Chapter Text
Coustas was brooding today. Tartah tried to grab his attention more than once, but he was ignored, his friend simply choosing to sit high in a tree, facing the empty valley’s horizon over drawing, studying, or pestering. There was no trace of the Coustas last night that needed to be hugged and comforted: his gaze was steely and unwavering like when grand dad would look to the sky before reporting after a good moment of silence, “Storm coming today.”
Tartah didn’t have a repertoire of spells to call back upon to grab his attention, nor did he have the confidence to use his sylph shoes to join him on the branch: the tree’s limbs were too close and Tartah use of magical items was extremely limited given he lived within Kalhn where there were plenty of Outsiders within a decent distance of witch ateliers– Without a master, he never felt too comfortable using some contraptions. So he supposed it was a mix of reasons why he never flew too much, but there was that problem as well as the fact that Coustas was way more confident in flight than he was. With less time to learn and more audacity, Coustas threw himself into it like he did the rest of magic: recklessly. If Tartah got up there, if Coustas didn’t want to see him, he’d just flutter his cape to the wind and get carried elsewhere in the blink of an eye.
He hadn’t eaten by noon, and Tartah’s worry was bordering on frustration.
Below the tree, their small camp sat almost entirely untouched since they crawled out of their bedrolls that morning. They still awaited Ininia to take them to… Well, Tartah doesn’t really know where she’d bring them. The brimmed caps headquarters sounds like a stretch, but perhaps where her own master, Restys, lived… He ignored that line of thought: there were far more pressing matters for the moment. Such as the pot Tartah had set over the fire hours ago had long since gone lukewarm while waiting for Coustas to take his share of the vegetable medley, and the bread he’d left by the tin place remained untouched even by the birds he kept batting away when they swooped too close. Meanwhile, somewhere above him in the dense canopy, leaves rustled every so often with the telltale signs of movement before falling quiet again, his friend not budging.
Tartah crossed his arms tighter against his chest, squinting through the branches in another failed attempt to spot even a flash of silver hair.
“Coustas,” he called, trying very hard to keep the irritation out of his voice though he was not entirely succeeding. “You need to eat something. I got it all set out down ‘ere for you.”
He received no response. Tartah exhaled sharply through his nose, his brow twitching. An ill thought crossed his mind, one about trees and being stuck within them, but the mere thought had him feel sick and he backed off a step from his friend’s roost.
Focusing on the issue at hand, there was something bothering Coustas. Normally he’d be down by now. Normally he’d have gotten bored. Clearing his throat, Tartah tried, “You can’t stay up there forever.”
He understood the emotion he felt when he again received nothing. Helpless. He felt helpless sitting here, unable to give a hand because it wouldn’t be accepted.
Wind gusted through his cropped hair and Tartah whipped around to shoo away another bird only to watch Coustas drop from the branches, his dark clothes making him appear like a falling eclipse. His wood spokes hit the ground with a dull thunk, the shake of the impact rattling through the rest of the body without a change in his somber, stoic expression. Tartah released the breath he was holding, then huffed, “So you could hear me.”
Coustas shrugged. Tartah frowned, his concern settling and blanketing some of his irritation. “You’ve been up there for hours.”
“So?”
Tartah resisted the urge to groan, biting into his cheek in order to utter, “So you haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry,” Coustas replied simply. He shifted his weight slightly, gaze drifting off toward the trees instead of staying on Tartah. “I’ll eat later or something.”
Tartah licked over his teeth. Coustas wasn’t even arguing properly. He thinks that's what made it worse. Without returned engagement, there’s no way to reach someone. “Can you not… act like this right now?”
“I’m not acting like anything,” Coutas replied and Tartah wanted to shake him by his shoulders.
“For the sake of—” Coustas blinked at him, visibly taken aback by the change in tone, but then Tartah stepped forward, took Coustas by the arm, and said, “Come with me.”
There was a beat of resistance in the way Coustas’ shoulders tensed at the first tug, but it never fully formed into refusal. He allowed himself to be towed past the untouched meal left by the fire and toward a more open space away from stray embers.
When they finally stopped, Tartah turned to assess him properly. Coustas was taller now with the silverwood encasing his calves and feet, but even before he stood taller (or so Coustas claimed from his sealchair–). So instead of a slight tilt of his chin, he had to crane his neck to meet his eyes which made his face warm at how ineffectual he must have appeared.
After a moment of thought, Tartah pointed down with quiet certainty. “Step on my shoes.”
Coustas stared at him. “…Huh?”
“J-Just do it!” Coustas looked even more suspicious at that, but after a long moment of reluctant consideration, he shuffled forward. His movements were awkward as he took one leg, drew it upward, then carefully set one on top of Tartah’s foot. Tartah let out a strained whimper at the concentrated pressure and weight, his knees dipping slightly as Coustas’ weight settled onto him. Coustas braced a hand on Tartah’s shoulder, balancing himself before bringing his other foot up and settling on Tartah’s other foot. Tartah had to adjust quickly to keep from wobbling under the strain, and he instinctively reached forward and wrapped his hands around Coustas’ waist to steady him, fingers pressing into his back.
Coustas stiffened in surprise. “What are you doing?”
Tartah shifted his stance again, carefully rocking them both side to side to find a rhythm that didn’t make him feel like he was going to topple over. “Keeping you steady.”
“That is not what I meant,” Coustas muttered, looking down at him with his brows drawn tight. Tartah ignored him, focusing instead on the clumsy coordination of their oined footing, slowly beginning to guide them in an uneven sway that dragged them across the ground in small, hesitant motions.
Tartah took a deep breath, easing out through the dull pain on his toes, “We are dancing.”
