topino | crusades amnesia psl

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."

Yusuf can tell Nicolo is staring at him and though it makes him uncomfortable, he cannot fault him for it. If he woke up with no memories of who he was and with a strange man at his side, he would probably stare, too. He wonders, briefly, what he would think of Nicolo if he lost his entire recollection of their shared history. He also wonders how Nicolo would behave, and if he would try to help him. To his credit, he thinks Nicolo would.

The words make Yusuf turn, his eyebrows arched. "I suppose I will," he says, a little reluctantly. "You and I, we're in this together." Afflicted by the same curse, potentially forever. Yusuf doesn't like it, but he'd stopped trying to escape it. He's not sure Nicolo actually trusts him all that much when he has all his memories, but he won't say that now. It's better this Nicolo feels he can rely on him, for now.

"There," he points, narrowing his eyes against the sun. A thin grey ribbon snakes up into the sky on the horizon. Smoke.

Nicolo's eyes soften for the promise. It is very romantic, and he's not sure what other way he should take that, but it makes him pleased to know that he has managed to find a man like this to be his partner. In this, together, the two of them.

He'll have to strive to somehow be worthy of him, despite his lack of knowledge of who Yusuf really is.

He turns in search of the marker, nearly stumbling into Yusuf's shoulder as he comes to a stop. Reaching out, he squeezes at his shoulder and holds on tight, feeling relief build in him. "You're very good with direction," he praises.

"Is there something I do, in our partnership? What do I offer?"

"It wasn't difficult," Yusuf demurs, glancing down at the hand on his shoulder. It's odd, to be so freely touched by Nicolo who usually avoids contact at all cost.

"Apart from a sour disposition, you mean?" Yusuf answers wryly, almost joking. He thinks about it. Compliments about Nicolo do not come to his mind readily, but even he has to admit that Nicolo is in fact quite a capable man.

"You're a good fighter." He nods at the sword on Nicolo's back, stepping away from his touch. "With that thing. Also with a bow." He sniffs, keeping his eyes on the horizon. "You're good at making a meal from very little." He shrugs with one shoulder. "Decent singer, too." He's heard Nicolo sing only once, stopping as soon as he saw Yusuf, but it was lovely.

Nicolo raises his brows, not sure how much he should be taking as honesty and how much is joking, because he genuinely doesn't know Yusuf well enough to know. Is this normal? Is he always sour? Or is this a joke because of their closeness as partners and something more?

The way Yusuf steps away from his touch leaves him dry-mouthed and wondering if there's something he's done to cause such a reaction.

"Am I?" he asks, stunned by the thought of being a warrior and a singer, and also a cook. "What about in bed?" he finds himself asking, the tips of his ears burning, but he needs to know. "Am I a good lover?"

Yusuf starts in the direction of the village again, throwing a look towards Nicolo over his shoulder to make sure he's following. The faster they make it to the village, the better. This has been a very strange day and he could use some rest.

He hums, taking in the way Nicolo looks quietly stunned at the information. How odd it must be, to remember nothing about yourself. The next question takes him entirely by surprise, his eyes going wide with disbelief. This is something they've never talked about, for good reason. Yusuf, because he's trying to ignore an annoyingly persistent attraction. Nicolo, Yusuf assumes, because he's not much of a womanizer to start with. In the time he's known him, Yusuf can't remember Nicolo ever looking at anyone, let alone express his interest.

"I don't think..." Yusuf tries, his mind brought to a screeching halt by what exactly this version of Nicolo is asking him. "I don't think you have much interest?" He looks away, swallowing dryly. "There was a war on, we didn't exactly have a lot of time for that."

With other people, he means, obviously.

Nicolo has only one point of reference to keep his eye on, and that's Yusuf. He keeps a brisk pace to make sure he doesn't lose him, cautious and careful to keep him near.

The reaction that he receives, that is a bit surprising, and Nicolo frowns as he stares at Yusuf, his eyes sliding over his body as he wonders what on earth the him before his memory began to flicker had been doing.

