Chapter Text
Pierre Gasly woke up as the sun was barely rising. According to the order he received from the European Tower, he had to get back from Cygnus A to HQ as soon as possible. He dragged the luggage he packed up in the middle of the night out of his dormitory, closing the door while sending a departure message to his team.
He even wore his military uniform to show solemnity, but regretted that it was too uptight and turned back. He repeated the sequence twice before sticking to this outfit, because if he hesitated any longer, he would be late.
The wild sea breeze of Kepler-22b almost took his cap off from his head. As an expatriate from the Paris Tower, Gasly had little affection for this planet. But he still found beauty in it when he was looking back at it as he flew through the atmosphere — cyan waters wrapped around scarce and scattered lands, as well as countless temporary platforms. These tiny man-made islands looked like duckweed from space. With the efforts of automatic construction equipment, they soon would merge into one.
The application process for special forces on shuttle starships was very efficient. Applications submitted at night, boarding enabled the next morning. Gasly practiced smiling with the reflection of the porthole, even though the smile would be too proper for the friend he was about to meet. When the shuttle docked near Halo City on Mars, preparing to enter the port, Gasly looked at the huge structure slowly rotating in front of his eyes, and found it hard to smile at all.
"You... I am very sorry."
Gasly sat by the hospital bed and whispered greetings to the young man leaning against the headboard. The Dark Guide who had just experienced his second awakening didn't seem to have much thought to the sentence. He was just casually chewing the vitamin gummies sent by Logistics, mechanically opening and closing his mouth, then sticking the wrappers in the palm of his hand without thought, until Gasly picked them out and threw them away.
The massive shock of losing a partner pushed Charles Leclerc right to the edge of collapse. Had it not been for the miraculous second awakening, the Tower certainly would not give a second thought to this individual. Gasly poked out his mental tentacles to try to comfort him, wanting to know how much pain he had endured to regain his power, but was only faced with a wall of rejection.
"There's nothing to be sorry about." He said in his grating hoarse voice, as if he had just digested what Gasly had said. "You know, I didn't like him that much anyways."
Gasly was eager to recite the rough instructions that the Tower had given him — the higher-ups had already arranged a new Sentinel for him, although it was not mandatory for them to bond — but he couldn't. It was too cruel for the new widower in front of him. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken this mission at all. He could have been enjoying his precious down-time at home, instead of sitting here, tripping over words.
He found it difficult to sense the other man's emotion. Dark Guides possessed extraordinary abilities. His shields stood tall, not letting anything in, no matter how hard Gasly tried. He could only follow his gaze to the trees outside of the window. The trees of Halo City, European Tower were evergreen. Sunlight filtered in dimly, bypassing the leaves and printing dappled shadows on the side of their faces.
"Just spit it out, Pierre. This is so unlike you." Leclerc said slowly.
Gasly looked into his eyes, and was met with two stagnant pools of golden-green water. So he leaned over to embrace him, as if hugging a stubborn lie.
"I don't even know why the Tower summoned me back." Gasly sat in the bright meeting room, chatting with Daniel Riccardo at his side. "Charles was not listening to anyone. I am as useful as a plant."
He wouldn't blame his childhood friend for his coldness. Leclerc just lost his partner. He could be as distant as he wanted. In fact, Gasly would rather have him lashing out with anger and pain, even if he was not the biggest fan of the sentinel who heroically sacrificed his life — you would always feel resentment towards the other half of your best buddy. After all, he gave Leclerc so much warmth and comfort.
Riccardo reached his hand out of his baggy silk smock to scratch his head. He stretched his back and said, "Just you wait, mate. We have a mess waiting for us. We’ll be plenty busy soon enough."
Gasly was confused. His comrade in front of him obviously knew something he didn't. The meeting's secretary sent a detailed mission document to his terminal. There were so many words in so small a font that the sight made him dizzy. He went through only two pages before he heard the door open behind him and there came a man in an immaculate uniform. He seemed to have just returned from the award ceremony, a medal pinned to his chest.
Gasly's jaw dropped, waiting for Riccardo to put it back in place.
"You? You are Charles' new sentinel?" The Frenchmen stammered. He enlarged the document font to the largest option available on the hologram, stretching his neck to read it closely like an old man. "Max Verstappen! You—"
"Calm down, buddy," Riccardo placed a hand on Gasly's shoulder. "Your latest mission was too far away. No wonder the news didn't reach you."
The man, Max Verstappen, who was hastily arranged and might become Charles Leclerc's new Sentinel, simply sat opposite them without saying a word, patiently watching Gasly read through the document. Politically, a Dark Guide required a Dark Sentinel to hold them back, just as a Dark Sentinel required a dog leash that was durable enough. Gasly could understand all of it. He looked up and stared into the calm, deep-sea blue eyes of the person opposite him. Order from the Tower or not, he had to play match-maker for this pair of monsters.
"Does Charles know?" Gasly struggled to squeeze the question from his lips. "Does he know... It's you?"
Verstappen lowered his eyes.
