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G’raha Tia prided himself on being observant – even if he didn’t have much experience interacting with others. Not by choice, but his freaky eyes and reputation around the Old Sharlayan… Yeah, they signed his fate long before he grew big enough to understand why the students and professors seemed uncomfortable around him.
He was twenty-four when he arrived in Eorzea, excited with the mystery of the Crystal Tower – and glad to finally put his fascination with the Allagan Empire to use. Even if the engineers around their camp on the edge of Mor Dhona quickly caught on to the scholars’ attitude and weren’t shy with expressing their disdain for G’raha’s ‘eccentric’ behavior. With years of experience, he hid his hurt behind the usual mask of rash, dramatic attitude – focusing on his studies of the ancient tomes to further their goals instead of paying attention to others.
That is: until the Warrior of Light arrived.
At first, watching the unusually tall Seeker through the thick foliage in Urth’s Gift, he seemed wholly unreal. Incredibly beautiful, with ink-black hair and almost too-pale ice-blue eyes surrounded by the thick veil of long, jet-black lashes, Warrior carried himself with an air of confidence that brought into G’raha’s head the thoughts of the heroes of legends he was so fond of reading. Later, watching the man fight the Ixal with the grace of the lethal dancer, swinging his sword and bashing the unfortunate bird people with his shield – only solidified that idea.
Maybe that was what led him to make a fool of himself, jumping off from that scaffolding and pretending to have more confidence than he ever really felt. But the sparks of amusement in those icy eyes and the kind of goofy grin he was welcomed with somehow made it worth it.
T’senri Tia, Warrior of Light, seemed like many, many things – yet he didn’t seem disturbed by G'raha's eyes or ‘eccentricities.’
He spent the rest of the day stumbling around the camp and pestering the natives of Eorzea for anything he could learn of their Champion – instantly fascinated with the man.
Which was strange. Never before did he find himself interested in another male – so he quickly put his interest up to his fascination with the idea of the Warrior. He was an actual example of the heroes G'raha had only ever read about!
But as the reluctant engineers spun the stories of his great many deeds and feats of bravery, for some reason, he grew bothered that no one seemed to know more than the man’s title and bound to its fame. And as his inborn curiosity wouldn’t leave him alone, G'raha decided to go to the source – and break through his uncertainty to ask the man himself.
What could it hurt...?
Or so he thought until, in the late evening, he finally dared to leave his tent to look for the Warrior – quickly finding him sitting by one of the campfires with his sword in hand. But before G'raha approached him, the sight of the expression in the icy-blue eyes made him hesitate.
G’raha once as a kit – maybe ten at most then – stumbled upon a hurt nagxian kitten while traversing the corners of the Tranquility. He knew then that the Students who took care of him didn’t tolerate pets around their compound, but he carefully stuffed the kitten under his shirt and sneaked him inside his room. He nursed him back to health, learning everything he could about his needs from the books and sneaking behind the Students’ backs. Not that it was complicated, as unsure as they seemingly were what to do with the Seeker kit they were saddled with, they left him alone – caring only about his basic needs and not much else.
Once the kitten, Azem, as he named him – from the patron goddess he read that his people worshipped – grew to his full size, G’raha reluctantly released him back into the Tranquility – making sure to visit him and when he could bring along snacks. For years, whenever the weather allowed, he would study his books in his corner of the park. More often than not, Azem would find him, curl in his lap, and graciously accept the tribute in the form of his favorite snacks, then allow him to pet his soft fur as he read.
G’raha was an adult by then, his endless loneliness soothed by friendship with Krile, but one day, when he arrived at his spot and settled against the tree, his feline friend didn’t show up, or any of the following days… he cried like a kit. He didn’t know what had happened, but the certainty that his best friend was gone broke his heart.
And now, the distinctive hint of hurt in the ice-blue irises of the Warrior as he stared with unseeing eyes at the flaring flames in front of him… brought back the image of Azem on the day G'raha found him, and that made his heart ache. But it also made him confident that there had to be more behind the easy-going attitude of the Champion that he showed to the world. Despite his uncertainty and inexperience in dealing with his peers… and his hesitation to dare to approach someone so perfect, it made him determined to become his friend.
