topino | crusades amnesia psl

Something is off.

There is a pain in his head, throbbing and making Nicolo wonder what's happened to him. He strains to recall, but there's a gaping blank space when he searches for any information. He opens his eyes, but the light instantly causes an overwhelming rush of nausea and pain that has Nicolo draping his arm over his eyes again, grimacing.

Tenderly, he pries his arm away again, searching the area for clues. He touches the back of his head and discovers there's a sticky substance there. Blood, he realizes, and thinks that he must have knocked his head on something and this is why he's struggling to put the pieces together. He knows his name. Nicolo di Genova. He does not know much else. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know what he's doing, he only knows that he aches.

He also knows that there is a man nearby, the only person in Nicolo's immediate vision. Shifting, Nicolo settles his elbow behind him and studies him, searching for recognition. Nothing. There's nothing. At least, there's nothing about who he is, but there is something within Nicolo that says that while this man is a stranger, he can be trusted.

No, more than that.

Nicolo feels safe in his presence. Grimacing, he groans and drags a palm over his face. "What happened to me?" he asks the man, hoping he'll have some answers.

Yusuf does not feel bad about crushing Nicolo's skull with a large rock.

He does not.

The Frank had it coming, honestly, after one of their endless arguments about which way they should go and what supplies they should buy so they don't actually die crossing the desert this time. As if Nicolo would know! He's a stranger in these lands and though Yusuf technically also is, he takes not small amount of vindication in reminding him.

It's a mess, as it turns out, hitting someone on the back of the head hard enough to kill them. Yusuf has never done it before, and he doesn't think he will do it again soon. It takes a long time for Nicolo to come back from it too, long enough that he starts worrying about it. What if he's finally managed to kill the Infidel for good, this time? What if he's condemned to wander around on his own now, undying and lost?

Then Nicolo starts twitching and groaning, hiding his face from the sun, and Yusuf can breathe again. He looks up to meet his eyes (his awful, too-pale eyes that plague Yusuf's dreams), seeing a good amount of confusion and pain there.

He snorts, looking away to hide his relief. "You died. Took your time coming back too, I almost left without you."

Nicolo gapes at the man above him. He died? Does this mean he has passed on to the afterlife and this is one of God's angels here to welcome him? He would certainly fit the bill, as handsome as he is. Flushed with the thought, Nicolo shakes it from his mind, because this doesn't look like the heaven he'd been promised as a child.

Or does it? He finds himself straining to remember what that is, he only knows there is a God and there is heaven, and there are beautiful angels like this man.

"I cannot be dead," he argues, hand over his heart to check. "Yes. See? Still beating. I'm sure I must have appeared that way, but I'm not." Now it comes time to address the larger question in mind.

"But," he says, "if I am not dead and you are not an angel. Who are you?"

There are so many things wrong with Nicolo's answer that it draws Yusuf short for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. What is the Frank playing at now?

For all his other flaws (and there are many), Nicolo has never been one to lie or pretend. He's not good at it either, Yusuf can usually see right through him. But this? This is Nicolo sincerely asking how it is possible he died, and asking Yusuf who he is.

"Have you gone mad?" he asks, his eyebrows arched in worry. He comes a little closer, crouching next to Nicolo, watching him sharply. "You know who I am. We've been together for years, now." What Yusuf means is traveling together. It doesn't occur to him that Nicolo might read it any other way.

Together.

Is that why Nicolo feels the way he does? It's a strange complicated tangled feeling that seems to grip his heart. He doesn't rightly know how to describe it, but when the man talks about being together, something else in him settles. It goes 'oh', because of how right it feels.

The sharp look must be concern, then? Nicolo barely knows his name and where he's from, but he knows that he trusts this man. "I apologize, I don't mean to worry you, it's only..." He lifts a hand to touch the back of his head, seeing it come away with blood. "I think I may have had an accident."

Yusuf snorts, rudely, when Nicolo says he had an accident. "In a manner of speaking," he replies, his tone wry, and frowns. There must be something severely wrong, because Nicolo is now apologizing to him. Nicolo would usually rather die than say he's sorry for anything he did, Yusuf thinks, uncharitably.