"Was I an idiot?" he wonders aloud, scoffing at the notion that he didn't have such interest. "For me to neglect my partner like that, I must have been mad," he swears, a touch breathless as he looks at Yusuf's arms, his torso, his face, his beautiful eyes. "I've never looked on anyone more handsome."

Maybe that won't mean as much, given that he has little to no memory.

Nicolo frowns at his answer and looks at Yusuf in a way that makes him hot under the collar, his too-pale eyes sweeping down his body and back up. He snorts when Nicolo asks if he's been an idiot, looking away so he doesn't need to make sense of the expression on Nicolo's face. "You're going to need to be more specific," he snarks. Nicolo has been an idiot many times, about many different things.

"... what?" Yusuf says, intelligently, when Nicolo mentions neglecting his partner. Who on Earth is he talking about? They've been spending all their time together, Yusuf would have noticed if... Oh. Oh no.

Does Nicolo think...? Suddenly the openly appreciative look on his face makes a lot more sense. Yusuf shakes his head, a little too vehemently. "No, it's not, it's not like that," he hastily corrects. "We're, uh." He wants to say friends, but that's not true either. "Allies," he settles on. "We have a common goal, that's all. We're not..." he gestures to encompass whatever Nicolo thought was going on.

Nicolo has a very bad headache, but he also thinks that whatever is happening, he does not understand it. Yusuf's reaction to their partnership sends a disappointing swoop in his stomach, made worse by his insistence that they are not partners, actually, but allies.

He frowns, hand pressed to his heart, as he tries to reconcile what he feels with what Yusuf is telling him.

"Then why do I feel like I can trust you more than anyone else in the world? It must mean that you are something more to me. It feels stronger than allies."

Now there is confusion on Nicolo's face, and unmasked disappointment, which makes something sharp and unpleasant twist in the pit of Yusuf's stomach. He keeps walking, hurrying towards the village as if he could move away from Nicolo pursuing this line of inquiry.

"That's because I'm the only ally you have," he reasons, glancing at the way NIcolo's hand is pressed over his heart and then looking away. "It's us against the world, that's why." He sighs, swallowing his pride. "I trust you too. We've had each other's backs for a long time, now."

Nicolo follows at a clipped, but quick pace. He does not want to lose sight of Yusuf, but neither does he feel comfortable enough to stick tightly close with him. After all, clearly Yusuf is unsettled by this, enough that he's unsure how to proceed.

"Oh," Nicolo says, still brushing his fingers over his heart, wondering if maybe he just hasn't told Yusuf how he feels. Can it be that? "Then I'm lucky," he says, "if we only have each other, that it's you I have. I'm sorry you don't feel the same."

"That's... kind of you to say," Yusuf settles on, when Nicolo openly praises him again. It's such an unusual thing to hear from him that he's not sure how to react, not sure what to make of the strange warmth that settles in the pit of his stomach at the idea that Nicolo values him so much. Or perhaps he does not, as this version of the man has no memories to support his words.

"But I don't know if you will feel the same when you recover your memories," he amends, a little reluctantly. It will be nice while it lasts, Yusuf thinks, to have Nicolo trust him unconditionally. Strange, but nice. "I..." he corrects, sighing. "It's complicated. Our time together hasn't always been pleasant. I do value your company, Nicolo. As annoying as you can be," he adds, a little lighter, hoping to break the tense mood between them.

There is something here that doesn't make sense to Nicolo, but he can't put his finger on it. Of course he can't remember it, because he's without his memories, but it feels so sure and so right. He doesn't know how he could be anything but glad to have Yusuf as his partner and more.

Maybe it is a secret? Maybe the Nicolo he'd been before didn't know how to talk about it?

"You are still here, so it cannot be so annoying that it drove you away."

"I suppose that's true," Yusuf grants, and he gives Nicolo a small grin. It's not the whole story, of course, but perhaps he's being unfair. This Nicolo has not wronged him yet and, except for his intrusive questions, he hasn't actually done anything to warrant hostility.

