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The castle towers tall, stone so cold he can feel it even standing paces away. Head craned back, he looks up, watching the contrast of the dark walls against the pale yellows and pinks of the setting sun.
And then he decides he had stalled enough. His feet disobey only momentarily, and then he's pushing the main entrance open, a heavy wooden door thrice his height.
Malevolence rolls from inside in thick waves, like smoke being let out of a room. It hits him like a wall and he pushes through the wall, entering and shutting the door behind himself.
The inside is barely lit, and even the few candles burning on the mounted holders appear dimmer than normal. Wood creaks beneath his feet until he steps onto a dark carpet, and then everything is quiet.
The malevolence around him is like molasses, so thick it feels like it’s slowing him down as he steps forward, placing a foot onto the first step of the rounded staircase leading to a balcony. He isn’t sure why he goes there when the corridors wind left and right, equally like to have the one he’s looking for inside them.
But the malevolence is strongest straight ahead, and so he ascends the stairs, fingers gliding over the railing.
A large ornamented door stands before him, carvings in the wood depicting a scene from an old war he has no brain power to think about right now. They’re made of heavy oak, but still yield easily when he pushes them open.
The throne room is simultaneously darker and lighter than the hallway, which should make no sense, except it does. Weak sunlight stream in from a single half-curtained window, but it dies out on the floor much sooner than it should, only lighting up the area around itself.
In the dimness, Mikleo’s eyes follow the red carpet laid out before him up to the throne, chipped and dusty on the carved decorations. A figure clad in black and red sits upon it, one leg crossed over the other, arm on the armrest.
He can’t see the face, but he knows he’s being looked at. A shiver runs down his back.
“What are you doing here?” the figure asks, almost barking it out.
Mikleo recoils; not so much at the tone, but at the words themselves. “I came after you, of course,” he says, tentatively taking a step forward.
“Why?”
“Because I care about you! Why do you think?”
The figure rises from the throne, tall, imposing. He steps forward, into the faint light, and Mikleo can finally see his features, the deep, worried frown etched into his features, the pursed lips, the tense stance. “Mikleo,” Sorey breathes out, and Mikleo’s heart flutters in his chest.
How long since he’d heard this voice say his name? Sorey hadn’t even greeted him when he’d arrived.
“I’m tainted. You can’t be here.” And just like that, the voice is back to strong and commandeering. Mikleo frowns himself.
“No,” he shakes his head defiantly. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Mikleo. I’m tainted,” Sorey repeats, and this time he sounds exasperated. Annoyed, maybe? Is he annoyed at Mikleo? Mikleo bites down at his bottom lip as Sorey clenches his fists. He’s still staring straight at the Seraph. Truth to his words, his entire being is drenched in the malevolence, stronger than Mikleo had ever felt before. It makes his knees want to buckle, but he fights it. Somehow, it feels more welcoming than any malevolence he’d ever felt. “I can’t return.”
Mikleo giggles breathlessly (taking in a deep breath to refill his lungs. he hadn’t even realized he’d held his breath) and steps forward. When Sorey doesn’t make a move, he keeps going, until he’s face to face with him, having to angle his head just the slightest bit upwards.
“I didn’t come to bring you back,” he says. His hand reaches out to grab Sorey’s; he almost breaks out in tears when the half-gloved fingers automatically squeeze his back.
“Why are you here then? It’s dangerous.”
Mikleo squeezes Sorey’s hand, really feeling the tears gather in his eyes. “It’s always dangerous around you,” he mumbles quietly, no more than an exhale, “I came to be with you.”
Sorey pulls away like he’d been singed, lowering his head. His bangs fall into his face and Mikleo can’t see his expression like that. “You can’t. The world is going to end, and it’s the most dangerous around me. I can’t pull you along into hell again, Mik.”
“It’ll be bad everywhere. And if I have to go through hell," Mikleo says, his eyes narrowing with a lopsided smile that looks more like a grimace than a real smile. He reaches out and grabs Sorey’s hand again, fighting him for a moment. "At least let me do it with you. Please.”
“Mikleo,” Sorey breathes his name like it’s something holy, like an enchanted spell falling off his lips. It takes a few too many seconds for Mikleo to understand that he’s crying, his shoulders shaking and fingers tightening sporadically. “Mikleo, I don’t want to hurt you again.”
Mikleo squeezes his fingers back, moving a hand up to Sorey’s ashen face, cupping his cheek tenderly. “Then don’t send me away.”
Sorey stares at him with those wide green eyes Mikleo loves so much. They seem darker, and Mikleo isn’t sure it’s only because of the lack of light in the room. But they’re also glossy, swimming in unshed tears. Sorey leans into his touch, asking, “Are you sure this is something you want?”
“I had to fight tooth and nail to get here, you know?” is Mikleo’s simple answer. “You think the guys wanted to let me?”
“You’re an idiot,” Sorey says, letting go of Mikleo’s hand in favor of wrapping his arms around the Serah’s slender frame.
It feels like the malevolence is swallowing him up, warm and blanket-like as he hugs back, never wanting to let Sorey go ever again. And he never will, not even when the world shatters.