ONE OF TWO. - razor

Chapter Twenty-Two

A guffaw; a shriek; a stupefied "Puh! How dare you?!" – Razor snorted as Bennett tagged Fischl and sprinted off in the former's direction, running toward and alongside his best friend whilst Collei dodged Fischl's futile attempts at catching her.

Daylight had long been beating upon their forms, turning their cheeks a tender pink and their skin into a bejewelled artwork; perspiration trickled along their temples and trailed their backs as they ran after one another in their endless game of hide and seek that had morphed into a simple battle of catch.

Collei had been quick to find her footing amongst the group and had rapidly taken up the second-in-command role of keeping the rowdier boys in check, aiding Fischl in the strenuous task. It was impressive to see how easily Collei adapted to new friends. Razor wondered if she too pondered each word, tone and act she carried out in their presence to have their approval as he did when encountering strangers, but she appeared unencumbered by such thoughts, plainly rejoicing at the chance of having companions her age to spend time with.

"Tag! You're it!"

Razor stumbled forward as Fischl's palm splayed flat on his back with an uncontrolled force, and he lurched around to instinctively grab at her so as to prevent his fall.

The girl yelped, whined a soft, "Ow," and his hand yanked itself from her forearm as if he had been scalded, allowing his body to tumble to the ground in a heap, painfully crushing his tail.

Fischl held onto her right arm and Razor's mind spun – flashed with images of memories he wished he could eradicate from his consciousness. He almost gagged at the sight of a fine thread of crimson dribbling down to his friend's elbow.

Again. Again. He had done it again. Monster.

"Oi, what happened?"

Razor's head snapped to where Bennett was jogging over from, Collei in tow with a concerned furrow to her brow.

"I am sorry," He earnestly apologised, his pulse spiking as his fingers dug into the blades of grass and soil beneath them, guilt materialising as a boulder on his chest, "Sorry."

"Ah, it is but a miniscule wound of mortal flesh!" Fischl was quick to assure, raising her arm as if the shallow cuts done by Razor's claws were a trophy, "What war does not incur injury? What Prinzessin does not stand donning such with pride? Rescind your apology, mein Freund!"

"Don't worry about it, Razor," Bennett soothingly spoke, careful in his steps as he approached, as if concerned he'll frighten off the other, "She's not hurt. It was a mistake. Here, grab onto me."

The wolf boy stared apprehensively at the hand Bennett offered him, his smile amicable and warm, evidently intent on helping him up. Razor's eyes cast themselves to his own hands, fingers partially smeared with damp earth and the faintest hint of crimson on his curved claws.

He couldn't bring himself to touch Bennett, he couldn't risk hurting him as well.

Internal turmoil having brewed out onto his face, his thoughts were as easy to read as an open book to the young adventurer whose gentle smile tinted with sympathy. Slowly Bennett lowered himself down onto one knee and reached for one of Razor's hands, moving at a pace that permitted the latter to avoid his touch if he wished to. Razor didn't, but he did flinch at the grazing of the boy's worn gloves over his knuckles before his fingers latched around the other's palm and turned it upright.

Razor watched as Bennett set their hands together, his ruby eyes fluttering between the boy's own and his calm hold. Fluidly moving their fingers like entities of water, Bennett linked them as one and his smile became a grin, the band-aid on his cheek lifting with the force of it.