#but he unfortunately acts in such a way that gives S'ria's mind a lot to run with

[snow-system-wol]

The nightmares continue, but at least they become less frequent -- and perhaps it's finally been enough months that S'ria can start to process.

(cw just below readmore)

(this is written by a B Side author and requires slightly stronger cw, primarily for the dialogue itself)

•References to possession etc, re: In From the Cold

•Discussion of hypothetical (not canon) sexual assault, somewhat explicit language

•Vague references to CSA

It was not days after averting the world's end and S'ria's near death – it was not weeks either, no. It was nearly three entire moons, with S'ria mostly having physically recovered, that everything aligned to create this moment.

G'raha slept peacefully, warm and comfortable in the middle of S'ria's bed – with the man himself half nestled against G'raha's side and half atop him. It was an arrangement that had slowly developed – from S'ria not wanting G'raha in his bed at all, to sharing while barely touching, to a gradual shift towards cuddling – as S'ria both grew more comfortable and was medically cleared to sleep in positions not on his back). There was still caution, G'raha did think S'ria properly being “little spoon” was not an option, but this was quite nice on its own.

G'raha woke up slowly, drowsy and relaxed, trying to figure out if there was a particular reason he was awake. He had not awoken from a nightmare, there were no loud noises like a storm, his body had no imminent complaints or needs, so… well, it certainly happened for no reason from time to time.

And then S'ria made a pitiful whimper, curling tighter into G'raha and lightly digging claws into G'raha's shoulder. Ah, that made more sense. ‘Twas not any cause of his own that pulled him from sleep, but rather S'ria's distress.

G'raha was… not certain how to proceed. Surely S'ria would like to be free of his nightmare, but shaking him awake did not seem a kind or viable path – it seemed like it would make things worse. To simply wait and listen seemed callous and slightly voyeuristic, though. He took a middle ground of gently purring – perhaps the comfort of it would filter through to S'ria's dream.

G'raha could not say if it had any positive effect, but for all his thoughts about not intentionally waking S'ria, he awoke soon after on his own.

S'ria jolted suddenly, coming to consciousness with rapid breaths – and then froze completely for several moments. He must have been taking in the situation �� half undressed, tucked in bed and partly entwined with someone else.

He then snapped out of it, shoving G'raha away and scrambling backwards, gracelessly freeing himself from the bed. G'raha quickly sat up to see S'ria uncomfortably sprawled on the floor, wild-eyed and panicked. 

“Ria – Ria, ‘tis alright, you are safe.”

Even if the wheezy hyperventilation did not immediately pass, S'ria latched onto the name and began to stop his frantic side-glances around the room. Much as G'raha knew there were more words that scared S'ria than either of them could ever discover, he also knew that S'ria's master had never misused S'ria's family name. G'raha could not say whether the man would have, if he'd had such cultural knowledge, but G'raha doubted he'd have cared to use it.

As such, as long as S'ria could process his words, this version of his name would always indicate a non-threat.

G'raha hummed while he waited, lyrics forgotten in his anxiety – but it was plenty good enough for S'ria, who was finally lucid, getting his bad leg into a less twisted position with a harsh hiss.

“Would you care for assistance in getting back up?”

S'ria shook his head immediately and limped the few steps to the nest at the foot of the bed – where he wrapped himself in G'raha's long-abandoned quilt and made himself comfortable among the pillows. “No beds tonight.”

It was good, if nothing else, for words to have returned to him.

“Of course. May I join you on the futon?”

“Mhm.”

This was so rarely an arrangement at night, even if not unheard of. S'ria had arranged the room to his liking, with the bed being against a wall, a large heap of pillows at the foot of that, and then a single futon mattress beside the pile. That was originally G'raha's, but the only time he slept in it these days was when they both took afternoon naps on the floor.

Its presence was a blessing now, though, allowing him to comfortably remain by S'ria while giving him plenty of personal space. S'ria looked cozy, bundled up and sunk into pillows, but G'raha doubted he would fall asleep again readily.

G'raha didn't intend to fall asleep before S'ria was fully relaxed either, though. The following quarter bell, perhaps even half, was quiet except for faint clock ticking. S'ria eventually broke the stillness with unexpected words. 

“Can I talk about it?”

Oh, G'raha needed to stamp down on the urge to say yes too hastily, lest he sound eager to hear these things.

(He was not, though perhaps any ‘eagerness’ was instead how he felt about S'ria being in a place where the pain was now bearable to speak of.)

“Of course you may. Merely instruct me on what is most comfortable – whether I should speak or look at you and the like.”

G'raha briefly considered asking if he should perhaps bring a wastebasket over, given prior patterns, but that seemed like something too minor to risk S'ria shutting down over. No, he would simply stay and do as S'ria asked.

“For now… you can look at me, but don't comment or interrupt.” 

