When twilight fell, they made a stop in a small hollow that sheltered them from the piercing northern wind. The watered horses grazed peacefully nearby, nibbling on the tough grass, while a campfire crackled in the center of their makeshift camp, driving away the encroaching darkness and cold.
Eist, citing the need to check the surroundings and gather more firewood, disappeared into the gloom. Only Anastas and Thomas remained by the fire.
Silence hung between them, broken only by the hum of the flames. Anastas sat with his legs slightly outstretched, watching the youth through the golden sparks of the fire. Thomas wrapped himself in his jacket, his gaze thoughtful and fixed on the flames.
Anastas suddenly realized that this was the most opportune moment. Before this, they simply hadn't had the time to even talk properly. First—his injury, the fever, and the long days of recovery; then—this nightmare, the kidnapping, the rescue, and the chase. Their lives had been moving at a gallop, not allowing a single second for a breather.
Anastas looked at Thomas's fire-lit face, and in his head, the puzzle pieces he had so long and stubbornly refused to notice were falling into place.
Perhaps they didn't need to travel anywhere anymore. Perhaps the end of their dangerous journey was right here. What if Athit had been right in front of him all this time?
After that terrifying night, while locked in the brothel room, Anastas had thought a lot. He analyzed their first meeting at the estate, his own initially so contradictory feelings and thoughts. He remembered how gradually, step by step, his attitude had changed. How Thomas, against all odds, had become not just a neighbor, but the person closest to him. Thomas had unhesitatingly abandoned his familiar, comfortable, and safe life at home. He had followed Anastas, not knowing what dangers and hardships awaited them ahead.
He remembered Thomas's sleepless nights by his bed when he was tossing in a fever. He remembered his quiet voice, his cool hands changing the bandage, his genuine worry and care. Thomas gave his all, demanding nothing in return. And this realization now echoed in Anastas's chest with such an aching tenderness that he had neither the strength nor the desire to hide it behind a mask anymore.
Anastas made a decision. He would not miss this moment. He would speak right now and try to reach the truth, whatever it might be. He drew a breath, gathering his thoughts, but before he could utter a word...
"I'm going to take a little walk, clear my head," Thomas suddenly said.
The youth stood up abruptly. He turned and took a step away.
Anastas jumped up after him. He hadn't expected such impulsiveness from himself, but his body moved on its own. In two wide strides, the man closed the distance between them, reached out, and caught his wrist.
"Wait."
Thomas froze. Slowly, as if not believing what was happening, the youth turned around. In the reflections of the campfire, his amber eyes seemed bewildered. First, Thomas looked into Anastas's face, trying to read the reason for this sudden outburst in his gaze. And then his gaze slowly dropped down—to where fingers were gripping his arm, not allowing him to leave.
"I'm sorry."
"Everything happened because of me," Anastas took a step forward. "If I hadn't let you come with me, you would be home and safe; if I hadn't let you go alone, nothing would have happened."
Thomas listened to him, not trying to free his hand. Then he turned fully toward him.
"Stas, it's not your fault," the youth said, and there wasn't a drop of reproach in his tone. "Everything is fine, we are all together again, and..."
He didn't get to finish. Anastas yanked Thomas toward himself and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Anastas's arms locked around his back, pressing him close. Anastas buried his face in the crook of his neck.
"I am ready to lose the entire world, but not you."
Thomas remained standing there, motionless. He looked straight ahead into the darkness, listening to the measured crackle of the campfire and feeling how tightly he was held by the one who had always seemed unreachable. He felt Anastas's heart pounding wildly in time with his own.
They just stood like that. Time around them seemed to slow its pace, dissolving into the thick shadows of the Scottish hollow. The campfire crackled softly, throwing sheaves of golden sparks into the dark sky.
Anastas was in no hurry to pull away. His arms, holding Thomas tight, remained tense, as if someone might tear the youth from his embrace at any second. The man closed his eyes and simply breathed, calming his erratic breathing. The fear of loss, which had followed him from the very doors of the brothel, was now slowly retreating, leaving behind exhaustion and the realization of just how essential this person had become to him.
Thomas, in turn, was afraid to move. His arms, initially frozen in confusion in the air, now trembled slightly from the tension. The heart in his chest skipped a beat, then another, and then beat so fast that it seemed the sound echoed across the surroundings. He felt the warmth of his body against his skin and those unspoken feelings that seemed to saturate the air between them.
Everything was racing in Thomas's head. Anastas had been acting strange lately. Before, he had resembled an impregnable fortress: always reserved, sparing with words and emotions, infinitely distant from all worldly attachments. Anastas kept his distance, building an invisible but solid wall of ice between himself and those around him.
And now—this embrace. Anastas had never allowed himself anything like this before.
Could it be...
Could Anastas have finally noticed him? Thomas closed his eyes. The very thought that Anastas, immersed in his dark secrets, could see someone more in him, someone truly close, seemed too bold. But now, this thought suddenly made sense.
Carefully, slowly, as if afraid that a careless movement would destroy the fragile balance of this moment, his fingers hesitantly came to rest on Anastas's back, returning the embrace. He felt the man give a barely perceptible shudder at this, but he didn't pull away; he only locked his arms a little tighter, as if this timid answering gesture was the only thing he had been waiting for all this time.