Archive of Our Own

Nozel doesn’t remember finally falling asleep.

He wakes up with a slow blink that tears open his sewn eyelids, revealing his dark room. The hints of sunrays that slip through his covered window only serve to add to the countless needles already puncturing his head. Life is faintly heard from the outside, the multiple pairs of footsteps and murmurs that thankfully never raise above the background, aren’t loud enough to drill in further.

He takes the free time to collect his breathing, rub his throbbing temples to at the very least delay the creeping migraine and ringing inside his skull.

With a deep, mouthful breath, he stands to his feet and proceeds to getting ready, with a series of mechanical and precise motions, so much so it has become an out of body experience.

Reaching the mirror needs all his concentration though; in order to observe his reflection for any defects, any sign that makes him lesser or shows anything that must be kept hidden at all costs.

His shoulders are tense but straight, his back too. His neck follows the vertical line formed along his spine, resulting in the desired, perfect posture.

The face in the reflection, on the other hand, screams wrong, wrong, wrong.

His lips are cracked and on the verge of bleeding. His hair falling limp and lost of all its shine, much like his ghostly pale skin. His eyes black and red with blotches underneath.

All disgusting.

All disgraceful.

The face in the mirror contorts in visible anger, even uglier than the hideous despair from the moment before; the fissures are spreading, they reveal.

Quickly, he makes sure each and every one of them is gone- wipes out any traces of blood, uses products for his eyes, and lips, fixes his hair to make himself look like who he must be.

Nozel will be damned if he ruins this day further- his own ideal may have been ruined but there is the perspective of the world that’ll witness the perverted distortion that is his grimoire reception.

He shakes his head to dissipate the thoughts threatening to ruin the care he put into not showing anything mere seconds ago, looks at the now determined and stoic face in his reflection; silenced, unyielding, unrevealing.  

It’s only him, now- as it should be. Stand tall on his own strength alone.

Jaw set in the right amount of tension, Nozel lifts his chin, keeps his head and steps out of his room.

His steps are measured and calm as he navigates the hallways, the servants stopping to bow at his presence but he doesn’t acknowledge any of them, his eyes set ahead.

He can hear their murmurs, speaking about the day, about him- an affirmation that he gives out nothing out of the ordinary.

And then, they dare talk about her.

“It’s a pity Lady Acier isn’t here to see the young master.” Reaches his ear and his jaw clenches in reflex.

Nozel continues to look forward, ignoring the ache inside his chest and the name of his mother being thrown around by gossipy peasants that know no respect.

He should have them punished; it will, however, put a stain to his image. The Silva family will suffer from tyrannical leaders and he doesn’t want to be talked about in the nobility like the Kiras.

Instead of the main hallways where the dining room is at the moment bursting with noise heard even for the other side of the mansion, he forgoes breakfast altogether; prefers taking his time in the roundabout way- the more secluded routes, the ones with the rooms that are only cleaned but never used. A rare moment of serenity is found in the way even his own sandals on the marble is swallowed by the quiet.

This void instant doesn’t last long, when memories of his running round with Nebra years ago play out in front of him. His mother is here too, he barely refrains from actually turning around at the memory of her voice ringing beautifully like windchimes, calling their names in the playful voice, seeking her hiding children.

Nozel looks forward of it all, his pace picked up subtly, mind struggling the disarray and turning the images to smoke.

When he arrives to the Silva grimoire tower, there are people already expecting him; tutors, distant relatives and other insignificant faces he doesn’t bother to acknowledge.

No attention is paid to any of them; they are not whom he wished- the one who promised again and again that she’d be by his side and the one that he took for granted by shouldn’t have because of his own weakness. The heart bleeds for them but he’ll train it to become dry.

Nozel looks forward when he enters the tower, extending his arm in front and expects with flat heartbeat.

It comes from the far left, shining a bright sky blueish silver. It comes to him slowly, as if sensing his emotions and thoughts.