“I’ve heard many, many stories about you, Warrior,” the sudden words of the lively Seeker of the Sun he was introduced to today shook Senri out of his reverie. He hoped the man didn’t notice the slight tremble of his fingers. At the same time, he carefully pretended he wasn’t lost in thoughts when the - as he heard - ‘eccentric’ historian dropped to a seat next to him by the campfire. Senri looked toward him, faking the cheerful grin that fooled so many. He almost blinked with surprise when mismatched, red-cyan eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly in reply.
“Did you, now?” he hummed, carefully sharpening his sword, and bracing the blade against one of the stones forming the circle around the fire. He focused his ice-blue eyes on the movement of his hand, taking comfort in the familiar activity.
“Obviously,” the man, G’raha Tia, scoffed with a hint of humor in his low, soothing voice, bracing his bracers-enclosed elbows on his knees as his gaze seemed to burn the side of Senri’s face. “The mighty hero, Warrior of Light, is the water for the mill of rumors around this camp and outside of it.”
“You’re a poor historian if you indulge in rumors, G’raha Tia,” he chuckled, hoping to discourage the man from talking to him as he paired that with a narrowed, icy stare. But as his usual luck would have it, the older Seeker grinned easily, his mismatched eyes lit up with amusement.
“Spoken word is an important source of history,” G'raha hummed, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Believing everything one hears… Ah, that’s another matter entirely. I was hoping you would indulge my curiosity, Warrior.”
Senri schooled his features into the too-familiar mask of his title, allowing his mouth to tilt into a cheerful smile as he focused on his sword again. He ignored the man’s inquiring, amused stare.
“Ask your questions, historian,” he chuckled, even as his throat tightened slightly. He stopped his long, ink-black tail from flicking with agitation. “Maybe I’ll even answer them…” he trailed off, pretending boredom and hoping he managed to keep his ears in a carefully neutral position.
He hated this part of meeting new people. The questions about his fights with the Empire and the Primals. None of them were even aware of what painful memories these stirred. Their excitement about his victories while his mistakes and failures had torn the bits and pieces of his soul. Senri leaned his head lower slightly, letting his longish black hair fall around his face and shade his expression from the curious scholar. He also hoped G'raha's inquiries wouldn’t stir the nightmares to torment his mind after he reluctantly laid his head down later. Yet, knowing that it was a pointless wish – he was aware they always waited for him in the dark anyway.
“How old are you?” the historian’s question had him blink with surprise, raising his eyebrows as his gaze moved to clash again with the mismatched, vertically slit eyes.
“Twenty-two,” he heard himself say before thinking of it, hoping the weak light would cover his blush when G’raha grinned at him again, clearly pleased with his surprise. Hoping… yet knowing that with his pale carnation and their feline eyes, it was pointless. He could only wish that the historian would assume that it was caused by the heat exhuming from the campfire.
“Ah,” the man hummed with amusement, grabbing one of the sticks lying nearby and poking the fire until the sea of sparks flew into the nighttime air above them. “So, you’re two years younger than me,” G'raha chuckled, dropping the stick as he sent him another curious look. “Did you grow up in the city or with the tribe?”
Senri blinked slowly, furrowing his dark eyebrows with a hint of confusion as he lifted his hand to brush his hair back – maybe a bit of a habit as he side-eyed the man with a new interest. Other than his friends, Scions, no one ever asked him about that. People wanted to know how hot the flames of the Lord of Inferno were, how facing Titan or Garuda felt, or to hear the first-account story of his clash with the van Belsar and his men.
People he met cared only about the Warrior of Light, a brave and fierce protector. Not about Senri Tia, the man behind the title.
“The tribe,” he said slowly, watching another easy grin tilt the historian’s full lips. He blinked again, then dropped his gaze to the fire, clearing his throat as he returned to his menial task, hoping the man didn’t notice another treacherous blush. Azeyma, but he hated that no matter how much time he spent in the sun, he couldn’t tan to cover his pale carnation and embarrassing blushes.
Seven Hells, I’m the Champion of Eorzea!
