Erich settles with a sigh next to the newly refreshed mistle, blankly watching as the bite mark on his hand slowly heals under the mistle’s influence. He flexes his hand, squeezing one last drop of blood from the wound which trickles down his palm and falls, splashing to the dry, dusty ground and soaking in—

(Other revenants’ blood doesn’t soak in quite so readily, doesn’t regenerate mistle, doesn’t revive bloodsprings, so why…)

(Why does his?)

(What’s so different about him?)

(What has he lost…)

“Hey, can I see your hand?”

Erich starts and casts a sidelong glance at Yakumo, wondering what the other wants; already his wound is closed, nothing left except a few sticky traces of blood that he’ll rub away before pulling his glove back on. Yakumo’s seen him do this plenty of times before, so… what’s different this time?

“Please?” Yakumo asks again as he holds his own hand out, palm up. 

Erich hesitates a moment longer, but when all Yakumo does is wiggle his fingers slightly and watch him, he sighs again and stretches his arm out towards the other man—

And immediately has to bite back the urge to yank his hand free when Yakumo grasps it, his skin crawling with the sensation of someone touching him and it’s good but it’s too much and he doesn’t— he doesn’t want— he wants but he doesn’t—

“Shit, hey, hey, sorry, I didn’t— let me just—” 

Erich swallows as Yakumo shifts closer and adjusts his grip, hand closing around Erich’s covered wrist instead of bare hand and it’s— it’s better, but he can still feel the heat of the other man’s hand. Still feel the press of contact, strange and unwanted and so very wanted—

“Damn, sorry about that,” Yakumo murmurs as he eases a fraction closer, close enough that Erich can almost feel him against his side. “We’ve been out of the base longer than I thought, if you’re this hungry for touch.”

“I’m not,” Erich tries to deny, even as the words clink together in his mind like the rattle of loose blood beads. Hungry for touch. Like how he’d woken, starving and hurting and wanting even as a part of him rejected the thought, and— 

And maybe the description is more accurate than he wants it to be, because he can almost see it, almost sense the way the… the weird curl of want-don’t want-need-hate sparking across his hand and up his arm could progress to the sort of greedy, devouring hatred Io had guided him through before.

Yakumo makes a quiet noise, a little huff of air that isn’t quite a snort but is so very pointed that Erich can’t resist an equally small tilt of his lips in response. It’s enough to make him… not relax, exactly, but settle, his breathing coming easier and his hand unclenching.

“We’re revenants, but we’ve still got some human needs in us,” Yakumo says even as he gently tugs Erich’s arm a bit closer, pressing their inner arms together. “And some of those needs involve touch. It’s… a whole thing, you know? Something about connection and community and stuff like that,” he explains as he turns his gaze towards the mistle and allows Erich a pretense of privacy to deal with the— the mess the touch is turning him into.

Not that it particularly helps. 

(He wants to yank his arm away.)

(He wants to collapse against Yakumo’s side.)

(He wants— he wants—)

“Louis and I try to make sure we spend time just… relaxing together, especially when we’re out of the base for long periods of time,” Yakumo says, then reaches up to run his free hand through his hair, lips pinching together as he slants a look at Erich. “I’m sorry for not doing the same for you.”

Erich frowns and shakes his head, wishing he could muster up the strength to pull himself away from Yakumo and the confusing tangle of emotions the man keeps invoking in him. But he can’t. He can’t, because the longer Yakumo keeps hold of him, the better it feels, and the better it feels the less strength he has to resist, the more he wants to just… just crawl into Yakumo’s lap the way he does with Io and oh— oh, this isn’t as unfamiliar as it seemed, the way the tickling edges of thirst aren’t unfamiliar, he’s just never… never realized that what drives him into Io’s company every time he returns from a trip longer than a day or two could turn into this!

Still, he should at least answer the man, so he gathers the tattered fragments of his control and says, “It’s fine—”

“It really isn’t,” Yakumo interrupts him, voice firm and even. “I keep forgetting you don’t know this sort of stuff the way the rest of us do, and… I guess I sort of just assumed you knew, with how much time you spend with Io when we’re at the base, and how you never really mention anything when we’re out here.” He clears his throat, hand squeezing lightly around Erich’s wrist, and says, “I’m sorry.”