Electricity passes to each and every one of his nerves the moment his fingertip touches the hard, cold cover. Recognition and connection resonate within him as he spine fits into his hand like something so very familiar he didn’t know how to live without.

Yet it doesn’t nothing to fill the hollowness.

The fissures grin widely, viciously. He keeps them in place, staying a little more than necessary inside, reveling in the silence, only the gentle flipping of the pages of his grimoire. All are empty but the first, which has the spells his previous training has formed. More will follow.

Now with this finally in his grasp, there are no limitations to how hard he can train- he plans to fill the grimoire’s multiple pages with spells of all kind, to become strong. It’s all he can do at this point.

To hold the name of the Silva in prestige, to take over the Silver Eagles as soon as possible so his young age cannot be taken as leverage for others to undermine him.

Nozel is now the central pillar of the Silva and the Silver Eagles- and he’ll do everything to keep them alive and thriving. No matter what it takes.

With the resolve covering everything else like thick veil, he exits the tower.

“Elder Brother!”

Ignoring all the shallow praises coming from around him, he turns to this call; it’s one that doesn’t hide any malice and causes his shoulders to lose some of their tension. Nebra and Solid must have finished with breakfast earlier than he anticipated and arrived in the gardens just in time to witness him go inside.

“Did you get it?” Soild vibrates with energy, fists pumped and looking around searchingly, eyes travelling everywhere at once.

Nozel can’t help the miniscule quirk of his lips-just enough to not break the smoothness of his features, to not provoke any ridges- and opens his palm for his grimoire to light up and open on it, the sound of rapidly flipping pages sharp and satisfying.

Fondness creeps inside his chest at his younger brother’s starry-eyed look, slipping inside the thorny vines which caress his lungs tenderly, promise to sink in their tissue when they swell too much.

“Show me a spell!” he demands.

Nozel instead closes the grimoire and places it back its new spot on the case by his hip.

“Not today, I have lessons to attend today.”

“But Elder Brother! You’re always studying or training!” Solid protests with an age-appropriate stomp of his foot that sends dust of dirt flowing, huffing his round cheeks and crossing his arms.

Before he can say anything more, or possibly apologize, Nebra intervenes with a stern but placating voice, “Now Solid, don’t be mad at Elder Brother. He promised to show you at another time. Why don’t you give him your present before he has to leave, alright?”

Solid, in his young, impressionable age, perks back up in a flash before running away to a spot nearby and coming back with a flower crown in his hands, presenting it to Nozel, whose astonishment break into the surface.

“Here!” he says, “Congratulations Elder Brother!” He beams, toothy grin and eyes closed in half-moons. “You’ll be the strongest Magic Knight! I just know it!”

Nozel remains still, frozen in his astonishment for too long, but a tug downwards from Nebra makes him lean down, letting the crown be put atop of his hair. It’s surprisingly well made for his four-year-old hands and it’s easy to suspect that his younger sister put her hand into it as well.

(After all, she was the one Mother taught years ago and picked up the skill the best, with Nozel being too forgetful of the steps- on the first day of spring it had become something of a tradition for the three of them to take a break and walk around the gardens. When they were expecting Solid, they had made one together right before the end of summer, when Mother’s belly was large and they all knew of the new arrival.)

“It’s beautiful.” He says, “Thank you Solid.”

The grin he receives blooms on a now irreplaceable spot within him, watching amusedly as he runs off again, unable to keep still.

Nebra takes a moment to looks at him and it feels like eons with the way she examines him so intimately. Nozel meets it, unblinking and unmoving. She leaves with a small smile on her own, one that isn’t reflected in her eyes in the least.

He waits until his siblings are away that he takes it right off as he hurries to the safety of his study, accidentally pricking his finger with a small thorn that escaped. Still, he holds the crown like something fragile and precious, his finger firmly on the thorn and warm red tinkling as it drips.

Nozel looks forward, even when his eyes stray out the window of his secluded study, catching glances of them outside, playing carefree and unburdened with the world around them just yet, careful to be seen himself.

