Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a cold and late December night many, many years ago, two figures step out from the grand entranceway of an arts university and into it's expansive, hill-flanked grounds and bleak winter weather. Snow flurries down from the sky, briefly lit up by aflame street lamps which guide them back to the town and their temporary dwelling in spaced, even shows of warm, glittering illumination. The two make a comment about the snow's similarity to a meteor shower they had witnessed a century prior.

The layer of snow upon the path they follow doesn't even approach the soles of their shoes, making their steps certain to leave no trace within a few minutes. That is the hope.

Even so, the taller of the two loosens his glove finger by finger before he outstretches his bare hand to the trimmed hedge nearest to him. He guides his palm just above it's snow-dusted leaves as if it were a bird gliding over a still lake. He never touches it, yet stares transfixed as the snow melts into Spring dew to be recaptured into Winter icicles within minutes.

"Showoff," the shorter teases.

Anshine meets the other's eye with a challenging grin, his smile reaching up to his mortal-dressed eyes with a little squint. He closes his eyes and fits the glove back on.

"You're capable of the very same," he points out, tugging the glove at his wrist before flexing his fingers. He returns the hand to his fleece-lined coat pocket, his other effortlessly intertwining with his partner's.

"Not here," Stratosfear insists, giving the hand a firm squeeze as if that single motion was what confirmed that they were indeed holding hands. "And you shouldn't be either," he asserts, his smile audible in his words as he leans into the taller.

Anshine only huffs a laugh and shakes his head, letting his eyes open to step onto the paved sidewalk.

The remaining walk to the inn they're staying at is a mere 10 minutes, but each tiny step they take feels like no progress at all in comparison to what they're capable of. Stratosfear turns his head to watch the shifting prospective of the world around him to remind himself that he is, in fact, moving. It's just been a few decades since they donned their mortal disguises, is all. Too busy exploring the reaches of their galaxy and... point things.

The town is young, that much is obvious. The roads are made for walking and the buildings are simple yet sturdy copies of architecture that Stratosfear has seen in more urban cities. Pointed roofs that relieve the weight of the snow, metal railings where the incline demands stepping stairs, stores and public buildings peppered between quaint apartments. Knowledgeable, but young.

What strikes him is the occasional burst of color; be it stained glass in a shop window or poinsettias on a porch. He's used to winter being so grim: a time period that the rest of the world is hunkering down for and waiting to pass. Seeing any color at all is enough to bring a smile to his face. He spots a porcelain statuette displayed in an apartment window and is reminded of why the two are here.

"50 years," Stratosfear chuckles. Anshine hums and shifts his eyes from the shimmering, icicle-adorned trees.

"I'm taking that time estimate with some grace," Anshine sighs. "I trust it'll be done, I've commissioned them before, it's just hard to say with what we've requested."

Stratosfear feels himself bubbling with giddiness. "The others will love it," he assures.

"They better," Anshine laughs. Stratosfear easily falls in tune with him.

The piece they were commissioning the university for, a monumental statue, was meant to be a gift for all the points; a reminder that their immortality didn't mean they were void of their selfhood. The two had to be quite vague with the details, not wanting to impact humanity with the knowledge of points and whatnot. They ended up telling the university that the 50-year wait was expected with the (admittedly on-the-spot) excuse that it was for their future children. Stratosfear bursts into giggles at the thought.

"Future children?" he hugs Anshine's arm. "What will we do?"

Anshine looked to be genuinely contemplating with a hand against his wide grin. "I don't know! We'll just walk in looking the same, I suppose...!?"

"I wonder if our disguises will look different by then," Stratosfear ponders. He looks up at Anshine's mortal self, trying to decipher any changes since last they'd walked among humans. Anshine catches on and the two pause their steps, stuck in what an outside observer may confuse for a playful staring contest.

Anshine's ("Castor," he called himself here) eyes are a warm and nutty brown, almost unnaturally light next to his unblemished, sunkissed skin. His bangs cascade across his left brow while he has the length of his hair bunched up in a loose, low ponytail; identical to his point hairstyle of choice, when he allows it. The main difference, of course, being the colors. Instead of a bright, brilliant trangerine, his mortal disguise uses some mix of brush-stroked blondes and browns.

Stratosfear's eyes work their way from Anshine's forehead, swept brows, soft eyes that trail him the same, before the shorter pauses at his lips where his mind snags on a defined cupid's bow.

"Your lips have changed," he murmurs.

