Two Faces Vs Two-Faced

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Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Nobody came near when Don was training in his “Alter Form”. He didn’t blame them. The stories of shifters slipping and losing control were frightful. It was called “Cursed Blood” for a reason.
Sure, their fear hurt. How could it not? But he didn’t blame them.
At least he never had to wait for his turn or deal with being jostled. Or judged. The early risers cleared out of the exercise fields at dawn, and nobody else would enter until Don finished and left. He strove to take advantage of the silence and lack of eyes, make the daily practice meditative.
But today, he emerged from under the icy waterfall and his calm evaporated like the steam billowing from his hide.
Cyrus.
Once a familiar, welcome sight. They’d known each other their whole lives. Signed up together. ‘Sworn battle-brothers’. Inseparable. Trained as a duo, or at least cheered each other on. Cyrus always encouraged his friend to make the most of his unholy powers.
Until it became clear that tethering yourself to an untrusted monster, particularly one unnoteworthy in combat, was a losing strategy for advancement.
Then Cyrus started coming by for practice less often. Switched to training with others. It made sense; he’d be facing other humans in combat, not shifters. Don didn’t mind.
Cyrus suddenly ate just before Don’s free slot, so rather than them sitting down together Cyrus was already sat with friends. Other friends. Fully human friends. Cyrus made a big deal of welcoming Don if he joined them, but… the air at the table was always stilted and uncomfortable. Resentful.
So Don ate alone. He didn’t mind. Much. Schedule changes happened, after all.
When Cyrus moved out of their cabin, giving up the extra space he’d often celebrated to live crammed with three other humans, was the point Don realised their friendship was over. He’d been cast aside. ‘Outgrown’.
By then it was too late to mind. Yet he did.
That was almost a year ago. They hadn’t spoken since. So seeing Cyrus waiting by the bench Don had left his clothes, just like before, was jarring. Hope reared its head and sniffed. Suspicion swiped at it and hissed.
Don’s claws crunched the gravel. He suddenly felt awkward. Ungainly. It was strange; he’d never been self-conscious in front of Cyrus. But that was then. When he knew the guy.
At least, he’d thought he knew the guy.
“Sun-blessed morning, brother!” Cyrus whooped. Energetic as always.
Don had always thought fondly of that trait. It rubbed off on him. Made everything easier. Now it felt like wind buffeting his snout. He fought the urge to put his ears back and grumble.
Before, he’d have towelled off while chatting with Cyrus about the day ahead. Each buoying the other up with advice and encouragement.
Cyrus had always been better at advice. Sharp head on his shoulders. That’s what earned him fast-track to officer training. The ability to identify and follow sound strategy in everything he did. Be that picking apples efficiently or… trimming deadwood.
How should he respond? Cyrus was clearly waiting for a greeting before continuing. While it was tempting to growl ‘long time no see’, if Cyrus was here to apologise that’d be a door to the face.
“Mmm bit cold for Sun-blessed, if you ask me.”
A weak, old joke. The kind passed from elders to littles since time began. He’d never been quick-witted. But it worked as deflection, and Cyrus obligingly laughed.
“True, true. Hard to believe Harvest is already upon us.”
“Mm.” Don paused, weighing his words with care. “Easy to lose track of time with all the endless rushing about.”
There. He’d handed Cyrus the perfect opening to acknowledge how long it’d been, without being snippy about it. All Cyrus had to do was agree and apologise for getting so caught up in duties. Half a bridge, extended over once-calm waters.
“Oh? I wasn’t aware they’ve been keeping you busy.”
Hope gave up its patient crouch and sank to the floor. Suspicion stood over it and mantled, ready to deflect whatever strike came next.
“…Probably not by your standards. Lieutenant.” Don turned away, his flesh warping and tightening and shrinking until he looked human. Unthreatening. Unassuming. He was actually shorter than Cyrus.
Which wouldn’t protect him from accusations if this turned into a confrontation. But it might help.
“There’s no need to get formal with me, brother!” Cyrus proclaimed, his face a picture of earnestness. As if the rebuff had come from nowhere.
Don didn’t respond. Just focused on towelling off. Once he was back in uniform he could excuse himself.
“Though… if you aren’t too busy, that’s good news!” Cyrus slid around in front to scrutinise Don’s face. “See, I’ve found an opening to get you in the Commander’s graces. Adding you to the planned push.”
Ah. Aha.
“Tsk.” Don yanked on his tunic. Keeping his gaze fixed on the bench. “Look at you, calling me spineless behind my back then begging me to bail out your doomed idea. And making it sound like you’re doing me a favour.”
“Eh??” Cyrus’s smile flickered. “I don’t know what gossip vipers have been whispering about me, but-”
“Mhm. You should be more careful about hatching vipers.” Don stamped his boots into place. Perhaps harder than necessary. “Not everyone is obliging about being used and tossed away, ‘brother’. Or have you already learned that? Was it lack of unburned bridges which brought you here?”
Now Cyrus’s eyes were narrowed. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Who would talk with a monster like me? What could we possibly have in common to discuss?” Don shrugged on his coat, the crimson insignia marking him as bearing the Cursed Blood. Head still bowed. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, lieutenant. I have duties to report for.”
“What did you tell them?”
Don dodged the grab and gave a thin smile. Time for another timeless titbit; “May the Sun give you the day you deserve, lieutenant.”

Prompt was “Write a piece containing the line ‘Look at you, calling me spineless behind my back’”.