Good. Let them be. They are still young and while Nozel feels guilty for leaving Nebra in charge of Soild, throwing this kind of responsibility on her, he believes it’s better than a brother that’s never there, a brother that can’t amount to their hopes and expectations without caving.

From his part, lacking and insufficient as it is, is watch over them from afar, make sure his only real family remains safe and peaceful.

Every night has become torturous. Tonight, he’s closer to the edge than ever before.

During the days he’s meticulous to stay away, to never catch a glimpse, push every trace of existence into the obscurity.

It all shatters in the nights like porcelain falling, with an unending wail that follows him around, waits for the moment deep into the night where Nozel will finally retire in hopes for a meager couple of hours of dreamless unconsciousness, strikes the moment his door closes behind him after he exhausts himself with daily tasks.

It’s surreal for someone so weak and small to have such strong lungs, for someone that had such a large role in killing the strongest woman in the Clover Kingdom.

She keeps crying and crying all night long and it takes too damn long for her to be silenced. It’s futile too, she starts all over the very next moment. He must appoint more and new servants to watch over her, two are too few, they are useless at their job.

Burying his face into his pillow doesn’t work, the pulse of his covered ears isn’t enough to drown the wailing that keeps on, unrelenting. Unlike what he remembers of his siblings when they were babies.

In its foulness, it brings forth all that he’s been trying to suppress; that’s clawing under his skin and crashing the inside of his skull. It unleashed them from the cracks that can’t help but break out when he’s all alone to torment him.

Stop…

Stop it.

Stop it!

His demands are never answered.

Reaching out with unfocused eyes, unseeing in the lack of neither natural nor artificial lights, his fingers trace soft petals and stems and quickly familiar anaglyphs the edges of paper.

“You’ll be the only one inheriting the steel quality of my magic…”

Nozel throws the grimoire away with all his might, with it making a loud sound on its impact with the stone wall. In this movement, the some of the pages’ edges cut his fingers.

For that moment, his mind becomes blissfully blank as his nerves take on the pain. Just like what happened with the puncture marks from before on his other hand show.

The crying stops; it begins again. Nozel’s grips tightens- he feels a rush of warmth. A poor substitute of his beloved sun he was so used to blissfully bask into, but it serves the purpose for what seems to be short calm seconds.

Doesn’t anyone else hear this too? Why don’t the maids to as he assigned them to and let the cries go on and on endlessly?

Does he have to do himself? Her lungs must be strong but her bones are still fragile inside her small body. Her skull can cave in from the impact from the smallest of heights-

“Nozel!”

The silence is so overwhelming it startles him.

The blurs slowly transform into shapes and colors. It’s still dark around them yet he’d recognize those brilliant violet eyes and that fiery hair color everywhere and everywhen, as if summoned by his guiltiest of desires.

“Fuegoleon?” the name rolls off his tongue too fast and eagerly despite the tightening of his lungs and throat.

Fuegoleon’s eyes are manically roam up and down at his form, but soften with relief when he hears him speak. Something envelops his hands and by looking down, he finds his hands being trapped by two larger ones, all their paleness obscured by sun kissed skin.

It takes him looking for ashamedly long to notice the ground beneath them is not the marble floors of his room, and instead it’s grass, weeds and dirt. The smells of them assaults his nose.

“Where am I?” he asks hoarsely, panic start to pick up in his heart. He tries to pull his hands back but it’s futile.

“Look around and you’ll see.”

One look is all it takes to recognize the place; how can he ever forget their safe haven, in which every memory and moment is kept treasured? They both of them have been training on this field for years on end; sparring in the openness without Fuegoleon’s affinity being too troublesome in its collateral damage while mastering its control. The forest and the nature around them as well, was perfect for stealth, tracking and resource management.

However, that’s far from the whole story that has taken place here; this place has been their playground too, the place where they lied on the ground, pleasantly tired, to watch the clouds at day and stargaze at night, marvel at the shades of blue, the shapes above and the passing phases of the moon.

