Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

-19 years earlier-
He was in love with a boy.
It was wrong but-
“Just because its wrong, doesn’t mean it can’t be yours”
The words sent a shiver of pure terror and delight down his spine.
“Just because it’s wrong, doesn’t mean it can’t be ours.”
Ours.
He had truly said it, ours.
Xean smiled to himself, alone in his bed, the quiet cocooning him in his thoughts. In his thoughts of him. His eyes, how they lit up like slivers of moonlight. His vitaligo, the way it splashed across his skin, the spot around his left eye. His hair falling around his eyes, the perfect black-brown mix. Everything about him felt contraband, it all felt like something he couldn’t have.
And he couldn’t, until now.
Until, “Doesn’t mean it can’t be yours.”
Until, “Doesn’t mean it can’t be ours”
His stupid grin grew bigger. Of course it did. What did you expect? No one could see him now, no one could judge him, no one could tell him he was wrong, he was twisted, he was stupid. He was alone. He always felt safest alone, but never happiest.
He was his happiest with him.
He was his happiest with “Be yours”
With “Be ours”
Ours.
The word alone made warmth bloom inside of Xean’s chest and made his cheeks flush. It was a pleasant, flustered feeling, one he felt too often, but not often enough at the exact same time.
Xean wanted so bad to kiss him, to hold his face in his hands, to run his hands through his hair.
Oh, he wanted it so bad.
Too bad, some might say, but who cares. It was wrong anyway.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the desire, but it was still there, clinging to his hair.
Clinging to his brain, his skin.
He couldn’t tell if it was a threat.
If it was a curse.
If it was something dangerous, something to be ashamed of.
It vary well may be.
Whatever it was, no one would know, only him and Xean. Xean got up, ran a hand through his short brown hair, unconsciously trying to dislodge the desire. His feet made it to the mirror, and he stared at himself, stared at this boy who loved another boy.
He wished he didn’t.

-Present day-

Xean wished he had never learned fire. Wish he had never used it, wished he had never attempted it. He was what, 36? And here he was, wishing for the same things he had for years.
Typical him, afraid of the past, more afraid of the future, and oh-so terrified of the present. The present was when you screw things up, after all. He was good at that, he thought as he combed his messy brown hair, good at screwing things up. He put the comb down, good at hurting people. He picked up the golden rose he always tucked behind his ear, an Osiria, a symbol more than anything. A symbol of him, of his power, of his nonexistent divinity. He fixed the rose in place, staring at his reflection for too long. Brown hair, light brown skin, red-brown eyes, gold hanging off every limb. It flashed on bengals, around his neck, on his ear, on his fingers, in his hair. His robe was white and slightly off shoulder, with gold buttons and flame red patterns across the bottom and sleeves.
Xean’s eyes found the rose once more, the gold glinting in the faint morning sunlight.
Big windows encompassed the room, with white sheer curtains and dark wood paneling. The room itself had a canopy bed with vivid red blankets and dark wood posts, hung with the same sheer curtains and shimmering with gold stars. Next to it was a wood table, on it a red table clothe and a single glass of water that had been there since last week. It was still full, actually. Across the room, his desk was pushed up against on of the large windows, the green-yellow tinted light pouring onto the scattered drawing across the desk. And across from the doorway was the vanity, where Xean was now.
He looked at himself once more, and fought the bile that rose to his throat.
What kind of man had a vanity?
Xean turned away.
What kind of man had a rose in his hair?
Xean opened his wooden door, and stepped into the lavash hallway decorated with dark wood, red cloth, and gold. It felt fake. He wanted to burn it.
Burn it
Burn it.
Burn.
Burn.
Burn him.
Burnt him.
Burned his face.
His hands.
Blood on the rose, fire on his face, both in the grass.
Xean almost choked up.
What kind of man hurt the one he loved?

Chapter Text

-present day-
Xean was used to the long, decorated halls of his palace. He was used to the red silks and glittering gold and polished wood. He was used to the sound his shoes made, clicking down the hallways.
He was also used to that stomach dropping feeling of dread.
It came to him far too often, in the most wretched of ways.
It came to him courtesy of his sister, Xeas.
He hated Xeas. He really did.
But it was not in that complete, full body way you might think, the way that sets your whole body on fire and makes you want to scream. Rather, it was an ache. Like you were holding hot coals in your hands, but couldn’t drop them. So they just kept burning you. Over and over and over. It was a deep seated loathing, a single flame sheltered by his rib cage.
It had only festered as time wore on, like catching on dry wood.
He loathed Xeas, and didn’t know why.
Maybe it was because they had once been close.
Maybe it was because she had forced him to stay when he didn’t want too.
Maybe it was because she never let go.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of Him.
Oh.
Something told him it was so much more than that.
Something also told him he had arrived at his destination.
The library.
He opened the large wooden doors, faintly carved with a swirling pattern, and stepped into the universe behind the doors.
This was Xeas’ universe, and he knew it. It was one of the few rooms she had been allowed to design and it contrasted barbarically with the rest of his palace. The dark oak had been replaced by birch and cherrywood, with thick fuzzy rugs in each section. They had a lime green and white zig zag pattern that Xean couldn’t care less for even if he tried. She had replaced the red silks with greens, from matching lime greens to bright grass. Finally, she had gotten rid of the gold. All of it. She used ivory and silver polished to galore instead. Lamps with ivory stands carved in swirls, tables with intricate patterns etched in birch, and bookshelves full to bursting.
It was all so Xeas.
And he hated it.
Still he walked forward, and his eye caught on a book.
It lay spine up on the central table, and was surrounded by Xeas’ other junk.
Xean knew that the book on the table was Xeas’ book, but he opened it anyway. Read the first page anyway.
A Beast with a Golden Heart, it was a classic fairy tale about a ruselka named Eve, and a prince named Adam.

-17 years earlier-
Xean smiled at Him, eyes glowing in that way that said everything words couldn’t.
But He wasn’t looking at Xean, He was looking at Xeas.
She was saying something about a book she had read, about some stupid Ruselka and an even stupider prince.
He looked enthralled by the story and Xean knew He was gonna draw the characters later. He always drew characters he loved, and he always drew beautifully. Xean wasn’t jealous of his drawings, but he was jealous of Xeas. Xean wasn’t jealous of how she could entertain Him, but Xean wasn’t good enough?

He hated that. Xean hated how Xeas could speak so well, Xean hated how people enjoyed her voice.
He took a breath and continued eating his lamb and bread, listening to Xeas. Listening to all the stories he could not tell.

“Xean?”
Xean turned around to find Him standing there, nervously chewing the inside of his mouth.
“Yeah?” His voice sounded to harsh, “Sorry, yes?”
“ I-“ He ducked his head, “Never mind I’m fine, thanks for having me over for dinner.” And He was gone, leaving Xean with all the words he didn’t know how to say.

“X?” Xeas’ voice was curious, testing, like she wasn’t sure it would be safe for her words.
“What? Can’t you see I’m reading?” Xean snapped.
“ Oooh, what book?”
Xean hated the eagerness in her voice, the way she sounded like he would actually give her a chance. He wanted to crush that chance in the palm of his hand and burn it to ash. Wanted to burn the book in his hand to ash.
“ None of your business. What the fuck do you want?”
“ I-“ her face fell as she took in the words, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you too it.”
And she was gone, leaving Xean with that charred chance, that burned opportunity.

It was late, too late, and Xean was reading in his bed, the gray wool blanket wrinkled under him. He was reading Xeas’ book, the one about the stupid ruselka and the stupidier prince.
He really liked it.
A Beast with a Golden Heart.
He wondered why he liked it so much.
He wondered what He was doing.
He wondered what Xeas was doing.
He wondered why he seemed to push everyone away.

Chapter Text

-present day-
Xean was holding her book, smiling at it like it was his, like it was his memory.
It wasn’t.
It was Xeas’.
In an unironic way, it was all that she had of her old life, before she followed Xean to a world outside.
She shouldn’t have gone with him.
She shouldn’t have thought faimily ment anything.
She should have stayed.
But she hadn’t, and she was here now, and Xean had her book.
She wanted it back.
Silently, she prayed to dead immortals, don’t let him be upset with me. Please.
And she walked out from behind the bookshelf. It was one of the eight in the library. Four of them made a square around her desk in the center of the library. The other four were the walls, and these bookshelves extended to the high domed ceiling. Sunlight filtered through in shafts, illuminating the dust that floated through the air and shining on the spines of ancient books.
He saw her move.
“Xeas. We had something today right?”
Xeas’ voice was quiet, filled with fake confidence, “Yes, umm, the meeting with Adelaide.”
“We do. Come on. Don’t be late.” And he was gone, her book slammed shut on her table, in her library, in her home.
But she followed him nonetheless, listened to him nonetheless, and cared about him nonetheless.
The walk was silent. What would they say?
‘I’m sorry’? For what? She would rather have comfortable silence. As long as Xean wasn’t mad she’d be fine.
It felt like an eternity until they reached the meeting room. It was like the rest of the building, decked out in gold, red, and dark oak. She hated the red everywhere, hated how every time she turned she saw spilled blood. The gold was garish and gaudy, and she was sick of the dark wood. The maps thrown up across the room looked out of place.
She had tried to voice this to Xean, but he wouldn’t listen.
He hadn’t since they left Nowy Rzeka.
She and Xean sat across from each other at a long wood table. Adelaide was already there. She was a gorgeous centaur with the lower body of a deer and one small antler peaking from her long black hair. Her eyes hid behind silver, a half mask covering the right side of her face. She had a loose green cover up with short sleeves on, but bandages peeked out from around her stomach and they curled around her arms and legs like gauntlets. Xeas had never seen Adelaide without her bandages.
“You two came. Thank the Immortals. I have news.” Adelaide had a light accent that stood as a reminder of all the years away from her home. She had come from a tribe of far northern centaurs, a people loved by the Immortals. Adelaide though, was not. She had been cast out for a reason Xeas didn’t know.
Nonetheless she began, “Thank you Adel-“
“You both know this is not the time. News?” Xean’s voice was sharp, rude.
Adelaide glared at him before exchanging a glance with Xeas.
At first Xeas didn’t know what she was doing, until it clicked.
Adelaide was asking her permission. The thought gave her butterflies as she nodded at Adelaide and she began. Adelaide stared straight at Xean as she spoke, “The capital no longer worships your name, Xean.”

