Chapter Text
“We only did that to break you.”
And the admittance that had come, quiet and hollow, from a man who had nothing left to give.
“Well it worked.”
And it had, even if he killed Mistrul, even if he won the battle with Flow. There was still a heavy part of him that felt all too much the grief of Lomedy's death.
He had never been good at dealing with grief.
Back at his eerily silent base, Flame shifted and sorted items around in his shulkers just to give himself something to do. The day is gray and cloudy, dim like the Mist he had just left after fighting Flow and coming out on top. Fitting, he supposes, giving a heavy sigh.
“Hey Flame” Skrilley is slightly out of breath from wandering around Flame’s mega base. Flame doesn't blame him. He still gets lost in the gray halls lined with his signature red orange yellow banners. Flame looks up.
“Yo, Skrilley! Glad to see you made it back alive.” He tries to sound happy about this because he is, he is glad that Skrilley got what he wanted especially with all his friends dead, but his voice sounds lifeless and empty even to his own ears.
“Thanks to you” Skrilley smiles warmly. “Thanks for the help again”
“Of course,” Flame says, about to reach back into a shulker. He stops as Skrilley clears his throat.
“Well I- um, I have someone I think you'll like to see”
Flame’s heart climbs to his throat, wars with the hope still fluttering around. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible, right? Surely he wasn't talking about–
Lomedy rounds the corner, in one piece and smiling brightly just as the sun peeks out from the clouds and tints the world in homey gold.
“Lomedy?” Flame's voice raises in shock, emotion filtering back into his tone as he stands up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor and crossing the room in three big strides.
“Hi Flame” Lomedy says, followed by an oof as Flame squeezes him tightly, fingers curling in the back of his best friend's yellow sweater as if they belong there, drawing Lomedy so close they could be one in a moment of vulnerability he allows himself to have. Lomedy still smells like sunshine and wildflowers and a faint scent of that herbal rose tea that he likes so much.
“I thought I lost you,” Flame whispers just to him, his voice muffled from where he's put his head against Lomedy's shoulder.
Lomedy’s hand stills in his hair from where it's been carding softly through and he buries his face in Flame's shoulder, not poking at Flame's quiet admittance of still-fading grief and hurt. He makes a hurt noise like the noise he makes when Flame comes back injured and too tired to take care of himself so Lomedy cleans and bandages his wounds with feather-light gentleness. Like it hurts him to see Flame hurt. Which is crazy. Silly. Stupid. But Lomedy always does it and always is aware of where Flame's bandages and bruises are so that when they check each other's shoulders, wrestle and shove he never hits them, never makes Flame hurt.
He pats the top of Flame’s head and Flame tries too hard and fails not to lean into the touch.
“You didn't though,” he says softly, all summer marigolds and sweet blooms and the feeling of sun on cold skin.
“I know,” Flame digs his fingers deeper into the man-made creases of Lomedy’s shirt, feeling warmer than he ever had in months, letting himself relax, letting himself be safe and comforted.
“Wait,” he pulls away, his hands resting instead on Lomedy’s shoulders, unanswered questions in his mind, already going back to business. “What happened?”
“Well-” Lomedy says. “I fell off the Happy Ghast and I popped my totem– thank goodness I had that– and then I kinda got threatened by some people? But I pulled out a mace and acted tough and they ran away!”
Flame snorted at the thought of anyone finding loving-kind-sometimes-stupid Lomedy scary.
“And then I kinda got stuck on an ice spike…” Lomedy said sheepishly, pointedly ignoring Flame’s gaze.
“You- what- how?” Flame splutters, protectiveness and fondness in the way he grips Lomedy’s shoulders more tightly, trying to hide it all beneath an exasperated huff that counts as a laugh.
“I don't– I don't know, actually,” Lomedy laughs, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head. “Just– Just I'm here! So-”
“Wait. Lomedy.” Flame's hands drop as he presses them to his face, his voice growing muffled. “You do realize that I killed like, 60 Mist players, their leader, and fought Flow with all this "devastation" while you were sitting on top of an ice spike?”
“Um,” Lomedy says eloquently, clearly confused at the going-ons. “Hold up, did you say devastation?" There's a slight, smug smile on his face. He pokes Flame in the side and Flame slaps his hand away.
Flame ignores him, too busy groaning into his hands. “I have beef with Flow when I could have killed him?”
“Also, my friends all died looking for you!” Skrilley accuses from where he's been scuffing his boots awkwardly on the tile of Flame’s base.
Lomedy raises his hands, taking a step back. His stupid gold pickaxe is still attached to his hip, and Flame would take more pleasure in the fact that it's so familiar, so Lomedy, if he wasn't muttering about stupid friends and stupid ice spikes and Lomedy getting stuck on one like a cat in a tree because of course he had.
Now he didn't feel so bad about telling Skrilley that Lomedy wasn't that smart. Still, his slight annoyance and amusement at the absurdity of the situation were not drowned out by the joy that Lomedy was alive and cold but well and standing in front of him.
“Guys,” Lomedy says. “I'm not that good of a– I'm just a little farmer, okay?”
Flame drops his hands and turns to Skrilley at Lomedy’s words. Skrilley looks back at him with blue eyes, tilting his head, his slight smile prodding Flame on.
“So, you wanna just kill him instead?” He offers, hand trailing over the hilt of his sword, exhaustion still heavy in his bones but loosened with humor and lightness.
“Y'know what, sure, yeah,” Skrilley replies, inching towards Lomedy.
“What?!” Lomedy's voice pitches up as he backs away more frantically. “Guys, we can talk about this, okay? Guys?” his voice drops to his peacekeeping tone but Flame can't believe that he went through all this for Lomedy to be a sitting duck on an ice spike while he worried his fingers off in the cold.
They both draw out their swords and Lomedy yelps and turns on his heels, almost tripping in his haste to exit the room. Flame and Skrilley shoot each other a grin and take off, shouting, tracking Lomedy’s pleading throughout the base.
And all is back to how it should be. Warm and safe and home.