G'raha silently nodded, just once, regarding S'ria in a way that he hoped wasn't overly intense.

“How…how can I explain this in a way that will not sound…overly sensitive of me…?”

G'raha's resolve to follow S'ria's instructions wavered from the very beginning, already wanting to interject to tell S'ria that he'd never be judged here. He bit his tongue and waited for S'ria to continue. 

“Do you know what they did after they took me from camp?.” A wry smile graced S'ria's face. “Sat me down for a fancy dinner. That really doesn't sound so bad, compared to what you all must've thought – you must have thought it’d been something awful, but…”

His eyebrows drew together.

“It wasn't even that I woke up shoved into a random soldier's body, just – the dinner. It was only me at one end of the long table, and then Zenos at the other end, with Fandaniel prattling on off to the side… and all I could think about was those few times He invited me to dine alone with Him instead of having food brought to me. Already knowing this was Garlemald, being at that table made me feel like I barely knew where or when I was.”

It was always... interesting to get more snippets of memories from S'ria's past – he chose to speak of it so rarely and every time G'raha had to bite back showing the anger on his face. It was such a delicate place of conversation, and he was almost glad that S'ria had requested his silence this time – to not have to think what words he must carefully choose.

“There was a moment where I was actually happy to be in a body that'd never been His, I wasn't even that upset to be forced into Garlean armor and body, and then I realized my original body had to be somewhere, and I – was it safe? That was the only question on my mind. Then Zenos walked to a dark corner of the room and there I was, motionless. I at least looked as I should, but – but I don't –”.

S'ria pulled the quilt tighter around himself. “You won't like me putting it so plainly, but I can't – there aren't many words to dance around it.”

He turned his face partly away from G'raha. “Zenos is – was – obsessed with me. With Fray, really, but he didn't know. The way Fray remembers being spoken to, in Ala Mhigo, was so hungry and maybe the wrong sort of thrilled, and they couldn't tell if he was getting off on fighting us.” S'ria winced. “I – I didn't like the idea of him being alone with my unoccupied body, because… I don't think he actually wanted to fuck me, but I never knew for sure. And I wouldn't have even known if he did something.”

G'raha's wince echoed S'ria's own, but S'ria was luckily not looking at him. S'ria was right – it was jarring to hear him speak about Zenos in such directly crass ways, but G'raha did not blame him for that. It wasn't as though it was anything new – G'raha had harbored similar concerns when he first saw Zenos and S'ria interact, and it was an honest relief for S'ria to declare that he at least thought it was not quite like that.

“But then he made it clear that he was going to ‘borrow my flesh’, and he seemed so fucking curious about my body and where my strength came from, and I was so scared the whole time I was trying to fight my way back. What would he do with freedom and no observation, what could he do to you while wearing my face?!”

S'ria choked on a sob and G'raha's hands twitched, desperate to comfort him without making him feel worse. He did not need to figure out or struggle with that for long – S'ria, still bundled in the safe barrier of a thick quilt, crawled into G'raha's arms and shoved his head under G'raha's chin. G'raha doubted S'ria could much feel the pressure of the arms around him, but that was likely by design – but his trembling was still obvious, as was his raspy breathing.

“When I got my body back, I could still feel his presence and I couldn't get rid of it – and I… I couldn't stop wondering what he could've done that I would never know. D-did he inspect me? Fight some beast, to see what it was like? If he was aroused back in Ala Mhigo, would he have felt the same while fighting in my actual body – and then would he have been too curious and wanted to – to touch –”

S'ria made a quiet sound of distress and cut off with such suddenness that G'raha briefly feared that the wastebasket would have been needed after all. S'ria's breathing carefully slowed, the agitation in his body giving way to tiredness.

“Raha, ‘m sorry, this is… it's gross that my mind goes to these places. He just borrowed my body to test something, he wouldn't have assaulted me, I know… but I can imagine exactly what it'd feel like, and that bleeds together with the memories of Mast–”.

S'ria's mouth audibly clicked shut and G'raha's heart ached for him. S'ria almost always simply said Him, spat out in a tone that made it clear who was meant. The few times that politely referring to the man as ‘Master’ slipped out, S'ria invariably seemed absolutely horrified and disgusted by the impulse.

After a long wait, S'ria quietly shaking and tears soaking slowly into G'raha's shirt, he realized that S'ria was quite done speaking after that. G'raha exhaled slowly.

“Oh, Ria.” G'raha's voice cracked. “‘Tis not your fault that you would think that way. None of it is.” He didn't know what else could be said or how to make S'ria feel better. Perhaps there was nothing to say. S'ria curled farther into G'raha's arms, a warm shapeless weight against his chest. G'raha purred to him, and a weak answering rumble, attenpted self-soothing, came from S'ria.

Oh, if Zenos dared to survive his death at the edge of the universe, G'raha would tear him limb from limb if he ever tried to return.