Chapter Text

-present day-
Eirean’s head was blurry as he woke up from the night before. Faintly he remembered what happened, but he chose to leave those details for Future Eirean to figure out.
Slowly, lazily almost, like he had no tomorrow (which, to be fair, he probably didn't), he got out of bed. He pulled on a shirt and meandered his way to the bathroom.
Closed his eyes, deep breath, another step.
He braced himself for the worst part of everyday.
Every fucking day.
Then he opened his eyes.
There was a split, maybe quartered second of recognition.
Then he flinched, and the reflection cringed away from him as well. Like it too couldn’t bear what it saw.
What he saw was, to put it planely, fucking disgusting. Straight up terrifying, in a way. There was his right half of his face, eye covered by floppy brown hair, skin pale and sick.
Then there was another side.
The left side.
The skin there (if it could be called by that word, ‘skin’) was the color of charcoal and ash and burnt wood. It was twisted and raw and crusted. Dark vermillion hid under the dark, scarred flesh and it still looked like it was caked with crusted blood and mud no matter how many times Eirean had washed his face.
He had no eye.
He had scooped the useless thing out himself to distract himself from all the pain, years ago.
He still remembered the feeling, the consistency on his battered hands, how morbid staring at your own eye was, how he had turned the eye around in his hand, savoring the distraction. The eye felt like jello, and it lost its form after only a minute. The back of it had blood engraved into it, and the thought of his iris melting away made Eirean sick.
The eye had slipped in Eirean’s hand, falling with a sickly cheerful ‘plop!’ As it hit the ground.
Dirt stuck to the surface of it, but the brown iris stared up at him. It was gooey and sticky and bloody, and a little gray from being cooked, but it was his eye. And it watched him.
Eirean had screamed and ground the thing into the dirt with his boot, spasming in disgust at the squelch his eye made. Milky liquid squirted out and around the forest floor, and Eirean had shrieked.
He had just ground his own EYE into the ground with his boot.
He threw the boots away the second he was away from the eye and the dirt and the squelching.
So here he was now, a cyclops.
Eirean blinked, and the eyeless socket twitched. He jumped. It twitched. He reached for his face to rub his eye, only to realize too late there was none, and his fist rested in a burnt socket. He trembled but forced his hand to run along the scarred ‘flesh’.
This is what you are. This is what you deserve.
It was textured with ridges and ravines, parts of the destroyed skin crested like waves. Bits of it flaked off as he ran his hand along it. He hated the feeling, hated this crusty, jagged, textured desert-scape on his face. Hated his eye. Hated his eye socket. Hated his face. Hated his body. Hated his job. Hated himself, really.
He hated himself so much.
There was only one person who he would ever hate more.
Slowly he drew the hand away from his face.

Chapter Text

-present day-
Xean stared at her.
One second, two.
Three and four.
There’s five.
Here’s six seconds, but Xean still didn’t really grasp what she had said.
No longer worships..?
“Xean they are slandering your name in the streets.”
.
.
.
“Xean it’s a rebellion.”
.
Oh.
Oh fucking shit.
Oh holy Sybol and Eric.
“ Xean do you hear me? They are cursing you. Xean they are rebelling against you.”
He knew that.
He fucking knew that.
Why the fuck did she keep repeating that?
Is she stupid?
He felt the cinders in his gut catch, felt heat in his throat. The threat of fire.
He swallowed it and his cutting words like a sword. At least tried to.
“Xean. Are you here?”
The fire climbed back up his throat, charring his tongue, silencing him. His eyes locked onto Adelaide, burning holes into her silver mask.
Still, he held onto that control.
“Xean do you understand her?”
Xeas.
Xean could handle Adelaide, her stupidity and lack of control he could handle.
But Xeas.
But Xeas.
Xeas was not something he could ‘handle’.
Xeas was something to hurt.
The fire burning his tongue went out all at once.
It sent itself into the air, infesting it with that same burning heat. The particles were charged with that energy, excited by that promise of fire. They danced in Xean’s ears, “rebellion!” they laughed. The buzzing rose up around Xean like a vine, strangling him, trapping him.
His eyes locked onto Xeas, and the whispers seemed to scream. Scream. Scream.
He remembered the last time he had heard a scream like that, and suddenly it wasn’t Xeas’ face he was staring at.
There wasn’t a table infront of them, there was a rose.
Blood on the rose, fire on his face, both in the grass. The air screamed. He screamed. The fire screamed.
Xean whispered.
“Not the screaming. Please not again.”
And then he doused every fire with the only water powerful enough to do the job: regret and self loathing.
Xean would realize later that Xeas would have end up mutilated and dead if he hadn’t doused the fire in his veins. He would not remember how close he had been to hurting her. And he would forget her fearful eyes. Scratch that, Xean would have never noticed her fearful eyes.
Xeas though, would never forget that fear. She would never forget the way the air heated up, and she would never forget the way Adelaide grabbed her hand.

Chapter Text

-present day-
Xeas watches Xean walk out of the room, watches him command Adelaide to send him the details of the rebellion, and watches him leave. 
Leave.
Like nothing had happened.
Just walk out, while the heat, the magic, was still woven into the air, begging to be used. She felt it, straining her vision. 
She hadn’t known he was powerful enough to summon this much magic. She hadn’t known he could do it so easily. She wished she didn’t know.
But she did know, and she couldn’t ignore the raw power in the air. She had to work quickly before the magic dissipated, and she pulled her two daggers out of her belt. She began the enchantment process by laying them both on the table and calling the magic with the word “ Tutaj”
She felt the magic pull to attention, felt it strengthening in a wall around her.
Quietly, she whispered to the magic, telling it how everything was fine, telling it how it would be safer with Xeas than it would be floating around.
The magic didn’t respond. 
The magic didn’t believe her, and the wall weakened.
The magic wanted truth, not the empty comfort Xeas craved.
So Xeas whispered truths, “Xean is a threat,”  She muttered, “I’m scared.”
The magic went taut like a string, and she felt it, muttering, “I’m scared of Xean.”
The magic finally responded, and all at once it was gone. Zapped from the air in a sudden breath.
Xeas breathed, then reached for her dual daggers.
A quick sensation like the breath being knocked out of her and tinge in her finger tips told Xeas it had worked. She had bonded the magic to her knives. She smiled to herself, what a bad sister you are Xeas, she thought.
“Thank you.” She breathed to the magic, before turning to Adelaide, who had been rummaging around in her leather messenger bag “Thank you too. Are you okay?”
Adelaide turned to Xeas, as if puzzled, “Am I okay? Xeas, are you okay? Your brother-“
“I’m fine, I’m always fine.” It sounded exasperated, but that was better than sounding like the lie it was.
“No, no. Your brother could have killed you Xeas. And you’re just gonna act like that never happened? Xeas I will not-“
“Shut up.” Xeas tightened her grip around the daggers she was putting away,
“I,” she broke off, “Your right. I’m sorry Xeas. I just,” Adelaide paused, as if rewording what she was to say, “ I think you deserve better.”
Silence.
Adelaide slowly, carefully, closed the gap between her and Xeas.
“ I don’t want him to accidentally hurt you Xeas, you don’t deserve his mistreatment.”
Xeas starred into the stars engraved under the eye holes of Adelaide’s mask, willing her to continue. Adelaide did, after taking Xeas’ hand in hers.
“You deserve a brother who will love you. Not one that will hurt you.”
Xeas stood there once more, and dropped Adelaide’s hands.
“Xean will be upset if you don’t give him the report.”
And she left, knowing she deserved nothing.