"He will."
The nightmare laid quietly in the corner of the ward. Dim sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a strange and holy light on its wings. Leclerc sat quietly, leaning against the pillow. He found it blinding. Even if he moved his eyes away, it was hard to ignore the fact that his very prominent spirit animal had just been an ordinary Friesian horse not long ago.
Leclerc had no choice but to release it from his fractured mindscope, because the black steed had been galloping non-stop inside since that incident. Wings sprouted when he didn't notice, and the growing pain on the horse's shoulder blades simultaneously affected Leclerc's brain, his head throbbing and dizzy with exhaustion all day long.
His mental tentacles detected Gasly leading a familiar sentinel his way 15 minutes ago. He wanted to know why his friend took so long. From the main entrance of the military hospital to his ward most definitely would not take 15 minutes. It took him some time to realize that his range of perception was no longer what it used to be.
But at what cost? Colonel Leclerc was of more use to the Human Federation. What about Charles? To control him, they couldn't wait even one whole week since his widowhood before bringing over a new sentinel whose dress suit's tie was all crooked, stubble all over the face —
Oh God, there he was. What a scruffy soldier.
Of course Leclerc knew Verstappen. Just the sight of him reminded Leclerc of tulips in the garden next door, the beautiful neighbour and her uptight husband. He also remembered how the two children of similar age went to school together and fought each other, soft fists striking into chubby faces.
The nightmare curling up in the corner neighed restlessly. Leclerc, however, had no energy to soothe it. He stared at Verstappen, trying to find the madness of the past in the Sanctuary on his face. His mental tentacles swept over like a whip, but were only met with the slightly red pupils in the middle of the cold blue iris.
The collision of power shocked the whole room. While the glass fell from the bedside table in slow motion, the winged lion beside the Dark Sentinel flew into the room, roaring, ran straight towards the nightmare who was shivering —
And buried its face in the black mane of the nightmare.
The glass shattered all over the floor.
Leclerc finally loosened his hands that were clutching onto his blanket so hard that it ached to cover his mouth, and let out a violent sound of retching. His vision was spinning, his entire head was in scorching pain as if it was about to explode. In the deafening ringing in his ears, he could faintly hear Gasly cursing Verstappen if he was out of his mind. Second that. But he was more concerned for his poor spirit animal. His horse was about to be bitten to death by the lion...
"It just wants to mate."
Danial Ricciardo had just ran back with doctors and nurses, only to hear this from the ward.
"Ruyter," Verstappen's voice was as hoarse as it was for the past 20 years. He calmly pointed at the winged lion who had hunched into the embrace of the nightmare's limbs, its sole intention was to entangle his golden wings with the other's black feathers. "Just wants to mate," he explained patiently.
Oh. God.
The doctors and nurses retreated without saying a word, conveniently dragging a stunned Ricciardo and Gasly at the same time, and closed the door. ("That was too considerate, my dears." Ricciardo said.)
"Max Verstappen," Leclerc asked, voice trembling with disbelief. "Do you even know how to spell the word shame?"
"My advice is to let it be." Verstappen analyzed with full composure, as if his instinct didn't just perform a mating call on Leclerc. "Judging from all the test data, my self control is rather reliable. It is not necessary to bond with a guide."
The consequence of acting like a scoundrel was of course being kicked out by the pretty widow. Verstappen was sitting on a chair in the waiting area, discussing countermeasures with his comrades.
"You’ve got to be kidding me." Even his good mate Ricciardo shook his head. "The Tower. Letting an unrestricted time bomb out and about, running around? Even though on paper, you were not forced to bond. But before you could get anyone to hold you on a dog leash, you couldn't even board a pioneer ship, let alone the front lines."
Verstappen shrugged. "You know me. I like someone who could tolerate and take care of me. Kind of like you."
"Listen, I love you, mate," Ricciardo did a full eye-roll. "But we're not here to listen to your weird ass preferences. Don't just think about yourself. This is about Charles."
"I want to give up because of him." Verstappen impatiently took off his tie and stuffed it into his pocket, unbuttoning two buttons of his silk shirt to get some air. "Has anyone really asked what he wants?"
"Gentlemen," Gasly came back with Leclerc's diagnosis from the doctor. He interrupted the three-man debate with a frown. "Look at this."
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Breakdown of bonds due to demise of partner might lead to various physical and psychological complications, as the non-exhausting list below:
- Destruction of mindscope
- Severe headache and dizziness
- Neurasthenia accompanied by confusion and disordered thinking
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Suggestion:
- Regular and quantified medication intervention
- Emotional comfort provided by relatives/close friends/highly compatible sentinels/friendly spirit animals
- If conditions allow, a bond should be established with a highly compatible sentinel with patient's consent, to restore the mindscope as soon as possible
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Verstappen snatched the file and skimmed through the document three times, until finally resting his gaze at "Destruction of mindscope." He looked up and found Gasly hugging his arms, staring at him.