They're getting closer to the village and Yusuf gestures towards him again. "Pull your hood up," he advises, watching the village carefully. "And don't talk. They don't take kindly to white men in this region." It's too close to Jerusalem for a Crusader to expect a warm welcome.

If Nicolo had not already bathed, he might have been taken aback by the accusation of his skin colour, but he's seen his bare arms, and he thinks Yusuf is being kind, because he appears paler than even 'white' would describe.

Cautiously, he pulls his hood up, pushing the long strands of his hair so they fall a little in his eyes, ducking his head down as he steps in towards Yusuf.

It's to keep himself safe, but it also gives him proximity. It means he is close enough to smell Yusuf, to feel the warmth of him, and once again, he feels safest right here. "I will follow your lead, my friend."

Yusuf hums, checking that Nicolo is keeping close and quiet before they step into the village. It's small but there are people milling about the town square, and they answer Yusuf's questions about finding a room to let easily enough, directing him to a man serving food nearby.

Yusuf salutes him and starts a friendly conversation about buying rooms for the night for two weary travelers. Depending on how much Arabic this version of Nicolo knows it'll be more or less obvious that Yusuf quickly starts to argue with the innkeeper, trying to bargain and coax him to agree on something. The man doesn't want to hear it still, mild but inflexible, apologizing as Yusuf sighs but accepts the offer.

Once they've paid and gotten a key, Yusuf leads the way to a small one-room house where they'll be spending the night. "He only gave us one, we'll have to share," Yusuf says, sounding put-upon. And only one bed too, though Nicolo will find out about that soon enough.

Nicolo stays behind him for the most part, cautious not to call too much attention to himself. He doesn't want to be the reason Yusuf sees trouble, fighting with his memories to try and understand what it is he's missing that could help fill in the blanks.

Why does Yusuf feel the way he does about him? Why is there a seeming distance between them? And why does Nicolo feel the way he does, when it seems not to be reciprocated?

His eyes search Yusuf's face to see how upset he truly is, nodding as he takes an additional step back to put a little more space between them. "Ah," is all he says audibly, in case anyone might hear the way he speaks. "Yes, of course. Do we do that ever?" he wonders. "On the road?"

Yusuf is not terribly upset -this is hardly the first time they've had to share- but he would have liked having some time away from Nicolo to compose himself, considering the troubling discussion they've just had. Perhaps it is better that he keeps an eye on Nicolo though, since his memory seems to be missing still.

He unlocks the door, leading the way in. It's a small room, with food on the table, a few bare shelves, and a narrow bed they'll have to share. "Most of the time," he answers, earnestly. "It saves money. We don't even always have enough for a single room, we've been sleeping in the desert a lot." With every danger that entails. Yusuf would rather share a bed with Nicolo than sleep in the sand with snakes and spiders.

He sets his bag down, and gestures at the bed. "Back to back, we'll fit. If you snore again, I'm kicking you to the floor," he adds, mostly joking.

Nicolo wanders in like a lost lamb.

He's sure that he must know what to do, but he feels aimless as he touches the tips of his fingers to the table, over the bed, and then settles his bag in a corner so that it will take up the least space. It gives him time to consider Yusuf's words, though both the tone and the content confuse him.

"So, we sleep in the desert, together," he says, "and we sleep, back to back, pressed in together," he echoes, trying to understand if this is the truth. "And yet, there is nothing between us?"

Nicolo does not laugh at the joke, and Yusuf feels a little bad for making it. He didn't mean to worry his companion but with no basis to compare this to how Yusuf usually behaves, how would he know for sure it was a joke?

He sits down on the bed, lifting his head when Nicolo speaks up again, asking questions Yusuf has no answers for. "There is a lot between us," Yusuf correct. Just not what Nicolo is thinking about. "You came here with an army that burned my holy city to the ground, and murdered most of the people in it. We fought. We... tried to kill each other. Many times." That part is a lie, as the killing was often successful. But this Nicolo doesn't need to know that.

