all you feel is what you can't admit [C]

Silverpaw

In the latest hours of the night, when dawn is starting to creep into the sky, brittle frost collects on the surface of everything. It falls apart with even the gentlest brush from a paw, but it layers itself over the half-sodden earth of camp, against the walls and across the roofs of their dens. By the time he'd been old enough to develop memories he'd retain, snow had stopped falling, and the air no longer grew cold enough at night to turn carpets of dew into ice. This recent change in the weather fascinated him, as mundane as it was. Over a late night when he could not sleep, he asked--properly asked--Hawkpaw to come with him. He had no intention but to set off, leading them out into the marsh.

For once, Silverpaw says little while they walk. He just looks around, taking his time with every step and drinking in the territory like it's his first day as an apprentice again. There's a bitter feeling in his heart that, no matter what's said, he may never see it again. He's tried not to think of everything too much since the Gathering. It makes this feral, racing thing flare between his ribs. It terrifies him, to think of leaving behind everything he knows to walk countless miles to a strange land none of them know. He cannot know the dangers Pineblossom's litter might face. He can't reconcile with leaving behind the lands ShadowClan has inhabited for untold lives; leaving behind his mother, buried within the marsh. If he gives it none of his active thought, that itch can't crawl under his fur again.

But no matter how he tries... the pest worms its way back in. Silverpaw pushes out a breath, watching it cloud in the air before turning to offer Hawkpaw a smile that's simple, warm at the edges. Turning his eyes up to marvel at the sight of the rising sun, he privately thinks he's grateful Hawkpaw is his friend. Annoying, stubborn, and boorish as he is, his constant companionship is... nice. And more acutely, Silverpaw is intensely grateful Hawkpaw will be there to suffer the journey with him. He'd go mad, he's sure, without him. Silverpaw steps a whisker closer, letting their pelts brush together ever-so-slightly. He makes no comment on it, busy with observing. He can't imagine actually voicing such appreciation, but he does hope Hawkpaw feels it in spite of--or, more engagingly, alongside--the constant headache he causes.

Just as the sun is high enough to reach the clearing, they reach the Pine Grove. The short grass is entirely white with thin ice, and in the morning light, it sparkles. Silverpaw stalls at the edge of the treeline, gaze sweeping back and forth across the small field. His empty stomach turns in on itself. There's a chance he may never have seen this... maybe, just maybe, he's lucky after all. His words rise from him without conscious thought when he murmurs, "I'm going to miss this." The dry sobriety in his voice is rare; the mask that's become him fallen. Silverpaw isn't sure what's possessed him suddenly, but he feels plaintive, struck still by the unignorable weight of the half-moon swiftly approaching. A puff billows from his muzzle again, and as it dissipates, he turns his full attention back to Hawkpaw, blinking slowly. "Are you?"

It was a surprise to be approached by Silverpaw in such a mood. He even asked Hawkpaw to come with him; not demanded, not declared and then trotted off. Just asked. And… Hawkpaw himself was tired, and worn down by that exhaustion, and it was easy, question or no, to follow wherever Silverpaw led. So of course he agreed, voice quiet as he rose to his feet and trailed after his best friend.

Hawkpaw took his time examining his surroundings. It felt like he was seeing the territory for the first time all over again, like he’d done when Sunflare took him out after he was granted his apprenticeship. And unlike then, Hawkpaw didn’t quite bother to hide the childlike wonder at the sight of it all. He saw some of it reflected in Silverpaw too; watched him examine the frost on the mulch on the ground and the way the trees moved above their heads. It was reassuring to know that Silverpaw felt the same way he did. And so Hawkpaw didn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on every detail. The world around them had grown greyer with the oncoming leaf-bare, and yet it felt like it was in perfect color right now, everything so crisp and clean. This space between dawn and night felt crafted to straddle the line between reality and dream, and blur the two.

He was more relaxed than he had been the entire stretch of time between now and the gathering, and yet the tension that plagued his chest didn’t leave enterily. His ribs were tight, pressing in and constricting his heart and lungs, making every breath painful and every heartbeat roar in his ears. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. It was a sensation that was somehow more overwhelming than the hunger he had grown almost numb to.

He realized, with quiet resignation, that he did not want to leave here. He watched the wind rustle through the pines. He felt the soft ground beneath his paws and flexed his claws into it for a moment, as if he had the ability to keep himself rooted here if he just held on tight. He thought of his mother again, and tasted bitter ashes. The thing around his ribs tightened, and he found, to his shock, that his eyes stung just the slightest bit.

Before he could spiral completely into despair, his eyes lifted slightly and found soft green already waiting for him. Silverpaw smiled, a simple, sweet thing, warmer than usual, and Hawkpaw released the corruption that had clouded his lungs with a heavy exhale. Silverpaw moved closer, and Hawkpaw moved close in kind. Their fur brushed together, white, silver, and black, and he swore, this close, he could count every breath that Silverpaw took.