Coustas stared at him like he was stupid, his hands hovering an inch from Tartah as he was twirled around haphazardly, the young witch sticking the landing by the graces above alone. “... This is not dancing.”
Another graceless turn nearly sent them both pitching sideways before Tartah caught himself at the last second, cheeks burning as Coustas let out a startled gasp. Still, Tartah refused to let go. He dug his heels into the ground, eyes burning in intention and care and hope as he shouted, “I know everything is awful right now.”
Coustas’ hands faltered.
“The world is falling apart and we are the ones who have to figure out how to fix it, and everyone else either sees the injustice and ignores it or suffers from it.” Tartah pursed his lips, then continued with a ragged exhale, “And it is scary. It’s a burden we weren’t meant to carry yet. There’s generations upon generations before us that should have done the right thing. I know why you have become the way you have. I know what causes this, and I know I can’t prevent what you believe is right from carrying you no matter how much that load weighs on you.”
If any trace of darkness fell over his face, Tartah dashed it away with an assertive, confident mutter of, “But I’m still going to drag you back out anyways, when I can, because you are my friend who used to sing, dance, and laugh more freely than anyone I’ve ever known. So I don’t care if you don’t feel like smiling right now, or if you want to isolate– I will be right here to stand you upright, and I’ll keep bringing you back.”
Dagda flashed before his eyes, his inscribed seal bared across his chest. I’ll keep bringing you back, again and again. Tartah’s fingers pressed deeper into Coustas’ back, refusing to let him part as their chest came together, and that provided enough of an angle for Tartah to tilt his head up and see the way his expression faltered, a sudden glassiness gathering behind his eyes before Coustas quickly ducked his head and yanked the brim of his hat downward to cover anything above the point of his nose.
Tartah hated it. He didn’t trust the brimmed caps, didn’t know why Coustas could given his legs and Dagda, but perhaps everyone needed something to cling to when hope is fettering. Even so, the donning of that cap was a message. It was a shift to a different state of him. Coustas didn’t need to be that in order to have their ideals actualized.
“Stop hiding from me.”
“I’m—” Coustas’ tongue tied in knots, the lie caught swiftly from their proximity, earning a steely look from Tartah who in turn swiftly ripped the cap off, throwing it aside.
Without the shadow of a brim concealing him, Tartah could see him. Coustas’ lips twitched, empty on words as his shoulders shuddered, curling in on themselves ever so slightly. His eyes were scattered, looking every way but forward and— there was a bashfulness, a vulnerability Tartah only glimpsed at in the pain and anger he exuded at Silver Eve. He looked young. He looked small. His lips settled on an uneasy press, eyes cast away as though to avoid the embarrassment spreading across his face.
Tartah was reminded all at once of Coustas lazily offering to ‘teach’ him how to kiss someone. His own face went hot as his mind unhelpfully replayed those jabs and teases, the way Coustas leaned close, goading him, mentioning it again and— With a violently pounding heart and an erupting squeeze of his throat, Tartah felt an urge overwhelm him.
He sucked in one enormous breath, nerves burning from his heart and to every oversensitive limb in his body from his fingers to his squashed toes, and then leaned forward, straining his neck to reach high enough— and pressed their lips together.
He held there with intense, stubborn concentration despite the sudden feeling of being beneath water, lips firmly pressed to Coustas’ while his entire body locked up from nerves, hands clamping on him like a vice. He could feel the startled stillness that overtook Coustas immediately, couldn’t determine what it was, so Tartah held there… It was mostly due to the fact that, though his courage was being sapped up faster than water to a sponge, pulling away so soon would be cowardly and another thing Coustas would tease him for. That and Tartah wasn’t really certain how long kisses were supposed to last anyways. He went until the enormous breath he’d taken staled, his lungs burned, and he frantically jerked backward with a sharp gasp to hastily get more air into his chest.
His face was molten, his eyes, which had been tightly shut, opened wide to catch his expression; he was fully aware that the next words out of Coustas’ lips would be a jeer about him almost suffocating himself in a simple kiss, but then he paused, unable to actually discern Coustas’ facial expression at all… And he was also in the air. In fact, the pressure had left Tartah’s feet and now that he realized it’s partially because he’s not on the ground— Tartah scrambled, holding Coustas tighter as the boy growled, “S-Stupid cloak! The wind caught it! I just— Ugh!”
Coustas brought their feet back onto the grass and it was only then that Tartah blurted out, “Was that alright? Was it bad? I’m– I’m really sorry-”
Coustas glanced at him, face gone slack a little with an unmistakable warmth just poorly hidden behind one of his teasing smiles. Tartah felt heat crawling right back up his own neck again as Coustas proudly announced, “I really liked–”
He shoved Tartah back suddenly. Both boys stumbled and Coutas slapped a hand over his mouth, sending Tartah a glare. “S–Stop touching me!”
Tartah snorted, catching his balance. “... Oh? Why is that? What were you saying?”
“Nothing!” Coustas huffed, snatching his cap from the ground and roughly forcing it back on his head.
“No, no, I didn’t catch what you said,” Tartah explained, reaching a hand out toward his friend who quickly darted back.
“I said nothing!” Coustas exclaimed, then shrieked as Tartah ran over, hand extended. He swiftly took to the sky, cape fluttering as he tried to create distance, and Tartah only cackled, bringing his sylph shoes together to follow after. Oh how the tables turn, he thought, laughing as he chased after Coustas, who called out to him through his own squeaks and laughs, “Stop it! That’s not funny! You are the worst!”
And Tartah figured he was content being the worst if it meant seeing the sunlight catching that wide smile on his friend once more, returning the twinkle to his eyes and the jumping start to his battered heart.
I’ll bring you back however I can.