topino | crusades amnesia psl

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.

Yusuf eats too, hungry after a whole day spent walking through the desert. "Nicolo," he chastises, trying to keep his tone gentle. "It's too early to worry about that. We'll see how you feel tomorrow, yes?"

He sighs, eating his way through his share of bread, cheese and dry figs. "If it never returns I'll tell you everything I know, and you'll make new memories." He thinks on it. "Perhaps we can go back to your hometown, see if you remember anything there.

He frowns when Nicolo mentions that his head still aches, leaning back a little. That's unusual, for them. Yusuf has seen Nicolo heal from much more severe injuries, he should be perfectly fine by now. "It shouldn't still hurt you," he says, slowly. "I'll take a look after dinner." That means sitting close to Nicolo and running his fingers through his hair which could be dangerous, considering what they were just discussing.

Nicolo reaches across the table for the figs, eager to try them because his hunger is not abating, along with the pain. He frowns at the thought of his hometown. He must know it. He's sure he must, yet he cannot summon any thoughts of it, which is a problem.

"It is still aching, a sharp little pinging pain," he confesses, "maybe this is why I can't remember much?"

Each time Nicolo eats a fig, his attention slides to Yusuf's fingers, his mouth, and thinks longingly that it would be so much better if it were his. Why isn't it his?

Yusuf considers, nodding slowly. The idea that something could be wrong with Nicolo physically to explain his memory loss is alluring, because it would mean the problem would potentially be fixed by their unnatural healing.

"Maybe," he agrees, thoughtfully. "You should have recovered, by now." He definitely needs to have a look, no matter the touching that will entail.

It's hard not to notice Nicolo staring at his lips and Yusuf swallows dryly, wondering what would happen if he were to lick his fingers clean. Would Nicolo lean in and kiss him, despite their previous conversation? Does Yusuf want that?

He stands up to avoid thinking about it too much, bringing a jug of water to the table and pouring them two glasses. "Finish eating," he says, using their candle to light another one he takes from his pack. "Then come into the light. I'll look at your head."

Nicolo is still unsure why he would have recovered, but his lack of memory means that he must take Yusuf on faith alone that he has some special power that allows him to heal, and it's something he is struggling to visualize, if he's honest.

Still, if he is going to believe anyone, he knows in his heart it will be this man, who for some reason, is the person he feels safest with.

"I will," he murmurs, parting his lips to eat, even if his eyes remain on Yusuf's lips, for the most part. "And if you find nothing?"

"If I find nothing, we'll sleep on it and see tomorrow. We could ask if there are a few odd jobs to take in this town, enough to pay a doctor to take a closer look," Yusuf answers, sounding reassuring. He's not entirely sure going to see a doctor is a good idea, what with their extraordinary healing, but he's willing to take the risk if it will help Nicolo.

He sits down on their bed, leaning back on his hands and watching Nicolo. "I think you would usually pray, too. Perhaps your God will hear you," he adds, trying not to sound too skeptical about it. Yusuf's own faith is... volatile, at the moment.

He won't press, waiting for Nicolo to finish eating patiently, somewhat dreading what he will find in his skull.

Nicolo frowns, wondering if he ought to fall to his knees and attempt to pray. It is not the first thing that came to mind, but if Yusuf's search yields nothing, then maybe he will need to rely on the almighty to help, where nothing else could.

He scrapes the last of his food, his eyes flickering up to Yusuf's lips all dinner, because now that he's begun to look at them, he can't stop.

"Are you not hungry for more?" he asks, tipping his plate towards Yusuf when there is a few morsels left. "You're taking such fine care of me, I want to make sure you're well fed."

Yusuf really wishes Nicolo would stop staring at his mouth like this, though he doesn't want to make the situation even more tense by telling him to quit. He shakes his head when Nicolo offers food from his own plate, complimenting Yusuf on the care he's been taking of Nicolo.

It stings a little, considering he's probably the one who got Nicolo into this whole mess in the first place. "No," he answers, as gently as he can manage. "I've eaten enough. You'll need your strength."

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