As soon as the human was about to shut the door, Kuzma was pulling it back open to follow him out.

He hadn't thought about it. His body just reacted to his subconscious need to not be alone with his memories.

But they're always there, aren't they?

At least with the human, with someone there, they weren't so loud and vivid. They turned into whispers, and Kuzma was able to ignore them.

The human didn't have a noticeable reaction to the random act. He blinked at Kuzma with his blank eyes, before continuing towards the living room.

Kuzma watched him carefully, standing in front of the couch as the human began to straighten things out, putting up the bare pillows and removing the papers he had left there the previous night before walking towards the kitchen, Kuzma following.

"You hungry?" the human asked, back to Kuzma as he scratched his right hip under the grey shirt he wore.

Kuzma's eyes immediately zeroed in on that spot, seeing something black and etched onto the human's skin. It made him think of the markings on the raven generals, the black tribal marks that decorated their arms.

Is he a warrior as well?

"Da," Kuzma answered, being as cool as possible, trying to mask his curiosity, about to pull out a chair and sit down to get a better look at the human's mark but stopped when he heard footsteps coming from outside the front door.

They're coming.

Kuzma froze at that thought, unable to move or think or breathe as the impending danger he had expected closed in on him.

Truth be told, he had been secretly waiting for them to find him, his rage wanting them to.

He wanted those bastards that had thought it fun to chain down a boy and make him cry for years to see him then. Fully grown, powerful and burning with enough anger to dull the flames of the sun. He wanted them to look in his eyes as he made them feel everything he felt and more. He wanted to revel in their screams and cries of agony as he brought them to the brink of death over and over and over again, only to be brought back, wishing it all to be over and done with. Just like they did to him.

But, at the possibility of them actually being out that door, ready to face him, Kuzma found himself running to the human and hiding behind his broad shoulders, the sirin's body shaking like a leaf as he hid his face in the human's back.

"Kuzma?" the human called out softly, slowly shutting the fridge in front of him as Kuzma shook behind him.

A knock at the door made the sirin jump, closing his eyes tight and pressed himself even closer to the human, his arms going around the shorter man's neck.

Go away. Please go away. Leave me alone, Kuzma begged them in his mind, his voice in his head sounding smaller, less masculine and shaky with tears. It sounded like his pathetic voice when they had first taken him.

Who have I been trying kid? Me? A fully grown, powerful sirin? I'm nothing like the raven soldiers! They charged at the gods with no fear or hesitation! I cowered and ran! 

Still that little boy that begged the torturers to end his misery. You shame your people.

"Kuzma. Hey, it's alright," the human said quietly, another knock making Kuzma jump again.

"It's alright, Kuzma. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Yes. Yes they will. They hurt us all. They killed us all.

And they'll kill me.

Kuzma's hold on the human tightened, his fear-filled body and mind attaching themselves to the most comforting thing in the room.

"I won't let them hurt you, okay? You'll be fine, alright?" the human said, slowly placing a coarse hand over Kuzma's arm and patting it awkwardly.

The words left him stunned as soon as they went through his foggy mind.

Won't let them hurt me?

And those were the words that made Kuzma doubt his stubborn thoughts about the human, that the man was trying to gain something from him. That the human was just playing the same joke his jailers did to break his mind, pretending to be kind then watching as they plunged him into more despair. Those words made Kuzma doubt all of that because they were words he had never heard in his life. Not even from his own people.

He was expected to protect himself. After all, he was a raven sirin, the soldiers of his race. High above the hawks and even stronger than their royals, the eagles. More beautiful than the doves and far more vicious than the vultures. The ravens were the beacons of hope, symbols of strength and perfection and the heroes of all.

He asked himself, what hero needed to be saved? What hero needed to be protected? What hero needed a human to keep others from hurting him?

Kuzma did. Kuzma knew that he did the moment he begged, night and day, to be rescued. To be freed. For someone or something to take his pain away and just make it all stop.

He did not care, after a while of resisting. He did not care how shameful it was to his title, how cowardly he sounded. He just wanted someone to stop the hurt, even though he would've rather died than admit that, even out loud to himself.

And then a human, a simple, weak and unappealing human was the first person to say the words he had secretly been wanting to hear for who knew how long.

Kuzma did not know how to react.

"Wh-what can a h-human do?" Kuzma asked, his voice shaking as his fear began to subside bit by bit, replaced with growing confusion as his broken self fought with his stubborn pride.

He was battling with himself, his prideful sirin spirit trying to overturn the weak child looking for some kind of comfort in his never-ending turmoil. It was so bad that Kuzma wasn't sure if he was supposed to be relieved by the human's words or angered and insulted by them.

"I can go answer the door when you let go of me and make you some pancakes after? I've got Nutella?" the human said, a musical lilt in his voice.

Kuzma blinked rapidly and looked down at the man before quickly stepping back. With his heart beating against his ribcage, he was appalled at himself.

Keep it together, you weakling, Kuzma mentally yelled at himself in his mother tongue, his cheeks burning red despite how much he kept telling himself to control the embarrassment.

"I'm coming. I'm coming," the human said as he slowly walked out of the kitchen, watching Kuzma over his shoulder as he did so.

Kuzma was too busy trying to dispel whatever had made him actually seek the human's comfort to listen to the strange man.

With his back pressed on the counter beside the stove, Kuzma felt disgusted with himself for displaying such vulnerability. How was the human going to respect and fear him after that? How could anyone?

He gulped down the fear and vulnerability, hiding it from plain sight until the next time it crawled its way back to the surface. He ignored the reaction that he got when the human said those words, throwing away the relief he felt at them and Kuzma reminded himself of what he was to be, not what he knew he was.

Kuzma needed to be the sirin worthy of his people. He couldn't disappoint them, his people, his race, his ancestors, any more than he already had with his frailty. It did not matter that he was, by all rights, a child when it happened, for his blood alone meant he was a warrior from birth. Being a child was no excuse.

Elite among elites, that was what he was born to be so that was what he was.

Yet even as he said that he still felt the urge to seek the human's warmth, comfort and the scent of fresh baked goods that seemed to be attached to the human.

Kuzma did not know what to think about such an urge, let alone if he should acknowledge it.