"As Charles' best friend, I hate you, bro." Gasly did not waste breath on pleasantries. "But you know, the agency has never measured a compatible rate as high as 99.3316%. So although I hate you,” ("There really is no need to emphasise that," Verstappen said in surrender,) “you and Charles are a perfect match. Damn it."
Verstappen wearily ruffled his blonde hair. "As I said, the easiest way is to just leave it. He'll be happy, you'll be happy. Everyone will be happy."
"What about you? Are you happy?" Ricciardo had never been so sharp. "Look at how unkempt you are. We're not blind, don't try to fool us."
"If you could leave it, then you shouldn't have fallen in love with him. Either control your lion, or your dick," Ricciardo said.
Leclerc couldn't remember when he had last met Verstappen. Maybe it had been when he had returned to the European Tower for a mission report, or perhaps it was on some mission where they happened to board the same ship. He still kept their photo from the year they graduated from the Sanctuary in his photo album. They were still proud and lively and young soldiers, bruises from wrestling at the training ground the day before were still barely visible on their faces. Being assigned to the Paris Tower meant that he could no longer fight with his childhood playmates without restraints. Given that both Gasly and Ocon were too reserved, Verstappen was his unique source of violent pleasure.
They never had actual beef, they just didn't get along. But the two of them never got tired of it. After the practicals, they would always get together for debrief, regardless of whether they were in the same group or not, or how fiercely they fought during practice. The go-karting races after school were equally enjoyable, if you ignore the illegal moves they used to push each other off the track. Leclerc's skin remembered all the sunshine and raindrops falling on it. But going from rivals who could talk about anything, to just friendly colleagues, the line in between was only the paper printed out by the agency about the matching suggestions. One thin sheet of paper, filtering out all the inexplicable affection that could not be put into words.
Leclerc could not remember much. His mindscope, now in ruins, could not be pieced together by himself. Verstappen's huge, stupid lion leaned its upper body on his bed, almost crushing him to death. It was doing its best to disturb him from remembering his own sentinel. If not for the doctor's advice, he would never have agreed to let the man and the spirit animal back into the room.
The winged lion widened its innocent blue eyes, acting cute.
Fine, fine. Come on, Charles. You can take this.
Leclerc was lying down, listening to Verstappen grooming the nightmare on the floor, trying to get close. He just wanted to block out all his senses.
"If you could act less like a punk who finally waited out his competition, we might have some chance."
Leclerc spoke lightly, finally deciding to break this suffocating, awkward silence.
Verstappen held the nightmare's neck, trying to insert a black feather that he had accidentally pulled off back into its wing. "If you want to return to a normal life, a new sentinel would help a lot." He picked up the brush again, and ran it through the thick black mane, sending a touch of comfort to Leclerc. "You can't just leave your mindscope like that. Over time, you'll degenerate into an ordinary person..."
"Ordinary," Leclerc shoved the golden beast away to sit up, a dry laugh came out of his throat. "What's wrong with ordinary? Ordinary people wouldn't have their marriages be arranged, wouldn't have to live in constant fear and worry about their spouse dying someday, wouldn't have to be bound together, lives on the verge of collapse; if their partners died, they don't have to worry about dying too or going crazy — fuck the bond. Fuck the—"
"Shh, shh— Bismarck, my good buddy, relax..." Verstappen held down the nightmare who suddenly started panting. He pressed his face against its neck, and touched its front hooves to divert its attention. "Relax. Alright, it's okay. When was the last time you trimmed your hoof hair, huh? Have you been stepping on it while you're running? Have you tripped over them recently?"
Leclerc lowered his eyes and stared, unfocused, at the Dutchman's profile in the corner of the room. A moment later, he turned his face away and sniffed his nose very, very light, allowing the rough tongue of the winged lion to lick his eyes.
The commission ceremony of Brigadier General Leclerc was held in the ward. Lieutenant General Jules Bianchi personally replaced his epaulets. A brigadier general at the age of 32—so young. According to the average age of people like them he still had over a hundred years left to be used by the Federation before they declared him expired.
He was recovering slowly. When his head wasn't hurting or spinning, he could be helped out of bed by Gasly to walk a few laps in his room. He was emaciated due to loss of appetite. In his military uniform, he looked like a bamboo pole, with shoulders that couldn't even support his clothing. The high-calorie snacks brought in by his colleagues and subordinates were all taken away by the medical team.
Leclerc was being forced to accept Verstappen's way of showing kindness like a burglar. Rampant and unreasonable, just like the jerk that he was familiar with. He would avoid the doctors to sneak chocolate to Leclerc. If he was lucky and was not feeling dizzy, he might be able to keep it in his stomach.
"When did you go through your second awakening? I had no idea."
Amazing, that Leclerc could now have a calm and private conversation with Verstappen.
The Dark Sentinel sat on the bedside chair, listened quietly for a moment to the corridor, and then took out several gift boxes from his bag. The delicate sweets were clearly the prohibited items gifted to Leclerc. It was obvious that Verstappen committed a crime of theft in the doctor's office.
