He dreamt of red.

It was everywhere, that color. It exploded in his eyes, his hands, his body. It was fire and blood at the same time. It was the rich color of the sunset, the color of a tattoo on someone's chest--red.

He shivered despite the heat in his dreams and, as if instinctive, he felt someone shift beside him.

I have to wake up, he thought.

Slowly, albeit a little painfully, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at the darkest sky he'd ever seen. Only one star twinkled, and even it was already apparently dying.

Red.

The explosion.

Byron

He shot up immediately, then wished he didn't. Immediately, his whole body screamed with pain and he fell back. But instead of the hard ground, he felt himself cushioned and when he turned his head, he saw that someone had caught his fall with arms.

He tried to focus, then whispered in awe: "Byron."

Byron looked down at him ruefully. "You're awake," he said simply.

"Yeah." He struggled to move away but Byron arranged him again to have his head on the pallet. "What--?"

"Don't talk. Just sleep."

But he wasn't sleepy anymore. His fingers traced his hand...smooth. Like new skin. Pain was still in his body but he realized it was already receding. What had happened?

"Seymour..."

Seymour turned to his friend. "I'm alive," he said quietly.

Byron let out a breath and collapsed next to him. "Yes, thank God!"

"What happened?"

Byron was silent, then said in a muffled voice, "Sleep, Seymour. The day will soon come and we have to move out immediately. You need your rest." He moved his hand over Seymour's shoulder and laid it there in a comfortable position.

Seymour turned to the hand. red

He felt new tears prick his eyes. He quickly brushed them away and said in his steadiest voice. "Sorry."

Silence. He felt the hand shift, then the body. Byron turned to him, still lying on the ground. "What for?" he asked curiously.

Seymour looked up at the sky. He wanted to go to sleep before he saw the red sunrise. "For not being able to protect you."

He started to close his eyes when he felt Byron's hand move, from his shoulder to his neck, his jaw, to his cheek, cupping it and turning his face to meet his. Despite the darkness, Seymour saw him smile.

"I'm the one who should ask for forgiveness," Byron told him softly.

Seymour bit his lip.

"I didn't ask for you to protect me, Seymour," the bard went on.

Byron's eyes were as dark as the night...but probably it was because of the absence of light. Somewhere, Seymour could hear a cricket chirping, and the light breathing of Afeno and Colin. He wondered how they were.

"Nobody asked you to protect me." Byron shifted closer so that their foreheads touched. He smiled. "Even now, I wonder why you continue to go with me in this god-forsaken quest of mine. Even now, I wonder why you haven't tried to kill me for getting you in one trouble or another."

Seymour's mouth felt dry. Byron's palm fell over his neck, pulling his body closer. The miniscule flame that Seymour had detected died and suddenly, everything was cooler. But Byron was warm. He was being honest, and it scared Seymour.

"Why, Seymour?"

truth

"You're my friend."

Byron closed his eyes, and his smile became sad. "Ah, friend. I haven't heard that in a long time." He opened his eyes and touched Seymour's cheek again. His callused hand was warm, comforting. "Thank you," he whispered.

Silence again. Seymour closed his eyes, settling in Byron's warmth. He didn't feel sleepy at all, but he felt Byron's exhaustion.

Then, again, Byron's voice:

"It was an Enos. She healed you."

Pause. "I should thank her," Seymour said quietly, eyes still closed.

"She said we should leave by noon tomorrow. Can you make it?"

Yes. He knew. Of course. "Yes."

"Seymour."

"Mm."

Byron's voice sounded as if it was full of brooding and thoughts. "Thanks for trying to protect me."

"Can't have you killed." He let his breathing even.

Byron was silent for a while, then said again: "Seymour."

"Yeah."

He smiled, then leaned closer, letting his lips touch Seymour's forehead. The magician shivered at the warm touch. Byron's arms folded around him, keeping him warm from the night's coolness.

"Will you let me protect you as well?"

Seymour blinked, feeling those tears again in his eyes...but for another reason. "Of course," he replied softly.

"Good." He heard Byron give a small sigh. His legs moved. "'Cause I think you need it." Pause. "I think that explosion did us some good."

Seymour remained silent; in a few minutes, he felt Byron's hold slacken, and his hands touching Byron's chest said the bard was already asleep.

"I'll protect you, Byron," the magician whispered to the already sleeping man. "I promise you."

red

Blood on Byron's shirt. He bit his lip and touched it.

And when he was sure his fingers touched the red material, he closed his eyes. It was only then he slept.