Anshine lifts his fingertips to his mouth as if only just now realizing he had one. He prods the slightest bit before shrugging and letting his hand fall. "How so?"

Stratosfear opens his mouth but little beyond a stutter comes out before he closes it. His face warms and twists into some awkward self-aware grin-grimace that pretty much displays how far his mind has already run. It is much too late to approach this situation with any air of nonchalance and he lets that fact smother him to death. Worst of all, he can't even decide why the sudden change in Anshine's mortal lips has him at a mental standstill.

Anshine's curiosity twists into intention. The split-second look he gives Stratosfear's lips is electrifying, yet it trails down to their clasped hands and softens considerably. He lifts the back of Stratosfear's hand to his lips and lets his eyelids drift down before planting a chaste kiss upon the shorter's skin. Their hands are placed against Anshine's chest, who gives Stratosfear's a little (imprisoned) squeeze.

"Did that jog your memory at all?" he chuckles. It's almost teasing, but Stratosfear can sense the nervousness in Anshine's voice too clearly. He builds a little confidence, knowing they're both a bit skittish. Stratosfear's smile widens and he turns away.

"Just your cupid's bow," he blurts. "It's... it's more distinct."

"Pointy?" Anshine tilts his head.

"I..." Stratosfear rattles his brain around, strangling it for any string of words. "I don't know. It just stood out to me," he says a little quieter.

"I didn't think becoming a point could make one dumber," Anshine giggles, and he walks off before Stratosfear's slack jaw can spread into a laugh.

Stratosfear watches him step further into the snow, the amber glow of a streetlamp bathing over him like he's walked through a heavenly doorway. He shifts his stance to do the same before a sudden gust of wind speckles his face with thick snowflakes. The air blows by his ears in a whistling roar and he raises an arm on instinct to shield himself. He turns around just to keep it out of his face, hugging himself and feeling the snow stick to him in a growing blanket that sucks the warmth from his body.

His eyes open and it's like the entire sky has come down at once. The snow must've risen an inch in less than a minute and shows no signs of slowing. Another blast rushes into him and he has to consciously keep his feet planted just so he won't stumble into the fluffy, shimmering mess that's sure to surpass his heels before long.

Anshine's beside him in less than a second, guiding him with barely audible whoops of glee as they trudge through the snow together, out of the open and into an alleyway where Stratosfear can feel the snowfall thin into a sprinkle. He looks behind him and there's just a wall of snow that only the light of the streetlamps pierces through. The two share a delighted sound at the sight and shift a little closer for warmth.

"Hey," Anshine calls. "You remember those big hills back at the university?"

Stratosfear perks up with excitement and turns to the general direction of the untouched hills, his mind already racing with possibility. He suddenly pauses and asks, "what about all our fake stuff at the inn?"

Anshine hums. A belt of snow from the roofs crashes down on them and the two yelp and rush to back up against the frozen brick wall. Their shivering builds to a violent rattling and Stratosfear can feel his teeth chatter uncontrollably. It can't kill them, but the cold still seeps into their mortal skin and rests there all the same.

"Ah--- let's--- leave it---?" Anshine practically pleads. He lets out a trembling huff before shaking his head. "I've had enough fun--- playing mortal."

His shivering gradually ceases and he stands up a little straighter, taking in a deep breath. Stratosfear watches awestruck at the emergence of Anshine's brilliant yellow symbol from his eyes as if crystalized straight from within. The scene is so bright that Stratosfear can't quite perceive the transition between his mortal face and the scarcely featured point he's used to. He's barely able to see the cupid's bow fade from his exterior, only it's conflicting feelings living on in his memory.

His familiar hue washes over him in waves until all he's left in is that fleece-lined coat. He shrugs it off like he's been transported to a summer resort and his long ponytail swishes behind him as he takes a step into the pile of snow that had toppled over them a minute prior. Stratosfear watches Anshine turn from side to side before fully facing him.

Anshine's symbol dons a large, spacious crack across his left eye which rests in a partially-closed state. The interior edges of his symbol glow a blazing and pure yellow, signifying that he still has much to remember.

Does it hurt? Stratosfear had asked him once, before the sight of his eye began to peek through the cracks.

Always, Anshine answered without hesitation. Like walking into a room and forgetting why you're there, but the rooms are all your fondest memories.

It's like watching a glass shatter in slow motion. He knows it's cracking, fragmenting apart, and there is nothing he can do to prevent the eventual mess it will create. The panic is almost withheld by how slow the process is, but he knows it's going to happen. Anshine's symbol will fully shatter one day. He'll remember with crystal clear clarity the day he was pointified.