"You were busy." Verstappen unwrapped a Kinder chocolate bar, and stuffed it into the Dark Guide's mouth to avoid answering in detail.
"What did you do after, then? You don't have to worry about zoning anymore." Leclerc's mouth which had only taken in bland food for so long, struggled to adapt to the sweet taste.
Verstappen was very proud, "I ate 18 fucking Kinder chocolate bars in a row. My stomach was so strong it was like it had been reborn."
Incredible. Leclerc even stopped chewing, "I personally think that your stomach wasn’t reborn, your taste buds were."
"I love sweet food, you love sweet food." Verstappen paid no mind to Leclerc's comment and spread his arms out. "Look, we are perfectly compatible."
"Seriously? You're telling me this now? Oh my god, I'm going to throw up."
"Hey, that hurts my feelings, mate."
"Seriously, damn it, I'm really gonna throw..."
"You don't happen to be pregnant— My fault."
You'd never seen a 32-year-old as annoying as a 12-year-old. Thanks to Verstappen's constant presence, recently Leclerc had often been able to recall their 12th year of life that they shared, as if an old movie from centuries ago was playing in silence, casting a layer of dust over the baby blue eyes of the man in front of him. At that time, Verstappen's hair colour was still light blonde. The golden lion cub had jumped up and down all the time, except to "duel" Leclerc on the grass in front of his house.
They had a "pre-duel ritual", which was to hold each other's shoulders and press their foreheads together. Leclerc could clearly see Verstappen's eyes. The roots of his curly lower eyelashes were dark brown. Only by getting so close could he see the tips of the golden eyelashes so light that they were almost invisible, making the corner of his eyes look pitiful.
No one won more than the other. But the children covered in dust would surely get caught by their parents amid the hyping of their brothers or the worrying of their sisters. Mrs. Leclerc was very fond of little Max, just like Mrs. Verstappen was of little Charles. However, that didn't spare them the fate of being pushed on their backs and taken home for a bath. Surprisingly, the no-nonsense, formidable old Verstappen was very satisfied with little Charles. Whenever little Max insisted on going to the go-karting track, the door of the Leclercs would definitely be knocked on two minutes later.
When the weather was hot, every gust of wind that reached the neck was refreshing. The speed of go-karts were not as fast as pedal jet aircrafts, and clothing was not as tight as battle armour, allowing them to smell the fragrance of the freshly-mowed grass outside through their helmets.
The track was so small that it only took them seconds to finish a lap. The kids, still not satisfied, would gather in the waiting area, taking turns to treat each other to share a bottle of soda, and then sit on the steps, listening to cicadas.
There were no other sounds besides the cicadas and heartbeats so strong that his finger tips throbbed. Leclerc held his helmet and looked at the boy beside him. Verstappen was also looking at him. Two flushes of red under his deep-sea blue eyes, stubble growing haphazardly on his upper lip and lower jaw —
Leclerc raised his hand to shove Verstappen's face back, and was met with fluff.
He suddenly stood up. There was no other person in the track, and the cicadas became ringing in his ears. Behind the fence were shrubs and bushes, and beyond them was void.
"Who let you in?"
Leclerc turned his head, his chest heaving violently, teeth ached from pressing together so hard.
"Get out."
He issued an ultimatum to Verstappen in his mindscope that became half-reconstructed without his knowledge.
Leclerc opened his eyes and panted. Something was pressing down on him and he couldn't move. He looked down, and saw a head of messy dark blond hair in the dark. Verstappen, wearing only a silk garment, was lying on top of him with a coat draped over his shoulder, pretending to be asleep. He felt as heavy as a tank, not much lighter than his stupid lion.
He almost thought he had sleep paralysis.
"Verstappen," Leclerc sounded like moonlight from Earth 200 million kilometers away. With just one breath it would dissipate in the air. "We need to talk."
The heavy tank did not respond.
"I have a partner." Perhaps to persuade the other man, or himself. Leclerc's chest trembled, the sensation transmitted through the quilt to Verstappen's face.
"I've been dreaming a lot. Not just when we were twelve, but also sixteen, twenty and twenty-four.
"Who wasn't naive at sixteen? Every guide and every sentinel. I believe it's hard for them to not love themselves in those four years in the Sanctuary. We were vibrant and eager to learn everything. We couldn't control our powers and temper.
"And love. Yes, our hopeless first love. I've seen more than once the instructors picking out kissing couples from the white noise room, the battle simulation room or even the confinement room. There were people I know who were forced to part ways after graduation, just because their compatibility score was too low.
"I was terrified. In the years after graduation I couldn't stop thinking that, if the Tower and the agency matched me with some random sentinel early on, I would steal my pheromone that they kept and run away even if that meant being a deserter.
"But I was only twenty-four when I got married. My sentinel was a great person. Before him I would never imagine myself in a happy marriage, a great life. It made me anxious. We live on the edge of a knife. People like us weren't meant to fall in love. I shouldn't have fallen in love, but who can control their heart? He was a considerate man. He got along with Bismarck, helped me get through my father's funeral. We had a small home on Earth.