At those-mostly openly secret- nights, all their knowledge and imagination of the constellations poured out. Nozel had taken on reading more and more about them in the books in the mansion’s library- as imagination wasn’t his strong point- pleased to revel on the other boy’s attention and pretty eyes. His shoulders almost dislocated from laughter one of those nights at the sheer offense on them when Nozel informed him of the constellation about a mythical lion that looks absolutely nothing like the animal in question, a smile splitting his face and the happiest of ways.

Tonight, all that joy of those halcyon days is devastated by deep agony. Fittingly so, the sky is devoid of any stars and signs of the moon. A single thick veil in a deep midnight blue, undisguisable from the darkest black.

“I must return. Now.” With irregular breath, he attempts to escape the grip and stand on his feet but it’s futile; he’s rooted in place, “They will be looking for me. Nebra-”

“She knows.” Fuegoleon cuts off, “I was going to climb to your window but she saw me and helped me in. Told me she’ll handle things if you are gone for a couple of days.”

Nozel’s eyes are wide and his lips parted in astonishment; questions flow on his head of why and how. Was he so transparent in truth that she helped such an extreme plan?

“She is worried about you.” Fuegoleon reaffirms as if reading his mind, squeezes his hands, hold him in place, “We all are, Nozel. I have been waiting for you here every day for the past year and coming by to ask about you. They all always tell me you’re preoccupied.” He states and there is hurt in his expression. It feels misplaced and Nozel wants for it to disappear.

He has no right to. He lost it a year ago. All the times a visitor was announced doused him with lava and ice-cold water one immediately after the other. He’d heard the brief conversations for the first couple of months- the worry in Fuegoleon’s voice, the building impatience and hurt, the care which should have been rightfully extinguished so long ago at Nozel’s distant demeanor- until it was all too unbearable, too unnecessary and damaging. He’s sure to this day that if he had heard more or invited Fuegoleon inside only once, he would be destroyed.

His affinity must work for the steel it takes for his voice to become hard and cold in his response, reinforce his hard-trained discipline, “And thus you decided to abduct me?” he says venomously, “Can’t you understand intention beneath words?”

It’s a bitter, acidic victory, to see the anger kindling in the violet gaze, darkening viciously. It’s easy to push a Vermillion to explosion, especially Fuegoleon, and Nozel is counting on the years of gathered intelligence to his advantage.

All will turn into a long, cherished memory soon. Only for Nozel to bury along with the others.

The rage is short lived however- it disappears the very next moment and replaced with an expression that upsets Nozel’s whole being. It doesn’t suit his handsome, earnest face.

“Enough.” He says before anything escalates. “I’ve had enough of this farce.” With everything, he’s so very tired…

This time he pulls out his hands successfully.

He holds back the gasp when he sees them.

Bloody and carved and with what appears to be silver hairs on them, Nozel hadn’t realized how pathetic and appalling he had been. Didn’t feel him being taken from his room and carried all the way here with no awareness of himself or his surroundings.

“It…terrified me, the state I found you in; curled in yourself on the floor, pulling your hair with bloody hands and murmuring.” Fuegoleon explains, the words slow and passive, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “Nebra said the loud crying is always upsetting you and my first thought was to bring you here, just us and the nature... alone to talk without anyone else.”

He is seething at his own heart for still fluttering, for being so affected after a year-long separation he worked so hard to maintain.

With the meat of his palm, clean of blood, he touches his face; the agony sinks further into his stomach when he feels wetness in the form of clear, salty tears mixed grossly with the creams and products he used to cover; it was all apparently insufficient.

Despite the heaving breathing, he tries desperately to stand and keep whatever has remained of his dignity, with his blotched, dirty face and sickly pale skin. Even more so in front of Fuegoleon, who he never had to hide before.

It’s all in the past now. Tonight, he’ll make sure to end this once and for all.

His legs miraculously support him.