"Let me see," he requests, touching Nicolo's shoulder lightly to get him to lean in so Yusuf can look at the back of his head, which is still matted with blood.

Nicolo stares at the man like he is the one who will give him all the answers he needs. His eyes are wide and almost child-like in wonder, in awe, and a touch of fear. He reaches back again and there is not as much blood this time.

Presenting that to the man, he bows forward, his neck exposed and his trust with it, as well. "What is your name?" he asks. "I know I should know this, if we are together, but I cannot remember anything beyond my name and where I am from."

Yusuf doesn't think Nicolo has ever looked at him like that, and it makes him somewhat uncomfortable. first, Nicolo's trust is very undeserved considering Yusuf was the one who put him in that situation in the first place. And then, there is also the matter of Nicolo's eyes themselves, which are such an unnaturally piercing blue Yusuf always feels flayed to his core by them.

He stares at the back of Nicolo's head, so trustingly presented, and sighs. He can see that the wound there is almost entirely closed, though Nicolo's hair is still matted with blood, gravel and what he suspects are little shards of Nicolo's skull bone.

"Nothing at all?" he asks, startled. Yusuf has head of people losing their minds after taking a bad blow to the head -temporarily or forever- but it didn't occur that it might happen to them, considering the curse that afflicts them. "It's Yusuf," he adds, belatedly. "Perhaps your memory will come back." He sounds hesitant, like he's not sure whether he wants to commit to caring about this. "There is a river, not too far. You should wash."

"Yusuf."

He tries the name on his tongue thoughtfully, weighing it, feeling how it is. He compares it to the emotions he feels when he looks at him, an overwhelming knowing and trust. It's as if his heart is telling him that he can trust this man, even if his head is struggling to identify him.

Yes. It feels right. It feels good. "I don't remember anything, but when I look at you, I feel a connection. I can feel that you must be very important to me," he says, his voice low and heavy with meaning. The moment drags on, only broken when Nicolo thinks that he ought to wash. "Will you point me to the river?"

Yusuf never liked the way Nicolo said his name, the two syllables of it foreign and lovely in his soft, accentuated voice. Or perhaps, more accurately, he never liked how much he liked the way Nicolo said his name.

This time is no exception.

"Yeah," he confirms, leaning back when Nicolo keeps talking, his eyes widening. It's indisputable that Nicolo is saying the truth -his eyes and his voice are intent and earnest- and yet the words are so unexpected Yusuf doesn't know how to react. They do have a connection, this much is true. But it's not the connection Nicolo seems to be believe it is. They are joined by a curse, condemned to roam the desert together, undying.

Still, it is too much to explain their situation to Nicolo when he remembers nothing of it and Yusuf merely sighs in response, standing up. "I'll show you," he volunteers, picking up his bag.

Nicolo is quick to follow, hissing for the ache in the back of his head. It's not surprising that it's still stinging, given how badly of a tumble he must have taken to knock so many of his memories out of place, but he's grateful to have someone as caring and kind as Yusuf to take care of him.

He bends for the other bag, assuming it's his, and drifts closer to Yusuf to press a hand to his shoulder, squeezing gently as he thinks he would, with anyone who cares for him. "Thank you," he effuses with sincere gratitude, wanting Yusuf to know how glad he is for the aid.

"It'll get better," Yusuf says when Nicolo hisses, leading the way. "You heal fast." That much he can tell Nicolo. He'll realize it's true quickly enough, Nicolo is many things but he's not an idiot and he doesn't miss much.

He almost jumps when Nicolo's hand lands on his shoulder gently, giving a squeeze that sends a shiver down Yusuf's spine. "It's nothing," Yusuf grumbles, stepping away hastily and making his way towards the river in the distance. "This way."

They don't normally touch like this. He doesn't touch Nicolo unless he's trying to hurt him, and Nicolo keeps his distance at all times, out of respect for Yusuf's anger or out of disgust, he cannot tell. They never touch gently or gratefully, and Yusuf isn't sure what to make of his reaction to the soft press of Nicolo's fingers on his shoulder.