"I shouldn't have fallen in love with him."
Leclerc felt pain in his throat. He struggled to swallow, and touched the base of his left ring finger. There was an indented mark where a ring used to be. He took a deep, trembling breath, and heard the sound of water falling on the pillow.
"I love him very much. He was the other half of my life. It's not that I don't want to accept you. But I have a partner. The connection was just broken, but there was no divorce.
"Sorry, Max. I can't betray him."
The head on his chest raised with a start. The darkness made it hard for him to make out those eyes. There was probably excitement, which confused Leclerc.
"Max." He suddenly said in his hoarse voice. "You called me Max."
Leclerc was burning inside. He closed his eyes in agony, and raised his hand to run his fingers through the sentinel's hair. The soft touch brought him back to the graduation wrestling at the age of twenty, the day of awakening at sixteen, the karting track at twelve. He wanted to tear off the nightmare's wing in exchange for his dead husband; to tear up that thin sheet of matching suggestion, and rush towards his hopeless first love without hesitation.
"You jerk."
He heard his surrender after being exhausted from denial.
That night, the ghost of his husband finally deigned to appear in his dream. They stood at the entrance of the agency, far apart from each other.
"Did you marry me because of our compatibility?" Leclerc summoned his courage, and shouted out his question.
What the other man said, only the wind knew.
"The progress of reconstructing his mindscope is alright." Verstappen reported his work to his comrades. They temporarily established a "Charles Leclerc Physical and Mental Health Recovery Team", based at the third cafeteria of the European Tower Headquarters. "He didn't even notice the first few times I sneaked in, until the last one. I guess he'll have to complete the job on his own."
Gasly and Verstappen couldn't walk away from taking care of Leclerc. Lieutenant General Bianchi returned to the front lines to resume the brutal fights with interstellar terrorist organizations, so the responsibility of consoling Leclerc's family fell on Ricciardo's shoulders. The Australian didn't disappoint. He travelled long miles, and successfully won the title of "Charles’ Best Comrade of the Year", if not for merit, then for hard work.
Right now, Ricciardo was eating boiled vegetables like a cow, glaring in jealousy at Verstappen's thick-cut salmon brisket taco with Thousand Island dressing. For sentinels, heaven and hell in terms of food were separated only by a near-death experience. Though, judging by the amount of Dark Sentinels, a second awakening was not something worth risking. "You'll be as fat as a guinea pig." Ricciardo said begrudgingly. "When Charles recovers, I'll have him control your diet."
"He will." The Dark Sentinel was so sure about this beautiful picture of the future, as if the other party was going to marry him tomorrow. "But I won't listen to him either way. I bet he likes me chubby."
"Damn it, Verstappen. Damn it." Gasly wanted to shove his face into his taco. "Charles' physical condition is also getting better." He took out the terminal to check the document details again. "Just one last step. Don't stimulate him."
Leclerc had had enough of the hospital. He was determined to visit home today. His mother and brothers were all civilians, and they were thrilled about this news. His younger brother was even preparing to rush back directly from the Lunar Research Station. Leclerc, who boarded the Shuttle Starship with Verstappen, found him clingy like a shadow. He was following him wherever he went, claiming that it was on his way anyways. Leclerc wanted to fight him, but was afraid of hurting; wanted to whip him with his mental tentacles, but was afraid that Verstappen would enjoy it too much, while Charles only gave himself a headache. It wasn't worth it.
"Oh my god, I forgot to shave." Leclerc touched his face with one hand, reaching for the razor with the other.
"Let me help" said Brigadier General Verstappen, who was all too eager to help.
"...No thanks."
They ended up squeezing into the washroom to finish. The blue-eyed man was so close. The razor buzzed against Leclerc’s face, making his ears very hot. The nightmare flapped its well-adapted wings, flying joyfully all around his mindscope, feathers tickling his heart.
This was wrong. Leclerc forced himself to calm down. He leaned against the sink, watching as Verstappen pursed his lips to shave his mustache. The small mole on his lip was quite amusing. They observed each other's faces in the mirror. Thanks to the slowed aging of sentinels and guides, they were thirty-two with faces of twenty-four-year-olds, giving them a sense of hallucinatory time reversal.
"Charles." Verstappen turned off the power of his razor and fired up his croaky voice.
Leclerc blinked his eyes, waiting for him to continue.
"At least Daniel isn't here."
"Why?"
"If he was here, he'd wait outside and ask what we're doing in here for half an hour."
Leclerc hated that he could not hold back his laughter at such an unexpected half-ass joke.
This barnacle had a thicker skin than the Earth's outer space defense system. After the starship docked, he tagged along on Leclerc's aircraft all the way home and even tried to follow in.
"Don't you have your home to go back to? You parents and sister must've been missing you. Go." Leclec politely gave the cue for Verstappen to leave.
"My parents got divorced long ago," Verstappen pouted. "My dad lives elsewhere with his girlfriend. Vic won the grand prize at a travel company and took my mom to travel. There's no one home."
