Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Valac

There’s an obvious moment where Kismet hesitates, but Valac knows he’s coming. And just in the next, he’s taking his clothes off almost too quick, as if racing against himself. Valac smiles at him, even if he’s not looking.

It’s serene, almost, to beckon him in. Familiar.

“That’s alright, we’re staying by the coast. It’s not like I’ll drag you down,” his smile widens, although he feels the intensity of his own gaze doesn’t match that. He’s not sure why he can’t stop looking at him.

“It used to be like that for me as well, although I never burned them,” he finally manages to tear away when Kismet disturbs the surface of the water, and he uses the opportunity to lean back, floating. It’s such a bright night. “And before that, I used to swim, to reflect. A lot.”

But the moon is white.

“I don’t know how familiar you are with the lands of Xhorhas. There’s a lake, near where I was born. The Sorrowseep waters. I don’t remember when I learned to swim, I must have been so young, but for as long as I can remember, while I lived there, I went. Every morning, before anyone else.”

It’s so calm like this. So easy.

“I became friends with the local population of frogs,” he chuckles. “They didn’t think that, of course, they hid from me. But they were my friends. There were some fish, no big game, thankfully, otherwise fishermen would have disturbed the ecosystem. Ah-“, he blinks, suddenly aware of his surroundings. He turns his head to the side, and Kismet is just staring at him. So he submerges, silently, just in the blink of the eye, but it’s for a second. 

And then loudly comes back up for air.

“Sorry for getting carried away. I don’t often allow myself such trips down memory lane.”

Kismet

Kismet listens, and watches. Notes how calm he looks, how at ease. Nothing like the night on the gazebo, where he became jumpy, looking over his shoulder.

I watch over your shoulder, you watch over mine.

He stays as vigilant as he can manage, one eye on the beach, the other drawn to Valac like a leaf caught in a current. With careful steps, he floats nearer. The water covers half his scar, now.

"There’s a lake, near where I was born. The Sorrowseep waters."

He breathes, hard. Sorrowseep. Of course. His heart thuds painfully, and he almost imagines ripples travelling to the beat of a drum from his sternum, washing over Valac's peaceful form. He wants to sob. He wants to dive deep, to sink below the dark surface, to hide and let the water take him where he once cheated it.

Valac catches his eye then, and Kismet knows he looks as though he's seen a ghost. It's with great relief Valac dives down, buying Kismet even a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

"If you’re lying. I can read your mind and tell."

Valac comes back up, his hair slicked back, and incredibly the sight alone almost wipes all thought from his head. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Probably looks like one of the fish in the lake.

"The Ifolon flows from there," he says, gormless, and closes his mouth with a click.

Valac

He feels the muscles of his face go lax. He's sure he must have misheard. The Ifolon? That's not what Kismet said. He couldn't have. An elf from Bysaes Tyl, no interest in research, not a single curious glance at the vast library of the Cobalt Soul, here or in Rexxentrum. Where would he have read about it?

But he… talked of his garden. In the Pearlbow. Of the Raven Queen. Of the… the… the Ashguard. The Aurora Watch. He… what did he talk about? A sister? From where? There was nothing, nothing.

His gaze darts back and forth between Kismet's eyes, mouth agape. The way Catha's light is hitting them, one side of his face is illuminated, while the other is submerged in darkness. 

" Who are you? ", the Undercommon rolls off his tongue, a phrase that's racked his brain for as long as he's known him, only now fully formed, heavy. And there's very little he can do, almost no spells left, component pouch far out of reach.

The ocean helps, a little, to ground him. The gentle waves do not change with the force of his struggles, nor do they slow down for him. So he stands upright in the water, droplets falling off his face with a tickle, eyelashes completely drenched. It hurts, so bad, that he just doesn't know. Again. So much that he nearly curls in on himself, the ludacris thought that Kismet might be with him piercing his chest.

He can't move, not a step further, and he needs to... touch. To make sure. With a single fluid motion his arm draws on the surface of the water, and in a second the waves slowly push them closer until they share a space. Tentatively, he brings his hand up, eyes trained on the scar across Kismet's chest. It can't be. But his finger sways, instead landing on a shoulder, the tattoo, and up along the neck, barely touching. Uncertain.

" Are you real? " 

Kismet

”Who are you?”

All the muscles in Kismet’s body begin to shake. Valac approaches him, water sluicing down his form, and for the first time he can remember, he feels fear in his presence. But not from Valac, not directly. He breathes, sharp and shallow, a rabbit cornered by a fox., panic rolling in waves through him, gripping so tight he can’t move. The water around him may well be a cage.

He can’t do anything as Valac reaches for him, fingers barely feathering cross his skin. He shudders under the touch, tears spilling from his eyes, falling to mingle with the ocean.

How could he let this happen? It felt like he had no choice, there was nothing he could have done to pull from the current that drew him to Valac, over and over and over. The walls he’s worked so hard to craft have been slowly cracked and undermined, tendrils of ivy worming in through the mortar while he wasn’t looking.

”Are you real?”

He draws a quick, gasping sob, leaning into the touch as much as he can. His mouth works soundlessly, and his heart may well be a war drum. The weight of everything he is, and isn’t, drawn tight around him like iron chains. He holds the key, he knows; but Valac picked his pocket while he wasn’t looking.

His arm moves jerkily. He traces Valac’s hand, fingertip to wrist, then draws away, moving it up to rest shakily against the side of his face.

“I’m real, ” he whispers, voice hoarse. The Undercommon is unpracticed, unfamiliar in his mouth. Halting. “ I swear I’m real. I…I don’t know who I am. I don’t— ” He swears, switching back to Common. “I’m here. I’m…I’m terrified. Not of you. Of—”

His voice catches, and he shakes his head wordlessly. How did it come to this? Looking away for one second, and realising too late that as much as he’d not wanted to hurt Valac, he’s done so. Irrevocably. He keeps his fingertips resting against Valac’s cheek, shaking as though he were standing in ice water.

Valac

Skin. Warm, soft, under his fingertips. Physical. Moving, shaking. And where he connects, where fingers trace his arm, feather-light, a current passes him.

"I'm real."

A second later, he recognizes the unmistakable sound of Undercommon. It would sting, were he not sure of it already. This time, without the boisterous noise of a tavern and a mind muddled by drinks. Without someone to tell him it's not there.

He wants to be angry. He wants his malice back, so much, but he's just blank, void of it, head as good as empty. Nothing makes sense. Not how this came to be, nor how he sees so clear now. If it's the sea that's keeping him safe, then he should have never stopped swimming.

"Not... of me," he repeats, as if he's just learning the words.

He can't admit the fear, yet relief that coils within him with the way Kismet's words align with his. If he says something, if he questions it, it might become true. Instead, he tilts his head, just a little, just to feel the friction of a hand on his cheek. Simply placed, nothing more. His own drop to the water, momentarily too cold in the midnight air, but he quickly brings them up, the lack of contact too unbearable. They're close enough for him to slowly rest his thumbs at Kismet's sides, where ribs can be felt beneath. Real. His palms circle the frame, almost close enough to clasp around.

"When were you there," he speaks, quiet, lips moving against the palm. 

Kismet

Valac’s hand drops from his neck, and he feels something like loss, but a moment later he’s replaced them around his waist. Kismet closes his eyes, another tear rolling down his cheek. Valac’s hands are colder than the water, and he’s glad for it. If his skin were any warmer he wouldn’t be able to feel the connection. He’d think this were all a dream.

He wants to keep his eyes closed, if only to avoid the inevitable hurt on Valac’s face. But he brought this on himself. His eyelids flutter open, and he moves his hands to rest on Valac’s arms. It takes everything in him not to grip hard, to show the fear that’s taken hold. The fear he might disappear if Kismet lets go.

“I…I left a century ago.” The terror clutches him, visceral, and his hands involuntarily clench. “It’s been so long, I…”

He almost wished Valac would scream at him. His anger would be warranted, it would be something Kismet could understand. But not this. Not this soft, quiet acceptance.

He shakes his head, speechless, ignoring the tears that continue to pour down his face. “You should be angry with me, Valac. I learned where you came from and kept my mouth shut. I could have”—his speech is broken by a gasp—“I could have said something. I could have been honest, I could have…”

At last, his words fail him, and he drops his head, resting his forehead against Valac’s sternum.

“Anger would be easier,” he whispers. “Anger is simple.” He shakes his head, watching tears slide down his nose, landing ineffectually in the water. “I thought you’d run.”

Valac

"Don't go back," he blurts out, breathless. "In the water, if you return. Don't go in. "

His whole body is stiff, and he has to will his fingers to relax where they have started digging. He tries to breathe evenly, mind barely catching up with the information he's given. When Kismet mentions anger, he chuckles, if a bit too loud, his whole essence screaming for some sort of release, be it tears or laughter. Anything to unwind the coil.

He's the one whose magic can read minds, while Kismet does it with nothing.

"I wish I were. I think I should be. But… I'm not, and I don't know why."

Unsure why or how, it's crystal clear to him that pain and fear have been the catalyst of that decision - to remain silent. Would he really get angry at that? At his fractured reflection while he picks up the pieces.

He wants to ask. The words don't leave him.

Suddenly, he's too aware of his heartbeat when the elf rests his forehead against him. Surely it's audible, and must be loud enough to make his ears ring, too. He tries to remember a moment in time when his pulse has ever been a problem, but it's never been like that before. So he stills, just keeps him close, closing the gap between them a little bit more, although the thought of closing it fully brings a new kind of fear.

"And no, I won't run. You've stayed, too."

Kismet

He feels the soft timbre of Valac’s voice vibrate through his chest. For the first time in a while, a long while, he feels safe. Here, almost as far from Xhorhas as you can be without getting on a boat. But it’s not just the distance. If they were in the middle of the Ashguard garrison, even as it is now, if he had Valac by his side he’d still feel safe.

The realisation threatens to shake him to his core.

Without looking up, he speaks. “Did you know that Winter’s Crest is one of the Raven Queen’s holy days? The height of winter, when everything is covered in ice, and true life is waiting to flourish again.” Reluctantly, he lifts his head. It’s not lost on him how much closer they’re standing. “If there’s anything that says I’m going the right way, doing the right thing…trusting the right people. What other sign could I ask for?”

He shivers a little, goosebumps covering his skin, but he doesn’t want to leave this space, this moment in time.

“I’m sorry for hiding that from you. And I’m sorry that it won’t be the last thing I hide.” He raises his hand to wipe his tears, laughing hoarsely as he looks at his hand dripping with sea water. “But if you’re not planning on running now, I don’t know if you realise how thankful I am for that. And I hate to beg you for patience, I really do, but…”

He looks up, throat closing with emotion. Kismet wishes desperately that he could tell him everything, just be rid of it all. But it would put Valac in danger, and he can’t accept that.

Catha is bright, and the stars are reflecting upon the water a thousand times over.

He reaches up, places his hand on the side of Valac’s face, and draws him down. Close enough that he can brush his lips upon his cheek. A wordless thank you. A promise, of some kind. He tastes like salt water.

With a soft smile, he pats the side of Valac’s face. “I’m not going anywhere. Not by choice.” 

Valac

He dips without hesitation, blank and unbelieving. New stars, brighter than the ones above them, form and perish in his chest, then get reborn again. Something is telling him to move, kiss him, do anything, but he stays, suspended in time, too scared to take a single breath.

You’re a professional, Kismet had exclaimed once. It is with incredible embarrassment that Valac realises the ocean is the only thing keeping him afloat, and he doesn’t know what’s changed. This is not what’s supposed to happen, to him. He’s supposed to take the reins and direct Kismet as he likes, mould him in a shape that fits his wants, but he’s the one getting twisted and shaped instead. His feet are made of clay, soft and pliable in the water.

It must be the water.

“I didn’t know,” he finally responds, a bit delayed. “She’s never been… everyone only talked about the damn Luxon.”

His mouth shuts closed before his next words. He tries again, harder, and this time only a choked noise leaves him. With a nervous laugh, he has to look away, Kismet’s eyes too piercing. Too blue.