He is not only handsome, not only thoughtful, but he is humble and modest. Nicolo wonders how he's been able to find such an excellent partner, especially when he'd spent so long thinking he would never have anyone.

Why had he thought that? He's sure there's a reason, but not one that Nicolo can seize upon, now.

"Thank you," he says softly, and the ache does ebb a touch, even if it doesn't go away. He drops his satchel once they arrive at the water, cupping his hands with water to splash it over his face, letting the coolness refresh him, before he begins to strip off his linen shirt, boots, and trousers, intent on getting truly clean.

"Do you have a spare?" he wonders. "Or will I be in the bloodied clothes some more?"

Joe is completely blind to the extensive list of compliments Nicolo is drawing in his head, keeping his eyes on the dusty road as he leads the way to the river. He doesn't know what to make of any of this, but it is deeply unsettling to see Nicolo like this, his face so open and trusting when he usually regards Yusuf with suspicion and anger.

He sets his bag down, sitting on a rock and letting Nicolo wash himself, turning his head to study the horizon so he doesn't need to see Nicolo's naked body. That part, at least, isn't new. Yusuf has been stealing glimpses of Nicolo's body since the very first time they bathed together after Jerusalem. Nicolo was skin and bones then but that didn't make him any less attractive, much to Yusuf's dismay. Now that he's been eating a little better his body is devastating, and Yusuf curses his own weakness as he stares the other way stubbornly.

"You can have my spare shirt," he tells Nicolo, rummaging through his pack. Another thing he wouldn't usually volunteer. Perhaps he does feel a little guilty for all this. "Wash this one if you can." He gets soap, and tosses it towards Nicolo. "You'll need it sooner of later."

Nicolo takes his time in the river, both because it feels good to watch the blood sluicing off his skin, but also because the cool temperature of it is enough to chill any thoughts that might be sneaking in and telling him how attractive and handsome and lovely and kind and caring his travelling companion is.

They're together, he knows (from what he's heard), but that doesn't mean he feels comfortable being lewd and ogling him. After all, would it really be appropriate?

Nicolo looks up and wades closer to the edge, towards Yusuf, standing waist-deep in the water. The droplets begin to cascade down his broad shoulders from his dripping wet hair, which he scrubs his fingers through, hissing when he still feels an ache. "Give it here," he summons, reaching for the shirt so he can wash it.

Yusuf turns his head when Nicolo telling tells him to hand over his blood-stained shirt, his voice coming from much closer than it did before.

It turns out to be a mistake.

Nicolo has water up to his waist, which Yusuf supposes he should be thankful for. It emphasizes his chest though, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his pale skin gleaming in the sun, droplets of water rolling down his body slowly. With his hair pushed back like this there is nothing to hide how vivid his eyes are or the pretty bow of his lips.

He looks away hastily, knowing his eyes lingered too long on Nicolo's body to claim innocence. "Here," he says, trying to sound casual, tossing the shirt towards Nicolo.

Nicolo wades a little closer, fighting the resistance of the water and making waves. He has to lean up a little to pluck the shirt from his hands, muttering a quiet 'thank you' as he sinks back in to start scrubbing it against a rock. As he does, wet hair keeps smacking in his face and he can't even push it out of the way.

Grimacing, he presses his lips together tightly.

"Yusuf," he calls, trying his name out on his tongue. It feels right, just like the rest of being around him does. "Can you come and pull my hair out of my face? Do you have a clip?""

Yusuf keeps his eyes trained on the opposite bank, pretending he's keeping watch. He's not. He's trying not to look at what he can see of Nicolo's naked skin from the corners of his eyes, gleaming under the sun.

"...yes?" he says, when Nicolo calls his name. It occurs to him that Nicolo doesn't normally use his name very often, and never in that softly inquisitive tone. He's not sure how he feels about it.

The question makes him turn to look at Nicolo and he immediately regrets it. Nicolo's wet hair is curling around his ears, sticking to his cheeks, his neck. Yusuf wants to lick him.

He snorts, tugging at one of his shirt laces for Nicolo to use to tie his hair. "Why don't you do it yourself?" he offers, a little too sharply. "I'm not your manservant."