Chapter Text

-present day-
Adelaide breathed out a curse as the door closed behind Xeas. Xeas could be so shallow sometimes, so stupid.
So blind, to put it in simpler terms.
Blind to Xean’s mistreatment, and blinder still to Adelaide’s attempted comforts.
Adelaide packed her bag quickly, stowing the two maps and the hour glass she had spread on the table.
Then she left the hall too, like Xean and Xeas before her.
Dinner was on her mind, and she pondered what to cook as she passed by the palace.
~~~
The unnatural heat was still heavy in the air of the hall, and though its magic was gone, it remained. The heat had lit something, triggered something, lit something’s fuse.
It had begun a train reaction.
The seed had been planted, the match lit, the glass cracked.
They didn’t know then, they would probably never know.
They would be oblivious for the rest of their short lives, that they had just passed the point of no return.
They had finally done it.
They had just commenced the Fall of the House of the Osirian Immortals.

Chapter Text

-19 years ago-
He and Xean were lying together in the field as the sun set. They were lying together when the streaks of color chased the sun below the horizon. They were lying together when a cool breeze blew through the grass and the stars twinkled to existence.
They were just talking, really nothing special.
It was like every other night, really.
The two fell into a lull of conversation, and the sounds of the night happily took over the silence. Xean looked over at Him, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
“Hey, Erie?”
“Yeah, Xean?”
“Can I have your hand?”
Erie gave him the barest of nods, and Xean reached over to gently hold Erie’s right hand. Xean pointed it up at the stars, a bright one outshining the others. He turned back to Erie, his eyes gleaming like they had stolen the very stars above them.
“You see the stars?”
“Yeah.”
“You remind me of them.”
“Really?” Erie let his hand drop, and turned over to better see Xean. Erie’s breath caught. Xean’s wild brown hair was tousled in a just-about-perfect way, and the moonlight caressed his face like it knew him personally. His eyes shone like galaxies, worlds orbiting themselves. Shadows were cast across half of his face, like they were jealous of the moonlight. Like they wanted a piece of Xean too.
Gosh, he was beautiful.
“Yes.” Xean whispered almost to himself, before turning away to gaze at the night sky, “You remind me of the way the moon shines. You remind me of the glimmers of light smeared across the sky. You remind me of the lightning bugs dancing in the trees, you remind me of the planets and the stars and the moon. You remind me of a rose. A rose with huge thorns and beautiful leaves that climbs around crumbling pillars. You remind me of rose vines taking over a house, stealing brick and stone. You remind me of a rose, of the petals, of the perfection. You remind me of the way the leaves fall in autumn. You remind me of fruit. Sweet fruit, fruit that tastes like honey and love and blood. You remind me of the woods, beautiful, hidden, secret. You remind me of the stars though, mostly. And the moon too.”
He turned back to Erie, concern not lessening his beauty.
“Was that too much?” Xean’s voice is cautions, scared.
“No.”
Eirean doesn’t tell Xean how he looks divine. How Xean reminds him of water falls with their beautiful arks and swift currents. He doesnt tell Xean how he reminds him of rain clouds and bees. Doesn’t tell Xean that, no, it would never be too much. That Erie would never have too much of Xean. How Xean was so much more than he deserved.
“No.” Eirean repeats, “Never.”
A cool breeze slices through the grasses, and Xean shivers. Erie wants nothing more than to steal the cold from him, to steal everything pain and displeasure from him until he was eternally happy. But he couldn’t do that, so instead he gave him warmth.
He shifts closer to Xean, pulling his knees closer to his chest. Xeans looking at him with those eyes. Those eyes that make Erie’s cheeks flush and his heart flutter.
“The stars.” Erie whispers, “Do they remind you of me?”
“No, they are not important, not as you are.”
A moment, those eyes.
“They are not beautiful, not as you are.”
Erie tenses, looking at Xean with wide eyes. Someone so perfect calling him beautiful sounded like a cruel joke. “I am not beautiful.”
Xean tilts his head. He barely breaths, “You are to me.”
A lone owl calls, but neither of them move. They barely blink. They are too busy drinking eachother in.
Xean shifts onto his side, just slightly closer to Erie, and reaches out.
Erie sucked in his breath, eyes hunting that hand. His skin craved to be touched.
It almost got its wish, before the hand stopped.
Erie made a questioning sound, eyes locking with Xean’s.
“I-“ He looked away. Erie missed his beautiful eyes, “Can I?”
Yes. Erie thought fervently. Yes. Xean could have every essence of Erie’s being, his bone, his blood, his sinew, even his magic. His eyes, his skin, his mouth, all Xean’s.
Yes. Yes, forever, and ever.
“Yes.”
And the hand moves, cautiously, unsure, like it’s scared it will mess up. Erie’s skin crackles where his hand meets it. Xean’s hand is holding Erie’s face, like his face is worth something. Like Erie is worth something.
Maybe I am, a delusional part of Erie thinks, maybe I do mean something.
“You are so beautiful.” Xean mutters, almost to himself. His finger traces the patch of vitaligo across Erie’s eye, “If only you saw it. If only you saw yourself how I see you.”
“And,” Erie whispers, terrified of the desire overwhelming him, “if I did, see myself how you see me, how would I look?”
“Perfect.”
Xean’s hand falls, and just caresses the lower side of Erie’s face.
Erie watches him, and his heart bleeds.
Xean looks so happy. There’s no big smile, or loud laughter, but you can tell. It’s in the his eyes sparkle with wonder. It’s in the way his lips are just so parted, as if ready to recite poetry. It’s in the way he leans forward, like it’s all he ever wanted. It’s in the way his hand holds Erie’s face, like it’s worth something.
Erie lets out a shaky breath as Xean’s hand cautiously flutters up to Erie’s messy hair, and he tucks a strand of it behind Erie’s ear.
Erie doesn’t know what changes, but the hand freezes there.
It’s like a physical blow to Erie.
His eyes reach up to Xean’s, and they search for what’s changed, sifting through it fearfully.
He sees it then, starkly, the sadness in Xean’s features. The wonder is still in his eyes, but it is blanketed by agony. His lips are still parted, but as if he had been crying. He still leans forward, but Erie can hear his breathing, can see his desperation.
It is then Erie realizes Xean is just as beautiful in sorrow as he is in joy.
It is then that hand withdrawals from Erie’s face, and Xean leans away.
No.
No.
Erie feels the panic, the terror rising up in him, like it had been waiting for this moment. The way every muscle tensed, the way his eyes widened, the desperation shining in them, spilling down his face, lit my moonlight. He was so cold, so alone and empty.
No.
Xean had said he was beautiful.
No.
Distantly, his lungs screamed for air, but all Erie heard was the silence between them.
No.
He finally took in a breath, it was ragged and desperate and hopeless. He needed Xean.
Why was Xean leaving him?
Erie was so, so cold.
“Please.” It came out so broken Erie would have winced, had he not been frozen.
Xean didn’t come back. He sat up in the grass, his own desperation apparent by the twitchy set of his movements. He looked around at the grass and the night like he thought they were surrounded by people. Like they were being watched.
Erie felt himself force a frozen body to move, to sit up, to turn towards Xean.
Xean locked eyes with him, and all Erie saw was terror.
“Th-this is wrong, I-I have to go-anywhere-somewhere-just-“
He hung his head breaking their eye contact.
“I am sorry.”
“XEAN!” Erie is surprised by the loudness in his voice, the force behind it, the driving desperation and fear. He reaches a trembling, frozen hand out towards Xean, like he could hold him here forever.
He just grazes Xean’s arm, but the touch breaks him. Xean’s head snaps toward Erie, and his piercing, broken gaze is haunting. Xean’s body goes weak and fears begin to leak out of his eyes, lit by the star shine. They wet the grass, and the dirt, and his perfect face.
“This-I-this is wrong.” Xean sobs, “I am wrong.” His breath catches, ragged, “I… I… I am unholy. This is wrong.”
Erie just stares at him with those owl eyes, those eyes that had seen his parents bloodshed, his own bloodshed, and witnessed countless things he never should have. Yet, this was the worst one of them all.
“No. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
Xean’s eyes glow, and the tears keep slipping out, over Erie’s hand, down, down, down, back to the ground.
He’s trembling, Erie realizes.
“Just because it’s wrong, doesn’t mean it can’t be yours.” He whispers to Xean, “Doesn’t mean I can’t be yours, Just because it’s wrong, doesn’t mean it can’t be ours.”
There is something so intimate about the swoop of Xean’s jaw, something so captivating about the curve of his nose. Something so stunning in his distress.
“Really? You’d be mine, even-” His voice catches on a sharp hook, and it bleeds.
“Yes, forever.”
“I-“ Xean swallows, and looks away. Erie doesn’t notice how close he had leaned in. All he noticed is that when Xean’s eyes return to him, there is reverence in them.
Erie doesn’t know if he is the god being worshiped, as only an immortal deserves to be looked upon that way.
The moonlight is still dancing on his face, the shadows still jealously covering it too, the stars still blessing him with their love when he asks, in a small, quiet voice, “C-can you hug me?”
And Erie does, he wraps his arms around Xean like he could hold the broken pieces together. Like if he squeezed hard enough, Xean would glue himself back together.
Erie smiled to himself as he held Xean, knowing he was the envy of the moon, the shadows, and even the stars.

Chapter Text

-present day-
‘They are called the Osiria Syndicate’
Xean reread this line over and over again. How could he not?
How could he have been so terrible that people had defaced his statues?
What had he done that was that bad?
He was a hero, not a villain. He had never done anything wrong.
But here he was lying on his bed, a crumpled list in his hand. It was the list Adelaide had slipped under his door, and on it was everything she knew about the rebellion. It really wasn’t much, just 11 bullets on which temples they defaced, symbols of the rebellion, propaganda they used, yadda yadda yadda.
It was all useless.
They’re were no names, no locations, nothing useful.
Of course they’re wasn’t.
Of course there was nothing Xean could burn other than the words on his tounge.
The words tasted like ash.
He reread that first line again, ‘They are called the Osiria Syndicate’.
The gods must be laughing at him now. He really must be a joke.
Osirias has been Erie’s favorite rose. They had been his favorite flower.
The memory of Erie haunted Xean, like the heat that cling to Xean’s skin.
-16 years ago-
Xean was lying on his bed, on his back with one arm thrown behind his head as he read. He was reading that stupid book about the ruselka and the prince, a second time. He didn’t know what was so interesting about it, but he was drawn to the work. Meanwhile, Erie was lying on his stomach on the floor, happily sketching. Out of the corner of Xean’s eye he saw a flower begin to take form, it was vague but familiar.