Start from afar, breathe. Why is he letting saltwater in the wound?

“Is that a good thing, then? For you,” he swallows, pushes again before he has a chance to stop. His fingers dig at Kismet’s sides. “People say that it’s when the veil between planes is thinner than a razor. I’ve been told it’s- when monsters are born.”

Kismet

He listens intently, the rush of his confession still coursing through him. It's like a weight has been lifted, while another shackles him to the ground. The emotions that flit over Valac's face are unfamiliar to him, but it isn't fear. It isn't anger.

Valac looks away, and talks of monsters. His fingers around Kismet's waist tighten, and with gentle hands Kismet takes one of Valac's in his own, holding it between them. He isn't sure what's coming over him, all of this touching. It's normally overwhelming. When there's too much pressure, or contact, he feels the need to squirm away. But this is different, somehow.

He applies gentle pressure, trying not to rub his sharp calluses over Valac's skin. "I don't know a lot about what it means to be born on holy days. But it's one of hers, almost more important than Ascension Day. She gave me power, and hope. Everything I needed to leave that place. Maybe she marked you, if only for this moment, years later."

He lowers Valac's hand into the water, waiting for the surface to still, until their palms are cradling a reflection of Catha.

"Monsters are born every day. I've seen enough of them. Men who take pleasure in grinding the boot of their power over those below them, those undeserving. Who sit in riches and leave nothing for their starving people. Men who--" His voice catches. Unspeakable things. Not for a night like this.

Men like you, Kismet.

With a shuddering breath, he tries to catch Valac's eye. "I don't see that in you. I see someone passionate. Someone who sees what he wants, and isn't afraid to fight tooth and bloody nail for it. I see kindness, and an honesty most are afraid to appreciate. I see a want, for more, for better."

He shakes his head. "I don't know who told you that about Winter's Crest, but I don't see a monster. And if you are? Well. Our hearts beat the same, don't they? If you're a monster, then so am I. And so be it."

Valac

”Maybe she marked you.”

By her? All this time.

He lets his hand get cradled, moved, weightless. If he tries to parse the words, what they mean, he’ll have to hold his entire body underwater and scream. His skin already feels too tight, he already needs more and less simultaneously.

“No.”

A weak chuckle rolls off of him. “No, you’re not one. You care about others, a stupid amount, frankly. Even when they’re cruel to you. You notice details, you search for meaning, you reach out when no one does.”

His hand moves, fluid, and the reflection of Catha breaks, their fingers intertwined in its place. He brings them up, the metal of Kismet’s ring cold against his lips, salt rolling off his fingers.

It’s almost like they’re in a waltz again.

“You see beyond what’s evident. It takes… a certain kind of intelligence to be able to do that. And that’s not something that the Raven Queen gave you, that’s just… you. I don’t need to read your mind to see that.”

Kismet

Kismet watches Valac's lips meet the gold of his ring, soft and cold. Listens as he unravels him, word by word. Like he's plucked a thread from his being, and pulled upon it, examining each fibre.

He doesn't have the words. How could he? To be seen is enough.

A shiver travels down his back, not entirely from the night breeze. Teeth chattering, he says, "As much as I've come to love the ocean, perhaps we could head back to the sand?" Goosebumps travel down his forearm where Valac still holds him. Kismet has the strangest urge to wipe the sodden strands of hair from Valac's forehead.

He blinks, his heart a riot. In all honesty he's not sure if he could walk--the water moving about him in a calming current is the only thing keeping him upright.

"We don't have to go back, yet." He wants Valac's time all to himself, at least this night. It's a strange thought. "Just...sit. Talk."

Valac

It happens gently, but it’s like a veil is lifted. His eyelids where they’ve weighed down on him now open, and his pupils train on Kismet in front of him. Actually seeing him, form half illuminated still.

He’s shivering. Valac feels his own hands as good as ice, but the cold doesn’t reach him. Not with the way water envelops him, protective.

He reluctantly releases his grip on Kismet’s waist and lets their hands fall to the water, untangling their fingers as well. And watches the spot where they parted for a second, silent, then a second more, then grabs his hand again, this time with a murmur that spreads warmth down his veins, through his fingertips and into Kismet.

It would have been impossible to reach the beach alone. He’s hazy, has been since he submerged under the moonlight.

He also felt like a part of him was missing without the contact, but he pushes that somewhere deep, behind other worries and riddles.

“What did you do, then?,” he asks when they step on sand, drying them both with a quick wave. “For Winter’s Crest? For the Raven Queen?”

Kismet

Valac's hand is an anchor in his, and though his legs shake, they make it to where they left their belongings. The thought of dropping Valac's hand abhors him, but he can't exactly get dressed with one hand. He sends the tiefling a soft smile, and with a squeeze of his thumb, drops his hand.

He puts his trousers back on, careful not to spread sand everywhere, then fetches his cloak. With a not-so-decent flourish, he spreads it out. Probably not the most comfortable seat, but it's something. While he sits down, he re-fastens his amulet, letting the porcelain fall cold against his chest.

"For a long time, Winter's Crest hasn't been about the feasts or the gifts. Not for me." He shifts over, making sure there's enough room for Valac to sit should he wish to. "At midnight, I'd light incense. I had a little shrine, nothing too extravagant. Meditate, pray, give thanks. The usual thing when it comes to the divine."

He spins the ring on his finger, staring out at the dark waves. "I'd ask for change. For direction." He's quiet a long moment. "For a sign to continue on." His vision blurs, and he blinks it away.

"More often than not, she was silent. That's to be expected. But on occasion I'd feel her presence. Cold, but comforting."

He smiles, but it comes out more as a grimace. "I hope your birthdays were a little less lonely than my Winter's Crests."

Valac

He dresses, absent-mindedly, listening to the sound of calm waves crashing on the shore and the rustling of fabric. Somehow, he feels more naked now, fully clothed, than he was in the ocean, and Kismet’s words catch him off-guard.

The shiver that runs through him makes him flinch, and he immediately regrets it. He instinctually turns, looking for Kismet, if he saw, and he finds him sitting on his splayed out cloak, conveniently taking only half the space.

“Stop ruining your clothes, I have a scarf,” he scolds, but settles next to him regardless. They’re no farther or closer than they’ve sat before, but he finds that the distance doesn’t sit right with him now. He’s being pulled, and where normally he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, gluing himself to the elf, he hesitates now. Something’s changed, and the moment is different. His tail curls behind him.

“I’ll have to disappoint you, but I’ve barely celebrated a birthday. Maybe when I was little, once or twice, it’s all a blur now. After that, my… it was insisted on no celebrations,” he smiles yet, gaze unfocused. "Coincidentally, I also asked for a change, and a direction - perhaps I've been praying to her without knowing it. If it was her, she sure delivered! But she has a wicked sense of humour."

He’s digging in a bottomless pit, he knows. Yet now, for the first time in a long while, he can talk about himself and his hands don’t shake, he feels nothing creeping up on them. He pulls up a knee and rests his cheek atop, catching Kismet’s eye. It’s a pretty sight, the dark ocean bathed in moonlight, but Kismet’s right next to him.

“And later, in the empire- well, survival has always been more important than festivities.” 

Kismet

Kismet pulls his knees up, resting his elbows on top. While he listens, he watches Valac, his thumb mindlessly rubbing circles on his own palm. Normally he would tiptoe around topics like this, terrified the questions would be turned back against him. But now, with that one shared tether of a secret, he isn’t afraid. Especially not any questions from Valac.

The waves are a soft hush, the docks in the distance quiet. They could be the only ones in Port Damali, for all it feels like. He smiles when Valac mentions the Raven Queen, and can’t help but commiserate. 

“Winter’s Crest will have to change for us, from now on, I should think. We have these friends around us, now. A few I’d wager would insist on doing something.” His smile is warm. Not pitying, though a flicker of anger licks at the base of his throat. If it was his family who decided his birthday wasn’t important enough to celebrate—well. He makes a note.

“And survival…” He finally looks away, into his hands. “When you have nothing, and you’re desperate…” A hot lump forms in his throat, and he presses his lips together. He’s cried enough today, how can he possibly have more to shed? Swallowing, he grips his hands hard. “Perhaps it’s a story for a less pleasant night. The things we do when doing nothing means to give up and die…” 

He screws his eyes shut, shaking his head roughly, memories threatening to engulf him. He isn’t ready to face that. Not yet.

Valac

Valac tries to fight a traitorous smile at the prospect of a birthday in relative safety, with friends. It's so bizarre to think of them as such, anyway. But as long as he doesn't think too much on it, maybe he can enjoy it while it lasts. Perhaps he'll worry over all of this tomorrow, sober of distraction. Without being drawn to shifts of movement and skin.

"When you have nothing, and you’re desperate… The things we do when doing nothing means to give up and die…"

His throat constricts, so sharp it makes a sound. Almost as if to stop his heart from clawing its way out. It's not even half finished sentences, but he understands them so clearly, all the sand below them might as well open and swallow him up. He can feel everything inside him begin to swell up, and this time the sting of tears comes as no surprise.

Kismet doesn't even need to finish the fucking sentences.

"Fuck."

He lifts his head, going to wipe at his eyes, but as soon as he touches his face even more tears escape. "Fuck." His hand comes up wet, trembling in front of him as he examines it, almost unbelieving. How could he allow this to happen again today? Worse too. Worse when he goes over the words again, a constant feedback loop, and recoils each time, blind rage threatening to burst him at the seams. If only he could stop time and scream his lungs out, maybe they'll remember how to breathe again.

He has to ask. Why don't you just ask.

"There hasn't really been anyone before you", he blurts out, gasping. What is he even saying. "That- I could talk with. And not-" his hand flies to his mouth, horrified, but his thoughts still come out. "I don't regret it-- what I've done. None of it."

Kismet

”Fuck.”

Kismet opens his eyes, looks across at Valac. A sharp intake of breath as he notices the tears reflecting moonlight like pearls. He’s never seen Valac cry. Angry, yes. He’s seen angry. But not this. Kismet’s frozen in place, his chest heaving as Valac continues, putting voice to thoughts that seem to be pulled from his heart, before he even knew them to be true.

There’s been no one else. No one who could possibly look upon all he has done and understand. And if Kismet’s sins are too great, too wretched to look upon with anything but a dark mirror, even if forgiveness is never coming, he’s always thought he’d be alone in it.

All of a sudden, that connection is not enough. That understanding, deep and hidden, not enough. He turns to face Valac, takes his face between his hands. Wipes the tears with his thumbs.

“I can’t tell you what I’ve done. I won’t ask what you’ve done.” His gaze flicks between Valac’s eyes, his lashes wet with tears like dew. “But I’m here now. And maybe the world won’t forgive us, but—“ Tears slip from his own eyes, and he’s breathless for a moment. “As much as I wanted to curl up in that barren garden and die, I’m here now. And we move forward.”

He chews at the inside of his cheek, trying to send every ounce of empathy and understanding through his palms. His ring flashes gold beneath the moon, and he’s never before wanted to part with it, but in this moment he wishes he could wrench it off and throw it into the ocean.

Valac

He wouldn't ask. Doesn't need to, he knows , and it terrifies him that the guilt Kismet seems to carry doesn't match his own.

He'll leave on his own if he's not taken.

Warm, soft fingers touch him, wiping his face, and it feels good, and he wishes they could erase everything. Start anew. If he could have had this, before everything.

He clasps his hands around Kismet's and slowly brings them down, struggling to keep his face neutral. A semblance of who he's supposed to be.

"I don't want it," he whispers before his voice breaks. "Forgiveness." A new tear falls down his chin and onto his hand, and he squeezes Kismet, just to keep him there. "And I wouldn't get it either. Not from you."

He looks up from beneath his eyebrows, just barely, just enough to lock eyes. "Not your trust, too. I can take from you, more than what you're willing to give. I already did." If it were his skin, he'd bury his nails deep enough to break it. But the hands in his are smaller, better.

"I already know more about you than you've told me. So really, who hasn't been honest?"

Kismet

The shift in expression is quite sudden, though Kismet can still see the tremors beneath. Can still feel it where Valac grasps his hands.

