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“How cliché,” Sylvain muttered. Rain matted down his hair, tapping out a drumming beat on his shoulders as it soaked through his coat.
Still, he hesitated, glancing back at his car. He could turn around right now. He could leave, go back to his father's home, grovel and beg and probably be begrudgingly forgiven.
He gripped the cardboard box more tightly against his chest. No, not this time. He wasn't going back this time. Which was precisely why he was here, at this tight-packed, nondescript apartment complex rather than at Dimitr's palatial house or Felix's sprawling apartment. His father knew all those places, was probably already harassing his friends about his whereabouts. He had no idea about this place.
The cardboard box was getting soggy. Sylvain's hair hung in lank lashes, clinging to his forehead and cheeks. He trudged up a few flights of stairs, his feet thudding on the metal steps in time with his heart. Finally, he stood before one of the identical blue doors in the complex. A wreath warmed the door. The mat outside it exclaimed WELCOME.
And gods damn him, he probably would be welcomed. As much as he didn't deserve it.
But it was this or his father. And Sylvain was nothing if not a complete and utter coward.
So he lifted his hand and knocked.
#
“A little for me and a little for you,” Ashe sang. He tossed some chicken into the pan hissing atop the stove, tearing off a tiny shred. Duran pawed at his leg until he let the shred fall to the floor where she could devour it.
“That's the last one,” he said.
The tiny bundle of black and white fur inhaled the scrap, then sat back, peering up at Ashe with amber eyes. He looked away, knowing even as he did that he'd likely give in to the cat's next begging fit.
A knock at his door spared him. Duran sprang away, watching the door warily from behind the couch. Ashe lowered the heat on the stove before going to answer. In truth, he'd startled nearly as badly as his cat. He never got knocks. Annette usually just walked in; she had her own key at this point. He squinted through the peephole and nearly fell off his feet as he did.
“Sylvain?” he said, throwing the door open. “Goddess, you're soaked. Hurry, get in.”
“I...”
“You don't need to explain,” Ashe said. “Just get inside. It's awful out there.”
He tugged Sylvain inside, shutting the door behind him. Sylvain dripped onto his floor, his hair and coat and shoes conspiring to create a puddle as he stood studying his feet. He hugged a sagging cardboard box to his chest and wore a drenched backpack. He looked like he'd swum to Ashe's apartment.
“Are you OK?” Ashe said. He coaxed the soggy box from Sylvain's hands and set it on the floor. “Can I take your coat?”
When Sylvain finally looked up, his eyes were wetter than his dripping hair. “I really fucked up,” he said.
“OK,” Ashe said. “It's OK. How about you just get out of that wet coat first, hm?”
Sylvain shrugged out of the coat. Ashe hung it on a hook near the door, then convinced Sylvain to get his shoes and socks off. He'd always found that when his siblings were upset and unresponsive like this, simple, gentle suggestions worked best. He soon had Sylvain out of his outer layer of clothing and somewhat more coherent.
He didn't seem physically harmed, but Ashe couldn't get him to meet his eyes or say more than a few words at a time. “How about a warm shower?” Ashe said, fetching a towel. “Do you need some dry clothes?”
Sylvain just shook his head.
“Soap? Body wash? Feel free to use whatever's in the bathroom,” Ashe said.
Sylvain hugged the towel against his chest, his face tightening. “Why are you helping me like this?”
Ashe blinked. “I... well, you'll get sick if you don't dry off.”
“Simple as that?” Sylvain's chuckle was dry as dead leaves crackling underfoot.
“Well, yes,” Ashe said.
Sylvain looked like he was about to retort, but just then the fire alarm shrieked. Ashe spun and found a cloud of smoke over his unfortunate dinner. “Oh, oh geeze.” He rushed to the stove, taking the pan off the heat and batting at the smoke, but the stir fry was already blackened. “I'm afraid I'll have to start over. Please, why don't you shower and I'll get this figured out, OK?”
Again, Sylvain paused, his mouth twisting to strangle his voice. He slumped off to the bathroom. Ashe breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the shower start up.
Duran crept out from behind the couch, inspecting Sylvain's clothes and boots while Ashe remade dinner. He added a little extra this time, determined to ensure Sylvain ate. He looked haggard, like a stone worn down to chips. A decent meal was likely the least he needed.
Ashe heard a noise behind him and spun, only to find Sylvain creeping from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He stopped, sheepish, when Ashe caught him.
“I forgot my clothes,” he said.
Under any other circumstances, Ashe might have accused him of lying. As it was, Ashe could only breathe out an “Oh” and hurry to turn back to his cooking, tearing his eyes away from Sylvain's bare chest, the curls of red hair stretched across his muscular pecs, the roll of his broad shoulders. He expected some quip about his obvious reaction, but none came. Ashe almost wished Sylvain would tease him for staring a little too long; at least then he'd sound like himself.