“I don’t need your disgusting pity, Vermillion.” He snarls, “I am the heir of the Silva family and the captaincy of the Silver Eagles and have no need for your misplaced, one-sided rivalry.”

Nozel looks forward. Posture straight and proud, ignoring of its trembling, the protesting muscles in his body, head always raised high and face emotionless, he crosses more and more distance with each slightly disorientated step. Must be away from here and from Fuegoleon as soon and with the least amount of pain stabbing his chest with every expansion of his lungs.

Of course, he should have known, or more accurately, listened to his inner core speaking from years of experience; Fuegoleon Vermillion is nothing but single-mindedly stubborn at times, with a temper as fierce as his fire affinity. He hoped his hurt and pride had reasoned with him to leave Nozel be, to turn into strangers.

Nozel, for possibly the first time in the years they’ve known each other, made the grave mistake of underestimating him.

His wrist is grabbed and in dizzying speed he’s turned back around and forced by the back of his neck to look up at Fuegoleon’s ablaze gaze.

“Nozel, can’t you see you’re destroying yourself?”

He breathes through his teeth when despite his efforts, the grip on his nape tightens enough to keep him steady.

“Let me go this instant.”

“If Lady Acier was here-”

It’s freezing- the seething rage that takes over him, overpowering everything else. His skin feels icy.

And ice breaks; crumbles in pieces. Much like his front, his mask.

“She’s not here!” Nozel screams right from the depths of his very core, voice clawing at this throat at the sudden change and just like that, everything is unleashed, “She left! Abandoned us!”

Like a tidal wave, it sweeps away any of his logic for the sake of rawness that feels so foreign it scratches his insides, from his lungs to his throat to his tongue to his eyes. But he can’t stop, headache splitting from the delirium by the constant wailing in and already overwhelming day.

It shouldn’t have turned out like this; he was waiting this day for his whole life, to receive his grimoire and take the first great step towards his future.

He wanted his ceremony to be like Fuegoleon’s; a festivity to share with the ones he loved. His fingertips still tingle at the feel of his grimoire’s anaglyphs when he had urged him to touch; at how pretty and sturdy it looked and fitting to its owner.

For Nozel, it was all ripped away to something lifeless and empty.

In his surprise at the outburst, Fuegoleon’s grip loosens and it’s enough for Nozel to slip out his hand and retake some distance.

“That’s not true-” he tries to placate but only adds fuel to the fire.

“How dare you claim that you understand my family better than me?!” he hisses, “How dare you claim you understand everything?!” the words pour out in a torrent, joined by the new streams of hot tears flowing down his face.

Disgusting. Disgraceful. Undeserving of the Silva name and legacy.

How is he supposed to stand tall when the mere weight expected of him is crushing him?

If he was really worth anything, he wouldn’t be here, looking so pitiful, unbecoming to everything he must.

Fuegoleon takes a careful step towards him, to which Nozel responds by one unsteady of his own away. It repeats for a couple more steps before Fuegoleon caves into his own impatience and just pounces on him with the speed of a predator, with Nozel too exhausted for his reflexes to work as he desires them to.

The next moment, Nozel is embraced close into a firm chest, arms limp and trapped at his sides and a chin on resting on the top of his hair.

He’s grown taller than he remembers, Nozel observes. A year ago, the last time they met they were the exact same height but unlike him, Fuegoleon grew to be strong and reliable and sturdy to not flinch at the world’s burden on his broader shoulders.

He starts thrashing, hitting with weak fists.

He struggles with all his might, “Let me g-”

“Then help me understand, Nozel.” He says over his words and actions, “I want to know what has caused you so much suffering.” He tightens his embrace, despite the protests, “I can feel so many of your bones, and there was so much blood-”

“Let go now-”

“No.” he says, full of the stubborn resolve that makes everyone give up on changing his mind, “If I let you leave now, you’ll disappear again and I won’t be able to find you.”

He leans down to murmur his stuttered plea to the skin of Nozel’s temple, “Please confide in me what pains you. I…I don’t want to lose you, Nozel.”

