don’t think I will ever say it enough.”
Ballister doesn’t answer, just grabs him by the hand and pulls him closer, until they are both wrapped in the blankets again, and he hides his face in Ambrosius’ chest.
“I still don’t want you to leave,” he whispers into his chest. Ambrosius holds him tighter.
“Then I won’t.”
This is not the end of this type of conversation, he knows. There will be more talks, flinches while sparring, honest tears born out of anger and frustration, hushed whispers and screams that leave their throats raw. Change will come for them, as it will come for the entire realm, and Ambrosius refuses to let go of Ballister while they face it.
But tonight, right now, he places a kiss on the top of his boyfriend’s head and thanks that he can, that he is still allowed to, hold him in his arms.
That even with the nightmares, Ballister still finds safety in between them.