As Erie continued to draw, Xean saw lilies and vines. A second later, he recognized roses.
Xean sat up, yawning and Erie flicked a glance towards him before returning to his drawing.
“Hey?”
Erie looked up at him, a small smile on his lips, “Hey, X”
Xean’s heart fluttered at the nickname, “What’s your favorite flower?”
Erie thought, pausing his drawing, before he said, “Roses, I love roses. Osiria roses, specifically.”
-present day-
Osiria.
Xean’s mind fixated on that word, what it meant then, what it meant now. Then it had meant Erie, the boy he loved. Now it meant people wanting him dead. Strange, how time could change he things.
It didn’t matter though.
Nothing did.

Chapter Text

-present day-
Xean reread the list in his hand one more time, before he pulled himself out of bed and walked over to open the dark vermilion curtains. He didn’t know what he expected. Darkness, maybe? Definitely not the streaming sunlight that flooded into his room. He blinked at the unexpected brightness.
How long had he reread that list?
Am I stupid?
How long, in the name of Eric and Sybol, had he reread that list?
He reached up to his eyes to rub the sleep away, but instead he felt warm metal. Confused, he reached out and pulled it outof his hair. It took him embarrassingly long to finally regonginse what it was.
His osiria rose.
He had slept with it in?
Xean distantly noticed the necklaces and bracelets he wore.
Had he slept in those too?
Gods, had he even slept?
He stared at the gold osiria rose in his hand, and it caught on him like dry tinder.
The Osiria Syndicate.
He was on fire, he was burning, burning.
He dropped the rose and stumbled to the vanity, eyes widening at teh mess he saw.
He wore all his jewlery. His robe was wrinkled, and no longer the picture of superiority. It looked like he was cosplaying gods.
No, no, no.
He was gods.
No, no, no.
He was not pretending, he was not lying.
He was not weak.
No.
No.
No.
He was Xean. He was a living god. He was the alchemist of flame. He-
He glanced toward the discarded rose on the floor.
Gods, gods he was burning himself.
The jewlery on his wrists weighed to much, but he couldn’t take it off, and he couldn’t look at the rose on the floor or the mess in the mirror so he closed his eyes. But his mind was a liar. It showed him Erie.
He opened his eyes, he would rather look at himself then the face of the one he failed.
Blood on his hands, fire on the rose, both in the grass.
Xean’s knees weakened, and he felt flames consume him too.
Water. He needed to drown. Drown the heat, not himself. Maybe himself.
Water.

Chapter Text

Xeas was scared. She didn't often admit that to herself.
But she did today. 
Xeas was scared becasue Xean was scared, and she wasn't(was) scared of him. Xeas was scared because Xean was so powerful, and so strong, and somehow scared. Well, Xean hadn't told Xeas he was scared.
He never would.
But he had stayed in his room for two days, and when he finally came out, he hadnt even bothered to yell at Xeas. Just asked her to schedule another meeting with  Adelaide. Asked.
That was new.
Then he started practiceing his fire. This wasn't new, but he was practicing with a new intensity. Normally he was mid at best, but today huge columns of flame grew out of his fingers, finding their way exectly where Xean had aimed them. It was impressing and terrifying and unsettling all at once. It was like a star fearing its place in the sky.
But the thing that really proved Xeas’ point, the thing that really sealed her fate, was the rose in his hair.
Rather, the absence of the rose in his hair. The rose he wore everyday since running away and buying it, was gone.
Xeas tried to think of other things as she buried her nose in ancient fables and tales, but it occupied her head like an enemy. Profusely and constantly.
No matter what book she read, what tale she learned of, or what technique she read of, the memories haunted her.
Until she had to ask.
They say curiosity killed the cat, but it was much more likely the lack of self preservation killed the cat. Cats are not stupid, but they are smarter than humans. They know they don’t matter, so they can risk everything without batting a wisker. Xeas thought of her as the self-devaluing cat as she walked towards the court yard. Here she was, prepared to die for ill-fated curiosity that haunted the halls of her mind.
She didn’t realize she was there until the smell of burning filled her nostrils. Immediately on edge, she looked over at Xean, and saw nothing but rage and fire and power.
And maybe, somewhere, someone scared and all alone

Chapter Text

“Xean?”
Her voice grated on his ears like nails on a chalkboard, but he was too tired to care. He had been summoning fire for a day and a half now, and eveytime he did it the magic stole from him. In this case it stole his energy.
“Yes, Xeas?”
She looked unsure, her green eyes darting back and forth like scared moths.
“I was wondering, why did you stop wearing your rose?”
Xean swore on his life his heart genuinely missed a beat. Missed multiple actually. Like four, bordering on five.
Why did you stop wearing your rose.
Because it was on the ground in his room. Because it had fallen on the floor and out of his hair. Because it was its gold shined with too many memories. Because it was forged with ripped heartstrings and thoughts of someone who was long gone. Because he couldn’t look at it without his knees buckling and his eyes raining. Because he was to weak to man up and just throw the damn thing away. Because he was too weak to pick it up. Because he was too scared of breaking the last semblance of normality he had. Because it was on the ground in his room in a puddle of tears surrounded by burned wood and a bloodied knife.
“Because it was ugly.”
Xeas’ crestfallen eyes cut his already bleeding heart into strips.
“Are you sure Xean? You wore it for years, I-“
“I told you, it’s ugly.”
Maybe if they were other siblings they would joke. Make a jab at how Xean never had any style to begin with or laugh at how Xeas gawked at him.
But they were not other siblings.
They were Xean and Xeas, the Twins of the Immortals, the Saviors of the Great Plagues, and they were broken at best.
Xeas sighed, and turned away, her crestfallen eyes falling away at long last, “You were right. I’m sorry for questioning you.”
And Xeas turned away.
It had been what Xean had always wanted, always hoped would happen. He had prayed for Xeas to leave him alone.
But here he was. Fighting back tears because his sister, his sister, had just turned away from him.
He had finally pushed that final person away.
Yay.
He was really alone.
But for the two seconds that he was alone he hated it.
“Xeas!” It came out rawer, more desperate than he had tried for. He didn’t care. He just wanted Xeas not to leave him.
She didn’t leave him, of course she never would. Because she didn’t have anyone else either.
“Yes, Xean?” He hated the pitch of her voice, but it was better than the unholy silence without it.
“Do-do you remember Erie?”
He hated how open he was being to her. How she could rip the strands of his already cut up heart so easily.
It took a second, and in that second Xean could have sworn she was done with him before she responded, “Oh! I do! Erie! What-if you don’t mind me asking, what about Erie..?”
I was in love with him, “Nothing, he’s just been… On my mind, I guess.”
“Oh. I miss him.”
Xean couldn’t believe he was telling her so much, “I miss him so much. He’s-he’s why I took the rose out of my-my hair. It reminded me of him.”
“Oh. Oh he did love roses, I remember. You and him went to a rose festival for Valentine’s Day, right? He told me about it.”
“Yeah, yeah. We-he and I went to the festival together for Valentine’s Day the year you and I left.”
The year they really stopped being family and started being coworkers.
“What was it like?”
And Xean talked to Xeas like they were siblings, and Xeas responded like she wasn’t afraid.

Chapter Text

Xeas didn’t remember the last time she and Xean had talked together like siblings. Perhaps that was a blessing more than a curse. Perhaps she was glad she didn’t recall the last time they had laughed together. All she remembered is that they had laughed, once.
And they had done so again today.
They had been siblings again.
They had been happy, and unafraid, and perfect.
She wished it had never ended. She wished he would stay her brother, she wished it with every fiber in her being.
But it had gotten late, and he had gotten tired and they had left each other again and now they were gone again. Gone, empty, hollow siblings.
She almost wanted to forget it, forget the taste at faimily she had just been granted. Because it hurt. It hurt because it proved Xean could be loving. It proved he could laugh and smile and joke with her. It proved he could be a good brother.
It proved that he chose not to be.
It proved he could be kind to her, but that he chose not too.
So were the thoughts of Xeas Ambrose as she sat all alone in her library surrounded by books. Books were her real family, if you really thought about it. Books didnt hurt you, books didn’t yell or scream. And if you had to go somewhere, books could come with you. Books didn’t refuse, didn’t disown you for wanting something new, disown you for staying with your brother.
Books were just books.
They were world she could hide in. They were universes she could explore and times she could adventure. They were characters she knew, choices she could count on, dialogue she could memorize. They were plots she understood, with risks she could measure, and outcomes she didn’t need to guess.
They were books.
They were easy, and understandable, and beautiful and poetic.
Life wasn’t like that.
Life was having no where to hide, and no one to explore with. Life was being betrayed and lied to and hurt. Life was betraying and lying and hurting. Life was watching yourself become less and less until you were just a name and a title. Life was risks she couldn’t calculate and consequences she couldn’t control.
Life was people she didn’t understand. So she tried, and she tried, and she tried. She tried to understand, and then she broke through, and then it meant nothing.
Xean was what she didn’t understand. Why wasn’t she worth a good brother?
If he could, then why didn’t he?
Was she not good enough?
Not enough for love?
Or was he not good enough to give it?

Chapter Text

-present day-
Eirean leaned against a dark marble countertop veined with glistening gold, and smiled at Countess Evernade. The countess had a bounty of long, curly auburn hair that she piled high on her head with a large feathered clip. Her corset was tight and ornate, a navy blue that steadily gradiented into her huge and ruffled white skirt. The gold bengals, necklaces, and earrings she wore clashed terribly with the color scheme. Distantly, he wondered how heavy the jewelry was.
“You know, I’m quite impressed with what you’ve done here.” Evernade waved a jewelry-covered hand to reference the expansive entrance hall to The Osiria Rose Brothel, “You're the center of Mitivia now. The real ‘rose’ of the city, wouldn’t you say?” She spared a glance at Eirean who rolled his eyes and forced a smile.
“Yes, yes, agreed. You always seem to chose the right,” he thought of a way to phrase it. Victims? People to manipulate? He settled on, “Investments.”