”I already know more about you than you've told me.”

He frowns for a moment, the crease between his brows deepening. Before, Valac had mentioned he can read minds. So it was true. He licks his lips nervously, looking down at their joined hands. Should it be betrayal, that he feels? Maybe. But it isn’t. It takes him long moments to absorb the information, enough that he’s sure Valac is squirming.

At last, he looks up, his blue eyes stern. “If you’ve looked in my mind, and seen what I’ve seen, and not tried to run at the first opportunity?” He presses gently on Valac’s hands. “Then that’s enough for me.”

He isn’t sure the extent of what Valac has seen. For all he knows, all of his secrets could be laid bare. The thought of it gives him a confusing sense of overwhelming relief, mixed with fear. Fear for Valac.

“Then tell me what you know. There are some things that should be left in the dark hallways of my mind, lest…lest others could take it from you.”

The realisation unsettles him, and instinctually he leans forward, putting more weight on Valac’s hands. Trying to be closer. For once he’s thinking of someone else’s safety above his own regarding that particular moment. His heart clenches, but he staves down panic. Once he finds out what Valac knows, he’ll decide what to do. How to keep him safe.

Valac

His resolve is barely hanging by a thread. His wrists begin to stiff with effort, with him trying so hard not to squeeze Kismet's hands that he fears all his muscles will just go taut. It takes Kismet a long while to respond, and in that time Valac wishes he could just wipe all memory of himself off the world. His skin burns where they connect in silent, screaming anticipation of the moment Kismet pulls away. Wanting for it to be done with already, to just try and forget, for once, all that has happened.

When he speaks, Valac lets out a breath, with each word becoming more and more confused. It's not quite relief, and not quite disappointment when the elf just refuses to go.

"There are some things that should be left in the dark hallways of my mind, lest…lest others could take it from you."

Bile rises in his throat and it finally makes him let go, covering his face entirely. Suddenly all too aware of the wetness there, of his foot tapping and tail swinging, their rhythm disjointed, the sand, everywhere, coarse and persistent.

Why is this happening? He keeps repeating the question, over and over again. Why does it matter?

"I- not much," his voice is rough, muffled. "You feared you push people away when you get close."

He stops himself, suddenly extremely unsettled. He's been the one doing that. He brings his hands down just enough to peek at Kismet through his fingers, see if the irony is not lost on him also. "You feared you're not-- not good enough. Mostly confusion. And you... thought of me. And of someone else."

He remembers now, clearly, that it stung for days.

"Sarran."

Kismet

Valac's hands slip from his. He draws away, a little, watching carefully. He wants to place a hand on his shoulder, or back, to do anything, but sit here waiting for the inevitable admission of all the darkest parts of him. It's with morbid curiosity he tries to peer through Valac's fingers in an effort to read his expression. Like Kismet wants to know what he thinks of him. Like he wants Valac to know not just this surface facade, but all the parts that made him.

"You feared you push people away when you get close."

This gives him pause. Sends a twist of pain to his heart. Valac continues, relentless, and somehow it's even worse than if he had sifted through his most hidden memories. His own self-hatred and pity pulled from his mind and reflected back. His cheeks flush as Valac mentions himself.

And then, a name.

He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide. Sarran was the someone else. He can't help it. He laughs, short and sharp, and full of relief. Just Sarran. His smile remains, one brow raised in disbelief. All the tension built up in his chest releases. He doesn't know anything that could harm him.

The whiplash of emotion rushes to his head, and he leans on his hand, moving right up into Valac's space, forcing him to make eye contact from between his fingers. Despite the distress of a moment ago, he can't help but see Valac hiding his face, and think, cute .

"Sarran ," he begins, his quiet voice laced with mirth, "was a lover of mine. Rich, cowardly, a loyal puppy. He'd dress me up like a prize pony and parade me around." 

Desperate to turn the conversation away from painful pasts, he resorts to familiar tactics. Familiar to Valac, at least.

"One day, sick of feeling stifled, I went out and got this piercing." He draws a line up his scar, gesturing at his left nipple. "They despised it. Said it...said the scar was ugly enough. No need to decorate near it."

That sobers him quickly enough. He shrugs a shoulder, casting his eyes down.

Valac

There's not much he can do but sit in awe as Kismet laughs, of all things. He would've taken an insult, a punch, easier than that. Valac brings his hands down a little more, listens intently as the elf begins to talk. A lover. He wants to twist and turn, himself and Kismet, until they can no longer be untangled. He wants to cry, loud and more, until someone comes and tells him to stop.

Then his gaze drops, following a finger over bare skin, marred, and his mouth is suddenly entirely too dry. He can sense he's being directed, it's obvious enough, but he gives in without a thought. Easier to do than try to figure out the rolling anger, this time with a new direction, a new purpose.

"You're pretty. Of course they wanted everyone to envy them. But you're more than what's on the surface. You deserve more."

It's dangerous, to want, now of all times. But Kismet's moving in, letting him in, and he's held back on everything for so long. If he could have just one thing, one time. Just once. If he could take without fear, and live his life knowing that the worst that could happen is to get rejected.

He doesn't know when the tremble stopped, but his movement is fluid, makes no sound, as if underwater. And this time he doesn't stop until he's mirroring Kismet, thumb going over scar and up, until his fingers graze cold metal. He rests his open palm beneath, at ribs, where he can barely feel a heartbeat; He could dig his nails in if he wanted to. But he just keeps steady, grip a tad too tight, enough to make the flesh give. Now, finally, his muscles go taut, and he feels his stomach roll in riot. A breath comes out, barely contained and on edge, and he leans in, pushes them closer still from where he's holding him. When his lips are as good as touching Kismet's ear, he whispers.

"And what a foolish, stupid thing to say." 

Kismet

Pretty? He thinks I'm pretty?

The words that follow send him reeling, and he's only half-proud of distracting Valac enough to pull him from whatever thoughts he had begun to spiral into. How could he deserve more, with all the things--

Oh.

That's Valac's thumb tracing the line of his scar. And beyond--

His mind 

    goes blank.

"And what a foolish, stupid thing to say."

Kismet swallows back a curse, his whole body frozen. This wasn't entirely unexpected. Valac has escalated his flirting plenty of times before. So why does it feel so different now? Is it the tears still fresh on their cheeks, or the way they cracked open their sternums and bore their hearts to each other?

He pulls back, just far enough where their foreheads are nearly touching. His fingers shake as he draws them up, settle on the sharp line of Valac's jaw. It would be easy, he thinks, to lead him along. And it's a moment before he realises Valac is letting him do it.

He smiles, every muscle wavering, as though a tremor in the ground worked its way into his bones. And Valac is there, sure and still. It's so much. It's too much. It's not enough. He closes his eyes.

"Wait," is all he says, in a hoarse whisper.

Valac

He doesn't flinch, doesn't recoil, doesn't relax into the touch either, when Kismet brings his hand up. If it was with purpose, he'd know, but Kismet's whole body is shaking. What are you waiting on. He's learned so much, yet so much is still out of his reach, too carefully obscured from plain view.

So, by the time he's told to wait, he's already resigned, content in stealing little glances here and there, to turn and explore and repeat in his head later.

His hand drops, only for a moment, and in the next his body moves on its own. He could have this at least, his arms around Kismet's, locking at his back. A telepathic connection, easily established, stays blank when the scent of saltwater rushes up his nostrils. And his face bleeds into the colors of a tattoo where it rests.

"I will."

If Kismet wishes him to go, he has to just think it.

Kismet

The contact drops, and there's a sense of loss, but only for a moment. Then Valac is wrapping his arms around him, palms pressing into the bare skin of his back. He stares over his shoulder, and the waves slow their inevitable march until all seems still.

"I will."

The words carry so much more weight than the context in which he asked. His face crumples, not realising until this moment it was all he wanted to hear. He brings his arms up, returning the embrace. One hand goes automatically to the back of Valac's head, his hair textured from salt spray. Tucking his face into the crook of his shoulder, he's aware of the soft buzzing of their telepathic connection.

Let's stay. I...I don't feel like walking back.

Truthfully, he doesn't want to see the others. Doesn't want to share this with anyone else, not yet. That thought alone is enough to settle the weight of it in his hands. But it's light, and precious, like delicate coral. Something to cradle with care, to examine all the facets and hold it to the light at leisure.

Valac

"Likewise, I'm no fit for company tonight," he murmurs into Kismet's shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, propped against each other with only the sound of the tide and their breathing to accompany them. And as much as Valac's content on never moving a bone in his body again, exhaustion drawing on him, they're only half turned, legs at odd angles. Slowly, he loosens his hold on Kismet and pulls away. When they face each other again and their eyes lock, his mouth curves into a small smile, timid, and he has to look away.

He's sure the journey his face undertakes next is a whiplash, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief at his own reaction; the grains of sand around them suddenly appear real interesting. Shy and timid now, Valac? , he can't help but take a jab at himself. You were ready to jump him not but a moment ago. In truth, he should probably concern himself with figuring out the events of today another time, on a clear head. Perhaps then he'll find some great revelation in them.

"Well," he begins, unsure of what to really say, then laughs when he remembers their purpose here in the first place. "We came to search for stones and components. But I think I might just buy an arcane focus instead."

So tired. He shifts, so that his legs surround Kismet, knees raised up, and props and elbow atop one. Not ready to give up on the proximity.

It's Darlight, by the way. My... name.

A century ago is long enough to be safe.

Kismet

As they draw apart, Kismet watches him with a quiet curiosity. The smile catches him off guard--it's slight, and warm. Not a look he's seen on the tiefling before. When Valac looks away, surprise painting his features, Kismet almost laughs again. Maybe another day, he'll chase for that reaction.

Kismet reaches behind him, unfolding his shirt and pulling it over his head. His tunic he just rests in his lap, ready to make a blanket. The night air isn't so cold, and the proximity certainly helps. He listens, smiling to himself. How distracted they became.

It's Darlight, by the way. My... name.

He sets his hands in his lap, resting on his tunic, and mouths the name. It's unfamiliar, but it has a pleasant ring to it.

Kind of like darling, he notes, then immediately looks away, his neck going hot. Sending the word darling into Valac's mind sends his stomach swooping, like it shouldn't be allowed. I mean, it sounds like that. I don't even know if you like it. The surname, I mean, not darling.

He presses his face into his hands, muttering into his palms. "Shut up, shut up ."

Valac

There's a smile again, but mischievous and wide, and this time he doesn't fight it. Never with the way Kismet always digs the deepest holes for himself.

"Do you like it?" He finishes with a thought. Or do you just like the word "darling"?

There should probably be a limit to how much he enjoys watching Kismet squirm. Probably. Not now though. He even rests his chin in his palm, as if he's evaluating an impressive street performance.

"Are you blushing at my name?", he laughs, teasing, when the elf tries to hide in plain sight.

Kismet

Kismet pulls his hands down, jerking upright, only to bump against Valac's thigh behind him. "I'm not blushing!" he cries, face as red as the dawn before a storm. Valac is watching him, chin propped on his hand, and he knows exactly what he's doing.

He rests his hands before him, absently fiddling with the fabric of Valac's trousers where it bunches near the hem. The quality is fine, like the rest of his things. It still astounds him that Valac has taken interest in him. No connections, hardly any money to his name, let alone even a name . There's just him .

"Are you tired?" he asks quietly, instead of saying anything further to embarrass himself. "I can trance. If anyone approaches I'd wake."

He flicks his tongue over his lips, considering. It was a while ago, the second night after they'd all met. Nightmares, or something like it. He remembers placing his fingers on Valac's forehead, watching his muscles relax. He hasn't seen it happen again, but...

"The second night we all met, when you, Asriel and I shared a room. I don't need a full night's sleep, and when I woke up you were having a nightmare." He swallows roughly. "I should have told you in the morning, but I touched your forehead, and you stopped. So I stayed there through the night."

Valac

He squints his eyes at Kismet when he conveniently changes the topic. Almost too practiced. Valac wonders how many times before he's done that without him noticing.