“Yakumo…” Erich hesitates, words dying in his throat as he tries to find something, anything to say in response. 

(But how can he explain that he never recognized what he was doing or feeling?)

(How can he explain that he doesn’t have the words for any of this?)

(Or… well… he probably does, he just doesn’t know their meaning anymore.)

(Louis’ offered books and casual conversation with the others is helping him slowly piece it all back together, but there’s still so much he doesn’t know…)

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yakumo asks in concern, leaning in close enough for his shoulder armor to clank softly against Erich’s, the heat of his body a distracting line down Erich’s side. “Too much?”

Erich grimaces, which seems to be all the indication Yakumo needs that it is, because the man immediately begins to pull away, only to freeze when Erich hastily grabs his wrist and pins his hand against Erich’s leg. Only to freeze himself when his actions finally register, heat rushing to his face and a strange ache in his chest making him curl inwards, chin tucking down and shoulders hunching.

(Damn his instincts!)

“Okay…” Yakumo pauses, the weight of his gaze heavy enough that Erich refuses to tear his eyes away from the base of the mistle. “Right. Let’s… start back at the beginning, okay? This—” he taps his knuckles against Erich’s knee— “is perfectly fine. Wanting or needing touch is natural, and I don’t mind. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable by overstepping boundaries, but to do that I need some sort of indication. Doesn’t have to be verbal, but just… something, you know? I’m not a mind reader,” he ends with, tone clear and amused.

Erich huffs softly, then settles back into silence as he stares at the mistle thoughtfully, running Yakumo’s words — running the whole conversation — back through his mind; now that he’s aware of what’s been happening to himself the past few days, he can more clearly track the slowly building need and put a name to it.

He wants to be touched. Wants to lean against Yakumo’s side and let himself relax. Wants to… know that the other is there, maybe? Or… something like that. That doesn’t entirely make sense yet, and he doesn’t think he’s labeled it right, but it seems close enough, so it’ll have to do.

Yakumo’s presence is very different from Io’s — Io is smaller, lighter, less… less everything compared to Yakumo — but he’s still… good to be around. Safe, in his own way. Yakumo does his best to keep both of them safe, to keep the Lost’s attention on himself so Erich can fight unrestricted, and he’s been free with explanations ever since he realized Erich’s lack of memory. By that measure, this shouldn’t be a difficult problem: Yakumo is offering, Erich wants to accept.

He’s gotten used to the weird, crawling ache that Yakumo’s touch inspires — its even started to fade a bit, which is probably a good sign — so he just… needs to say that. Or… indicate that? Yakumo did say his response didn’t need to be verbal, after all, but how should he…?

(Maybe he should just… do it?)

(Yakumo did say it was fine, right?)

Swallowing, Erich forces himself to uncurl and carefully leans into Yakumo’s side, body tense and gaze still fixed on the mistle in front of them—

“Everything okay, then?” Yakumo asks as he remains steady, letting Erich do what he will. “You don’t have to push yourself for my sake, you know.”

Erich makes a noise of agreement, even as he slowly relaxes against the other; this isn’t the most comfortable position — they’re both still wearing their veils, after all — but it’s… nice. Yakumo is warm, and steady, and there, and the longer he just lets Erich be the easier it is to relax and let the ache in his chest fade. 

He still twitches when Yakumo’s hand moves on his leg, though, and reaches up to cover the grimace that he can’t contain; he feels so… so weird for reacting the way he is — it doesn’t make sense! It’s just Yakumo — but he can’t seem to keep it entirely under control. 

(Honestly, he doesn’t even know what he wants: to move away, or to get closer?)

“We should probably head back to base,” Yakumo announces a moment later. When Erich slants him a narrow-eyed look, the man just arches an eyebrow and says, “You’re knotted up worse than I’ve ever seen, and I’m not helping matters.”

Erich scowls and glances away, shoulders tightening as he mutters, “We’re not done with what we wanted to do yet.”