“Ah, here we are. So charming and agreeable. This is why you're the most sought after man in all of Mitivia.” She reached out to hold Eirean’s face, and he tried to hide the shiver that wracked his body. “And that face too. More than the face, if you know what I'm talking about.”
Fuck.
Eirean knew exactly what she was talking about. He did not like it.
But she wouldn’t pay him not to like it
So he leaned into the touch. Her hands were ice cold.
He let his breath out when her hand fell away.
“Dispite how much I enjoy you, I’m afraid I have other matters to attend to today,” She turned away and let out a humorless chuckle, “You know, being a count’s wife and everything.”
And then she swept out of the door, without even a good bye.
Eirean felt the slightest bit warmer, as he no longer had to deal with the chill of being touched, but he was still drowning.
Out of routine, he pulled the small gold embossed mirror out of his pocket and checked his reflection. He was still ugly, but only to himself. He long knew that he would always disgust himself.
He used to hope he would get better, but he for a fact never did. Not to himself at least. Other people seemed to adore his Changed Face.
He put the mirror away, only to subconsciously take it out again.
He was fucking stupid.
He put it back and scanned the grand entrance hall of The Osiria Rose. He ignored what the name meant to him as he took in the hall. It was dark, with four classical marble pillars in the center. Between the first two pillars were the great doors, they opened onto the busy and cobbled streets of high class Mitivia. On the left and right sides of the pillars though, were lounges in dark grays and blacks. There a few guests and consorts lingered, picking at the array of Mitivian snacks on the golden platters. Eirean leaned on the long countertop that connected the two pillars across from the huge entrance. It was the main registration desk of sorts, and normally he didn't work as a clerk.
Normally, he was a consort.
Normally, he was the consort.
The Rose of Mitivia, if he was bragging.
It was a disgusting job you learned to loathe with time.
Motion at the gates snagged his attention from the ornate details on the engraved ceiling. It was a huge gold rose with a reddish tint in the center. He turned towards the door and his eyes lit up, warmth seeping into his voice, cutting away from the cold water he seemed to be drowning in.
“Cliara.”

Chapter Text

-present day-
Cliara was by all accounts, beautiful. She had dark fulani braids, and her black hair was embellished with gold trinkets and clips as it cascaded down her back. Her brown skin shone as she walked through the large doors and into The Osiria Rose, a book tucked under her arm. She caught eyes with Eirean immediately, and she rushed forward, smiling wide.
“Rosy!”
Eirean rolled his eyes at the nickname, and retorted, “Yes, my dear Cliara?”
She smiled at him her blue eye’s glinting with mischief. She had huge gold wings of eyeliner, and rhinestones along the length of her lash line. Her clothing was simple, a plain black corset and a silk ruffled skirt that showed off her high black boots.
Without missing a beat, she dropped her book on the counter and asked, “Do you have any plans? Or can you walk? I heard there’s another temple that got destroyed.” She winked at him.
He gasped, eyes faux-widening, “No! Who would disrespect Xean to such a ridiculous extent? This is truely unforgivable.”
Cliara laughed quietly to herself, “I know, I know. But can you walk?”
“Yes sure, let me just-“ Eirean called to one of the consorts and told them to manage the counter as he was going out. Without a second thought he checked his mirror once more, making sure he still looked perfect, before rushing to Cliara.
“Y’know you’re gorgeous, right?” Was the first thing she said as they started their walk, “Why do you always check your mirror?”
Eirean ignored the tensing in his shoulders. He wasn’t gorgeous. It was all fake, fake, fake. Eirean was ugly and gross and one-eyed. But Cliara needed to know none of this. They were best friends, but only by the logic they hung out a lot. At least for him, there was no real connection.
In his eye, he was alone and cold and broken.
Eirean yawned, “I don’t know. Habit, I guess? Gotta stay pretty for the public.” At Cliara’s eye roll he added, “ Why? Checking me out?”
Cliara flashed a pouting face at him and added, “Really, Rosy? You know I’m married.” she held up her hand, showing off a small gold band on her ring finger . In the old tongue, it said ‘ever and ever’. Neither her nor Eirean mentioned the fact that her husband was dead, and always would be.
They had both lost what they had once loved. Perhaps that was why they were best friends. Because they knew when to shut up and when to let something drop.
The entirety of Eirean’s past was in that no-question zone, and Cliara’s husband and family were as well. So, in a way, they really didn’t know each other at all.
Eirean took the silence to look around and study their surroundings. The streets were cobbled, stones old and cracked from centuries of use. Old, decadent buildings surrounded the roads, and store fronts occupied the sidewalks. One vendor sold fruit, another sold watches. Their clamoring calls of sales and discounts blurred into background noise as Cliara and Eirean walked through the busy streets together. Eirean ignored the looks they got, and pretended he didn’t hear people calling his voice.
He really was the Rose of Mitivia, or as Cliara called him, Rosy.
Eventually, they came to a fork in the main road, and Cliara grabbed Eirean’s hand.
Eirean did not flinch. Why would he? He was a grown adult man and he did not shrink at unwanted physical contact.
“Come on!” She tried to drag Eirean’s arm but to no avail, “Who would have thought the Rose of Mitivia would be so slow?”
“I am not slow, I am eloquent.”
“Eloquent my ass, the temples right there!”
“Should we bring offerings?” He asked sarcastically as she dragged him through the streets.
“I’d offer you up.” She joked, and Eirean joked back, “As I would you, without a second thought.”
Only it wasn’t a joke, and he would give Cliara up if it meant he could have a different life.
Strange, the lies you tell to your best friend.

Chapter Text

Eirean looked up at the temple, and took in its sorry state. This was an average sized temple, an open-air half circle. Four high white pillars connected in a semi circle, and three smaller, fatter pillars acted as tables between the main four. Smaller, thin pillars decorated the corners and grew to differing heights. They were like fungus, clusters of the uneven thin pillars barely big enough to hold a small plate. But they weren’t meant for plates, they were meant for candles and incense, burned to bless the city and protect its people.
There were no candles.
Normally there was a statue on the center pillar, but it was gone. Normally there were jewels thrown over the high pillars, but they weren’t gone. Normally there were velvet cushions on the other shirt pillars but they were gone.
Normally there was life and light and food and a bowl of holy water and a small crowd of worshippers.
The temple was nothing but bleached ribs of a long rotting carcass. His rebellion had been the crows, finally picking off the last bits of color and devotion.
Eirean let the satisfaction lazily crawl over his features. Let the pride curl in his stomach, and let the joy spread a cruel smile across his disgusting face.
He was doing it.
He really was.
He was finally doing something with his tiny, pathetic meaningless life.
He hoped Xean felt it, like a twist to the heart. He hoped Xean knew he was loathed.
He would sacrifice Cliara for that comfort, that thought that somewhere, Xean felt it.
Felt it like Eirean had.
He turned to Cliara, and saw a satisfaction mirroring his own on her face. Only, her eyes portrayed anger too.
She saw him and turned, anger melting away, “Well, you look happy Rosy. You know you could come with us next time. You’re our leader, y’know?”
It hit him like a punch to the gut.
He could’ve gone.
He could still go. Still go fight for what he wanted and change his city. He still could.
But he couldn’t. He really, truely, couldn't. He could dream about it, let his mind wander and circle around this idea that he could. But he couldn’t. He had a job. He had a rebellion to lead. He had priorities.
His happiness was not one of these priorities.
His rebellion was.
“Sorry Cliara, I just have a lot on my mind, I’ll probably have a client anyway, sorry.”
Cliara sighed, “I guess you’re right, sorry. I just wish you would lighten up a bit… I don't think you should… I think you should take a break from being a consort. It isn’t good for you, and you miss out on everything.”
Cliara sounded like she cared about Eirean. Eirean wondered what he had done to earn that trust, or if it was all fake. Eirean wondered if Cliara was using him as much as he was using her.
“I guess you’re right, Cliara.” A second later, “Do you know when the next Syndicate meeting is?”
She responded immediately, eyes gleaming with sharp excitement and mischief, “Of course. It’s tomorrow, at twelve.”
He smiled back at her, ugly face in a maniac grin. “I look forward to it.”
And, gods, that might be the only true thing he had ever told her.

Chapter Text

Cliara ended up walking back to The Osira Rose alone. It wasn’t unusual, but she never felt any safer. Sure, the city was huge and full of witnesses, but she could just as easily get lost in the crowd. She kept looking over her shoulder, that feeling of being watched following her shadow. But the sun was setting quickly, and Cliara didn’t have a second layer.

As she walked she wondered why Eirean had looked so crushed at the recommendation that he should come with her to dismantle the next temple. He had looked so sad and beautiful. Eirean was so beautiful. He was plain stunning.

She wondered why he always checked his mirror. Surely he must know how gorgeous he was?
Even if he didn’t, she was glad Eirean had offered her a home at The Rose. Her real home, with her baby sister and parents wasn’t a home to her. 
She was the families metaphorical punching bag to put it into perspective.

She unlocks the door, and shuts it silently. Slipping her shoes off quietly, she prayed her parents didn’t hear her.

“Cleary?” The voice was small and innocent, her baby sister Amelia.

“Shhhh. We can talk later.” She whispered, noiselessly sliding her coat off.
Out of nowhere:“Why are you dressed like a slut?” Her baby sister asked, unblinking. Cliara flinched. Amelia shouldn’t know that word.

“Shhh… Who taught you that word, Ammy?”

“Mama.” Why was she talking so loud? “She was talking about you. Said you act like a whore and do naughty things with bad people.”

Cliara looked down at her outfit, just a loose, embroidered, white, dress with high black boots and especially flowy sleeves. The dress ended at her knees. It really wasn’t that short.

“Are you trying to get a guy's attention?” Cliaras heart sank at Amelia’s words, “Do you have a crushhhh?”

Cliara wanted to pull her skin off, wanted to cover it all up. She had dressed up for herself, or had she? God, she really was a whore.
“CLIARA!” Amelia yelled, a scowl on her little face. She had been loud, too loud. Footsteps upstairs clarified Cliara’s suspicions.

Her mom had heard.

She turned the corner, muttering, “You don’t need them now, slut.”

