Sine Alis Volare
Push Comes To Shove
Credo never did take Nero’s invitation to what he mirthlessly called “Invitation to a dark path”. He had done well to avoid Nero for two weeks now.
Credo soon found it didn’t matter where he was. Sleep had done its best to elude him. He found the reasons as to what made him very cranky. When Credo’s feet had brought him to the Order’s training grounds, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised. This was yet another place to help find himself. His other sanctuary in his home was being taken over by one white-haired teen.
He hadn’t heard a word from Nero, and Credo was equal parts relieved and paranoid.
Nero was up to something, the captain thought in suspicion.
Standing in the giant room surrounded by furnished fixings, a high vaulted ceiling, and cushioned matting that reached the very corners of the room, Credo felt at ease. This was the place he’d learned to become the man he was now.
He picked up a sword, trained with his peers, and learned how to fight in this place.
Credo could almost hear sounds of exertion between spar partners. The scenes replayed before him as if he was already there lost in the memory as if the room was full of people moving about. Those moments seemed to be when he was at his most peaceful, when he was focused and ready to show his true potential. Most importantly, he had caught the attention of the higher ups and Credo had succeeded.
Credo stopped at the mat to remove his boots and uniform coat, placing his belongings in an orderly manner before grabbing a wooden sword from one of the metal racks perched against the wall nearest to the door. Bare feet sunk into the thick blue cushioning of the mat before taking slow steps into the center. No one would dare to come here and bother him.
He let cool air sift over his hairy bare chest, taking a deep breath to center his thoughts. The sword rose above Credo’s head, poised at his invisible target. Muscles bunched and worked in harmony as he brought the sword down with calculable slowness, thrusting it forward with one quick motion.
Credo let himself drift into the work-out, performing his sword-dance. The sound of his coordinated breaths in staccato reverberating the walls, acting as timed rhythms to keep him on point. Sweat dripped down his forehead in concentration as he imagined his assailant coming at him aggressively.
He flipped with a grunt, rolling back to land on a knee, his sword thrust out to the side as if he’d made a sweeping motion to cut his invisible enemy in half. Credo stood slow, one foot forward to take a final stance as he slowly sheathed the sword through the hand at his hip, exhaling.
At the sudden barrage of clapping from afar, Credo’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest, spinning around to take a hard glimpse at his captive audience.
“I gotta admit, that was pret-ty awesome.”
Credo stood rigid and irate that he’d seen the bane of his existence, the reason for his suffering smiling triumphantly back from across the room. The captain reminded himself to never underestimate Nero ever again.
Credo decided to put on an air of intimidation, knowing most likely Nero wouldn’t be affected by it. He at least had to try.
“What do you want?” Credo snapped, cocking his hip to lean on the scabbard of his sword.
“You think you’re the only person who trains here?” Nero shouted back, resting his hands on his narrow hips. Credo prickled at the response.
Well, he hadn’t really thought that far. The possibility was there. But it still didn’t stop the man from feeling oddly suspicious of the boy. He would make sure the person who divulged information about his whereabouts would pay severely.
Nevertheless, Credo had no intention of staying. Any place where Nero wasn’t was a good thing, he reminded himself.
“Need a sparring partner?”
“No, thank you. I’m done for the day.” The older man said curtly as he made his way towards the edge of the mat.
“What’s the matter, old man? Think I could beat your ass?”
The tone in Nero’s voice brought Credo to a screeching halt. The boy was baiting him, he knew. If he could keep going, ignore the boy’s weak jabs at his swordsmanship.
“Not likely. You forget I am the Captain of the Order of Sparda.” Credo gritted, continuing his quest for the door that seemed much too far away.
'Fucking brat.'
“Captain or not,” Credo had the power to walk away. For once in his life, he could follow through with what he knew he had to do.
“You sure do a lot of running away lately. Doesn’t that make you a pussy?”
It sounded accusatory, and for once Credo didn’t give a shit about anything but what the boy had the audacity to say to him. The wooden sword in his hand jerked, gripping it tight. Credo wanted nothing more than to throttle the boy into submission with it.
“The mat. Now.” Credo’s jaw worked over his aggravation as his eyes flared with competition. How dare he call him a pussy and get away with it! He would make that insolent boy eat his words.
Nero’s shit-eating grin aggravated him the most. He would be sure to smack it off once he was done with him.
Credo watched as Nero reached down to undo the buckles to his brown leather boots, lifting his head to look up at Credo for a second, before focusing on removing his shoes. He kicked them at the edge of the mat haphazardly, the captain losing the edge to his hard, assessing gaze when Nero began to unzip his coat.