The second night they met seems so long ago now; he's been sharing a room with Florian for so long he'd almost forgotten about it. He woke up hazy that day, but well rested. Didn't even have time to consider, they had to move, they were on a mission.

And now, of course, Kismet had seen. Of course.

He could lie. He could tell him it was only a bad dream, nothing unusual, and he'd be none the wiser. He chews at his lip. But if he did, that would be his first lie tonight.

"Those happen every night, unless there's someone," he watches Kismet play with the hem of his trousers, transfixed. "I manage, though, and they don't-- my body stays intact. Florian has, however, invited himself to my bed once he figured he can "help me sleep"," he puts emphasis on the phrase with his fingers and shakes his head.

It's subtle, how his face falls a little.

"We've all been bundled up on the road, so it hasn't been an issue then. I wouldn't want it to-- Well, I'm only telling you because you asked."

There's a crease between his eyebrows, thinking about Florian.

He blinks up.

"By the way, who taught you deflection so well? I envy your skill."

Kismet

Every night. Instinctually he clenches his fists, the fabric coarse between his fingers. He's had his own share of nightmares, but not every night. Not for a long time. When Valac mentions Florian, he feels a strange wrenching at his heart. He frowns, confused. Why would Florian sharing a bed with Valac have any sort of effect on him? He and Florian have slept next to each other before, it's nothing new.

"Florian does like to cuddle," he says, still examining the emotion threatening to take root in his chest like the seedling of a thorny rosebush. He doesn't like it, so he takes a breath, filing it away to examine at another time. 

"Thank you for telling me, though." He cocks his head, looking up at Valac through his lashes. "And...I'm here, too. You won't have any more nightmares if I can help it." The insinuation that they will sleep close enough to touch sends his gaze crashing to the ground again. What is it about Valac that makes him say the most foolish things?

"By the way, who taught you deflection so well? I envy your skill."

He laughs softly, impressed but not surprised that Valac's picked up on it. Immediately he finds himself about to do it again, and he presses his mouth shut. Valac recognises what he's doing, and Kismet has seen it in him as well.

"Survival," he says simply. "Needing to get by in a land hostile to every thread and root that makes you who you are. I had to get good at it." He clenches his teeth, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "It's automatic. I'd not wish you to envy me for it."

He swallows again, hopes Valac doesn't mind a small deflection. "I talked with Florian today, actually. They have a way of forcing you to think positively in a manner I find equal parts endearing and relentless." He smiles. "In an affectionate way."

With eyes bright and reflective, he meets Valac's gaze. "But he hasn't been able to pull from me any kind of truth in the way you have. Introspection, sure. But not familiarity. Not..."

Not this. 

Valac

He opens his mouth to retort, on the offer of "helping", but then it clicks shut. A strange conflict rages within him, the thought of someone else, another person knowing and having seen him like this initially tugging him to run and retreat. It's an instinct, to cover himself with the veil, but Kismet has long since peeked under it. There's something akin to relief that follows with that realization. And he doesn't argue.

"They've tried, but I can't-," he searches for the words, hard to put his thoughts and feelings into something he deliberately hasn't spared the time to ponder. He takes a moment, eyes darting back and forth, until they stop on the leather of Kismet's amulet, resting by his neck where he's leaned on him. Without thinking, he lowers his hand, feeling the texture, slotting it between his fingers. "Florian deserves someone good, and we've already gotten too close. The way he reacts to me sometimes... it's just for his own interest that I'm not around. As much."

He used to be so suspicious of him. Turns out they were just lost, more lost than any of them perhaps.

"I pressed him, about his whereabouts, once. Offered up a piece of my own history for it," he smiles at the memory. "Before that, he pressed me about mine, and managed to say more about themselves than I ever did about me. So I'm familiar with how it works," his smile drops as looks away from Kismet's neck, feeling his eyes on him already. "Bait and switch. Figure out what someone wants before they say it themselves, and give them a version of it that looks fulfilling. It is a matter of survival, yes. But I've never been able to figure out you."

He can't help but laugh at the irony of how little he actually minds it now, calm, blank. Now, he imagines that tomorrow he might find out something new about Kismet, and he needs to be there to see it. 

"Kind of stupid, really. I get paid to sit and listen and be someone's missing piece, be everything they need, and it's easy. Most people are so simple."

Kismet

He opens his hands, rubbing a thumb over the calluses. Valac goes on, and Kismet's posture softens, leaning a little more of his weight into the tiefling.

His voice is soft. "He deserves someone who will show him his true worth. Make them see they can shine." He pauses, pressing hard into his palm. "Someone who knows they can take care of themself. That they're strong."

At last he turns his face up, searching for something in Valac's eyes. "I don't know how it is for you. But half the time, I feel like I'm wearing a mask. One I can't take off, not alone. A thin costume of good intentions and willingness to help that I've told myself is genuine. And the others, when they say I'm kind, or selfless, I just--I just want to tear it off. I want to scream at them they're wrong, that they're complimenting some kind of doppleganger that walks around in my shoes."

He breathes hard, on the edge of tears for the third time that day. "Maybe that's why you can't figure me out. Because you pluck your nail under the mask as easily as unraveling a scarf. You're seeing whatever's underneath."

Once more he places a hand against Valac's face. One evening, and he's finding any excuse to touch him, it would seem.

"I don't believe all that much in absolute good and bad. There's one constant on this world, and it's death. The grave claims everyone in the end, no matter if you saved puppies or killed thousands." A gentle shake. "Don't push yourself away from Florian because of some moral quandary. Yes, they are kind, and see the good in everyone, but he'd miss you terribly if you distanced yourself."

He closes his eyes then, a soft laugh on his lips. "Didn't I say that's exactly what I do?" A sigh, and he rubs a hand over his face. "I've tried it already. Doesn't work, not with you. I'm glad for it, that it led us to this beach, and this night."

Valac

"He'd miss what I've shown. He'd miss what he imagines me to be, not what I am. And then, he'll find someone else."

He can't help but commiserate at Kismet's words. It's not a mask he wears, per se, not in the way Kismet describes it, but the desire to conceal. To isolate. To protect, others, yes, but oneself first. The anger when people paint him in a bright light. The--

That's what he's doing too. He looks up at Kismet, sees him clearer than he has seen another person in his life. He's just keeping himself safe. Just as much as others, by always keeping them away. The hand on his face is like a tether, as if through it he's able to see and feel something only he's had the privilege to unravel. He covers it with his own, barely touching.

"We build walls because if people know what we know, we wouldn't be out here today. At this beach, enjoying some sense of.. normalcy."

He lowers their hands to Kismet's lap and keeps them there, cradling each other. Somehow, he can't tear his eyes away.

"I get angry when people see me for more than I am. And I get angry when they see me as I present myself, and assume the worst. I don't know where the balance lies, and I'm too caught in the spider's web to change directions now. Sometimes, I think people should just stop trying to see me at all," he laughs, dry, and his fingers curl in between Kismet's once again. "But you're not just kind, or selfless. If people look at you and only catch that, then they're missing all the nuance, the important bits. You're so much inside that tiny body, I can't parse it, and I don't know how you keep it all in."

He shuts his mouth with a click, chest heavy with the weight of the words. Afraid he should be taking them back, but he doesn't want to.

"Did you want distance from me?", he regards him with a tired smile, eyes locking once more. "I must have missed the memo."

Kismet

Kismet applies gentle pressure against their entwined fingers, listening intently. When Valac talks about him, it's in a way he's never heard describe him before. It makes him sound like so much. At the mention of distance, he grimaces.

"You know, the way you apparently read me like a well-worn book, it seems inevitable I'd return like a puppy with my tail between my legs." He thinks on that day, in the music room, and he feels a twist of guilt. "I'm glad I didn't keep my distance. I'm glad you didn't, either. After a fashion."

He looks down at their hands, his small and worn, Valac's elegant and long. Pianist's fingers. Kismet's hands fit far too comfortably there.

When he looks up again, Valac's smile is tired, and he feels guilty keeping him up. He's only just feeling the edge of tiredness.

"I'm not as pretty with words as you are. But I hope you'll let me see you, and know you, over time." He smiles, too cowardly to do anything but brush his thumb over the back of Valac's hand, just once. It frustrates him to no end that he can't wrangle his thoughts enough to produce anything as coherent or heartfelt as Valac's words. Perhaps another letter.

"Now, you must be exhausted." He untwines their hands and moves back a little, crossing his legs. "I can trance like this. If it's comfortable, you can just lay your head on my lap." As the words leave his mouth, he blushes. "There's no pillow," he offers as a poor excuse.

Valac

The edges of his vision blur as he listens to Kismet. He frowns at the notion that he can easily read him. Only because you let me, he sends, then realizes too long has passed for him to hear.

It's almost like the weight of the world is upon him, as if the prospect of sleep, and soon, has somehow drained him of any remaining energy. 

He sighs, out loud, resigned.

"Only for a bit. I'll just close my eyes a little."

He stands up to let Kismet get comfortable and uses the moment to fully stretch, holding himself up on his toes. All of this… he wonders how long it would last. The trust. The understanding. But he's exhausted, and it's been many years since he's been able to look at someone without waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps too many to remember. If it only lasts this night, it would still be enough.

His scarf lies discarded on the side, bright reds and oranges darkened under the moonlight. He picks it up, eyes darting to Kismet. He's seen him shiver tonight, many times over, while Valac has not felt a cold breeze. So he lets the fabric fall on the elf's shoulders, fixing him with a gaze before he has the chance to protest, and wordlessly lowers himself down on his lap.

The crashing waves are like a lullaby.

"Not a puppy, but you'd look good with a tail between your legs," he murmurs into his thigh before letting his body go lax. 

Kismet

He watches Valac stretch, catlike. Then he catches himself, and looks away, abashed. You've said wait. Don't confuse him.

Soft fabric falls on his shoulders, and a protest dies on his lips when Valac gives him a look. So he draws it further about him. It smells like lilacs.

He's very still when Valac lies down, and for a moment is self-conscious. Is this even comfortable? Perhaps just lying on his folded-up tunic would be enough. And his hands, what does he do with his hands--

Then Valac says that , and he feels the tiefling go soft against him. Self-conscious or not, he doesn't dare move any more. He laughs, and as much as he wants to watch the waves and the reflection of Catha to lull him into a trance, he can't take his eyes off Valac.

"Comfortable?" he murmurs. Valac's hair still looks soft, though slightly textured by the sea air. He has the urge to run his hand over it, rhythmically. He grips the scarf tighter. His eyes dart about his face. "Will this...is this close enough to stop the nightmares?"

Valac

Yeah," he slowly looks up. "And I've slept on the street before, Kismet, this is leagues above."

He tries to keep his eyes open as long as possible, but in the end barely does, seconds later his eyelids weighing on him. His mind is already swimming, and his thoughts begin to drift away. At this rate, it's not going to take more than a couple of minutes to fall asleep, and for some reason he hopes Kismet doesn't think he usually takes that little.

Why should that even matter. You should be worrying about more pressing matters.

It shouldn't matter, he convinces himself. Just how it shouldn't matter that they're not sleeping in a different position, and his arms feel empty. But Kismet's able to keep watch, and exercising trust is… the first step. The contact, however, was addicting.

"If you want, you can tou-," he begins, voice laden with sleep, and cuts himself short when he realizes how that will sound. It's like he's lost all his social grace. "Your hands--," Nope, be decent. "The way- you know what, nevermind."

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Kismet

Kismet raises his eyebrows at Valac admission. On the street? He shakes himself a little. This whole time he's been seeing Valac as wealthy, or perhaps someone who has seen nothing but soft beds and ballrooms all his life. There's so much more. So many more things to talk about, to discover, even the less pleasant things.

It doesn't take long for Valac's eyes to flutter closed. Kismet watches, fascinated. It's like seeing a night bloom unfold, something reserved for the stars alone. Valac mutters sleepily, stopping each sentence barely before it begins. It brings a broad smile to Kismet's face, to see him trying so desperately to not speak in innuendo.

Silence falls, the kind that only settles in the early hours. The ocean probably looks quite beautiful. If he looked up, he might wonder at the reflections the moon makes, or the gentle way the waves roll in. But that's a common sight.