Nicolo reaches for the lace, using it to begin tying up his hair. He slides his long fingers into the strands, knotting it back (and hissing a little when his fingers brush against something that still feels very sensitive back there, even though it doesn't feel like there's anything).

"No," he says, unaware why Yusuf is so prickly. Is it because Nicolo doesn't remember him? "You're my partner," he says, looping the lace with a bow, before he ducks into the water to scrub at the back of his neck to dispel any lingering dirt.

"I'm sorry I cannot remember you," he says, earnestly, because he assumes this is why Yusuf is so cross. "I'm just as angry about it, if it helps." Though, he shows it differently, he knows.

The hiss makes Yusuf glance over to Nicolo again, this time with a little concern. He should definitely be completely healed by now, and the fact that this injury still hurts him does not bode well. Perhaps that has something to do with his memory loss, though Yusuf is no doctor and he has no idea how to fix it.

He arches an eyebrow when Nicolo agrees that he's not his manservant, looking away once more. "In crime, I suppose I am," he comments, dryly. They are bound together after all, for better and for worse. Mostly for worse, in Yusuf's opinion.

"It's not your fault," Yusuf answers, giving a small shrug. If anything, it's Yusuf's own damn fault Nicolo is so weird now. "Get dressed, we need to start looking for a place to sleep tonight." He stands up, stepping away from the bank so the temptation to look at Nicolo's naked body will be less great.

Nicolo does a little more scrubbing of his shirt, a touch more scrubbing of his skin, and then he emerges from the water. It's a slow slosh, taking his time as he goes, and reaching for the dry cloths to wrap around his waist until some of the water drips away and he's suitable to change.

He feels better, and he's immensely grateful to Yusuf for allowing him such small mercies.

"Is there a town nearby where we can find a bed?" he asks hopefully, his head aching too much to imagine rocks and stones beneath it tonight.

"There should be," Yusuf says, pretending to be scrutinizing the horizon so he doesn't have to glance over to Nicolo as he dries himself and gets dressed. "I saw smoke this way, a while ago. There should be a town, big enough for us to rent rooms."

Hopefully, big enough that they can have separate rooms, even. He could do with a night away from Nicolo, to think about what is happening and clear his head. "It's a few hours away still, and walking fast. We have a stretch of desert to cross yet." He turns around when he thinks it's safe, picking his bag up. "Are you done?"

Nicolo's hair will drip for some time, but if they find a place to stay the night, then he won't catch cold. He hopes that Yusuf is correct, but once again, that guiding feeling within him says that he can trust Yusuf with anything and it will be fine.

With no memory and little else to go on, all he can trust is instinct.

"Yes, yes, I'm finished," he promises, hustling to catch up to him, making sure to stay somewhat close to his side, not only for protection, but for the intoxicating warmth that his body gives off. "Do we not have a horse, or a cart?"

"We had two horses," Yusuf answers, waiting for Nicolo to catch up before he starts in the direction in which he thinks the city could be. "They got stolen by thieves last week." They'd managed to kill three of the thieves before they went down and were both left for dead in the middle of the desert. It's not a pleasant memory, and Yusuf won't share it with this brand new Nicolo.

He cannot fault Nicolo for keeping close (it's best they stick together in case of another ambush) but he wishes he wouldn't keep so close. If he stepped away a little, Yusuf wouldn't have to feel the constant brush of their arms together, he wouldn't have to smell his soap on Nicolo's freshly-washed skin.

"Maybe tomorrow you will remember more," he volunteers after a long stretch of silence, carefully.

Nicolo wonders how any thief could have stolen things from them, especially when Yusuf seems so strong and capable. Nicolo finds himself staring at his arms for a very long time, until he has to clear his throat and remind himself that it's not appropriate to look so long.

Drawing himself away, he tries to remember any thieves, but he does not. In fact, his mind won't think of anything other than Yusuf's strong upper body, now, which sets his cheeks to flush.

"I know you will protect me until then," Nicolo vows. "I feel it. I know nothing but my name and where I'm from, but I know I trust you."

arise

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