Confusion was evident on Leclerc's face. "Divorce? How come I've never heard you talking about it? When?"
"I did, you just forgot. Oh, hi! Good afternoon, Madam." The door opened and Mrs. Leclerc came out to greet them. Verstappen, eyes half-closed in a sweet smile, held her hand and kissed it on the back, making her giggle.
Leclerc, almost falling apart in his mother's arms, forgot his questions in a second. He could only sense the stiffness and caution of his family, doubt half-formed in his head. He watched as Verstappen was causing trouble in the kitchen while explaining his recovery progress at each stage of the treatment to his mother. The chubby and naughty kid who had always visited their home in their childhood had suddenly grown tall. When they were kids, all of them from both families had their hair done by Leclerc's mother. Now, Verstappen's figure could completely block out his mom's.
Leclerc sat in the living room, needing to slightly raise his head in order to look at the man at the island counter. It was like he was the only one who remained on the eve of the awakening and never grew up since.
Arthur hurried back but he was still late. After a clamorous meal, Leclerc was a bit annoyed by his younger brother staring back and forth between him and Verstappen. Why was everyone acting so odd?
"Just ask whatever you want,” Charles said finally, fed up.
"Uh, Max," Arthur stammered. "Why don't you call her Mom anymore?"
The living went silent for two full seconds. Lorenzo's reaction was strangely intense as he grabbed his younger brother and said, "What are you talking about? Max has his own mother."
"W-What?" Leclerc was truly lost.
Verstappen calmly helped smoothing things over. "Arthur just meant that we are very close. My mom is your mom, your mom is mine, my dad... Never mind. My dad better not be yours."
"No, wait," Arthur seemed worried. "You've been calling her that all these years—"
"—Arthur!" Mrs. Leclerc sternly stopped his youngest son.
He seemed to finally read the room to cover his mouth, but still didn't understand why. No one dared to speak another word. Everyone was glancing at him carefully. The monitoring wristbands of the sentinel and guide simultaneously emitted alarms: "Someone in the vicinity is losing control. Space or assistance is urgently needed."
"What?"
Leclerc's cat-like lips trembled. "Is that right, Max?"
Verstappen could hide nothing under those olivine eyes. He had no choice but to walk over and pull Leclerc out of the house, and was glad that he didn't refuse.
Every human born on Earth had a deep affection for this blue planet. How? It was hard to agree on one opinion. The Leclercs had dinner early, so they caught the setting sun when they were walking outside. The orange star gradually tinted red. It was a scene that could only be seen on Earth — not Mars, not Halo City, not anywhere else in the Solar System. Only on Earth. One of a kind.
Verstappen led Leclerc along the promenade, waiting for him to calm down. The breeze in early summer was not strong, which was comfortable. If Verstappen had not been wearing his good old dark T-shirt and skinny jeans, this post-meal walk might have been more pleasing to the eye.
"Sometimes I dare not look at you." The guy, who at least didn't wear his beloved cap back to Earth, tried to start the conversation, disregarding his dark golden hair being blown all over the place. "Since we were kids, you always look as pretty as a dream." He explained.
Leclerc had been receiving praises about his appearance for over two decades. He should be used to it by now, but it was rare for such compliments to come out of Verstappen's mouth. When did he learn to speak such nice words? Was this how his mom got deceived? It wasn’t right to secretly call someone else's mother "mom". It's not like they were sworn brothers or something. This was wrong. There had been too many wrong things recently, and it was overwhelming.
"And I hate your partner. This is a recent emotion," Verstappen spoke again.
"Is it because I told you about him?"
"No," he pouted when he said the word, just like when he was a kid. "I'm not jealous of him... Well, maybe a little. But I hate that he made you insecure—made you sad. He should've protected you, and protected himself, instead of forcing you to go through your second awakening."
Oh wow, this time he even spoke ill of his husband to his face! Leclerc was sometimes fed up with Verstappen's straightforwardness. But this time he really couldn't argue. After all, what he said was facts, and it made it even more infuriating.
"There," Verstappen pointed at a seaside cottage in the next block. "That's your little home on Earth, right?" It was a small house with blue tiles and white walls. A beach in front of the door and a garden behind the house. Leclerc was pulled over towards it, not even having time to ask why the other man had the key to their house, and was pushed inside.
"When you were young, you said that once you had your own home, you would get kittens and puppies. But when you were sixteen, you got a little foal living in your mindscope." Verstappen pushed open the window with strange familiarity. Outside of the window was the sea, waves dyed red by the setting sun licking the shore, making a regular soft sound.
"So we bought this house, with a whole stretch of beach where Bismarck and Ruyter could run and play on it."
Leclerc heard the two wristbands emitting alarms for the second time in a short period. Perhaps it's tinnitus. His dizziness hadn't fully recovered yet. He breathed rapidly, looking around at the furniture and decorations with the traces of two people living together. His fingers trembled as they reached for the photo frame on top of the piano. He almost dropped it—
In the photo, it was Max Verstappen and he in their military uniforms, quietly kissing each other.