"You're gawking," Anshine comments. Stratosfear's eyes flash with awareness and he immediately averts his gaze to the floor where he allows his symbol to manifest as well.

He watches his gradient exterior begin to flush up from bottom to top. He closes his eyes as his body reshapes itself into a more familiar form. He never enjoyed this part.

Only when the cold's bite fades to a nibble does he release his breath and face the world again. He takes a step into the snow towards Anshine and firmly grasps his marginally warmer hand. It's only equivalent to his expression, which hangs on the shorter with something akin to satisfaction that Stratosfear can't quite pinpoint. It's enough to make him pause, attempting to chisel the wind, the sparse flakes, Anshine's grip and the snow beneath the two into the safest, most protected part of his memories. Somewhere he'll never, ever lose them again. But he knows the snowfall's cover won't hide them forever, so he settles for a time after later.

"Shall we?" Anshine tilts his head into the waiting storm.

"Yeah," Stratosfear answers heartedly. Anshine brings both his hands to Stratosfear's and clasps firmly. Their eyes linger.

His grin widens, then takes over his entire face in a beam of joy. Anshine laughs and tugs him into the blizzard and it's like they've been transported to a separate dense, fuzzy world. One entirely for them. The two take off into the snow with all the ease of a cardinalis soaring from the highest branch.

Chapter Text

The sun just barely begins to set, bringing a dusting of snow with it upon the paved roads outside, when the poetry reading ends for the day with a hearty thank-you from its organizers. Anshine finishes scribbling his last few remarks on the noteworthy performances he's seen that night, letting the growing chatter around him fade into white noise.

The place was a cozy venue that hosted a poetry reading toward the end of each month, though Anshine only makes the effort to join for December and January. This was for 2 reasons:

1. If he came by too often, the crowd may begin to recognize him. This would lead to chats, which would lead to questions, and inevitably the ones he couldn't answer. For all the effort he put into his mortal persona, he did not own, furnish, and upkeep an apartment. He'd tried.

2. Most of the people who were present in December were the ones not swept up in holiday plans, leaving the January audience practically flipped. Double the zero-recognition safety.

Another thing was that this event's city was one of the largest the points were aware of. It was the type of place with at least 3 of any event happening within walking distance at all hours of the day. Anshine was quite fond of this one in particular, though. Each time he walked in he was swept into the warmth and chatter of the place. The aroma of nutmeg and coffee from the little cafe at the front were the exact same each time, settling him into his mortal persona with ease. He always recognized the performers, and even though the crowd was little more than a few benches, they never recognized him back.

He closes his pocket notebook with a soft thud and locks its little silver clasp in place as he stands. The weight of his long wool coat is slung over one arm, a small timepiece in his other hand. 5:14, it read. He'll be back home right when the first stars began to twinkle. If he doesn't run into anyone, that is.

"Castor," a voice behind him calls out affably before he can even finish his thought.

He smiles as he turns, shuffling the coat a little. "Eloise," he greets the elderly woman. "You're not typically here in January."

"Perceptive," she hums. "Always remembering things nobody else does."

Anshine chuckles. The two step out of the stream of people exiting and sit back onto the benches.

"How's that partner of yours doing? You two found a place to settle yet?"

Anshine shakes his head. "Constantly moving, you know how it is."

"Not really," she huffs. "There's a world of difference between visiting family next town over for the holidays and never staying still. Except for your inexplicable 2-month stay here. Lord knows what you're doing the rest of the year."

"Good thing you're not the lord," Anshine laughs. She squints at him but nothing more.

"Is there a reason you're here?" he questions. "You're typically with your family at this time, if I'm remembering right."

"I'll see them alright," she vows. "The bus broke down at the perfect time, rickety bastard. I'm leaving at practically midnight instead. I'll miss some festivities, but it can't be helped."

"Festivities?" Anshine tilts his head. "After Christmas and New Year's?"

"Ah-ah. Neither of 'em," she wags her finger. "The Nychthemeron festival."

Anshine's expression must reveal all Eloise needs to know. She laughs like it's a common joke Anshine somehow misunderstood.

"It's regional," she assures. "The snow is a casket up there." That catches Anshine's attention. He aught to tell Stratosfear about it when he returns to the sanctuary. It'd been a while since they'd really, really played in the snow. The idea of getting out again warms him from head to toe.

