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The more time Arty spends traveling with Goultard, the more he starts to notice the little things. Like how his friend takes blow after blow without giving himself time to recover, the way he often neglects caring for his injuries and the most glaring issue which is the way his ribs can be seen poking out through his skin.
Only then does Arty really start paying attention to his friend’s eating habits, quickly noticing he seems to forgot basic things like meals and drinking water. He’ll only see him stop to eat occasionally.
He doesn’t say anything for now, but he starts making food more often, whether it be roasting it over a fire or whipping up fruit salads from what edible things he can find in the forest. Above all he always makes sure to actually sit down and have a proper dinner with Goultard.
His friend never mentions the new routine, even when Arty pushes the plate a little closer to him if he seemingly forgets about it.
There’s something in his white eyes though, the way they narrow just slightly, observing, calculating.
Arty slowly starts to transition into making breakfast too. Sometimes Goultard claims he’s too busy, but other times he will accept the meal if Arty manages to coax him into it.
It’s not until he starts bringing on mission snacks and trying to get him to hydrate that Goultard seems to bristle, clearly getting annoyed, fingers twitching and shoulders tensing with some unpleasant emotion.
It’s not until after a particularly bad battle that everything comes shattering down around them. Both of them stumble into their camp, bruised and battered and after Arty patches up an awfully nasty gash on his own forehead he grabs the medical supply kit and reaches out to tend to Goultard’s arm which is badly mangled, the dark bruises mottling his skin matching with the dark blood seeping from the long slash coming from his shoulder to a little past his elbow.
“Here. Let me take care of that.” Arty’s hand doesn’t even get to touch the uninjured part of his arm before Goultard bats it away with a snarl.
“Whats your problem?!” he snarls, lips curled and teeth bared. His cheek is bruised so bad his eye is swelling slightly, a scratch running along his eyebrow and down over his nose.
“What? What are you talking about? I’m just trying to help you!”
“Exactly!” Goultard shouts, standing up abruptly and drawing to his full height. “You keep bothering me about eating and drinking water and now this?! I don’t need your help- I don’t need you!”
Arty’s eyes widen, mouth falling slowly into an ‘O’ shape, eyebrows furrowing in hurt.
His friend only seems to get angrier at his expression, the injured limb that’s tucked towards his side trembling with what could be pain or rage.
“Stop trying to fix me. I don’t want your pity.” he spits, face red and shoulders shaking.
After a moment Arty inhales sharply, fists curling against his sides.
“Why are you like this? I want to help you. It’s not pity, I care about you, you stupid jerk!” he steps forward, slamming a finger into the taller man’s chest, leaning in close with slit pupils. His chest burns with flames he doesn’t let slip out. “You don’t do shit for yourself! You won’t even let me treat up your wound! Yet I’m the one you lash out on? The one who’s trying to make sure you’re alright?!”
“There’s no point anyway! It’s not like I’ll ever die! I’m stuck like this- I couldn’t even leave this world if I wanted to!” Goultard snaps back, swaying unsteadily as his face pales a few shades. “I’ve endured injuries and deaths far worse than this and you’re worried about a scratch?! I’ve slaughtered thousands, made their wives and children weep, watched their homes burn while I held the match! So, why? Why do you care about a monster like me?!”
“Because I love you!” Arty shouts, his voice echoing throughout the forest. Something wet slides down his cheeks and he breathes out shakily, chest moving up and down rapidly. “I fucking love you so much it hurts. So much so that I can’t even breathe sometimes. I love you, you asshole.”
A crushing silence falls on them and Goultard stares blankly, his swaying reaching a tipping point as he collapses into Arty, the feca letting out a panicked yelp as he struggles to keep the other man from taking them both down.
He lays Goultard onto the ground, head in his lap and reaches for the red stained limb. This time he takes it in his hand securely, wincing at the wounded noise his friend makes and quickly gets to work.
He forces the tremor out of his hands, cleaning the injury and wrapping it up after stopping the bleeding as best as he can.
Crimson blots stain his own palms and clothes but he doesn’t complain, just sitting there and breathing deeply in and out.
“You can’t…” Goultard’s thin voice comes from below him and Arty glances down at his companion who’s looking up at him from his lap.
“Can’t what?”
“You can’t love me. I’m not someone worth loving. I’m a monster. I’d destroy you.”
“What if I don’t care about all that? What if I just want you and everything that comes with?”
Goultard closes his eyes tightly and rolls to the side, burying his face in Arty’s stomach. His shirt steadily gets soaked with tears and Arty sighs softly, wrapping his arms around the man’s back and rubbing it gently.
“I don’t care about what you’ve done…it wasn’t you. You’re not a monster, Goul and nothing you can do or say will change how I feel. I love you regardless.”