'At least,' He thought, 'If I have nothing else familiar, I will have him.' That was enough to ground him. Silverpaw made him feel so much; anger, irritation and frustration, but also he chased away the constant loneliness that’s plagued Hawkpaw’s life since he was born. There was something warm when he thought of Silverpaw, something that Hawkpaw was desperate to hold onto, like the last scraps of warmth clinging to a dying creature. He would take being called Pigeonpaw and feeling constantly, thoroughly harassed over what would be left in Silverpaw’s absence. Despair and loneliness was far more unbearable. And, perhaps, there was something addicting about the way they interacted with each other. He didn’t need to be anything but himself with Silverpaw. He hoped that Silverpaw let down his constant masks with Hawkpaw, too. He hoped that Silverpaw felt the same. Looking at him now, he thought maybe he did.

Hawkpaw stopped when Silverpaw did, and turned his head to see what had slowed Silverpaw, and he went completely silent as he stared out at the almost sparkling field. It didn’t feel quite real. It felt like the stars had come to dance amidst the grass. It was such a soft, strange thought that Hawkpaw almost hissed aloud, but he didn’t. He just stared at the sparkling green, white and gold. He blinks once when Silverpaw speaks, startled by the sincerity in his tone, and yet also touched by it.

He doesn’t quite look back for a moment, almost afraid of the intensity that would be meeting Silverpaw’s gaze at this moment, but he’s never backed down from a challenge. He turned his head to meet Silverpaw’s eyes, drowned once more in forest green more vibrant than anything Hawkpaw has seen, and blinked slowly. “...Yeah,” He croaked hoarsely, no trace of his normal gruff tone to be found. He sounded so young and tired then. “I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, the strength that kept Hawkpaw upright, the anger that drove him forward, just drained out of him, leaving him hollow, weak-kneed, and completely numb. He swayed for a second, and then he let himself just sort of… fall over into Silverpaw’s side, slumping his weight against his friend for a moment. They don’t make contact like this unless it’s to fight very frequently, but Hawkpaw can’t quite feel anything except that numbness for a moment. He’ll be embarrassed about this moment later. While he can’t feel that, he savors the sensation of Silverpaw’s warmth against him, chasing the persistent chill from his fur. He’d felt that before, but only in the context of a fight, the press of their bodies aggressive and intense; but this was soft, and gentle, and it was not something Hawkpaw has experienced much at all.  

Silverpaw

Watching Hawkpaw look out across the glistening field makes something strange stir in Silverpaw's chest; warm, fluttering. It grows when sun-gold eyes find his, turns the steady beating of his heart into the fight of a trapped animal. He can feel it all the way in his throat, up in the back of his mouth, tight and restrictive and... not unpleasant. He's realizing, helped by the soft tone of Hawkpaw's voice, that they haven't spent much time just being apprentices. Grappling with feelings bigger than them, fighting with each other, bracing for a war that never came--fighting more, obsessing over each other, bracing now for the complete uprooting of their lives. Silverpaw wasn't sure what "normal" apprentices did, how they interacted or how they coped, but he was sure it wasn't like them. In this bordering stage between kit and warrior, they'd both moved too far from the former to chase the latter.

But they were standing together now, watching the sunrise over a beautiful view of their territory. Speaking, rather than growling. Enjoying each other's presence. If this was routine to them, it wouldn't have felt so grand. Silverpaw wanted no one but Hawkpaw standing by his side--not here. Not anywhere.

Silverpaw keeps staring, just taking in the features he's long memorized like he'll lose them with the territory until Hawkpaw starts to sway. His ears stand up, ready to move if the lack of food suddenly caught up with him, but rather than collapsing Hawkpaw just... falls against him. As soon as their bodies connect, the struggling thing wrapped up in him bursts. His heart stutter-steps and can't find its rhythm again, knocking uneven against his ribs, and his entire body floods with heat so intense as to make the leaf-fall chill seem negligible. The feeling is so painfully familiar to that dread-sense of all his worst memories and yet unique only to Hawkpaw. Silverpaw wants to twist away, unused to such simple contact or comfort from anyone but Pineblossom and fearing that allowing it here will change his relationship with Hawkpaw in a way he'll no longer be able to stomach. But... he stays put. Not a hair on his pelt twitches out of place, standing firm and still. Only when Hawkpaw seems settled does he move; and even then, only to sit himself down and adjust his posture so Hawkpaw can rest against him with comfort rather than just slumping bonelessly.

"I'm glad you agree," Silverpaw said. "I would have been embarrassed if you didn't. I'd say that was a lie and laugh it off." And he does laugh as he says it--breathless and, really, humorless, but there's some genuine tint to it. Then he just sits in the quiet for a few precious moments, Hawkpaw leaning into him and he into Hawkpaw. It's unfamiliar and uncomfortable for it, but the idea of separating sends a singular tremor up through Silverpaw's forelegs. As if to protect against some unseen harm that would drive them apart, he shifts into a gesture he's only seen before, never imitated himself: wrapping his tail loosely, a bit hesitantly, around Hawkpaw's frame and turning to rest his chin atop his head. "If we don't make it back, I'm glad this was one of my last sights. I'll remember it." Quickly, to ward off the bile threatening to rise at the suggestion, he adds, "I know we will, though. If I have to lead ShadowClan back myself, we won't abandon our homeland." Silverpaw pulls away so he can look at Hawkpaw again, though his tail stays curled. He smiles big and toothy and says, "I don't think it'll be so bad, though. Leaving, I mean. I'll have you to bother the whole time, right? That'll make it just fine."