Like healing magic, the shiver that travels to every cell in his body nullifies any traces of resistance, including the one of his legs, causing them to fold under his weight, giving up any fight. And the one on his mind alike, finally unleashing the hot tears he’d been holding since the very beginning of his suffering- that couldn’t be seen falling even on the funeral and join those of his siblings that leaned on his arms for support and comfort.

He doesn’t crash, the sculptured arms around make sure to help him on the dirty ground gently, as he sobs with his whole spine curving in front, to the warm body embracing him, arching towards the fingers tracing faint nonsensical patterns on his back.

The voice that comes out when the words he wanted so desperately to keep inside is gargled, both hoarse and wet at the same time. It echoes words of despair, of hatred, of want.

He hates Noelle for tormenting them all with her presence and what it signifies. For the ache even thinking of her name causes him. For she’ll be raised without the pain and unspeakable burden of her loss as she’ll learn about her but not above mere words and tales- never connect with who she truly was.

(He wants her gone in exchange of what was before she existed.)

He hates Mother for being selfish and choosing her over them, breaking all her promises and leaving him while binding him to one he can’t possibly keep.

(He wants her here to listen to his screams and see if she actually cares.)

He hates himself for not being enough of a reason to convince her choose them, for not being strong enough to keep up with what he was meant to do without breaking so humiliatingly. Without worrying everyone he cares about- his little sister that he should be taking care of instead and his best friend, who should have seen how much of a lost cause he is.

(He wants himself to stop being a burden and be strong to bear and heal from whatever he receives from this life. For the fissures to disappear forever.)

The field around them, the sky above them, and Fuegoleon so close to him are the only witnesses of his disturbing thoughts.

After what seems to be an eternity, his cries subdue to weak gross sniffles, fingers clinging desperately to the other’s tunic, unable to look up to meet those eyes.

“It’s alright.” Fuegoleon finally speaks, without any hints of disgust or anger, only understanding that he was begging him for earlier, “You’re not weak, Nozel, nor a burden. Only human like all of us.”

He miniscule shake of his head is enough to cause dizziness, “You’re strong. Good. Don’t have such stupid thoughts.”

Laughter vibrates from the skin of his hands to the tips of his ears to his heart, “I have been irritable and overly strict without my rival that Mereoleona had to lecture me and be the voice of reason. And I…I have accidentally made Leo cry, others flinch and run by my temper getting the better out of me. Everything… training, duties have been dragging slowly. Because it’s miserable and lacking without you.”

“Impossible.” Nozel calls the bluff immediately, raising his wary head to meet soft, mirthful violet.

“If you ask her, you’ll see. Have you ever known us lying for the sake of platitudes?”

The telltale twitch of his lips upwards, accompanied by his silence is enough of an answer.

Exhaustion pours out of every pore of his being, slowing down his pulse, his breathing, weakening his grip and eyelids until they are barely holding on.

When he’s being moved, he vaguely feels the arms under his knees and on the middle of his back bracing, and then lifting him up. His attention is perked only when his ear is above a strong heartbeat, the rhythmic thump, thump, thump a song he missed so much his chest shrinks too small for his organs.

However, there is no fear of falling despite of it.

Nozel is now deep into his vulnerable, fatigued lull that he works by his bare instincts keeps his fingers tangled into Fuegoleons tunic, head resting on his chest, returning promptly right above his heart. Lean into the touch and the lovely heat, starving for it.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly into his messy, bloody hair.

“Why are you still caring, Fuegoleon?” he asks, his mouth devoid of its ever-present filter.

The rumble that rises to be Fuegoleon’s chuckle is pleasant he wants to hear it every day, “I never stopped Nozel. I never will.”

Nozel feels the sting of his eyes hurts and he buries his face further into the warm chest, “Liar,” he accuses weakly, “You’ll leave me too.”

The conviction in his voice is breathed to the shell of his ear, directly to Nozel’s defenseless soul.

“Never.”