Carefully, he lifts a hand, hovers it over Valac's head, His fingers tremble in the dark, and his heart is thudding. He won't mind. He knows this. But it still takes a fair few seconds before he touches his fingertips to his forehead, sweeping aside the bangs. Then upward, the back of his knuckles brushing over his hair. He leaves enough time for Valac to pull away, or snap at him to stop. He wouldn't mind. So he continues, gently brushing through his hair, absently humming an Elvish tune.

Valac

Feather-light touch stirs him a little, just for a split second. But it's warm, and soft, and like nothing he's felt before. Just before he surrenders to exhaustion fully, one last thought etches itself in his mind - the others. Last thing he wants now is a panic induced search for their dead bodies because they never came back.

Valac barely cracks one eye open to aid in the search of his component pouch, and fishes out a copper wire.

"Florian, don't wait up, we're not coming back tonight. See you in the morning."

He pauses.

"I'll also hear anything you say next so sorry if I'm interrupting anything."

He hums, not too sure if those last words made it in. Weird spell. His hand, still clutching the wire, falls to the side.

Florian

Florian groans - having been so close to drifting off to sleep, only to have it ruined by Valac's voice suddenly ringing in his mind. 

They glanced around the room, not moving too much as to not ruin their comfortable position. Valac wasn't there? But this must be the mind-talky thingy? Right?

"Wait, where the fuck are you guys?" Florian muttered out loud before finally clocking it. 

Wait shit fuck. This was that spell. THAT SPELL. They knew this one from the older clerics. Shit fuck shit fuck wasn't there a limit on this? Was it by word or just a straight timer fuCK.

"Shit erm fuck er what? Wait. Be safe. Don't get murdered. Or something-"

Florian stopped, and sat up suddenly. There was a momentary twinge of pain in their back at the abrupt action. But that was quickly ignored in favour of yelling out loud in the empty room.

"WAIT ARE YOU TWO FUCKING SOMEWHERE!?"

There was a distant yell from the other side of the house. Florian couldn't tell who it was, but it was a distinctive ' shut the fuck up ' directed towards himself.

Valac

He hears an expected response, barely registers it, even. It's a little weight off his shoulders, lifted.

And then it gets worse. And the entire events of the night come rushing back to him.

There was... skin, so close. The cold metal, the heartbeat, his hands nearly clasped around Kismet's waist. The way he could easily move him around with just one hand. A deep flush that he can feel rises all the way from his sternum to the tips of his ears. And his eyes, betraying him, dart up to Kismet before he can stop.

If there was a way to stop his mind racing, now is the time he's wanted it the most. He turns to the side and wordlessly pushes his face into Kismet's thigh, although it does next to nothing to cover it.

Just go to sleep. It will all be gone tomorrow.

Kismet

Kismet stops his humming as Valac pulls a copper wire out, pulling his hand back. With a slight widening of his eyes, Kismet realises the spell is similar to the one Kaulmyn uses. A message spell. Smart of Valac to notify the others. He grimaces internally. It never occurred to him that his presence might be missed enough to warrant a message.

When he looks down, Valac is turning his face away, a clear blush colouring his face and ears. Kismet gives him an amused smile, but he's already closing his eyes. Whatever Florian sent back must have been something.

More confident that Valac doesn't mind Kismet's fingers in his hair, he resumes the movement. Before long, his own eyes flicker shut, and his hand stills its movement, resting on the nape of Valac's neck. Occasionally his trance will fade for a moment, and he brushes his thumb against Valac's skin, just to reassure him that he's there.

10 Fessuran

Kismet

Kismet slowly eases out of his trance to the sound of waves and the deep violet of night just before dawn begins to turn the sky grey. Still early, then. And the weight on his leg tells him Valac is still here with him, and everything that happened last night wasn't an elaborate dream. It sends jolts of nervousness through him, thinking over the things they said, and what he shared.

Valac is in the same position as he was last night, tail curled about him, his arms tucked near his chest. He breathes smoothly and deep, no sign of any of the nightmares that plague him. Kismet's hand still rests on his neck, and as carefully as he can without disturbing him, he picks up the gentle brushing against his hair.

There's still an hour or so before dawn, and another few beyond that before Valac might wake. He hopes the sun doesn't disturb him too early, wishes there were a way to cast a shade across them. He dares not move, instead examining the planes of Valac's face, soft and unbothered in sleep.

He waits.

Valac

The sound of the sea wakes him.

Outside again?

But he's cradled, soft ground beneath and hands in his hair. Different .

The sky is barely scattered pink against the fading midnight when he opens his eyes. What's just edges of sunlight now will soon expand and bathe them. And the scattered blue and red in his periphery is his own scarf, covering Kismet's shoulders. He rises, fully taking in their surroundings, but his tail curls around the elf as if with a mind of its own.

"You stayed."

He wants it to be a simple observation, but his words are colored by the slow confusion that draws on him. Why did Kismet stay, after everything Valac said? After what he did. After the- Oh. Oh he'd said and done so much. Too much. If he tries to remember it all...

He washes the remains of his makeup with a murmur, the spell doing nothing to wake him like a splash of cold water would. He's well rested, dreamless, but his whole body feels beaten. It almost comes as no surprise, when he cried twice in a day. That certainly hasn't happened in a while.

"You might want to prepare for Florian when we return," he rubs his face, trying to figure out what to do next. "When I messaged him, the response was... interesting."

Kismet

He feels Valac stir beneath his fingers as the morning light scattering over the waves. Reluctantly he lets his hand fall away to let Valac sit up, watching quietly. Valac's voice is thick with sleep, which he's heard plenty of times on the road before. But the words he says...he sounds surprised.

Kismet stretches, nodding as Valac mentions Florian. He remembers quite well the reaction it caused, the feeling of Valac pressing his face into his thigh. He clears his throat, a clear flush over his skin.

He addresses the first comment. "Valac, I wasn't about to leave you alone on a beach in a strange city." He pulls the shawl closer around him, not quite ready to give it up yet. "And what did they say? Whatever it was must have been quite surprising."

Smiling, he holds on to the memory of Valac's blush.

Valac

"Valac, I wasn't about to leave you alone on a beach in a strange city."

Of course. When it's said like that, of course, it makes sense. He knows that. Or at least he thinks so. His brow furrows at the thought that it would bother him if he didn't stay. Why should it, when he was preparing for it anyway? Maybe it just would have been easier to think when it's not under Kismet's gaze, after he's already revealed so much to him.

It's raw, too raw. He's done something incredibly dangerous. Don't come now. His own thought startles him. Six years of feeling hollow, and he's turning his back on them on a whim because of someone he met a month ago? He wants to tear out the guilt that takes hold on him from its roots. 

"Ah, well," the corners of his mouth slowly turn up, looking for any sort of distraction before he starts fidgeting, his tail already tapping nervously on the sand. "He asked if we were fucking."

Kismet

"What?! They what--"

He jerks his head about them as though there were anyone close enough to overhear, his face completely red. There's just the empty beach, the slowly stirring noises of the docks.

Valac looks very pleased with himself, and Kismet doesn't put it past Florian to blurt something like that over a message spell. And if he understands how it works correctly, it would have been out loud--

With a barely stifled squeak, he puts his face in his hands. Peeking between his fingers, he sends Valac a distraught look.

"And when we waltz up to the front door, covered in sand and smelling of the sea?"

For a moment he sits there, frozen, mortified. Until a bubbling of mirth clutches at his chest, and he can't stop a bark of laughter.

"We're never going to hear the end of this, are we?" Again, he laughs, loud and wide. For some reason he doesn't mind the thought of it, the rumour. "We'll have to set the story straight eventually, but until then, I'm flattered Florian thinks I have any kind of pull."

Valac

As expected, Kismet goes fully read in the face, and Valac also enjoys the pleasant added bonus of him frantically looking about them, as if anyone would care. Not that they're not completely alone. His smile grows, amused, and then cracks open the elf covers his face. It also makes Valac feel a little bit better about his own reaction to the concept; he should've been able to keep a straight face, and he dares not examine why he didn't.

"And when we waltz up to the front door, covered in sand and smelling of the sea?"

He breaks when Kismet starts laughing.

"Covered in sand," he blurts, almost heaving with how hard he's struggling not to burst out as well. "You're wearing my scarf. I have no make up on-"

He's sure Florian would be up to no good. If Agatha heard them as well... she already made a very pointed comment at Valac regarding Kismet. He could see her being a nuisance as well, although she'd be throwing rocks from glass houses.

"We either have to own up to it or figure out how to turn it around."

Kismet

Kismet sighs, falling back to lie flat on his cloak. His legs have been crossed the whole night, and he takes a glorious moment to stretch his entire body out. A single bird circles above, probably a gull, searching out breakfast.

"Florian will be asleep, that much is a given. It'll be easy enough to sneak around him. The rest of them, especially Agatha, will not be so easy to skirt around."

He rests his hands on his chest, intertwining his fingers. It felt almost cold without some point of contact between them, even with the clarity of the morning. From the corner of his eye, Valac's tail twitches about. He eyes it for a moment, some kind of intrusive thought begging him to dart a hand out and grab it. Instead, he puts a hand out slowly, pinches at the fabric of Valac's trousers again, near the hem. Just holds it, feeling the  weave between his fingers.

"I meant what I said, by the way. Last night." His voice is quiet, jarring against the brightening morning, but he places all the heaviness into the words he felt when they were bathed in moonlight. "I'm not going anywhere."

It feels important to reiterate it. His trance was filled with his racing thoughts, images and memories. Starlight on grey skin. The morning light casts them in a muted glow, and he feels that same connection. Nothing has changed, and it both scares him and buoys his soul.

Valac

There's nothing to prepare him for the reaffirmation that he didn't ask for. Not with the way his stomach turns, both anxious and elated. And he can't help but wonder why it already feels so familiar when Kismet plays with the hem of his trousers again, when it was supposed to be different today. His eyes travel up the arm, but he doesn't dare meet Kismet's. Instead, he quickly turns to the side, where the waves don't waver.

"Agatha might not be awake still, she usually wakes after me. If we go now, maybe she won't notice. Although the idea of sneaking in by itself already seems like it would fuel them both."

Valac wouldn't mind the rest of the group thinking what they want, truly, but Kismet was... different. And it made him want to protect whatever happened last night, even as a moment suspended in time. Not ready yet for anyone else to know. Once again, he asks himself if they're friends, or whatever veil the moonlit sky had cast on them them has faded. Regret at his own actions, paired with the constant pull towards Kismet, the pull to keep doing the same thing again and again, were an interesting combination to experience.

A desire is eating at him, telling to try it again, see if he can.

"Can I... tell you something?" He imagines he's talking to the sea.

Kismet

Kismet sits up, slowly. The scarf around his shoulders is warm enough that he doesn't need his tunic, and reminds him of the plans he had for the day. Valac turns to look at the ocean, some kind of war working beneath his features.

"Can I... tell you something?"

He doesn't inch any closer, leaving the space between them small enough that if one of them were to reach out, they'd touch. The potential of the contact feels more charged, almost, than when they'd clung to each other in the sea.

"Anything," he says, and he means it.

Valac

Anything. He doubts that. But still, he pushes on.

"Yesterday, I spoke with Agatha. About... us. I mean-" He exhales. When did he stop considering this a job, so that it became so hard? "I mean the group. And it went well, really well."

He laughs, only now slowly reeling in the events of the day.

"I think I might like her now," one eyebrow shoots up, as if in disbelief at himself. "Then, I spoke with the twins, mainly Keldrym, who I haven't spared more than a word with. And it almost went really bad but then it didn't. And then, with you..."

His gaze darts to the side. A hand still at his trousers, blue eyes looking up at him. He doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't have to.

"I guess I just don't know why I did that. I don't know why I did any of that. I've never been taught to bear my throat at the pack like that, and I've seen and felt what it can do, so why did I?"

The sand beneath his palms becomes colder and colder as he burrows them deeper. "I'm not sure why I'm even saying this. Think the Raven Queen would know?", he laughs again, only half joking.

