Amalia had found him in the dark, when Isuma had gone for help and on her way to the farm had encountered a woman and a whale and brought them to her companion's side. She had never experienced Jigano at his worst. Oh, he had bad moments, bad days, when he hadn't seen the ones he loved recently enough, when the guilt they drove away returned to slink around the edges of his thoughts and pick at the scabs growing over his heart. But not since he had arrived in Caido had he fallen apart so completely, not simply bending but crumpling under the weight that he had continued to shift onto his shoulders.
A martyr complex, Safrin had said, and she wasn't wrong. He had made so many mistakes in his past life, sins he couldn't wash clean, and though he sometimes forgot that, and though the burden of them had lightened as he had begun to unbind himself from the shackles he had placed on his heart and soul, they still had teeth and claws with which to tear at him in his weakest moments.
Tonight was one of those moments, and he was still reeling from what had happened. At the Shrine, in his head... but most of all, that someone had known he was in pain. Isuma, small but fierce, had not let him fall apart alone, and when she had been unable to comfort him she had found another. And after Amalia had held him and let him wear himself out with a fox's whimpering despair in her lap he had realized that, for the first time in years, he had a home to return to. A sanctuary from all demons, but most especially those in his own mind.
More importantly, he had been reminded that he didn't have to face them alone. And... he trusted Rory. Ashamed though he was of showing the man he loved his weakness, he knew beyond any doubt that the hunter would not turn him away for it.
It was a fox and a weary gryphlet who came on foot to the door of the farmhouse, but it was a man who opened the door and carefully locked it behind him. Isuma paced at his side as they made their way to the bedroom, and she hopped up onto the bed and curled up on the pillow as he slipped out of his clothing, baring skin and scars alike to the moonlight that peeked through the window, still and silent as a dream.
Even in the depths of despair he couldn't help but pause to appreciate the beauty of the man already in the bed, handsome and strong, fierce and stubborn, gentle and vulnerable. He fell in love again every time he saw him, and tonight was no different, his breath catching in his throat. Silent feet took him closer, close enough to slip beneath the sheet and wrap an arm tenderly around Rory's waist, pressing against his back with a shuddering breath. He buried his face in the tumble of blond hair and warm skin between the hunter's shoulder blades, and something inside him seemed to unwind with a soft, shuddering moan as the familiar scent washed over him.
He was home. He was safe.
And now the tears began to fall, silently at first but steadily as his body shivered with the reaction of all the deep, twisted emotions that had flowed through him that night and he held Rory as if afraid the hunter would disappear with the morning light.
A martyr complex, Safrin had said, and she wasn't wrong. He had made so many mistakes in his past life, sins he couldn't wash clean, and though he sometimes forgot that, and though the burden of them had lightened as he had begun to unbind himself from the shackles he had placed on his heart and soul, they still had teeth and claws with which to tear at him in his weakest moments.
Tonight was one of those moments, and he was still reeling from what had happened. At the Shrine, in his head... but most of all, that someone had known he was in pain. Isuma, small but fierce, had not let him fall apart alone, and when she had been unable to comfort him she had found another. And after Amalia had held him and let him wear himself out with a fox's whimpering despair in her lap he had realized that, for the first time in years, he had a home to return to. A sanctuary from all demons, but most especially those in his own mind.
More importantly, he had been reminded that he didn't have to face them alone. And... he trusted Rory. Ashamed though he was of showing the man he loved his weakness, he knew beyond any doubt that the hunter would not turn him away for it.
It was a fox and a weary gryphlet who came on foot to the door of the farmhouse, but it was a man who opened the door and carefully locked it behind him. Isuma paced at his side as they made their way to the bedroom, and she hopped up onto the bed and curled up on the pillow as he slipped out of his clothing, baring skin and scars alike to the moonlight that peeked through the window, still and silent as a dream.
Even in the depths of despair he couldn't help but pause to appreciate the beauty of the man already in the bed, handsome and strong, fierce and stubborn, gentle and vulnerable. He fell in love again every time he saw him, and tonight was no different, his breath catching in his throat. Silent feet took him closer, close enough to slip beneath the sheet and wrap an arm tenderly around Rory's waist, pressing against his back with a shuddering breath. He buried his face in the tumble of blond hair and warm skin between the hunter's shoulder blades, and something inside him seemed to unwind with a soft, shuddering moan as the familiar scent washed over him.
He was home. He was safe.
And now the tears began to fall, silently at first but steadily as his body shivered with the reaction of all the deep, twisted emotions that had flowed through him that night and he held Rory as if afraid the hunter would disappear with the morning light.