That wasn’t true though, because Cliara had no where to live. And sure, Eirean was letting her stay at The Rose for now, but what about when he needed the room back? Where would she go? She was scared Eirean would force her to leave, and she’d have to go back to her mom and sister. Back to ‘be more like your sister’ and ‘your always around such trash’ and ‘your just a problem child.’

“Why are you dressed like a slut?”

A cold wind blew, and Cliara shivered, due to both the memory and the wind. She saw The Osiria Rose and rushed towards it, shoving open the massive doors and savoring the heat that filled the room. No one was at the front desk, so she just walked past it and into her room.
It was average, oak wood floor with a black carpet and a black bed. In the corner there was an oak desk and next to it a doorway to her bathroom.

Her own bathroom.

She locked the door, the bolt and the key lock, and swept into the bathroom.

There she glared at herself in the large mirror. People called her pretty. Said she was sweet, nice and beautiful. She looked down at her hand. At her ring. Her husband had called her pretty. Her husband had never called her a slut.

But he was gone.

But he was gone, and he was not coming back.

But he was gone, and he was not coming back, and he was why she was in the rebellion in the first place.

Chapter Text

-15 years earlier-

Eirean walked into the temple quickly, not bothering to look around t the plain pillars. 

Almost methodically, he sat down before the bowl of holy water, and prayed.

Dear gods, he started, mind already wandering to lunch, Please listen to me.

-16 years earlier-

Eirean padded silently to the temple. It was a small, circular structure held up by tall white pillars. In the center of the pillars was a table with a bowl on it full of holy water. Pure water, as he called it, he had always wondered if it tasted like normal water or not. He would never know though. Probably.

He kneeled before it, and tilted his head up. Then he closed his eyes.

Dearest Immortals, Rulers of Our World, he began, Hear my prayer. 

-17 years earlier-

Eirean smiled at his friend, before heading into the temple. Immediately his mood changed, and a reverence took place in his mind. The white pillars were beautiful, and the air smelled like incense. Sweet and vanilla.

He stepped forward, and fell to his knees before the engraved silver bowl. It was full of pure water, or holy water. Direct rain water, fresh from the skies and not yet contaminated by human things. Touching the water was forbidden, but its presence was said to act as a gateway to the gods, a means for them to hear human’s prayers.

He clapped his hands together and folded them behind his back, as a show that he was open and trusting in the gods. The great gods, he started, Listen to me when I say this.

-18 years earlier-

Eirean dropped his best friend’s hand and left him at the doorway to the temple. Eirean was glad he finally had the time to go. He had been so busy lately. Faithfully, he got to his knees before the medium bowl and folded his hands together. He moved to put them behind his back, but when he did he felt strangely vulnerable. Like someone could just come in and hurt him. 

No one would though, so he kept his arms behind his back.

Dearest Immortals, Rulers of Our World and Their’s, Sculptors of Stars and Trees, Bone and Blood, he thought, Hear me and my prayer. 

-19 years earlier-

Eirean rushed to the temple. His breathing was ragged and his face hurt like hell, but none of that mattered. Without a second thought he dumped his bag off by the first white pillar and looked around. He didn’t see anyone. Good. He didn’t seem to see much of anything though, because it was the middle of the night.

Hurry up.

He dashed into the temple and collapsed in front of the bowl of holy water. He thought he had spilled it because his face was wet, but turns out he was crying. And shaking too. Crying and shaking and probably bleeding from his injured head. Not a good position to be in.

Hurry up.

He tried to hold his arms behind his back, but he felt too vulnerable and unsafe to risk it. He didn’t even trust the gods now, did he? His face hurt so, so bad, he wanted to peel the skin off. Anything to make it stop.

Hurry up.

Gods, he began, please make this stop. Please fix this. I want my face back, please. Gods, please stop this endless hurt. First my little sister, then my parents, now my best friend. Why does everything have to hurt me? Please? Give me a chance to not be hurt.

His face screamed.

Gods, my face. Why does it hurt? Why did you make it hurt? Why did you write fate this way? Why did you abandon me? Why did he do that to me? Why don’t my parents love me? Why don’t you love me? 

Hurry up.

He scrambled up, panicked and in pain, accidentally slamming into the bowl of holy water. It wobbled, and Eirean reached a hand out to steady it before asking himself, why? The gods had never loved him, why would he love them?

He was done worshipping gods that had long abandoned him.

He reached into the holy water and brought his hand to his lips. It burned. God, his whole face burned. He had drunk the water of the gods.

Hurry up.

Then he shoved the bowl, hearing it topple behind him as he ran out of the temple.

-present day-

Eirean stood alone, in a temple his rebellion had desecrated, wondering why he no longer worshipped the gods.

Eirean shivered alone, in a temple dedicated to a false god, wondering why he no longer prayed to the true gods.

Chapter Text

Eirean yawned at the table. Cliara was next to him, she was saying something about the next temples to deface. They were planning to go for the smaller ones first, then the main temple in Mitivia’s center. They estimated that it would be about a year before they got to the center one. They said then they could spread the rebellion’s tentacles around the continent.

They estimated two years before the rebellion made it to Eirean’s home town.

That was too fucking long.

Eirean refused to wait two years before Xean felt it.

Cliara stopped whatever she had said and Eirean stood up, yawning again. He made the yawn slow and lazy, made it feel like this talk was boring him. In reality, he was just really fucking tired because he had stayed out all night.

”Agreed, agreed. My only problem with this is that it takes far too long.” He gestured regally around at the group of ten rebels sitting at the black oval table. “We have all been hurt by Xean’s cruel reign. Don’t you think we deserve to see all of our work’s rewards sooner, rather than later?”

A chorus of assent greeted him, and Countess Evernade cleared her throat like the self-important count’s wife she was. “Eirean, you’re true that years is too long to wait, but what do you suppose we do to quicken the pace? From what I have seen, this rebellion has been running off of my money for quite a while, yet the pace it moves at is obscenely slow.”

She ended. There was no chorus of agreement, just cold disregard for her words. She had funded the rebellion, but the rebellion was past its days of relying solely on her. It had many other donors.

She was right though, about the pace of the rebellion.

Cliara began, voice cool and clipped, nothing like the happy girl he had seen yesterday, “Countess,” Her voice was distasteful but civil, “I can assure you that not a ounce of your money is being wasted. We are trying our hardest to work quickly with the limited supplies we have.”

”Well, your fastest is quite embarrassing.” Her tone shared none of the respect Cliara’s had.

Jax got up, and began, “You know, you’re a useless old hag and it’s embarrassing you can’t see that yet, Evernade. We have other donors and unlike you, we come here to discuss, not to flaunt our husband’s riches.” He wore a pleased expression on his pale skin. Messy blonde hair flicked over his piercing blue eyes and he leaned his pretty face on his hand.

Evernade’s face drained of color and her makeup stood out even more, “Excuse me?”

Cliara stood up, “Excused. Either way, Eirean brings up a valid point about the pace we are moving at. Does anyone have any ideas on how to lessen the time it takes?”

Silence.

Jax rolled his eyes, “Couldn’t we just, y’know, destroy the temples faster?” 

Cliara raised an eyebrow, “How so?”

”Just do it all at once, I don’t know. We only take apart one temple a month or something. Couldn’t we just do one or two every night?” Jax said, his pitch a perfect bored pout. He was a good actor, as were all consorts. Unlike Eirean, he seemed to enjoy the job, and he was one of the most asked after consorts at The Rose.

Behind Eirean of course.

Evernade scoffed, “Xean would have to notice immediately. Gods, this is why we don’t ask whores for advice.” Whores.

Eirean cocked his head, voice fake sweet and dripping with condescension “Dear, we’re all whores here.”

The table went silent as Eirean laced his fingers together and rested his head on his hands, smiling. His sharp green eyes stared right through Evernade, laughing silently.

”Y’know, for someone like you, I’d expect a little more respect. If you know what I mean. You pay us whores to make up for your pathetic husband’s wandering eye. Gods, I can remember ever. Single. Night. Every single one.” He turned towards the rest of the table, dark lips cut into a smile, “Who wants to know how much she pays me for a night?”

Jax leaned forward his face contorted into mock shock,but his smile betrayed his joy, “How much?”

Evernade looked between the two whores, then back to Eirean, “Don’t.” She thought she hid it well, but everyone heard the panic undertone in her voice.

He flicked his doll head back to her, one hand moving languidly to cover his mouth in faux-horror before he dropped it and leaned back, eyes flat.

A beat of silence

”6,000.”

Jax’s eyes widened, and he laughed into his hand. Cliara smirked.

Evernade sat there, betrayal written all over her face.

Eirean lazily turned his head towards her, taking a slow, bored breath, “That’s better.” He turned towards the rest of the table, eyes feral, “I agree with Jax. We should deconstruct all of the temples at once.” He winked at Jax, all smug confidence. Jax winked back, all slutty joy.

Cliara nodded slowly, the gold trinkets in her braided hair jangling slightly. “We could, but Xean would almost definitely take notice.” She looked towards Eirean, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

He yawned again, gods he had stayed up too late yesterday, “So if he does?”

”He would come here.”

”And who says we don’t want that?”

The room went quiet once more, and Eirean took the silence as an opportunity to check his mirror. In its reflection he saw the man who was about to take down the biggest alchemist since Lori. He snapped it shut and returned it to his pockets.

”I see no one does.”

No one did.

Chapter Text

The rest of the meeting went well. They decided that they would finish taking apart the rest of the temples in the next two months, and that they would make the rebellion’s presence known in the not only the capital, but other cities aswell. They planned out how, through fliers and graffiti, and whispers at night.

Evernade did nothing for the duration of the meeting, which was unusual. Normally she was loud and bold, all too glad to give her opinion on that no one had needed it on. Not that Eirean was complaining, he was glad she was silent. The meeting ended, and Eirean yawned again as he watched the group part. Until at last it was just him, Evernade and Jax. He yawned, checking his golden rose pocket mirror absently, until Evernade snapped.