But interest in him made him so uncertain. No one ever cared about ‘Senri’… or what he wanted. Others always had ideas and expectations about how he should behave or what he should wish to…
“Oh?” G’raha’s low voice sounded intrigued as he stretched out and crossed his legs at his ankles next to the fire, bracing his arms behind him. “Why did you leave? You weren’t interested in the title of the Nunh? With your physique, it’s hard to imagine someone could last through your challenge…” he trailed off with surprise on his handsome face when Senri’s eyes widened, and another blush, so much hotter than before, hit his face.
Gods, he shouldn’t react like that! He was very tall for a Miqo’te, a head taller than the historian, and muscular from the years of strife and near-constant fighting. He knew that females found him attractive, always fawning over his bright blue eyes and inky-black hair and saying that he was handsome to an unnatural level. It was partly why he chose to leave his tribe despite… everything.
“I was not interested,” he said slowly, watching the flames and biting his lower lip with uncertainty. G’raha probably didn’t really care, but… “They kept pushing me ever since I passed puberty… The females I grew up with, even my sisters and half-sisters… All wanted me to challenge our sire when the time came. But I couldn’t…” he choked, blinking rapidly as all the blood drained from his face.
“Why…?” the man asked carefully, his voice suggesting he wouldn’t mind if Senri chose not to answer. Maybe because of that… the words he had never said to anyone but one other person slipped his lips involuntarily.
“I’ve never found females… attractive,” he whispered, then swallowed thickly and lowered his gaze shamefully.
It was the greatest shame of his life. He and the boys he grew up with were all raised with the sole expectation of one day fighting their father and brothers for the privilege of becoming the breeding male for their tribe, leaving to start their own tribe, or expanding the lands of their ‘family.’
The females around him adored his eyes and physique, day in and out inquiring and spurring him on to swear he’d fight their sire for the title. Some wouldn’t even bother waiting – trying to lure him into their bedrolls or crawl into his despite the fact he shared the tent with other boys his age. Finally, near the seventeenth nameday and nearing the time of the final decision, Senri sneaked out of the camp in the middle of the night like a thief and never looked back.
He was too ashamed to admit that he found the idea of breeding with them disgusting. That his skin crawled at their shameless advances. That he…oh, Azeyma...That he found the bodies of his playmates much more… intriguing.
He never acted upon it, Twelve preserve!
And now… He swallowed audibly and closed his eyes with a painful grimace. The only time he dared to shyly express his interest – despite everything, breaking through his… inhibitions, to ask the man he had a helpless crush on for years if he could ever accept or return his feelings blew up in his face spectacularly.
Thancred was kind, Senri had to admit. His friend didn’t laugh or scorn him… instead delicately explaining that he was flattered, but he didn’t share his preferences. And Senri knew that… He spent years watching his best friend chasing the skirts before the whole hell with Lahabrea went down. But somehow, he still fooled himself into believing…
“I see,” the young historian hummed with consideration, and Senri blinked as if woken up from a dream – then flustered impossibly, his hands shaking as he curled into himself with shame. Gods, he barely knew the man! He shouldn’t… Oh, Twelve, he could already imagine the rumors after this slip of sanity… But he more than deserved that! Falling apart like that and flapping his big mouth just because he felt unwanted and vulnerable after that talk.
“I’m only good for killing, though,” he heard his own choked voice as if through the fog, his lips moving outside his will as his eyes squeezed shut almost painfully. “Monsters, soldiers, Primals… They point me at what needs slaying, and I do because I’m good at it… Because it’s all I’m good for… The Weapon of Light….”
He didn’t hear him move, but suddenly, a muscular arm wrapped around his waist delicately, and a head rested against his shoulder. An almost too-warm body offered surprising comfort against his side.
He blinked again, feeling a furious blush of mortification spill over his face. Still, G’raha didn’t comment, didn’t offer empty words… only his comfrting heat sank into Senri’s skin through his vest, slowly forcing his taut muscles to relax. Then, despite himself… he turned involuntarily, resting his cheek against the crown of red hair, and closed his eyes, accepting the silent solace the historian was offering.
Senri joined this expedition not to discover the secrets of the Crystal Tower but to avoid his best friend until he could look into Thancred's face without the ache in his chest. So, he wouldn’t ruin their friendship with his senseless pining.
But maybe… this place offered more than a distraction.