Nero shrugged out of it, exposing sun-kissed skin. The captain couldn’t recall when the boy had the chance to tan. Nero was not as skinny as he remembered him to be. He was no longer a lanky teenager. He was lean but toned from the result of his training, as well as being seasoned in the field.
Rosy nipples met Credo’s line of vision, and for once he didn’t have the heart to look away, entranced by the way they pebbled.
Perhaps from the cool air…
'Stop.'
His jaw set, reminding himself that self-control was the only way forward.
Nero tossed his coat on a nearby chair, rolling his shoulders and neck before grabbing a wooden sword. He followed the older man to the center, both standing a stance apart.
“Ready for me, tough guy? Best three out of five wins.” Nero teased, holding out a hand to give a subtle come-hither motion with his fingers, and Credo snorted, unamused. The older man took his position, letting out a soft exhale to focus.
Nero took a stance different from him, his hand drawing his sword back as if in defense mode. Credo was first to attack, and he was suddenly in front of Nero. The boy gave a surprised sound that was cut off in an instant as Credo’s sword met the tip of his nose.
“One-zero.” The older man muttered softly as he backed away.
Nero seemed to recover in time to smack Credo’s sword with his own, leaving the older man’s defenses wide open. He thrust his sword near Credo’s neck, a smirk playing on his lips.
“One-one.” Nero said with a cocked brow.
Credo rushed in, their swords clacking as they exchanged blows. Nero was not half-bad. In fact, he was holding his own. He was still upset, but the sparring seemed to take a load off of his mind. Credo didn’t think, didn’t need to where sparring was concerned.
They did a dance, successfully dodging every move they could make against each other before Credo decided to step things up. Nero attacked, and Credo used his sword to deflect the boy, using his weight against him to send him staggering the other direction. He gave a good smack with the flat side of his sword to the back of the boy’s head for good measure.
“Two-one.” Credo had made sure to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Nero seemed pissed at being toyed with. Credo would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy humiliating him.
The boy stood, rubbing his head angrily. “The fuck you do that for?”
“Focus.” Credo said curtly, his sword out before him. “Unless I am too much for you to handle?”
At that Nero came charging in, and Credo found his reverse psychology had proven to be useful. Nero’s technique was wide and sloppy as they exchanged blows. He looked angry, and if there was one thing anyone had to remember in battle it was to reign in their emotions. One bad decision meant their death, or worse, the death of others.
Nero had managed to land a blow on Credo’s shoulder, the older man grunting in surprise.
“Two-two, asshole.” Nero sneered, but the moment was short-lived when Credo swiped at Nero’s knees, causing the boy to fall back first to the mat. Credo stood over him, his sword tip pressing into Nero’s outstretched neck.
“Three-two. Guess that makes me the winner.” Credo muttered, drawing his sword with a twirl to give the boy a hand.
Nero made to reach for it but decided to swipe at Credo’s ankles with his foot, the older man falling on his back with a loud grunt.
“Guess I’m a sore fuckin’ loser.” Nero panted, falling back on the mat.
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After the fight, they both found themselves sweaty and in desperate need of showering. The older man had trudged off with his things without a moment’s notice. Nero seemed incensed on catching up with him.
Credo had done his due diligence of thinking over how the brat found him in the first place. Had he just been watching him all along? Wrapping his mind around it seemed to irritate him more, so he settled on not thinking about it at all.
'Fat chance that was going to be,' He thought grimly.
Very few people knew about the personal showers, and it was usually used by high officials, as well as sponsored talents that came to practice or for tournaments from time to time. Aside from his shower, this one was second to none. The variety of soap down to the tile patterns was elaborate. Whether or not funding came from the countless tithes Sanctus collected from the Order, Credo didn’t care.
Usually, Credo came here after training hard to relax, especially when he knew he wasn’t going home.
“Whoa-ho—this place is awesoooome. So, this is where you’ve been hiding!” He heard a whistle from behind him.
“I have NOT—” Credo caught himself ready to argue with the boy, a defeated sigh escaping the captain.
“Go home, Nero.”
“Hell no! Totally showerin’ here!” Nero said aloud, his eyes wide as he looked around.
They both entered, the door shutting slowly behind them. There were fresh towels in a closet-like space to their left, and everything they could ever need along with it stored on gold-embossed shelves.
Credo grabbed a towel as Nero inspected the soap names, looking much like a child in a candy store at the selections.
The older man left the boy to his exploration, tugging off his belt to place in a cubby nearby. As he began to remove his pants, he noticed how it was suddenly silent, whipping around to find Nero watching him openly.