Kismet

He listens in silence, reacting only a little when Valac mentions getting along with Agatha, and again when he trails off, looking Kismet in the eye.

"That's a lot to take on in one day, for just one person," he says. "I spoke with Florian yesterday, found myself breaking down into tears at just the reassurance that they consider us friends. And that was just one conversation."

He laughs, bitterly. "I've found such contentment in being alone, before these people. At least, I'd thought so. But here they are, taking a knife to my soul and making me question everything."

He pauses, not content with the small amount of contact between his fingers and the fabric of his hem. Before he can change his mind, he rests the heel of his hand on Valac's shoulder, right where the collarbone merges with muscle. With a curled finger, he brushes some of his hair aside.

"Your knife was sharper than the rest."

Kismet pauses a moment, staring in wonder at the proximity. At how comfortable he's become, reaching out to touch, even so small a movement as this.

"I suppose what I'm saying is: apart, we've followed our own threads of fate. Catching on knots or making beautiful patterns. But together, the weft and warp tangles, and though I've no idea if we'll weave the parts together to create a masterful tapestry, all of us will be needed." He's not sure if it lands, but being a little cryptic is a part of him, and not easily hidden. "And if you'd like to ask the Matron of Ravens herself, why don't we pop in to say hello tomorrow?"

Valac

He shifts until the finger at his cheek, leaning into the touch. That's an... interesting feeling, he decides. And he listens to Kismet, wide eyed. It's oddly reassuring to hear that he has had at least half the impact on Kismet that he feels on himself. Even more so to think that their paths were meant to cross, to have a bigger impact together. To change.

"I don't think I'm the one holding the knife anymore. And how can I ask? You're the one who's got her attention," he smiles up at him, torn. Where to even begin. "Somehow, when it's about the Raven Queen, the concept of death is simply... a facet of life. As it should be. Slow, steady, constant. That's new to me."

There is a knot at his core that he knows is making the tapestry wretched and tangled, and he realizes he's physically shaking just thinking about it. His hand darts up to cover Kismet's, a reflex. It helped last night, it could help today as well.

"I can't tell you everything, and I won't ask you to tell me everything," he repeats the elf's words from before. "But I haven't found contentment in being alone. I have searched, desperately, to find something that has been missing, but now I don't know if I want it back. The death I know is not comforting, or pretty, or quick, although it is certain."

And it's yours, if they're here. He squeezes Kismet's hand. He's barely making any sense, he can tell.

"I mean- we will go. I'm just-" he closes and opens his mouth several times. He can't explain it.

Kismet

He bites his lip, a crease forming at his brow. Valac's hand over his is familiar. Kismet draws his hand into a fist, catching Valac's fingers in his, and presses into the contact. Leans closer.

"The Raven Queen stands silent sentinel in the veil, guiding departed souls from this life to the next." His voice is hushed, as though uttering a prayer. And it is, almost. "She cares not for the manner of death. For who, or why, or how. An urchin on the street passes through the same gate as a king."

He's almost feverish, on the brink of saying too much. Valac's own words filter through the haze. He's said too much already, but something about Valac draws it out of him.

"When I was at my lowest, and there was no one but the dark and my thoughts, she was there. And after that, after I left, she stayed with me. Even after--"

He squeezes his eyes shut. The memories threaten to engulf him, to take over his shaking core, to pull him under and away. He breathes, hard, leaning his forehead onto Valac's hand where it wraps Kismet's fist.

"I don't know where I'm going with this. Maybe I'm just trying to reassure you that she holds no judgement. Maybe I'm trying to reassure myself that." He takes a shuddering breath, lifting his head, looking into Valac's face. "Why is it that whenever we try to say anything at all, the words end up going in strange circles, when all I'm really trying to say is I don't want to be alone, either?"

Valac

The way Kismet speaks is reassuring, in an unexpected way. He knows her well, then. Then Kismet mentions the dark, again, and Valac shudders alongside him. Wonders if his hands are made to bring comfort with the same tenacity they deal pain.

"You should shut up," he laughs, hushed and almost breathless, no malice in it. "Hells, I should shut up."

He shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. Just as he suspected, the trail end of that deep, unsettling feeling of worry, the pit in his stomach, threatens to overwhelm him. No, now is not the time to talk about it all.

He looks about them, but the beach is empty, the ocean is clear, calm. Kismet is leaning on Valac's hand and the morning sun catches in the metal of his star earring. He has the sudden urge to grasp it, and trace the scattered reflections on his neck. By the time he has a chance to convince himself otherwise, his fingers can already feel the pulse underneath.

He doesn't remember the urge to explore another's body in such detail before.

"We best get back before Agatha wakes up," he whispers, as if someone will steal his words before Kismet can hear them. "Not that she won't hear but. Try to lessen the blow when it comes."

Kismet

The slow panic curling about his throat lessens as Valac speaks, and disappears entirely when his fingers brush the soft skin of his throat, examining his earrings. How easy it would be, how soothing, to lean into that touch. The thought takes him by surprise.

But he sighs, and it's like tearing roots when he pulls away. "You're right. We can't avoid her entirely." He laughs a little, and says, "Why does it feel like sneaking back home after a night spent out? I almost expect Agatha to scold us like teenagers."

He lifts the scarf from his shoulders, flicks it around Valac, avoiding his horns. Holds it there for a moment, and wonders why he has the sudden urge to tug on it, draw him in.

"What is it they say? I don't care what they think?" His fingers brush the fine silk, and he thinks of the day ahead. "A little gossip within a group like this surely just makes things interesting. Besides, I'm wanting to search out a weaver's guild this morning. I have some questions, some things to work on."

He grows quiet a moment, straightening out the scarf. He fears they won't get another night like this, not for a long time. But there'll be other moments. And time. So much time, to talk and ask questions, and resolve the dogs of his past that bite at his heels.

So he's content, and he hope it shows in the smile on his face.

Valac

His arm falls to the side when Kismet goes to wrap him with the scarf. He'd have to somehow resist the urge to just reach out, now that he's been very obviously welcomed to. He bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe if Kismet didn't lean into it so readily he would have an easier time. But they'll get questioned, perhaps more than necessary, if they keep it up like that.

For a moment, he pauses, wondering how they got themselves here, truly considering hiding like teenagers. It does bring a smile to his face, as much as it confuses him.

"Do you think you can handle it? Because I'm no stranger to gossip," he catches Kismet's hands one last time, giving a small squeeze, before he steps back to the rest of his belongings. "I don't know who started it, or why, but for a while people coming to the Vine used to think I can lift another's weight with my tail. I can't, for the record", he chuckles, almost wistful, and fastens the component pouch to his belt. "The keep had to turn away a good amount of people, several of which were all too keen on getting tied up in alternative ways."

The sky's getting brighter, pink hues shifting into warm oranges. He makes his way back to the road, throwing a cursory glance at the ocean over his shoulder. What do you even expect.

"And weaver's guild, hm? There must be one around. I might stay back and figure out a plan of action with whoever's at the Tolman's."

Kismet

Kismet isn't unfamiliar with the game, but with a group of friends he truly isn't sure either how well he will hide it, or roll with it.

Hide what, exactly?

He begins gathering his things, and is tightening his belt and tabard when Valac talks about the Vine. His fingers pause, halfway through tying a knot on the leather string, and he just stops. He knows what Valac is talking about. Of course he does. But Valac just coming out and saying it, especially in the context of--

Of what? What context? Nothing happened. Would he want something to happen? What exactly?

He's still stood there, completely still, his mind helpfully conjuring images that colour his face bright red, before he notices that Valac is moving off. He shakes himself, quickly tugging on his boots and fetching his cloak from the ground. It's covered in sand, but he doesn't mind.

"Ah, yes. Shouldn't be too hard to tie. I mean, find." He clears his throat, matching stride with Valac, brushing the sand off his cloak. "If you do stay behind, perhaps feel out who might want to pick up some jobs. Adventuring jobs. There's a spell component I need that costs a bit, about three hundred gold pieces worth of diamonds. It'll be worth it."

Valac

"I'll look into it, my funds are running dry as well, after yesterday. And we do need something to board a ship as well. What do you need the diamonds for?"

He stops at the road, waiting for Kismet to catch up. It's a bit odd, thinking about being away from him for a day now. It also makes him nervous to consider that Kismet might not appreciate being clung to like that, and that's only half mixed with the absolute dread in the pit of his stomach, of something going terribly wrong. And he knows exactly what.

He wraps the scarf tighter around himself. It fucking smells of saltwater and pine.

"Ah, yes. Shouldn't be too hard to tie. I mean, find."

His ears twitch, a single word both out of place and almost too fitting of a slip. Kismet's neck is pink with the remains of a flush, although in his defense that's just his natural reaction whenever Valac breaches similar topics. Another day, perhaps, he can test out a theory. For now, he chooses to focus on the way sand still covers the edges of his cloak.

"Hold on," he extends an arm and murmurs the incantation to clear it up. "We really could've used the scarf. I'm not even going to be wearing it anymore."

Ahead of them, the city is just waking up, and the smell of fresh baked bread carries in the air.

Kismet

The sand falls away from the light wool, crumbling into nothing. "Oh! Thank you."

He bites on his lip at the mention of tossing away the scarf. Wonders if his plans for today might be for naught. "Is the weather so warm here you're going to be rid of it?"

He throws the cloak back over his shoulders, fingers brushing over the completely clean fabric. Such a useful spell. He considers his meditation this morning, the new power he now held at his fingertips. It's equal parts frightening and thrilling.

"Well, should one of us fall--and I mean, beyond unconscious, I mean fall dead--if I could get there in time and if the grace of the Matron is on our side, I can draw their spirit back to life." He holds his hands in front of him, marvelling at what they are now capable of. "It's not guaranteed to work, but..."

He looks up at Valac, and even imagining him getting close to death is enough to drive a spike of fear into his heart. They have so much more to do, so much more to say. A small thing like death is not enough to stand in the way.

"I have a few other things, as well. That messaging spell, I can use it now. And another...it's similar to the one you asked me to try on you. Except the life force it takes, it comes back to me. It heals from someone elses' pain."

Valac

He's silent for a while, considering he words. Somehow, he doesn't think anyone else in the group would be willing to use such a spell, even on a foe. At least... anyone beside himself. Just him and Kismet.

"Those are all very useful spells," he finally responds. "With the ability to bring someone from beyond the veil, that means in combat keeping you safe should be our top priority. That ability among other things," he adds so quick that he almost misses it himself. He almost sounds bashful, and he cringes at the thought.

He looks down at his scarf and takes a corner in his hand, feeling the fabric between his fingers. It's soft, and often does nothing to keep him warm anyway. Would not help at all with the thrill on his skin if Kismet uses that spell to--

He has to stop that train of thought really, really quick.

"Not really the weather, it's just that I simply have no use of it anymore. This whole façade, the bright colors," he throws one side of the scarf around his shoulders and gestures to himself, head to toe. "It's very useful for drawing attention, and has served its purpose. But we're not trying to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. Besides, those shoes outside of the city? I don't know if you've had to walk through mud in heels but there are many better experiences than that. And we'll be going on an island ."

Kismet

"That ability among other things."

Kismet wants very badly to reply with a quip, but the tone is too genuine to poke fun of. Their group hasn't talked much of tactics in combat, and it's not something Kismet has direct experience with. So far he's been flying by the seat of his pants, reacting in the moment, and it's almost caused his own death.

He laughs a little as Valac talks about the way he dresses. "You know, not long ago I might have said that nothing about you is subtle, and new clothes wouldn't stop that." He smiles to himself, bumping gently into him as they walk along the Prism Path. "I couldn't think that farther from the truth, now."

He falls to bashful silence. Direct compliments don't come easy to him, nor accepting them. He's better with written word, or making things. The letter he wrote feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket, but it's not time to hand it over. Not yet.