He shook his head gently, but couldn't move his eyes away. He heard Verstappen stopped two meters away from him. He looked over with sour eyes. The man took out a velvet box and got down on one knee.
"I-I have a husband!" Leclerc shouted in utter chaos before Verstappen could say the lines he knew were coming. Yes, his husband was already dead. In the enemy's military factory, amid the explosions and flames, his partner...
Who was his partner?
Who was the sentinel who sacrificed in the mission?
All the flashbacks of trauma and stress overlapped with the man in front of him. Max Verstappen with his 24-year-old face knelt, just as he did at the entrance of the European Tower agency building that year.
"I know that our bond was just disconnected, but we're not divorced." Verstappen opened the ring box, and inside laid a slightly scratched plain ring. Leclerc subconsciously touched the base of his empty ring finger at the sight. "But we were reborn, so I want to ask again."
The emotional resonance even made the piano behind him hum. Leclerc was exhausted. He sat down with his trembling legs in front of the kneeling man on the floor. "Why?" He suddenly wanted an answer from Verstappen. "You're now a Dark Sentinel. You do not need a guide."
"A Dark Sentinel might be able to do without a guide, but I cannot be without you."
Verstappen crept over, lowered his head to grab Leclerc's left hand, firmly putting the ring on his finger. The smooth, plain ring clung tightly to the indentation at the base. The skin remembered the past eight years.
This was the husband Verstappen had been determined to marry since he was twelve. It was the face that his calloused hands dared not to touch too hard, the eyes that were always fond, the tenacious, optimistic and strong Charles Leclerc of his.
"I couldn't feel your emotions after my second awakening. I felt as if the sky had collapsed."
His voice was hoarser than ever.
"So please, Charles, my dearest.
"Leash me. Control me. Please, give yourself back to me."
Pierre Gasly was attending the debrief seminar of the battle that took place two months ago. Daniel Ricciardo was not under the European Tower, but he was invited as a close friend of meritorious soldiers. They sat in the front row of the stepped seats in the hall, with Lieutenant General Lewis Hamilton, the captain of the battleship HMS Monarch, presiding over the meeting on stage.
"We seized the enemy's intelligent mechanical factory and captured their weapons R&D engineers." Those were Lieutenant General Hamilton's opening remarks. "Regrettably, the two outstanding soldiers who have made remarkable contributions on the front line were unable to attend this seminar due to health conditions."
Major Lando Norris, a member of Verstappen's elite team, took the stage and briefly described the entire process of the operation. Gasly was absent mindedly whispering with Ricciardo amongst the audience.
"Just now, there was an anomaly. Charles' EEG fluctuation was intense. What's going on?"
"Everything should be alright." Ricciardo replied during the break of applause, but he was obviously lacking confidence in what he just said.
Before Verstappen and Leclerc bonded, Ricciardo had joined his elite team as a temporary member in a short-term mission. He was well aware of how aggressive and bold Verstappen’s fighting style was. However, after this day, he finally believed that the 99.3316% compatibility rate was there for a reason.
You'd expect a gentle guide to deal with this troublemaker? Stop kidding. Verstappen took to Leclerc like a duck to water. And with Verstappen, Leclerc was handed a formidable weapon, striking out with precision and formidable force — their bond only turned two madmen into a pair of madmen.
He watched the holographic projection of the combat record from the swarm drones with keen interest. If not for the subsequent accident, this would make an extremely entertaining war film. The elite team infiltrated the R&D building. Before all the mental weapons targeting the sentinels and guides took effect, Charles Leclerc, the human jammer of European Tower, had already silenced them all. The main force acted as a distraction at the front of the complex. As reports of "Clear" rose one after another, the sentinels of the elite team dismantled the enemy's self-propelled Gatling gun towers floor by floor, stepping over corpses of mercenaries and fugitives. Each of them carried several unconscious arms engineers out of the building.
What a smooth and seamless assault. Ricciardo wanted to cheer, until several deafening bangs sounded from the buildings. Something was thrown out by the flames and smoke along with debris.
"We failed to detect the self-destructing mechanism of the R&D building." Norris' voice was strained, face filled with a lingering fear. "It was too primitive and too quick. We could only watch as the captain fell while we were doing nothing."
It was Max Verstappen who stayed behind.
Verstappen wished he were his spirit animal. Or a cat. Or whatever feline.
He couldn't gain balance in midair. His entire back went numb, followed by a gradual and intense pain. He hoped the hair at the back of his head didn't burn.
How sloppy. It was too late by the time he caught the strange smell. He wondered if Leclerc, who was patrolling with him, was injured. Having won the European Tower Skydiving Cup several times, Verstappen had never been afraid of heights. How much pension would his spouse receive if a colonel died in the line of duty?
Would he?
If he died, could his husband survive?