“Are you not going to discipline him?” She was loud and angry, and she gestured at a Jax like he was a dog.

“Hmmm?” He sounded vaguely surprised. 

“I didn’t ask you. Eirean?” Her voice was sharp, upset and expectant. Expectant.

She expected him to punish Jax. Funny, right?

With his signature laziness he slid the mirror across the dark table to Jax. Then he reached to the center and picked up a champagne class full of sparkling mineral water from the golden platter. He sipped it as he watched Jax take the mirror in his hand and open it slowly.

”What do you see?” Eirean asked.

”A whore.” Evernade muttered, but Eirean payed her no mind as he delicately placed his glass down.

Jax looked for a second, before his blue eyes flicked to Eirean, questioning. 

Truth or lie? They asked.

Eirean had loved these games when he had been a child.

“Truth or dare?” 

“I don’t know.”

”You have to know, thats the whole point!”

”Alright, umm… Truth?

”Ok, ok, what’s your favorite thing? Like ever?”

”You. Duh.”

”Really?”

”Of course! You’re always my favorite!”

He shut the memory out and mouthed ‘Truth’ to Jax. He seemed just slightly more nervous at that response, but nonetheless he said, “I see… It’s someone with nowhere to go. Someone holding onto the last thing he has, but watching it slip away. Someone that doesn’t have a backup plan and no way out.”

His eyes flickered to Eirean once more.

Satisfied?

”Yes.” He whispered, and Jax slid the mirror back to Eirean. Evernade looked between the two of them, eyes searching for vulnerability she would never find. You see, it’s impossible to find true vulnerability in people who use their vulnerability as currency. And like our money, their’s has passed through so many cruel hands to the point where it is no longer true, but rather dirty and impure. No one searches through mud to find vulnerability, and no one finds it.

Evernade beseeched Eirean, “This is not punishment enough.”

”It is.”

Jax lolled his head back, pushing his chair up onto its back legs like young boys did in grade school. Only he was no longer an innocent child, he was a lying prositute. “I think it is as well.”

Evernade once more glanced between them, eyes narrowing at Eirean, like he had lied to her. Like he had hurt her, like she was the only one who had ever been on the receiving end of one of his falsehoods.

Darling, he lied to everyone.

He pocketed the mirror as she left, skirts swishing. 

Jax set his chair back, letting his head fall back as he regarded Eirean. His eyes were keen, he spent his life studying people. 

Eirean had only just started.

”Thank you.” And he was gone.

Eirean never would never know what he thanked him for, but what did that matter?

He yawned.

Gods, he needed more sleep.

Chapter Text

Eirean’s posture shifted the second his door locked. It wasn’t just his back posture, though that did get worse, but everything. It was the tilt of his head, the way he walked, the look of his hands, the set of his lips, even the expression in his eyes shifted from bored to tired. 

He sighed, and flopped into his bed like a dead fish.

If he was a fish, the sheets were water. They were soft, a dark wool blanket over a quilt made with rose patterned fabric. He sank into his blankets, letting himself dissolve into the bed for a second. A second of pure comfort, before pulling himself up. He wished he could stay in bed forever, but he couldn’t. 

If he wanted to sleep, he had to get ready for sleep. That was very, very low on his list of things he wanted to do, and very high on the list of things he never wanted to do again. He glanced around his room, at the dark black walls and dark oak floors, to the golden vanity and large wooden desk. There was one huge window that opened to the courtyard and two night stands on either side of his large bed.

It was all quite gloomy, if you wanted to put it that way.

Eirean dragged himself over to his desk and sat down, grabbing a random paper and pencil. Without a second thought, he scribbled across what had been decided at the meeting.

Rebellions faster now

Finish temples by months end

Bring alchemist here.

He reread it and couldn’t, so he rewrote it, all neat and legible. Then he noticed what he had scribbled on. Behind both lists was a face, his dark half-shaded eyes staring back at Eirean.

His face was so familiar, something he say in the statues his rebels stole, in paintings they took. The face of something he drew far too often.

Xean.

-18 years ago-

Eirean was lying on the ground in his room drawing. He had stolen the paper from his best friend, and the pencil from his school. His parents refused to spend anything on Eirean’s art. Or Eirean in general. 

He wasn’t very high on their list of priorities.

He was fine with that.

(Fuck, he wasn’t)

He heard voices from down stairs, loud yelling ones about alcohol, but not him. Thankfully not him. 

He loved drawing. Eirean loved watching characters breathe into existence because of his pencil, loved poses and expressions and outfits. Loved the shading and sketches. But he hated hands. He hated them so very much it surprised even himself. They were simply impossible to draw. So he didn’t draw hands.

He preferred just faces and expressions, or flowers in the margins, or dancing people. 

The face he was drawing right now began to take form, a pretty teenage boy with light eyes. He shaded their eyes more, watching them darken into the eyes of someone familiar. He added messy hair, shading it until it looked brown. Finally a little smile on his lips. He wasn’t done, no, but he could recognize the face on his paper. That was what Eirean wanted. As he added in ears he wondered if he should give this drawing to his best friend. Eirean knew his friend would like it, but he was still so scared he wouldn’t.

The yelling downstairs got louder as he added the wrist and Eirean heard his name. Without a look back he grabbed his bag, checked his mirror, winced at his reflection, and escaped out the window. He did it with such ease you would think he did it regularly.

Which he did.

-present day-

Eirean tried to sleep, but as always, sleep eluded him. His scarred face from the mirror earlier reminded him of too many things. Among these things was who he was before. Before the brothel and Mitivia, before he had ever thought of selling himself.

Before the fire.

Among these things was the thought of who he was before he changed his name.

Chapter Text

The gears in Claira’s mind were moving rapidly, facts clicking into place like puzzle pieces. Only the puzzle was a jigsaw, and half the pieces were missing. And a lot of them fit into places they didn’t belong.

As she walked through the black and gold hall of The Rose, she noticed her reflection in the mirrors that graced the wall every 20 or so steps. Finally she slowed down, analyzing her face in one of the golden mirrors. Dark skin, long fulani braids full of golden trinkets, blue eyes, and that same black corset and white skirt she had worn yesterday. She didn’t have very many outfits, she didn’t have much or anything here.

It was all at her home.

The one she left. Left, or was kicked out of?

Was there a difference?

She made a mental note to find out and to get the rest of her clothes back. The rebels at the meeting had been glaring at her outfit. Like they knew she only had two. Like they knew she didn’t belong. 

“Cliara!”

She turned, and to her surprise Jax was running towards her. She stood still, and watched him come to a halt right in front of her. Without a second breath he had an arm around her shoulder and was smiling brightly at her. 

“Hey Claira. Was that good?”

She stared disgustedly at his arm until he dropped and she began walking down the hall, “No. What took you so long?”

“C’mon! That was smooth at least!” He quipped, catching up to her, blonde hair bouncing.

“Whatever you say.” She deadpanned.

He sighed, “Eirean wanted to talk to me. About stupid Evernade.” He spat her name, before his voice brightened again. “Do you wanna get lunch?”

Cliara snorted, “I bet Evernade had some choice words. We don’t have time for lunch.”

“Y’know you need to eat right? It’s on that list of important things to do.”  He bounced on his heels as he walked next to Cliara, who in comparison was almost dragging her feet.

“Like?”

“Breathing, I dunno, blinking, sleeping. I could go on.” Claira didn’t look at him, but she could tell he winked at her.

“Fine, whatever. Any specifics on Eirean and Evernade or is that a no.” Cliara was no nonsense, her voice bored.

She half expected a no, so when he responded she had the grace to spare a glance his way. 

“Just making me act vulnerable with his cash cow. Asked a couple stupid ass questions to satisfy the old hag and let me go.”

“He can be… Like that sometimes.”

His bouncy tone flattened, “Don’t defend him. Making me act vulnerable with Evernade, gods.”

“It's fine. Evernades stupid. She has no idea if it’s real or not.” Cliara said, trying to defend her friend.

“Well aware, thank you very much.”

”So why are you so upset?”

”Whatever.”

The two finally came to the entrance of the main lobby, the center of the brothel. As the consorts called it ‘the public’.

Jax tensed noticeably before turning into a significantly different person. The playful lit in his voice was gone, replaced by a pout, his loose gait replaced by an elegant strut, and he no longer looked carefree.

He looked like he was pretending to be carefree.

Cliara didn’t change much as they entered ‘the public’. All she did was hold her head higher and try to look confident. Emphasis on the try. She made a note to work on her acting later.

“I think we should go to the cafe down the street, don’t you think?”

“Yeah- Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Jax and Cliara linked arms, like consort and client, and they silently walked through the bustling streets to the cafe. 

It was strange, the shift. 

It almost made Cliara sad.

It would, if she wasn’t so used to watching her friends turn to strangers for the sake of public image. 

Chapter Text

No one knew Erie had been hurt, mentally or physically, because he was so very good at covering up. Good at making the illusion of healthy skin over a bruise, expert at covering a split lip with a smile.

He knew that was why no one ever asked if he was okay,  but he still wondered why no one asked. Because he wanted them to ask, he needed them to ask, but gods they never did. No one but his best friend, who he was hanging out with right now, ever asked. They were in his friend’s room, doing homework. Well, Erie leaned over to his best friend, he was doing homework. Erie was sketching flowers.

As he turned back to his own paper, noticed a little smiley face on the corner of it. He rolled his eyes, and made its eyes big and bloodshot.

His best friend caught his eye, “Why did you do that to Aleksander?”

“Aleksander doesn’t care.” Erie grumbled, trying to ignore the flush on his cheeks.

“Hmm. I guess not, I do though.” His best friend leaned in and tapped Erie’s nose with his pencil.

Erie leaned in too, snapping at the pencil like he intended to eat it. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Would too, Xean.”

“Alright then.” Xean put his math homework down and turned completely toward his Erie. “Truth or dare?” Xean’'s eyes lingered on Erie’s lips. Erie blushed more.