“L-Liar.” He hiccups, one remaining dry sob flying out of his lungs.

“I will say it until you believe me, even if it takes forever.”

Don’t believe him, his mind screams, Mother said the same thing and the world disappeared under your feet. You’ll be hurt again!

It’s too late, Nozel has already put his outmost faith in those words.

Fuegoleon continues to whisper sweet promises to Nozel’s sobbing form- ‘I’m here’, ‘I won’t leave’, ‘I’ll always be by your side’, ‘You’re far from a burden’- holding him steady and close letting him ruin his clothes with his tears and bloody hands.

He doesn’t know for how long the tears flow silently, for how long he’s being carried so embarrassingly.

Worn down to the bone, there is little of his much prideful self-restrain to control his actions. Maybe that’s the feeling of being drunk, the freedom in his actions. His arms loop around Fuegoleon’s neck and he nuzzles sleepily at the spot where it meets his shoulder, inhaling the smell of cinders and earth, eyes fleeting to the dark sky.

He has avoided to stare up for so long, out of deep-rooted anguish that shadowed any wonder he held.

More times than he can count, his mother was the moon in his life; serene and silent and always guiding and graceful even at her most fierce, her light dancing, left everyone with admiration and awe.

And from the very first moment, Fuegoleon had become his sun; blindingly bright that no one could look right at, scorching to the point of complete incineration with his fiery, uncovered passion.

Yet despite that, Nozel always felt his kindness and earnestness, reveled and flustered in the rays. Still does, despite being unworthy of it.

He was spoiled by both lights and when his moon died, he became aware of that in the hardest life lesson in his life.

Whatever he’ll become when his sun disappears too, while he’s too dependent? He didn’t want to know, thus he decided to stay in the shadows by his own will, rather than some sudden cruelty.

In reality, Nozel was hopeless from the very first moment he saw that radiant smile and heard his name being called in that inviting voice. And it proves true tonight as well- he has fallen too deep, still falls more and more and more as time traverses.

The world around him becomes blurry, he stops being overly analyzing of his environment, for he feels safe to let go.

Yet at some point, when the smell of earth and nature faints for the sake of firewood, he hears another voice and a whimper escapes him, not being able to shake off the humiliation of being in this kind of situation to some possible stranger. He buries his face to Fuegoleon’s neck, his hold vice like.

The more they speak, the more familiar the other voice seems, still his mind is too murky to know whether is better or worse. It leans to the more positive as a hand, hardened with callouses, ruffles his hair surprisingly gently before gripping and squeezing his nape, sending relaxing, welcome waves through him. Instinctively, he leans into it, a low hum escaping his throat.

The next time his consciousness is strong enough to keep his heavy eyelids open is when he is laying on a soft bed that covers him with the smell of home from every direction. It lulls him more and more to sleep, his body rushing to satisfy its needs for rest in this safe silent homely place that he wants to sleep in every night.

He absently registers Fuegoleon murmuring something about ‘letting him rest properly’ and ‘being in the next room’ when Nozel’s mind fires up when he feels cold.

His hand moves before his mind, grasping the fabric of the other’s sleeve, the closest he could find.

“Stay.” He whispers coarsely, repeatedly pulling the fabric with whatever strength is left in his hands.

After a horrible moment, Fuegoleon complies and curls around him, Nozel is given back the the warmth, as well as the rhythm of his heart and lungs.

“I’m sorry.” For not believing in you, for being a coward, for causing pain to you and the others, for being a burden.

“Shh,” fingers swipe the hair clinging his forehead, followed by lips upon it.

“None of that now,” he reassures, “rest for now, tomorrow the run will rise it’ll be a new day to start over.”

Nozel smiles widely, the movement rare and unabashed, straining his muscles in a wonderful way.

The sun has already risen. And light will always be in his life, stubborn and saving.

“Stay.” He repeats, his eyelids closing.

Another kiss, this time on the crown of his head.

“Always.”

Nozel doesn’t remember finally falling asleep.