Leclerc's emotions were conveyed through their bond. Verstappen's heart was pounding like a drum, his temples throbbing. I couldn't die — he commanded himself in the howling wind — he reached out his hand, trying to reach his partner's mental tentacles, wanting to tell Leclerc that he was fine. But the pain in his head was becoming clear. Verstappen didn't know what was wrong with him. He could only use all his strength to tighten the gradually thinning links in vain. But then he saw his guide leaping down from the tall building on a black steed.
His Charles, who made up his entire world, fell upon him like a deity.
—Bismarck, run—
He heard the voice of the deity fade in his mind.
—Save him... Save my love.
He landed heavily on his back. Ruyter, who was beneath him, had fulfilled his mission, and retreated to his mindscope with one breath of life left. In his darkening vision, the horse with broken legs laid beside his face, slowly licking away the blood gushing from his mouth and nose.
Swelling and pain in his head made it hard to open his eyes.
"... Idiot." He wasn't sure if he had said it.
Neither of us could fly.
Something warm wrapped around his left ring finger, clashing with the metal ring that was already there, making a clear sound like rain falling from the sky.
Death was unacceptable for Verstappen.
He detested his own recklessness. In those fleeting seconds, he ran through so many simulations. He might never be able to talk about all these with his partner again.
But what if—what if there was no bond for the sake of his life? His Charles wouldn't be his anymore. He could still live unscathed.
What a nice image. Time, please turn yourself back.
A 32-year-old Leclerc inspected the lock on the door of their military apartment, and then pressed his fuzzy cheek against Max’s own. Both of them were pricked by each other. They smiled as they parted ways to take the low-altitude shuttle to different departments for work.
A 28-year-old Leclerc gave him a provocative look and walked into the interrogation room. When he came out, all that was left was a salivating criminal who had temporarily lost his intelligence, and a confession.
A 24-year-old Leclerc asked to meet him downstairs at the agency. He had guessed what he wanted to ask, but the question remained a mystery to everyone else.
A 20-year-old Leclerc and him were baring their teeth as they embraced each other. They deliberately pressed against the bruises on each other's bodies, and then both got provoked to strangling each other again, wishing the other man could not present themselves at the graduation the next day.
A 16-year-old Leclerc crouched beside him, excitedly petting the lion cub. The boy's face was still blushing from the awakening fever. And behind him, a black foal was gnawing on the lawn. It was a Friessian horse that originated from the Netherlands. He felt like he understood something important.
A 12-year-old Leclerc sat in the tiny go-kart, golden-green eyes shining through his helmet visor. He smiled as he charged at him, so Max pushed back, and ended up being shoved off-track.
It's unfair, huh? Verstappen was confused. That didn't look like the inchident that took place when he was twelve. He abruptly pulled himself out of the montage of his memories, coughing heavily on the hospital bed. Ruyter was hovering on his quilt, with his wings which had grown out at some point. He precisely mobilized his outstanding senses, but couldn't find a bond with his partner anywhere.
"He thought I was dead, right?" Verstappen looked through the glass at his husband in another ward. His face was as cold as frost, tightly clutching another wedding ring in his palm.
"He couldn't accept your 'death'." Ricciardo patted his friend's shoulder in comfort.
"He proposed to me," Verstappen suddenly smiled, making his friend think he had finally gone mad. "When I was 'dying'."
Ricciardo would probably never understand why some eight-year-old couple was still all lovey-dovey. Verstappen himself couldn't imagine what Leclerc meant to him. So much so that even though both of them were strong enough that they didn't need to be bound to another person, Verstappen still couldn't let him go.
If one day, we couldn't escape the reaper, then why not go to hell together — his Charles, his crazy beloved, he would understand.
Charles Leclerc woke up from deep sleep, for once in a long time without headaches. Within his mindscope now stood a seaside cabin, and thus the complete restoration was done. He thought dazedly for a long time about where he was, whose head he was holding, whose waist his legs were wrapped around, and chose to hold his husband even tighter.
He showed no mercy to the guy in his mindscope, though. "Max, out. Aren't you tired this early in the morning?" Leclerc asked drowsily, his words blurred together.
Verstappen's consciousness came back, wrapped his hands around his husband's waist and buried his forehead on his collarbone.
The bond conveyed the emotions of the lovers, steady and firm, almost all of which was a strong sense of security of getting back something which once was lost. They sat on the porch with coffees in their hands, the winged lion and the nightmare chasing each other against the wind over the distant sea. There they passed the last few days of their injury leave in peace.
...... Although Verstappen had many complaints on this. "This should be a marriage leave, followed by a honeymoon. The Tower owes us this."
Leclerc smiled helplessly as he kissed his husband's cheek where stubble had just grown out, and ruffled his golden hair.
"Did you marry me because of our compatibility?"
Mr. Leclerc, who was insecure, finally mustered up the courage to ask the question to which he already knew the answer.
"It's because I love you."
He heard Mr. Verstappen reply so firmly.
"I've always wanted to ask... Why do you always like to kart in my mindscope?"
"Uh, because you don't have to repair the car if you crashed it... Ouch!"