“And you’re distracted because of me, which could get you killed out here,” Yakumo points out. “And I think we’re all in agreement that pushing ourselves forward through pride isn’t useful to anyone, much less ourselves.”

He considers Yakumo’s words for a moment, turning them over in his mind, and then— “Is that… what this is? Pride?” he can’t help but ask, trying to slot the unfamiliar word into his current emotions. It doesn’t quite seem right, though, an odd dissonance between the word and how he wants to pull away, how he doesn’t want to even look at Yakumo.

Yakumo tenses at his question, then carefully relaxes against Erich’s side again and says, “Pride, the way I just used it, means having a… very high opinion of ourselves and our abilities. Too high of an opinion, actually, which means we can easily get ourselves into trouble we can’t get out of, just because we listen to our pride saying we can instead of listening to our reason to assess what’s in front of us.”

“Then… no. That’s… not it.” Erich grimaces and looks up, past the mistle and into the tangled ruins beyond. “I know it’s dangerous,” he can’t help but add. “But we promised—”

“And we can come back after a proper rest, not just short naps in dangerous territory,” Yakumo says firmly, tapping his fingers against Erich’s knee again. “But… you asked ‘is that what this is’— you having problems figuring out what you’re feeling?” When Erich flinches and starts to draw back, Yakumo snatches his hand away and rambles out, “Sorry, sorry, just forget I asked, it’s fine—”

“No, you’re right,” Erich forces out, cutting Yakumo off, before clenching his jaw shut and pulling a knee up to his chest; he has no idea how Yakumo will react to this piece of information, but… he doubts it’s going to go over well. 

(He really needs to learn to think before he speaks.)

(Louis and Yakumo must really be tired of finding out all the things he can’t do.)

(What a mess…)

Except Yakumo just takes a deep breath and shifts position, veil rustling as the man moves. “Right, okay…” he pauses there, silence stretching between them for a moment before he finally continues with, “Would you… like me to try and help?”

Erich blinks and tilts his head enough to look at Yakumo out of the corner of his eye, not quite sure how to take the offer; Yakumo seems to mean it, but what if he’s just offering because he feels like he should? “I… guess?”

An odd, strained silence settles between them at Erich’s words, almost like when they’re about to walk into a Lost ambush, and he can’t help but tense in preparation for… something. Not that he knows what, but—

“Hey, focus,” Yakumo says as he raps his knuckles against Erich’s leg, snapping Erich’s attention from the strange tension coiling in his chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out by going quiet, I’m just… trying to figure out the best way to do this. Emotions are messy, especially with how much goes on inside that people can’t see.”

Erich grimaces, runs a hand over his face, and mutters, “I hate to ask, but… ‘freak me out’?”

“Guess there’s as good as any a place to start,” Yakumo mumbles, words almost soft enough for Erich to miss. “Right, okay… so, can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?” When Erich just shoots him a narrow-eyed look, Yakumo huffs a laugh and adds, “Sorry, sorry, not emotionally, despite how that sounded. Emotions have physical effects on us, some that are just internal and some that are external. Like… when I let the silence go a bit long, you started tensing up and pulling away even more, that’s a physical reaction to an emotion. I don’t know exactly which one, there’s a couple that could make you withdraw, but that sort of reaction isn’t…” he pauses, clearly struggling to put his words in order, and then slowly continues with, “it means you started feeling uncomfortable with me. Or the situation.”

He takes a moment to consider that, focusing on the tension in his limbs and the coil in his chest, then says, “I feel… like I’m about to walk into an ambush, I think.”

Yakumo reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose and mutters something that almost sounds like ‘fuck’, before he takes another breath and runs his hand over his hair, pulling strands of it free from his ponytail. “Yeah, I definitely didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he says, something odd glittering in his eyes as he glances over at Erich. “Does it feel dangerous or just… something unknown?”

That’s easier to answer, at least. “Unknown.”

“That’s… probably anxiety, then,” Yakumo says after a bit of thought. “When I went silent, you started to expect that something bad will happen, which made you start to tense up and withdraw.”