"But no," Yusuf adds, to answer Nicolo's question. He rubs his face, sighing. "There is nothing like that between us. You don't have an interest and I-" shouldn't, is what Yusuf means, but he doesn't say it. He shrugs, instead. "You'll understand when you get your memories back."

That is not what Nicolo had been expecting. He gapes at Yusuf, his mouth dry and his chest feeling a terrible ache, because it sounds as if he is truly a terrible man.

It is no wonder Yusuf doesn't want anything more of him. If he has done such monstrous things, Nicolo could not blame him.

Nicolo is not sure of his own actions and perhaps not his heart, but his desire is under his control. He scoffs, shaking his head. "Was it I who led you to believe I have no interest?" he demands, gaping at Yusuf with incredulity. "I would worship at your feet, you are so handsome, and cut of such a fine cloth."

Yusuf gives Nicolo time to absorb all this information, watching the way surprise and guilt show plainly on his face. He knows that Nicolo, when he has all of his memories, regrets what he first came to Jerusalem to do dearly. He knows it's been torturing him, and he knows he's trying to atone for it. They haven't talked about it explicitly, still, and seeing it all laid out so plainly for him to see on Nicolo's face makes Yusuf's chest feel tight.

He can feel himself flush, uncharacteristically, at what Nicolo says next about finding him handsome and worthy to be worshiped. "I, uh," he tries, dazed by the sudden realization that could have this Nicolo, if he wanted. Not the real Nicolo, with his anger and pain and too-clever eyes, but this Nicolo, who is gentle and trusting and apparently gone on Yusuf already.

"Thank you?" he tries again, looking away. "But you will feel very differently when your memory returns to you, I think," he adds, chuckling a little. It sounds bitter even to his own ears. It is cruel, in a way, to have this dangled in front of him when he cannot have it. Even if he could admit to himself that he wants Nicolo, he couldn't justify taking this Nicolo, who doesn't know any better. Not when he knows that the real Nicolo would probably never forgive him for it.

This is the part that Nicolo does not understand.

He knows his own name. He knows where he is from. It is a rough approximation, but he knows. It also means that he knows what he feels, and what he feels is that there is no one more trustworthy in the world than Yusuf, who is here and before him. How can any other version of himself, how can any memory, make him doubt that?

He slides his palm over Yusuf's knee, testing and cautious, squeezing gently. "I know what my heart tells me. I know my instincts," he vows. "I do not think I would feel differently. If anything, I suspect that I have been protecting myself from fear, but without my memory, there is no fear of rejection, because I am maybe not the same man."

The touch to Yusuf's knee is not encouraged but it isn't pushed away, either. Nicolo has very big hands -Yusuf has noticed before- and his palm is warm even through the material of Yusuf's trousers. It sends a little thrill up Yusuf's leg, one he valiantly tries to ignore. He and Nicolo seldom touch, except when they are fighting each other.

"Perhaps," Yusuf allows, though he sounds skeptical. He's not sure why this version of Nicolo is so taken with him of a sudden, but he's fairly confident that the real Nicolo won't be. "Or perhaps not. The only way to know is to wait for your memory to come back." He does not look at Nicolo in the eyes, worried of what he would find there.

"Let's not speak of this anymore until you do," he offers, standing up to sit at their small table instead. Yusuf is pretty sure Nicolo will not want to talk about this again once he has his memory back, and that might be for the best. He can hide how this makes him feel from this version of Nicolo well enough (or so he thinks), but he knows the real Nicolo knows him too well. "Come, have dinner, and then we will sleep."

For this one moment, Nicolo thinks that he will have progress, that he will get something, even if he doesn't remember striving so desperately for it. His heart leaps in his chest and he stares, wide-eyed, at Yusuf, wanting and wishing, but then Yusuf stands.

Ah. Well. It seems they will not be doing anything more.

"What if my memory never returns?" he challenges, speaking aloud a fear that he's had since he opened his eyes. "My head still aches terribly," he complains, kneading at the back of it. "What if this is now normal?" He eyes the food, and he wishes he were not so hungry. He wishes he could deny it, but he is starved and follows.

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