They looked at each other, Nero being the first to look away this time.
Although he couldn’t see the boy’s face in time, Credo could see the way his ears were red. It spoke of shame, and other things the captain wasn’t ready to identify.
The air was tense between them. Credo would relieve the boy of any shot he had of bringing up what was left unsaid on the balcony two weeks prior. He undressed quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist. He barreled past the boy, having decided that this was for the best. Eventually he would give up and move on like all teenagers his age did.
Credo hopped into one of the shower cubicles in hopes of renewing his efforts to keep them separated.
Both hands met the tiled wall before him, hot water pouring down his body. His eyes shut in concentration.
'One thing at a time,' he thought.
When Credo had finally come out, he was surprised to find Nero standing there with a hand at his arm, looking unsure and nervous… and completely naked.
The boy looked clean, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment, his silver-white hair matted to his skull. So, he had found time to shower and terrorize him.
He was wearing a towel, but even so Credo’s heart pounded, but he managed to keep his face straight. Without words, Credo trudged towards the other end of the room for his clothing. He’d be damned if he allowed himself to fall here. Nothing about this seemed fair, and a part of Credo knew Nero yearned for answers he wouldn’t dare give. Not right now. Not when so much was at stake.
“I don’t fucking get you.” He heard from behind him, and Credo pretended not to appear as panicked as he felt he was at that moment. This kid was absolutely going to kill him, someday.
“There’s nothing to get.” Credo muttered aloud, more to remind himself of what was at stake.
“You’re a royal asshole, you know that?” Nero’s voice quivered as he breathed loudly through his nose. “I waited for you that night.”
“I never recalled giving you the go ahead to do such a thing.” Credo replied tersely, his hand fisting the towel tight around his waist. This conversation, apparently, was going to happen whether he liked it or not. Credo’s nostrils flared. It was all going to come out right here, and Credo was so very tired.
“You never answered my question that night on the balcony.” Credo found it difficult to swallow then.
“About me being gay.” The boy clarified in lieu of Credo’s silence.
“I don’t care to discuss your… sexual preference, Nero. If it’s any consolation, I don’t give a damn.”
“Then why won’t you look at me? Is it wrong? Tell me!” Nero spat impatiently, and a nerve in Credo seemed to snap.
Maybe it was because he knew the moment he looked back; his resolve would crumble. He was afraid of what he could do, what Nero would let him do. Nero was still so very young, and he was much too old for him. Nero didn’t seem to care at all and that scared the man more.
“I don’t need to explain why it is I can’t look, now can I!” Credo barked bitterly, silencing himself as quickly as he’d begun to speak. He knew he fucked up by even saying it. Nero was so much closer now, that curiosity of his palpable in the air.
“Why won’t you look?” The question was full of confusion but pressing all the same. Was the boy really this stupid? Was he so unaware? Credo couldn’t tell.
“Are you—”
“I’d rather not talk about—“
“—gay, too…?” The boy continued over Credo.
There was a long silence, before Credo let out a sniff of discomfort, unable to deny the truth he was looking for.
“How’d you know?” Was the question Credo expected him to ask next. The boy’s ungodly intuition was next level.
“It was a long time ago. Nothing worth talking about.” Credo deflected; his mood exacerbated by the fact that Nero had somehow picked up on the context of his outburst. The boy seemed too curious to let things go now.
“How did you know you liked guys…?” He persisted.
The conversation was becoming more uncomfortable by the second. He was practically dripping wet, and now was the time the boy wanted to strike up a conversation about his aptitude of what gayness was. He repented momentarily to any invisible powers that be for indulging the teen with what he was about to say next.
“A friend,” Credo grunted, removing the towel without much thought to wipe his hair, his back to Nero. He wasn’t going to disclose any more, but he could feel eyes boring at the back of his head for answers, sighing aloud.
“He turned out straight, I wasn’t. End of story.”
“Oh… sucks.” He heard from behind him. Nero’s voice sounded oddly close.
“It was a long time ago.” Credo mumbled, turning back to see Nero watching him again, something much scarier shining in his eyes.
Understanding.
'Oh God, he needed to get out of here. Now.' He thought in panic.
“Hey, Credo?”
The older man didn’t look back as he began to shimmy into his uniform pants but cocked his head to the side to listen.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Telling me that. I guess it’s our little secret.”
Credo wanted to turn around and say something about there not being any secrets to share in the first place, but Nero was well on his way to getting dressed, and was soon out the door, leaving a confused Credo in his wake.