"It's a bit of a ridiculous holiday, frankly. At midnight, we start covering the snowy mountains in dried petals and letters," she explains, fluttering her hands about. "The goal is to cover the university's hills by morning. The kids take it very seriously, as you can imagine."

"University?" Anshine's mind snags on the word.

"Yes, one of those fancy art ones, it's why the town was built at all."

Anshine stares at the woman as if she had grown 2 heads. He covers his widening grin with his palm as his shoulders began to shake with laughter.

"What, did I say something?" Eloise asks, understandably concerned. Anshine shakes his head while glancing around for a calendar, because you don't just ask someone what year it is whilst giggling like a maniac, and holds back a gasp when he catches sight of the dimly-lit number.

216 years. They were overdue by more than 150 years to pick up their commission. His jaw nearly drops to the floor.

He tries to stumble out some sensible excuse for his bizarre shift in mood but his mind keeps blanking, leaving him spewing out notes of laughter instead.

"Sorry---" he gasps, clutching his coat as he stands up again. "I really should be going."

Eloise laughs in bewilderment as she tucks in her legs so Anshine can pass. The stream of exitors was now a drizzle with smaller conversations peppered throughout the venue. Anshine weaves his way between a handful before Eloise's voice calls to him.

"Will I see you there?" she asks as an afterthought. Anshine pauses for a moment.

"Hopefully," he answers. He feels a smile warm his entire face. "If our paths do cross, you'll finally meet my partner too."

___

"So..." Stratosfear looks up. A tiled mural spanning the outside of the entire town hall stares back. Yellow and red swirling around 2 dancing characters.

"Should we... uh..." his brows furrow. One character is painted with brilliant sunset hues, the other a navy nightsky. The clouds behind them are washed with bright, warm colors that fade to darker reds, purples, and magentas as the scene trails from sunset to twilight. The two characters don't have symbols, or distinct gradients, or anything that could pinpoint them as... well... the two deities staring right at them. Yet the feeling of the art piece...

Not them, but also not not them. Anshine and Stratosfear had stared dumbfounded at it from the moment they arrived in the familiar town.

"I'm not sure what we can do," Anshine smirks before looking to his right, finding Stratosfear's eyes darting between him and the character on the mural.

"It's... uncanny..." Stratosfear comments. "Like. You from another reality, or something."

Anshine chuckles. Stratosfear has a point. The navy character, with their frozen, lissome frame of dance and shy tilt of their head towards the other reminds Anshine a great deal of the boy before him. And Anshine's counterpart, a graceful figure with one arm cradling the other's back, their free hand intertwined with their partner's above them, gave Anshine some sense of deja vu. For a time that happened, sure, but certainly not like what was depicted before them.

"What are you thinking?" Stratosfear asks him.

"Well..." Anshine glances around town, his eyes taken up to the university and it's hills. "I know we were in that blizzard, but it did calm by morning---"

A handful of petals shoots up from below the two and shocks them out of their chat.

"Happy Nichy!!" the child below them cheers before tossing another handful into the air. Anshine recognizes the decorated cone full of petals in the kid's hand as one sold by a vendor nearby. He catches Stratosfear examining a few petals in his cupped hands out of the corner of his eye while he crouches down to the kid.

He's a little stumped on what to say---the only thing he knows about this festival is the forgotten way it began. He just parrots the phrase back as Stratosfear joins the two.

"Do you want this back?" Stratosfear hands the kid a slip of paper. Anshine can't tell what it says from this angle, but the kid's confused and almost annoyed expression tells him that that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Um," the kid hesitantly takes it back before promptly dropping it to the ground again. The three of them stare at it with all the curiosity and confusion of a toddler whose tablet has frozen for the first time.

The mutual stare is broken up by a parent's call followed by the child bolting away with a "COMING!" The kid glances at the two a final time before leaving Anshine and Stratosfear in the dust.

They both look down at the note, not daring to touch it at risk of breaking some unspoken social norm. The paper looks blank other than the fancy orange border. There's tiny, speckled, faint blue dots scattered across the paper. But as it soaks in the snow, the dots begin to grow into blotchy marks that eventually take up the whole slip as if blotted by an invisible watercolor brush. Then, in loopy, orange cursive, a message appears:

Twilight, my shooting star.

The two look from the paper to the mural, then back to the paper.

"That must be from 'me' to 'you'," Anshine reckons, smiling at the blush that blooms across his lover's face.

"It's a wonder they decided to keep your poetship," Stratosfear looks away, bashful.