Instead, he plucks at his clothes. "Elves in Bysaes Tyl are so obsessed with autumnal palettes. It was hard to find thread or fabric in darker shades than brown." He considers the fabric scraps Agatha had bought him, and a wry smile pulls at his face. "I managed to use some of the lighter fabric from Nicodranas that Agatha bought. Didn't you say you are actually beginning to like her? If you're taking all of our party members on midnight ocean dips, I might start to get jealous."

He means it as a joke, almost entirely, but the thrill it sends through his chest tells him it's deeper than that.

Valac

He laughs alongside Kismet when he talks about him. He's not wrong - Valac never wanted to appear subtle, and first glances rarely graze below the surface. At least it's some confirmation that Valac is doing it right.

"And I thought you're an innocent youngling, so glad we were both wrong. What was your first impression of me, though, besides that?"

The bump is surprising, but not unwelcome, and he turns to look at Kismet as he goes on to talk about Bysaes Tyl. The place seemed to have harshly shaped him into what he is now - most of the immediately obvious aspects at least. Whatever impact Xhorhas had must be hidden with care, otherwise Valac would have noticed something. Anything besides a drunken slip-up. What did he even say? He makes a note to try and remember more clearly later.

The subtle smile on his face is somewhat darkened by Kismet's last words and the odd desire to... what? Valac's brow creases. To do what? Reassure him? It must be a joke. And it's only half charming to think about Kismet being jealous, if at all, he tells himself. Besides, why wouldn't he also take Agatha, or anyone, on a midnight dip?

His whole chest roars at the thought.

"I don't see that happening. I don't like her that much," he tries to keep the tone jovial, but can't help but worry his lip. He should probably leave it at that. It's enough.

He doesn't.

"If I want another midnight ocean dip I'll just take you again. I don't need more than that."

Kismet

Kismet can't bear to look up at Valac. If he saw the expression he wore, if it were anything sincere, he might burn up there on the spot. So he clutches the inside of his cloak, a small smile pulling at his lips. What a thing, to be enough .

"I'd like that," is all he says in response.

They walk on a small distance, and he feels like if he looked behind them, the stones would be lighting up one by one, colouring a bright trail where they stepped. Some evidence they had been here, that the city would be affected so profoundly by their revelations it couldn't help but light up in response.

It occurs to him Valac asked a question, so he takes a breath. "Well, you made me nervous. I suppose I was intimidated by you. I remember walking down the stairs at the Puffin, and it was just you there. I could barely get a word out." He rolls his eyes at the memory. "Well, the only thing different there is that you don't intimidate me all that much any more. And also...I think you were the only one who noticed I didn't have the drink I wanted. Such a small thing. I don't know why I remember it."

He thinks on it, though, and knows why it sticks. He'd only been in the city a week. Suddenly surrounded by people, unsure of how loud he should be, how much he should swear, what he should say. Drinking a trost with distaste, thinking fondly of wine. He never did get his wine that day, but just to be seen in the moment was enough.

Valac

When the red roofs start dwindling down and a moon statue peeks above the buildings the distance, Valac slows down their step.

"We won't have to sneak around in the alleyways during the day, I don't think. Unless you want to," he emphasizes the words, simply to get a rise out of Kismet, fang flashing. "Or we could just go around."

His expression turns soft when Kismet describes him as intimidating. That was another intended effect, but it should have lasted. He wonders when exactly did he allow others to breach his carefully crafted cocoon. Perhaps it wasn't their tenacity, perhaps it was a mistake of his own.

"There are certain details that don't escape me, in social situations. I've had to- I've had to learn that. Reading people, to a degree, is easy, unless they're deliberately trying to hide something. But there are cues and... well, I suppose I just never figured it would stick out to anyone."

He finally stops completely, to figure out their direction.

"Besides, trost is so much worse than wine."

Kismet

The alleyways are much brighter in the early morning light. "It's not nearly so mysterious in the daytime. Let's go the easy way." He knows Valac is drawing his memory back to him, of their proximity in the dark. It works, and he turns his face away, hiding the blush. He may well change his skin colour to pink for how long he's had flushed skin around Valac.

They pause for a moment, the city slowly waking around them. The bakeries are going, and the occasional cart or rickshaw passes by with early morning deliveries. He turns on the spot, slowly, taking it in now that he can see the colours better. Damali is a bright town, lively and rough. He likes it, he decides.

"You're absolutely right. At least one person in this group has taste." He pauses his slow circle, steps closer. His voice is low, and perhaps he's doing that to draw Valac closer. Selfishly take more of him before they have to return to some semblance of normalcy. "Does it bother you that I hide things? That I continue to hide things?"

He's nervous voicing the question. Perhaps what he means to ask is, is it alright if I show only a small facet of myself.

Is that facet enough, he wonders.

Valac

Kismet steps closer and Valac can feel it, as if they're enveloped in the same protective shield. He wonders if Catha and Ruidus were once independent, rising from different sides of the night sky, but once caught in each other's currents refused to separate. The elf's voice is barely a whisper, and Valac hears it clearly, yet he still leans in.

He glances down at the colorful paveway below their feet, thinking the question over. As colorful as the stones in his pocket. It bothers him with others, and it bothers him a lot.

"It usually does. My brain is really helpful with supplying the worst possible scenario of why someone might be hiding something. But it's also hypocritical of me."

The corners of his mouth barely twitch up as he extends a hand towards Kismet and cups the side of his face. One earring gold, one silver. Carefully matched metals on each ear. For some reason, he can't meet his eye; his own might show something too raw and undefined for the streets of Port Damali. Something he still hasn't had the time to ponder and shape until it's presentable.

"Not with you, frankly. I feel like you've shown me more than others. Maybe it's selfish of me that I like that."

Kismet

Perhaps the passersby might look at the two of them, standing in the early dawn light in the middle of the street, caught in their own world. Perhaps without the sleep still fogging his mind, Kismet might have been able to see it too. How they looked. But he's caught, wrapped in the moment, and Valac's hand is on his cheek. Whatever it is that possesses him next isn't born from the quiet about them, but something else, something deeper.

"Unfold me then, day by day, pulling away the hidden parts of me like petals," he murmurs. "But like those petals, all those secrets once shed are useless, dead. There's always going to be me, with or without."

A heartbeat, he stands there, the space between them charged, and smelling of salt and sand and lilacs. He has to close his eyes, lower his gaze, turn his face a little. It terrifies him, thrills him, that he'd been just about ready to kiss Valac in the middle of the streets of Damali.

His eyes shoot open, brows rising. He'd been ready to kiss Valac. That was... somewhat new. At least, he tells himself that.

Valac

He bites his lip. What's happening. He's being twisted and turned, unraveled with words. There has never been anyone who…

Wait. Kismet said to wait .

"That's the plan," he murmurs, but doesn't step away, doesn't move his hand when the elf turns to the side. Is that all you've got? A mere nod in the other direction.

There's a devilish part of him that sees him struggle, and wants to just push him, break him. So he leans in, even closer, right where Kismet is looking. Impossibly close, but he doesn't close the distance  "And when I have the last petal, I won't throw it away. I'll eat it, so that no one else can find it."

Kismet

His heart is hammering in his throat, his hands gripping hard to the inside of his cloak. He finds himself grinning in response, baring a fang.

"I hope you aren't expecting it to taste sweet."

He is loathe to pull away, and once more wonders how they got here, once more, inches from each other. If he doesn't open the distance now, he'd be a hypocrite. Telling Valac to wait, and a few hours later doing this .

So he pulls away, allowing Valac's fingers to travel down his cheek, brushing close to his lips. At that, he begins to walk away at a quick pace, heading to the nearest side street vaguely in the direction of the Tolman's, a hand pressed to his heart and surprise painted on his face that he'd attempted to rattle Valac like that.

Valac

He grins at Kismet's retreating form, even if he can't see. That was close, and not only physically. He wonders how much closer it can get; the days ahead of them were bound to be interesting. With a brisk walk, he catches up to him, and only throws him a curious glance.

They walk in silence through The Crescents, somehow finding the same path they walked at midnight, sans the hidden alleyways. It's quieter, a stark contrast to the bustling market streets, and occasionally, soft music carries in the air - unclear if it's an inn or just an open window into someone's abode. When they're almost out, something different than perfume finally reaches Valac, and his stomach turns at the prospect of fresh baked bread.

"Do you think if we buy breakfast Agatha is going to take it as a personal offence? Or the Tolmans," he sighs just thinking about it. "I don't want to presume, they just seemed so... homey. Close."

Almost painfully so. And to welcome strangers like that. 

Kismet

Kismet keeps his hand pressed to his heart, but for a different reason. It ached, watching the way Arabella talked with Antonio. How they'd all been taken in without a second thought. It's not as though he hadn't seen families like this before, far from it; it just hit a little closer when the hospitality was extended to encapsulate him as well.

"Agatha will survive. As good a cook as she is, I'm sure there are some local delicacies here she hasn't mastered yet." He starts leading them off toward the warm lights of a bakery up ahead. "It felt homey, yes. A little overwhelming, a little painful. I feel nothing but happiness for Arabella having a family she's so close with, don't get me wrong, I just...it looks so easy. Like they don't have to try at all."

He laughs, but it's muted. "That makes me sound so bitter. I just feel equal parts happy for her and...jealous, I suppose. That's the word."

Valac

Jealous. A little overwhelming, a little painful. Valac fears if he starts laughing it will be too long and inappropriate, and he won't be able to get a hold of himself. Who or what exactly brought them together? To have his thoughts reflected back at him.

"Antonio is quite the character," his eyebrows shoot up when he remembers the tenacity of someone half his size so easily bossing him around. "When we first went to find him, I suggested giving them some privacy to catch up but he insisted that I stayed there. He wanted both to learn more about Arabella's friends and make sure we were treating her right, I suppose."

Seems so ordinary when it's said out loud. Easy, indeed. He crosses his arms with the scarf around him, tighter.

"That stuck out to me. Hadn't... hadn't seen that up close. And to open their home to strangers like that, without question... Isn't that odd? Not in a bad, suspicious way just... unusual." He pauses with an exhale, studying their surroundings. A bakery just ahead of them - Kismet must have spotted it when Valac mentioned breakfast. He didn't even realize they were heading in the direction, and he wants to slap away the smile that threatens to slip on his face.

Kismet

"I've seen it on occasion, in small towns along the Glory Run road. For a few hours of chopping wood, some empire folks will open their doors for strangers. I didn't quite believe it, either, the first time. But this is...it's different, when it's family." His expression darkens, and perhaps it isn't overwhelming to think about it any more, because he knows he could tell Valac if he wanted. He doesn't need to keep it all hidden inside. "My parents were very...distant. High expectations. The usual. It was mostly me and my sister, but she's much older than I am. I think she thought me annoying, clinging to her for any sign of familial love my parents apparently couldn't spare. That desperation was a lesson hard learned. I don't think she truly cared, in the end."

He grows quiet as they move slowly up the street. It's more than he's ever said about his family in one go. Thinking about his sister is still painful. "You think you know someone who ought to be the closest to you, and they turn around and prove you wrong."

They reach the storefront, a small hole-in-the wall overwhelming the street with smells of fresh baking. Sweet buns, flaky pastries, and a common theme of spinach and soft, crumbly cheeses. He browses the offerings, his frown still darkening his expression. He won't let thoughts of his family dampen the mood.

"My treat," he says, and picks out one of the savoury pastries, plus a loaf of dense rye to take back to the others. "Have whatever you like."

Valac

Valac stays silent for a long while, eyebrows pushed together, forming a crease. He's not sure what's more unpleasant, sitting next to Arabella and Antonio as they express genuine love and compassion for one another, or listening to Kismet talk about being deprived of such.

High expectations.

A shudder passes him, and he doesn't dare stay further in that line of thinking.

"And yet you search for her." He scans the selection before them, not giving it much thought. Most of these delights he'd never seen before, and he's too preoccupied to choose for long. He grabs the same thing Kismet did.

"I don't believe family is bound by blood. How sad a life would we lead if that were the case. In fact, if I could somehow erase the memory of them I would." He turns to Kismet with a bright smile, not at all matching with his words. "That's why trust comes in short supply these days. How can you trust strangers when familiar faces have already thrown you to the wolves?"