“I didn’t…” Erich trails off when Yakumo gives him another look, one eyebrow arched and gaze sharper than usual; he wants to say he wasn’t expecting something bad to happen but… that isn’t true, is it? Describing it as ‘like an ambush is about happen’ isn’t exactly a good description, after all. 

So instead he just clenches his jaw and looks away, breathing through the sudden knot in his throat.

“Hey, emotions are natural, and messy, and sometimes really annoying,” Yakumo says with that strange soft edge to his voice that he’s directed at Erich a few times before. “It takes all of us time to figure them out. Nothing wrong with needing help.”

“I doubt many people need help like this,” Erich bites out, abruptly feeling the urge to just leave. Or maybe to shove Yakumo away and then leave. Not that he’s going to do either—

(Well, maybe the leaving bit.)

(Yakumo did say they should go back to base, didn’t he?)

(Hmm…)

—either way, the urge is there, and growing, and the whole thing feels like… like when more Lost swarm out of nowhere when they’re already fighting.

And that makes it worse.

A hand grabs his own and he flinches back before he can help himself, before he realizes it’s just Yakumo, and then— and then Yakumo slowly begins to run his fingers along Erich’s until his fist begins to relax under the touch.

“You’re building yourself up from nothing,” Yakumo says, his voice quieter than usual. “It makes perfect sense to be frustrated, or angry, or to start hating how little progress it feels like you’re making. I know I’d feel that way.”

Erich gives a narrow-eyed look at the hand that Yakumo is holding and grits out, “Is that what this is?”

“Eh, probably? The clenched fist is pretty telling. What’re you feeling like doing?”

“Hitting you, and not the light way you and Louis sometimes go after each other,” Erich says dryly, then shrugs and looks away when Yakumo pauses, huffs out a laugh, then resumes massaging the tension from Erich’s hand. “Leaving, too. I don’t… this is just…” Erich grimaces and tugs his hand free of Yakumo’s again, trying to shake the weird tingles away as he does. “I appreciate it, but I…”

“It’s alright to be overwhelmed, too,” Yakumo says as he shifts a bit away, heaves himself to his feet, and then offers Erich a hand up. “That mix is never fun, it all sort of blends together. Too much information, or change, or… or whatever, and you get overwhelmed, and then everything else added atop is like trying to add more water to a full glass, it all just spills over. And then you get frustrated because everything’s too much, and then you get angry, and you start thinking that maybe if you shove enough, or hard enough, that it’ll all go away and give you space to breathe.”

Erich scowls at the hand in front of him and pushes himself to his feet on his own, still not looking at Yakumo as he says, “That sounds like you have experience.”

“A bit, yeah,” Yakumo answers with a shrug. “I didn’t always get along with the others I grew up with, and we… lived in pretty close quarters. Not a lot of space to breathe, you know?” He hesitates a moment, then shakes his head and turns towards the mistle, one hand already reaching out to it as he says, “It’s fine, though. Let’s go back to base, and you can curl up with Io and relax. I’ll make sure everyone else leaves you alone until you feel better, okay?”

He swallows at the offer, feeling suddenly exhausted, and nods slightly as he murmurs, “Thanks, Yakumo.”

“Don’t mention it,” Yakumo replies as his hand grasps a piece of the mistle and he starts to kneel. “See you back at base.”

Erich watches as Yakumo’s body fades into glimmering sparks that twirl away, and then casts a glance over his shoulder at the ruined land they’d just trudged through. It’s tempting to simply… stay for a while, to just settle next to the mistle and listen to the wind and the distant howls of the Lost and just… be, except… except he really does want to just curl up with Io and sleep right now. He feels like he’s been wading through hoards of the Lost even though it’s only been a short time, and now he just wants to rest and… any maybe forget this whole conversation even happened.

(He won’t — he can’t — but right now he wishes he could.)

(Why did he even ask?)

(Ugh.)

Instead, he takes a breath, runs a (shaking?) hand through his hair, then kneels and reaches out to grasp the mistle, letting the network spin outwards in his mind before honing in on the mistle that feels like Louis-Yakumo-safety-rest and then…

Dispersing.