"Why, thank you," Anshine hums, snaking an arm around the other. Stratosfear exhales a chuckle and leans in close.

The two decide to acquire a petal cone of their own to read out more of the corny messages. For research purposes, of course. The ones with blue borders appeared to be from this "Twilight" character, and the orange-bordered ones were from a character lovingly referred to as only "Sunrise" by the blue-bordered cards. They'd read out a few on their way to the university, marveling at the paper's transitions from speckled white to watercolored blue and orange, then giggling profusely at the over-the-top valentines between the two.

Twilight, my full moon on a dark night.

Yours until the sky falls, Sunrise.

Goodnight, my silver-starred sweet.

Until your clouds glow warm once more, my love.

Anshine favors the last one so much that he attempts to pick the note back up, only to realize the paper had completely disintegrated, leaving only the ink upon the snow, much to the surprise of them both.

"Why write something so beautiful if it's gone so soon?" Stratosfear frowns.

There's remains of an impressive garden in the now full-on campus's entrance but the hills and mountains beyond that flank the university remain as snow-buried and empty as the two remember. They make it past the gate where few of what must be students are walking throughout the property, though most seem to be on their way out.

The campus is decked out as well. Twin pots of poinsettias are present at each doorway with streamers adorning the spaces between buildings. There's even chalk art in front of the dorms; some doodles small and silly while other's span entire squares, not a dot of concrete present on their canvases. There's one square that depicts only Twilight in a dark, cloudy scene with a smidge of warmth over the horizon. Their hands are covering their face in what Anshine can only assume is deep sorrow. That, and a comment next to it that cries "WHYYYYYYYYY" with an absolutely devastated comic character. Even with the funny side-doodle, the piece is still hauntingly beautiful. Anshine wishes there were some way to keep it preserved forever.

Their visit only gets far enough to see the information center doors shut closed for the holidays, though a sign promises to be open overmorrow once the Nychthemeron festival is over.

"We could stay until they open...?" Stratosfear looks at the taller hopefully. Anshine recognizes the glint in his lover's eye that cuts straight into his most nostalgic, cherished memories.

Suddenly he is not a point, but the mortal he once was, holding the Savior's hand and being forced to run if he wanted to catch up.

Anshine smiles down at him, then down to the town that they've barely explored and it's strange, accidental holiday.

"I'd like that."

___

The rest of their evening is spent partaking in the town's festivities that center around the enchanted mimics of the two. The streets are adorned with streamers that cross from post to post in growing and fading warm and cool tones, occasionally interrupted with bursts of poinsettias and large bows that don't flutter, but sway in the wind like banners, their golden embroidered patterns occasionally catching the sunlight. There's petals scattered throughout the streets like fall leaves, only smaller and constantly swept back into the air again and again with the fresh, powdery snow.

Vendors dot the streets with petals in pouches of varying hues and sizes alongside other objects that spark the two's curiosity. Stratosfear marvels over a mechanical clock picturing Sunrise and Twilight; the former chasing the latter in an endless circle of time. The sides of the clock feature hundreds of little cutouts of snowflakes and petals attached to continually rotating pieces of string that create the illusion of the cutouts falling forever. Anshine flips through storybooks, trying to piece together what happened and if there's a distinct point where this story no longer became theirs.

There's themed cotton candy, whipped cream sold with skewers of berries and fruit in the warm-to-cool gradient, hot beverages that smell like spices and flowers, honey-butter buns that appear regular on the outside but reveal twists of colors on the inside. The samples that they do try are delectable, sharing smiles and bites of eachother's treats as they step through the festivities.

When the last of the sunlight leaves the mountains, the two stop and stare at the parade of wheelbarrows piled with dried petals heading for the University grounds, a stream of people following with pouches and cones of their own. It's the most petals the two have ever seen, and they can only hope their gawking expressions don't expose them as outsiders too much.

Of course, they had to stay in the inn they came to on their first visit. They even check the lost and found, only a little disappointed when no sign of their luggage is to be seen.

In the end, the two had some vague idea of how Sunset and Twilight came to be. The modern version of the story went something along the lines of this:

Sunset and Twilight were from the families of the sun and moon. Each night, Sunset would break free and chase after Twilight, but Twilight would always retreat to the comfort of the moon before Sunset could find them. The sun would recapture Sunset the next day, and the moon kept spinning fears to Twilight that the two were no good for eachother.