Instead, Sylvain dressed and sat quietly, almost timidly, on the couch. Ashe brought him a plate of food, which he tried to refuse.
“You know what I used to tell my siblings when they refused my cooking?” Ashe said.
Sylvain shook his head, grimacing at the stir fry.
“You're an ungrateful little shit.”
Sylvain's eyebrows shot up. Ashe couldn't help laughing at the reaction.
“See?” Ashe said. “It usually works.”
He dug in without further appeals and soon saw Sylvian picking up his fork and joining him. Duran pawed at Sylvain's knees until he offered her a scrap of chicken.
“She likes you,” Ashe said.
“Well, that makes one person,” Sylvain muttered.
“Two,” Ashe said.
“What?”
“Two people like you,” Ashe said. “Me.”
Sylvain spluttered, barely choking down his chicken. He coughed, hiding behind his hand as his cheeks reddened.
“Sorry,” Ashe said. “Didn't mean to startle you.”
“It's fine. I just...”
“Bad day?”
Sylvain nodded.
“If you feel like talking, I'd love to listen,” Ashe said.
Sylvain squirmed, fidgeting with his fork, pushing food around his plate until Ashe took the dish away and set both aside on the coffee table. Sylvain took to studying his apartment: The linoleum by the door still wet from the rain, the living room where they sat now, the narrow little kitchen only steps away. Ashe knew it wasn't much, probably wasn't anything at all compared to the types of places where Sylvain had lived, but he'd tried to make it cozy, adding plants in the windowsills, blankets on the couches, even a couple pieces of art made by Bernadetta.
“Nice place,” Sylvain said.
“It's OK,” Ashe said. “How are you?”
Sylvain sighed, but finally gave up deflecting. “Not so great,” he admitted.
“Yeah, I can see that. Would you like to stay here?”
Sylvain nodded, not looking up.
Ashe let the matter drop. Pushing was only making Sylvain burrow deeper into his own head. If he wanted to talk, he'd talk. It wasn't like Sylvain was shy. Which made this bout of taciturn timidity all the more worrying.
Ashe fetched a blanket and pillow. “Couch is all yours,” he said, “for as long as you need it. You know where the bathroom is. If you need anything, feel free to wake me up. Are you OK for now?”
“Yeah,” Sylvain said, already tucking into the blanket and curling up on the couch.
Ashe decided to leave him be, clearing the plates and heading to his bedroom early. Duran trotted at his heels, excited at the prospect of a few extra snuggles this evening.
“Night,” he said, flicking off the lights.
At first he got no response. Then, soft as a falling feather, he heard a hushed, “Goodnight, Ashe.”
#
Sylvain woke with his legs draped over the arm of the couch and his arm dangling off the side. The blanket stood askew. The pillow was shoved deep into the cushions. Duran sat a few paces back, watching him as he roused, then letting out a hungry meow when he slumped off the couch.
Sylvain nearly tripped on the little bundle of black and white as he stumbled to the bathroom. He looked utterly miserable. His hair stood in a tangle, having dried against the couch cushions. Bags framed his eyes. Something had pressed a zig zag design into his skin as he slept.
He slouched to the kitchen, hoping to just find a glass for some water. Then he could get out of Ashe's space and leave the poor guy alone. Sylvain had been a constant pest back when they were in school together, back when he'd taken out his angst on anyone who gave him more than a passing look. And Ashe had given him well more.
He grimaced, remembering how he'd teased Ashe for his obvious crush, how he'd even encouraged it just so he could poke at it more. Now here he was, relying on Ashe for a place to crash because he was an entitled brat who didn't like his dad.
Sylvain scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the memories. A glass sat on the counter in the kitchen, a note tucked under it.
Help yourself to anything in the kitchen! I had to leave for work early. Be home around 3. See you then!
Ashe
Sylvain tugged at his hair. There had to be a way to fix this. Maybe he could just leave. But where would he go? Maybe he could try to cook something. No, that would end in disaster. Maybe he could leave money. But that seemed so patronizing. And with Ashe's history it would probably be more cruel than kind.
Think, he urged himself. But slow and deliberate thought had never been his strong suit, to put it mildly.
He paced the little apartment. Duran watched from atop a counter, tail swishing, amber eyes narrowed. He opened a closet and a broom fell out. Well, OK, few clearer signs than that. He could clean. Sure. Even he couldn't fuck that up.
Right?
#
Ashe returned home to find Sylvain sweeping his carpet.
“H-hey, Sylvain,” he said, setting his bag and coat aside.
Sylvain jerked upright. “Oh. Hi. I... uh... I couldn't find the vacuum, but I wanted to clean. To say thank you, you know? But, um, I might have just made it worse.”
Well, at least he was talking. Ashe gently extracted the broom from his hands. “How about we finish this together?”
Sylvain scrubbed at his hair. “Ah, fuck. I was supposed to surprise you. I even fucked that up, though.”