Erie did the same, shucking his homework and saying, “Dare, of course.”

“Ok. I dare you to bite the pencil.” Xean held it out, raising an eyebrow and smiling at Erie.

Erie rolled his eyes and bit the pencil. Of course he did, he had been dared to. But when he leaned back, Xean looked concerned. Like Erie had done the dare wrong. 

“What-what did I do?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding too pathetic.

“Your face-” Gods. No. Erie knew it. He knew he was too ugly and had a hideous face. He knew he wasn’t pretty enough to be with Xean, he had always knew it would come to this. He knew Xean would choose his face over him, and leave. No. He tasted metal. “-Its bleeding.”  

Huh?

“Im sorry-I know im ugly-please though, please I-I can fix myself please-”

“No, Erie, it's not about that. You're beautiful, but you're bleeding.” His concerned eyes found Erie’s, “Can I… See it?”

“Sure.” His voice was too quiet. It didn’t matter that Xean had said he was beautiful, everyone said that.

He tried not to lean into the touch as Xean reached for his face, holding it. It was so comforting, but the worried look on Xean’s face negated all of it.

Speaking of Xean’s face, he was studying Erie’s mouth. Nervously, Erie chewed on his lip, the tang of blood heavy on his tongue.

Oh.

That was what Xean saw. 

His split lip. 

He needed to cover that up.

Erie pulled away, bringing a hand up to his mouth, and wiping the blood off. There really wasn’t that much. For a second, they just sat there. Erie leaned away, Xean still leaned in, his hand still where it had been before. Then Xean leaned back, away from Erie. Erie ignored the way he wanted to keep Xean close as he heard Xean say, “You're bleeding.”

Erie studied the flowers he drew on his homework.

“Erie, your lips split. Who hurt you?”

Erie didn’t lie to Xean, so he remained silent.

“Erie, was it your dad?”

Erie nodded ever so slightly, like he wanted Xean to miss it. But Xean never missed anything Erie did, he cared too much.

There was no response, but Xean simply held his hand out and waited to see if Erie would take it. Erie took it, of course he did. 

Slowly, Erie built the courage to look Xean in the eyes. Xean’s eyes were concerned, but understanding. His mouth opened as if he were about to say something, but then Xeas called down from downstairs.

“Erie! Xean! It’s dinner, come on!”

They snapped their hands back the second they heard her voice, and their eye contact shattered too. He got up quietly, threw a fake  smile over his face and said, “We should probably go.” 

“You're right.” He threw his own fake smile over his face, and they walked to the kitchen and sat as far away from each other as they could.

It really wasn’t that far.

Chapter Text

-18 years ago-

It was spring in the small town of Zakóf, and mother nature knew it. Fresh shoots of bright grass sprouted from the dirt, wet with dew and alive with lady bugs and ants. Bees buzzed around the still blooming wildflowers, and even the trees were beginning to grow their leaves back. The sky was a light gray full of billowing clouds that promised more showers. Off in the distance, the peaks of mountains dissolved into mist, and even farther off, the capital of Mitivia sat waiting. 

But none of that mattered, because there were two boys lying in a field of fresh grass under a tree that was just losing its last flowers. 

Erie and Xean.

They were louder than the birds.

“No! That's stupid- she isn’t that stupid. Right?”

“No, no she did! I promise!”

“Serously? Xeas asked you how to plant a potato? Like your sister?” Erie asked, mortification bright in his eyes.

“Yes! She just brought me a peeled potato and asked how to plant it.” Xean exclaimed, gesturing wide. Both of them were sitting under their tree, their bags thrown at its stump. 

“Why was it peeled?” Erie asked, curiosity mingling with sarcasm in his tone.

“She said she wanted the seed inside of it to grow easier because it wouldn’t have to go through the skin.”

“That should not be funny. That should not be funny.” Erie said, smothering his laughter.

A second later, he burst into laughter again, leaning on Xean’s shoulder.

Xean was very warm, and Erie relished the feeling before leaning away and staring up at the tree. “Xean, my humor is so broken.”

“That’s not surprising, I promise you.” Xean moved next to him, lying down and resting his head on his hands and staring up at the tree. There were still a few flowers, but it was mostly just the buds of leaves and green-tinted branches. Through the tree he saw a light gray sky, and wondered distantly if it would start raining soon. He sincerely hoped not.

“You know what else you promised?”

"A lot of things, what?” Out of the corner of his eye Xean watched Erie watch an ant crawling over his hand. Absently he twirled a dead flower around in his hand.

A slow smirk spread over Erie’s face and he turned toward Xean. “You promised to draw me something for my birthday. And all I got was empty paper, hmm??”

Xean face palmed, dropping the flower, and grumbled, “I told you! It looked bad! The nose was all weird and your eyes were creepy! I thought we went over this already!” 

“So? I don’t care! And you promised.” Erie flashed Xean those sad eyes that he couldn’t resist. Because of course he couldn’t resist. Because it was Erie and Erie was his very best friend.

More, maybe.

“Fine! I’ll make you another promise. What do you want?”

Erie made a show of thinking, tapping his finger on his lips before sighing, “How do I know you’ll keep it. I can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Do you want the promise or not?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, umm… I know! I want you to promise that you will give me an osiria rose on my birthday next year.” Erie beamed, but Xean looked at him. It wasn’t really a glare, but it wasn’t a neutral stare either.

A rose?

No wonder people picked on Erie.

“Isn’t that a little… I don’t know, girly or something?”

Xean barely caught the flash in Erie’s eyes. It was so quick and Erie was so good at hiding it that Xean didn’t even register the emotion before it was gone. All he knew was that it wasn’t good.

“You’re right, that was stupid of me. Sorry. Anyway, I don’t think I have anything to ask for, so you don’t need to promise me anything.”

“You sure? I’m sorry, I’ll get you the rose.”

“Do whatever you want, but you’re right about the rose being weird and girly.”

Erie pulled away and reached into his bag, taking out a cracked half of a pocket mirror and checking his face.

“Hey, Erie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it-” Xean wasn’t prepared for the way Erie flinched and froze when Xean put his hand on Erie’s shoulder.

Erie recovered quickly, but even though he relaxed visibly, there was still tension in his shoulder as he turned toward Xean. “Thats fine, it doesn’t matter.”

Xean ignored the way Erie’s grip on the old mirror was scarily tight, his knuckles white. Xean knew Erie wanted him to drop it, but he needed to apologize. But he knew Erie. So he dropped his hand and laid back onto the dirt, eyes scanning it of a flower that was in decent condition. He found one, light pink with yellow pollen and only missing a singular petal. He peeled off another one that was brown and dead, until he was satisfied with the look of the flower.

Turning slightly to Erie, he dragged Erie’s gaze from the mirror, “May I?” He held up the slightly disheveled flower, feeling oh-so stupid.

“Sure.” 

Xean moved in, and quietly placed the flower in Erie’s hair, smiling at him.

“Perfect.” Xean let his fingers linger by Erie’s ear. “You look perfect.” 

“Really?”

“Always, I promise.”

Chapter Text

-16 years ago-

It was cold out. Very cold. Cold enough that Erie and Xean probably shouldn’t be outside, because it was just cold enough to actually cause problems. But they were stupid, and had told Xeas that it really wasn’t that cold out and that she was just weak. So here they were, freezing their hopeless asses off. Well, Erie was freezing. Xean didn’t really do cold, so he supposed he was alone in his remorse.

They were walking together in the woods behind Xean’s house in comfortable silence, listening to wind stir around leafless trees. The trees were sticks, dead shells of their former selves. Leaves crunched on the ground, and the sky was a bright blue, as if mocking the brown husks below it.cBut despite the suns bright shine and the cloudless sky, it was still really fucking cold.

(For Erie, at least)

“Wait, look at this!” Xean’s voice snapped Erie out of his freezing cold lament of his mortal existence, and he held out a leaf to Erie.

Erie blinked at it slowly.

Xean waited.

Waited a little longer.

Erie blinked up at him, long eyelashes and green eyes confused.

Xean tried again, “Look at it!”

Erie was a world-class blinker, “It's a leaf.”

“No but the colors!”

“It’s a fall leaf. In fall.”

Erie blinked again, then added, “Crazy, right?”

Xean sighed.

“What? I’m freezing! It’s basically winter!” Erie grumbled, only to find Xean staring at him with those sad eyes, “What?”

A smile cracked Xean’s face and he laughed, swatting at Erie’s face. He was slow and obvious about it, and it was clear he wasn’t trying to hurt Erie. “C’mon, let's go.”

And he began hurrying along the path leaving Erie frozen and annoyed in his wake. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the colorful leaf Xean had held up among the other dead leaves, and for some reason he picked it up.

Then he hurried after Xean.

~

They ended up going inside and hiding in Xean’s room for the rest of the day. Xean refused to call it hiding though. He said they were regrouping due to the inhospitable outside world and escaping from the cold cruel talons of the carelessly violent wind.

He also said that he was cool, so he was obviously a liar who had only done that because Erie had told him he was cold. Not that Erie was complaining, how could he when he was buried under a blanket on Xean’s floor, which had a carpet? Erie normally didn’t notice or care that there was a carpet in Xean’s room, but now he couldn’t stop thanking the gods for it. 

It was amazing, like a blanket for the floor. 

“You still cold?” Xean asked from the doorway, smiling.

“No.” Erie said, snuggling into the blanket even more before moving over, inviting Xean. “What about you?”

“Sure.” Xean smiled, and sat down next to Erie. 

Erie smiled and moved his arm, letting Xean under the blanket quickly. For a second Xean got comfortable, before he stilled and Erie snuggled into his side.

“Hmm… You’re so warm.” Erie murmured into Xean’s shoulder, savoring the heat radiating from Xean.

Xean smiled, “You’re just freezing all the time.”

“No, I’m not. You literally can control fire. Of course you're warm.”

“Whatever.” Erie mumbled before he remembered what he had in his pocket. “Oh! Xean look?”

“What is it now, Coldie?”

“Shut up, it’s your leaf.” Erie pulled the leaf out of his pocket and held it up to Xean. The leaf seemed brighter than before, a mix of red and orange.

“It’s a leaf! It’s my leaf, right?” Xean’s stupid eyes lit up, and Erie ignored how happy it made him.

“Yep. Now let me sleep, I'm tired.” He shoved the leaf into Xean’s face and rested his head back on his shoulder, thanking all the gods for the blanket and the carpet and the stupid leaf and the even stupider boy next to him.