But then the earth gave the sky (two characters from a completely different tale the town kept) clouds that needed to be painted each night, and Sunset and Twilight were the best for the job. They were allowed one night to paint together, to plan the colors for each dusk and dawn. Sunset explained that they only wanted to learn more about Twilight, and Twilight finally opened up about their fears of what would happen if such warmth loved such coldness. Still, Sunset accepted them and they cherished their only moment together dearly. Now, they send messages to eachother in their painted clouds every dawn and dusk.

Going back farther was much trickier. Though the accounts were varied (maybe even falsified, to Anshine's contempt), the story of the first witness was practically taken as truth.

A hunter who had been missing for over a month prior miraculously returned to town, claiming he was guided home by two deities who were playing in the sky, painting the clouds together. Obviously the hunter's delirious state was most likely what kickstarted the story into something much different. Though Anshine had to admit, it was just about as romantic as the real thing.

"I'm glad something good came from it, at least," Stratosfear peeks over Anshine's shoulder at his book. The two were sitting on the edge of the bed they'd be sharing for the next 2 nights, still in their mortal disguises and already having wrapped the quilt around themselves. Anshine flutters his thumb across the last few pages before shutting the book closed and setting it aside.

"They really do run with their imagination," Anshine chuckles.

"Cut them some slack, the dude saw us flying," Stratosfear laughs, leaning his head against Anshine's shoulder. Anshine runs his hand through the other's hair in return, inciting a yawn from Stratosfear.

"Should we still go at midnight?" Anshine moves his hand down to the others back. "Properly celebrate the holiday?"

Stratosfear fights another yawn. "Of course! I do want to cuddle, though. Just for a bit," the shorter closes his eyes against the taller.

"You say that now..." Anshine tsks, laying them down. Stratosfear shuffles closer, easily fitting in with his head beside Anshine's chest. The taller's arms hold him close, legs tangled, and the sense of completeness is so pleasant that he feels the familiar drags of sleep nip at his mind with each following blink. He could just be here for hours, days...

...but they have a festival to attend.

"Do you like it?" Anshine asks.

"Hm?"

"Being part of their stories."

"Hm..." Stratosfear nods off.

"Good talk."

The two laugh and Stratosfear nuzzles closer. "It's definitely strange," he points out. "Wasn't on Ixol's 'next hundred years' bingo card, I bet."

Anshine chuckles. "It feels like the next logical step, right?"

Stratosfear tilts his head up at that. "What do you mean?"

"Human, immortal, abstraction..." Anshine trails off. "I wonder what we'll be next."

"We," Stratosfear whispers. Anshine can feel the shorter's smile widen against his collarbone. Anshine strokes his thumb against Stratosfear's side, chest warming at the happy sigh he gives him.

"We're so different in all of them. But still us."
Stratosfear's smile wavers, brows creasing. "Mortals and stories have lifespans, though. I guess that's why they'll all always be seperate."

Anshine brings his hand to Stratosfear's. The shorter runs a thumb over the taller's knuckles. Anshine looks down. "Is that a bad thing?"

Stratosfear looks up at him.

Maybe it'd be the sudden pause in the shorter's aimless strokes against Anshine's hand that would be to blame for the pit in Anshine's core. Or the fact that Stratosfear wouldn't look at him for the rest of their conversation that night.

It could've been the next morning, when Stratosfear would show a split-second hesitance to take Anshine's hand as they would make their way up the hill. Stratosfear would glance at the petals below them like they were specks of blood leading to a carcass.

Maybe it would be when Anshine would catch Stratosfear's eyes on the scene of thousands, maybe millions of petals billowing down the hills. Not a look of awe, but something horrowing. He'd make a whispy noise from his throat, and Anshine would ask if he was alright, and Stratosfear would nod with his eyes stuck on the scene, glistening with tears as Anshine hugged him close.

Or perhaps it would be when the two would run into Eloise and Stratosfear would only nod and smile when spoken to. He would spend the rest of the interaction with his eyes on the ground, darting side to side like he was trying to figure something out. Constantly looking around him as if the scenery wasn't what he expected.

Maybe it was nothing, Anshine would think at the end of the day when the two returned to the inn and would end up sprawled over one another in comfortable closeness for just one more night. How could anything possibly be out of place with his love in his arms?

But it was in the present, with Stratosfear's look of puzzlement staring deep into Anshine's mortal eyes with utter silence that would, for the first time in centuries, leave Anshine completely clueless as to what thoughts were flying through his lover's head.

___

When Anshine wakes up in the middle of the following night, Stratosfear isn't beside him.