Aftermath

Nike comes to the Brokenhood like he usually does, with a suite of brothers and his now official boyfriend. He and Klogg spend most of their time travelling around the klay universe, but they come back once in a few years to spend time both on the Neverhood and on the Brokenhood. The Brokenhood visits are longer. Bortor believes that it’s because claustrophobia never really left Nike, even if it doesn’t surface anymore. He still recalls the golden cage.
The four Neverhoodians cause an uproar every time they come. Klogg goads Krevel into pulling pranks with him, the red-skinned Neverhoodian valiantly refuses, Nehmen organises parties every Saturday, and Nike… oh… Nike. Nike takes Bortor on walks, just the two of them. He usually turns up in the middle of the night because the jealous Klogg would never let them go if he could help it.
“Pst, Bortor. Wake up. Are you up for a joy ride?” the hoophead’s voice whispers from the door. Bortor rubs sleep from his eyes.
“You bet I am,” he says with more vigour than he feels. He wouldn’t decline a joy ride with Nike for all the love in the world.
Clementine gets up as soon as she smells them coming. By the time they arrive at her stall gate, she is snorting and stomping her feet impatiently. She, too, likes the night walks.
Bortor sits high in his red-and-white saddle, Nike walks at Clementine’s side. This time, they ride in silence. The hoophead must be thinking about something. Or maybe he just wants to enjoy the crisp night air. Either way, Bortor doesn’t break the silence. Soon exhaustion gets the better of him and he indulges in nodding off.
“You’re going to fall off the horse like that.”
Bortor jolts awake. “Sorry.”
Nike shakes his head and chuckles. “Clementine, hold on.” He grabs the stirrup and before Bortor can object, he flings himself up into the saddle. There is some pushing and shoving and at the end of it, Nike is sitting behind Bortor and he wrapping his arms around him. “Lean back,” he murmurs.
Red warning lights go off in Bortor’s head. He’s not used to having someone so close, even his family, but – but this is Nike, and you can trust Nike. In all his years in this world, he had learned that you can trust Nike. So he takes a deep breath and relaxes against the hoophead’s warm body. He is still tense, but that drains away after a while. The horse gait rocks them, Nike is silent and warm, and Bortor is sleepy.
He wakes up to a sound, and at first he is not sure what the sound was. Nike seems to be breathing a little heavily behind him, but other than that there’s nothing unusual. Then he hears it again. A very quiet sob, accompanied by the tell-tale quivering in the rib cage.
Bortor dares not move. Is Nike crying? Why? Has something happened? But if something has happened, he would have talked about it already. He isn’t one to keep secrets…
A cold droplets touches the back of Bortor’s head where he’s leaning against Nike’s chest.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
In response, Nike hugs him tight.
Red warning lights flash brightly again. Memories invade Bortor’s mind, uninvited and long buried. Quater, it’s been so long since he was held like that… He squirms, trying to escape the embrace. Nike hesitates for a moment and then, reluctantly, lets him go. Bortor sits up in the saddle and turns so that he can see Nike’s face. He sees trails of tears glistening in the star light.
“What’s wrong?” he insists. His throat is tight.
Nike wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I was thinking back on everything we could have had together. I got lost in melancholy.”
Bortor’s stomach plummets. His fingers claw uselessly on the soft leather of his red-and-white saddle. He hates how sudden Nike’s confessions are, how easily he talks of the hardest things. He didn’t even give Bortor the time to brace himself.
He looks down on his hands. Well, now he has to say it.
“I’m sorry,” he squeaks. Quater, his throat is tight. “I… I know that I hurt you. I still have not forgiven myself for it. But I thought that now you have Klogg and… it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”
“Hurt?” Nike echoes. “No, Bortor, it’s not that you hurt me, it’s that I still love you.” He clasps Bortor’s hand and Bortor does not have the strength to pull away. “I never stopped, though Quater knows that I tried. But no matter what I said to myself, no matter how much it hurts Klogg, I was never able to stop loving you. I –”
“Nike –“ Bortor gasps, and the hoophead falls silent, waiting and hoping for him to speak. Bortor does not know what to say. He might have called Nike’s name simply to stop him from saying any more. Finally, he says: “Please, stop.”
Nike swallows and falls silent. He just strokes his thumb over Bortor’s hand. Bortor feels weak. He feels himself giving in to the powerful presence in front of him. He, too, recalls the love and how long it took to stop thinking about it. He, too, thinks that he can never really stop being fond of Nike. But it takes too much of him to withstand the flurry of feelings every time he sees Nike and Klogg kiss. And so he has smothered the love. Deep inside, he still thinks that he can never be loved, anyway.
But tonight, things are different. Walking through the dark fields on Clementine’s back, Bortor can allow himself to get lost in melancholy as well. They might not be back home by the morning, they might not be back home by the evening. When they do get back home, they will simply say that they were on a trip together. And that will be the end of it.
And until then… Until then, Bortor can allow himself to let go, even if just for a little. After all, all his years in this world have taught him that you can trust Nike.
Bortor sighs, clears his throat and pulls his hands out of Nike’s grasp. He shifts and turns in the saddle until he is sitting with his back against the hoophead again. When Nike is still hesitating, he grabs his arms and pulls them around himself again. Only then does the hoophead hug him. Under the weight of his arms, tears rise up to Bortor’s eyes. But he blinks them away. It doesn’t have to be any more than this.
“I missed you, you know,” Nike whispers and presses his lips against the crown of Bortor’s head. As close to a kiss as he dares to go.
“You told that to everyone when you arrived,” Bortor chuckles.
“I missed you especially.”
After nights like these, Bortor misses Nike as well. But it is all well, he tells himself as they silently ride through the night, Nike vigilant, Bortor dozing. At least he can have this. At least he knows that when the voices tell him that he cannot be loved… he knows that they are wrong.
It makes it all worth it.


     

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