Kismet

Kismet passes over a small handful of copper pieces, and cradles the brown paper bag with the loaf in one arm, awkwardly shifting the pastry in the other. He takes a bite and smiles, the sharp flavours waking him up. They move on down the street, and Valac's words bring a small twist of worry to his chest.

"I search for her because I need answers, mostly. I might tell the story one day, maybe just to you. I don't like thinking about it." He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully, swallowing. "I like the idea of that. Bound together in other ways, not blood. I am...sorry, that whatever your family was to you, all you want to do is forget. And perhaps more than a little angry, even though I don't know what they did." He mentally adds another item to his list.

The sun continues rising, now painting the streets in bright golden light. It reflects off the colourful stones, throwing prismatic shards against bright sandstone walls. It's enough to lift his mood and he walks with half an eye on Valac, the other half trying to take everything in.

"Is it weak of me to want to know? To want to reconnect, to hang on to perhaps some desperate thread that perhaps there was a reason behind it?" He waves his hand holding the pastry. "Like maybe I'll find my sister and she'll embrace me like the brother I thought I was, tell me she's sorry, pull out a letter explaining everything." He sighs, clutching the rye closer to him. "I don't mean to ramble about the shadows of my past, not least in so vague a manner. It must be frustrating."

Thrown to the wolves. The turn of phrase was surely chosen at random, but talking of family and the past, it sends him into a morose silence, every fibre of him fighting to stay in the present.

Valac

He takes a short breath, trying to stay in line. It's okay. You've done this before. Why was it so excruciatingly hard around Kismet, though? It's almost akin to guilt, the way he feels when Kismet mentions sharing something with him only. Guilt mixed with anger, and a pinch of despair, that sinking feeling.

"I don't know. I can't tell you that, but if it's what you truly want, it can't be wrong, right?"

He stays half a step behind Kismet so that perhaps the dissonance won't be as obvious if he can't see him. They're in the same neighborhood as the Tolman residence now, and he's glad for it - soon enough, he'll be able to recuperate. Pastry in hand and too distressed to eat it, he's torn between just turning away and disappearing into the crowd, or reaching out and... what? His hand, fingers extended, stops an inch before it touches the elf's cloak, and drops back to his side.

Better than you. He bites his tongue, hard. Whatever Kismet's done, whatever has been done to him, he's ready to forgive, and ask for forgiveness in return. Better than you. When the man in the dark alleyway screamed, torn apart, it sounded less painful than this.

"But if there was no reason, you still have to carry on," he adds, and chuckles after a moment. "And let's not dwell on unpleasant memories, then. The day is ahead of us, plenty of opportunity to make new unpleasant memories."

Kismet

No reason.

If the reason weren't good enough, if she did it out of some impulse. Maybe if he had talked more, had been more convincing, things would have been different. But she still did it. If he had a hand free, he'd press his palm to his chest.

"I've been wrong about so many things, Valac. If there was no reason, then...gods, I wouldn't know what to do." Unbidden, the hand holding the bread wreathes in black shadow, soft whispers and distant screams cloying for attention in his mind, but he blanks it out. "Would I run? Would I beg on my knees? Or perhaps I would draw that spectral blade and pierce her heart."

This last comes out between gritted teeth, and the stench of mould burns his nostrils. With a gasp of surprise he drops the bag of bread, the contents more closely resembling a months-old loaf, green and fuzzy.

"Shit."

He looks warily at Valac, who is trailing behind a little, then back at the bag on the paved road. He takes a deep breath, calming his racing heart, a sadness building and crawling up his throat.

"What a waste."

Valac

He stops dead in his tracks when the bread rolls out in front of them, molded and aged. He realizes his heart is pounding only when the reason for it changes, and he traces the invisible line between the loaf and Kismet's hands, shadows disappearing around them. Yet his face remains blank, unimpressed almost, at the recognition of necrotic damage. Maybe when he knew him less he would've been surprised at it. Now, he simply steps forward, takes the clear diamond out of his pouch and points it to the groud, where the remains of their purchace erode into the pavement.

Calmly, he puts the diamond back, and squints his eyes at an old woman who had stopped beside them, watching in a mixture of confusion and horror. She hurries away, an apple falling out of her basket, but Valac makes a note to move out of the streets before they do actually get Zhelezo on their feet for no good reason.

"No, you won't," he approaches the elf, finding it all too easy to close the distance between them for the... what time already? He's unsure. And his breathing is uneven still, yet somehow he doesn't think Kismet will notice. "You won't beg, not for that. Other circumstances I can think of," he grabs his chin and lifts it up so that their eyes meet. "But not that. You'd be better off runing or drawing your blade."

He releases him, and his arm moves to the elf's back, gently pushing him forward. He leaves it there when they start walking again. "Now, we better move along. I'm not sure the citizens here are very privy to necrotic and acid spells."

Kismet

As he stares at the bread on the ground, with a soft hissing it flakes away to nothing. Then Valac's hand is around his chin, his eyes clashing with Valac's. His heart is in his throat, and he can't speak, not even to blurt the first thing that comes to his mind. I've already begged, haven't I?

Then the contact is gone, replaced by a firm hand against his back. He follows willingly, his feet moving almost by themselves. He hasn't lost control like that in a long time, hasn't had the chance to get so angry, so distracted. He focuses on Valac's hand on his back, hopes he keeps it there, if only to give him something to anchor to.

They continue further, and Kismet begins to recognise the streets near the Tolman's house. His heart sinks, realising their time alone is coming to a close. If he could slow down, he would, but he doesn't feel like resisting the gentle pressure on his back.

"I realise the purpose of our walk yesterday was to clear your head, but I feel like I've just filled it more." His mind was certainly reeling, well aware there was no going back to before, when he was simply an elf from Bysaes Tyl. "But...thank you. For listening. Even though it was supposed to be me listening to you. I...don't feel so isolated any more."

Valac

He laughs then, earnestly. In truth, his mind is indeed filled with more thoughts, but for the first time in a long while they're not all unpleasant. And he's also glad to finally shift the topic before it became too much to shrug off.

"I think we both just needed to talk," he moves the pastry under his arm to present his nails in front of them. "Without the distraction of trying to paint this time. Although I still don't entirely understand why you've stuck around," he glances down at Kismet as he lets his arm drop. "I'm not trying to give you the easy answers, or present a better version of myself. And yet you've never flinched away from me."

He should have, by now. But with everything Valac did, instead of keeping his distance, Kismet stepped closer.

"You said you used to be intimidated of me so... why did you stop? I've been harsh, hells, Florian got upset on your behalf. I've- I've tried to-"

He's dug himself a grave of his own making, calling back to something he could not confront yet. How could he allow that to happen? Kismet resisted his mind, but he still lashed out in the first place. He stops them, right in front of the Tolman's house, and his shaking hand slithers down Kismet's bare forearm until he's pushing between his fingers.

"I won't ever willingly hurt you. But if something happens, if I'm not... in control. You can't hesitate."

Kismet

He looks up at Valac, at this man who has looked into just the surface of Kismet's self, and never shied away. He only wanted to peer closer. "I don't know when I stopped being intimidated. Just...small moments, here and there. The drunken nights. The sober conversations, the way you stuck around when I got my tattoo. When you were drawing, and you put all of your concentration into it." He shakes his head, wishing he could put the words into an order that makes sense. "Maybe it was when you said the thing you wanted most was freedom. I want safety, yes. But for me, safety will come from freedom. I feel like I saw you, then."

Valac's hand twines in his, and he squeezes back, feeling the tremor in his bones. His brow furrows with concern. Valac had scared him that day, his fear and lack of control. Kismet had been worried about Valac hurting himself, even though he'd told him to run.

"It will kill me to leave you like that. I'd accept the pain, as much as I could take, if it meant you'd feel less of it." He steps closer, brings their joined hands up, presses them to Valac's sternum. "But that would hurt you more. So I won't, not until I'm strong enough to do something . But I won't run with my back turned. Backwards, if I have to, just so I know the moment I can return."

Valac

"No," he retorts quickly, and it comes out a bit too strained. He shakes his head, barely.

"Have you ever been... have you--", he tries to put the thoughts, his knowledge into words, but knows he can never make sense of it. Knows he doesn't fully understand what happened and where he ended or began. So he takes a deep breath, pressing their joined hands even closer. "That wasn't, in Nicodranas, that was just me, losing grip in a painful memory, but it was me. The same me who lashed out at Asriel when he hurt you. It was me. Do you understand? That's not what I'm talking about."

Valac can hear his breath coming in short gasps. Why can't you just talk about it??? The mere concept of shedding even a whisper of it has him on the verge of tears, again.

"I don't know why this is all coming up when I talk to you, just-" he laughs nervously, tries to get himself in order. No, there's no way this can go anywhere further than that. "Don't play hero for me. We already have Agatha with the saviour complex, I can't handle two of you."

Kismet

Kismet's eyes flicker between Valac's, watching every shift in expression, every twitch of distress. He holds his hand tighter, wishing he were the one who could read minds for once.

"All right," he says softly. "All right. I trust you. And until then, I'm here, and I've got your back. I don't know if you remember what I said, that day Florian snapped at you. That I don't see some version of you untainted by your past, some kind of shallow copy I could pull from your skin. I just see you. And if you do lose control, if the worst happens, whatever it is, I'll always reach a hand out to you, waiting and hoping you'll take it."

He brushes his thumb over Valac's knuckles. "Call it heroics, if you like. But I've reached out my hand countless times before, in desperation, and that small distance was too much for those I thought would take it. How can I stand on the other side of the bars and let my hand fall?"

With a sigh, he shakes his head. "I'm not making sense. I don't know what it is about you that makes me talk nonsense. Sometimes I hope you'd look into my mind, read those thoughts I can barely articulate."

Valac

"All right," he repeats after Kismet, shoulders rising and falling at more even intervals. "All right. That's... enough, I think." More than he deserves, for sure.

He holds them like that for a while, hand in hand, desperate to crawl out of his skin and into Kismet's. Smiles a little at being asked to read his mind. Who else would say that, even as a joke? 

After a moment, he exhales, final. "We should probably get back inside. Maybe it's still too early for anyone to be up and running about, we might avoid unnecessary questions."

He lowers their hands with a frown, not exactly eager to let go. Light, this was becoming harder and harder each time. "And once again," he smirks as his finger flicks the star earring before he turns to go. "Maybe you should shut up. And then so will I."

Kismet

The earring rings with a high, clear note in his ear. It takes him a moment to recover, to be sure the noise isn't just in his head. He follows behind, slightly off-balance. How strange that it took years and years to hammer him deep into the earth, and after one night, he feels like he's taken the first breath of fresh air in a century.

He promptly ignores Valac's advice to be quiet, and once they cross the threshold he whispers, "I'm going to head to the weaver's guild after washing, so don't worry if you can't find me." He pauses a moment. "Actually, I have a spell I think I can manage. I can send two messages, so if I see a frog or something I'll let you know."

Valac

"I can also send two, so make note of every frog" he leans to the side to whisper back. "And I don't know where your room is anyway, or mine. I just left my purchases in a random unoccupied room."

He takes off his shoes and picks them up, ready to bundle them up with the clothes for disposal. He's not sure who would even take them, but someone on the streets of Port Damali must make some use of them. A step further inside and into the main living space reveals a passed out Florian in pretty much the same spot they left him, various sketches next to them. Valac turns back to Kismet with a silent grin, and tiptoes up the stairs.

Kismet

He smiles after Valac, listens to his footsteps as he walks up the stairs. Wonders if he'd recognise the sound of his gait without looking.

Surveying the room, he spies Florian. The dishes from last night are still there, and he wanders over to start cleaning up. Next to the half-elf is a sketchbook, fallen open to a page. As he quietly picks up the plate and cups, he takes a closer look, and his eyebrows raise.

It's a small sketch of what is undoubtedly himself and Valac, holding hands.

His smile only broadens, and he gently touches the paper where their hands meet. A beginning, then. He's used to those, but this time it feels more real. The sinking swoop at the top of a swing, heading down before it soars.

And they will soar.