“Well, you certainly did surprise me,” Ashe said, chuckling.
Sylvain reddened, cursing under his breath.
“I'm sorry,” Ashe said. “I appreciate it, really. Here, the vacuum is in my room. I'll grab it and we'll finish this up, OK? Have you eaten today? We can cook after.”
Despite Sylvain's protests, Ashe set about putting the plan in motion and soon his tiny apartment was spotlessly clean. Duran glared from a corner while they vacuumed, but came back around when she smelled them cooking, winding between their legs.
“She must like you,” Ashe said. “She's usually pretty shy. Did she bother you at night?”
“No, she's fine,” Sylvain said, scratching the cat's ear.
Ashe pushed vegetables around the pan. “You know, I was thinking, you should really take my bed tonight. The couch is much too small for you, but I fit fine.”
“I can't do that.”
“No, seriously, I sleep out here half the time anyway since I live alone.”
“Ashe, I'm not taking your bed from you.”
“It's fine,” Ashe said. “I don't mind, really. I want you to have the bed.”
“With you in it?” Sylvain quipped.
Ashe blinked. Sylvain's eyes went wide. He seemed to hear himself only after the outburst.
“I-I mean-- Ah, sorry,” Sylvain stuttered. “It just comes out sometimes.”
Ashe willed the heat to recede from his cheeks, but as hard as he pushed it clung to his skin like petals clinging to the pistil. His voice felt thin as tissue paper when he replied, “It's OK.”
Sylvain stared down at him. Ashe could see his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. His gaze was horribly fixated, uncharacteristically serious and severe. It burned all the hotter for its contrast to his usual demeanor. Ashe felt like a bug poised under a massive heel. But, then, why did the hammering of his heart feel more like excitement than fear?
“I have work... early,” Ashe managed.
“What?” Sylvain startled as though waking from a dream.
Ashe gathered himself to try again. “I work in the mornings. That's why... that's why you should have the bed. So I don't disturb you.” He turned back to his cooking, jabbing at the vegetables, gathering strength with each word. “Anyway, I insist. And if you say no, I'll kick you out.”
Sylvain laughed, a genuine, full-throated laugh. “You're as stubborn as Felix when you set your mind to something. You know that?”
He ruffled Ashe's hair, a playful gesture, a token of when they were dumb kids in the same high school.
And the moment passed.
Ashe exhaled a held breath, but as Sylvain retreated to the couch, he couldn't shove aside the pang that chased his relief.
#
“Fucking stairs,” Sylvain grumbled. He grunted as he hauled up the next step, lugging the bookshelf with him. He had to drag it up the stairwell, bumping up each flight. The gods damned heavy thing threatened to slip out of his grasp with each stair.
Sylvain paused halfway up, sweating and panting, glaring at the mountain still to scale. He grit his teeth, determined. Ashe had more books than anyone he'd ever met, so many that half of them were just stacked up on the floor wherever they fit. He was getting this damn bookcase if it killed Sylvain to deliver it.
It took a lot more grunting and swearing to get the bookcase to Ashe's door and that's when Sylvain realized with rising horror that it was too tall to fit. He opened the door and started tilting the bookshelf on its side, dragging it across the carpet to lay it against the wall. He brought it upright, wincing as it scraped the ceiling.
The cat flashed out the door.
Sylvain froze, his blood turning to ice. “No,” he breathed. “No, no no nonono.”
He ran for the door, but by the time he poked his head out Duran was scampering down the stars.
“Fuck.”
He scrambled out of the apartment, practically leaping down the stairs as he chased after Duran, but even when he reached the ground she was nowhere to be seen.
Sylvain stood at the foot of the apartment complex, turning in circles, calling “Duran” in a weak, desperate voice, praying he could rewind time and shut that gods damned door before setting up the bookshelf. The world remained stubbornly real and linear, even as Sylvain made circles around the building, calling the cat, getting on his hands and knees to look under cars, even running up and down the street.
When Ashe found him, he was sitting on the pavement, his head in his hands.
“Sylvain, are you OK? Why are you sitting out here? It's cold,” Ashe said.
“I fucked up,” he groaned.
“OK, well, let's go talk about it inside,” Ashe said.
“No, like, I really fucked up,” Sylvain said. “I'm so sorry.”
Ashe crouched down in front of him, holding Sylvain's hands in his. “Come on, let's go chat inside. We're not going to fix anything out here.”
“I can't. I...” Sylvain faltered. Ashe just sat there, unguarded, patient, smiling softly. Sylvain slipped his hands out of Ashe's. How could he possibly dare touch him right now? Instead, he hid his face against his palms. “Duran,” he mumbled. “She... she got out.”
“Oh.” It would have been a slap coming from anyone else, but from Ashe it was barely a breath. Somehow, that stung worse.
“I got this bookshelf,” Sylvain started, “and it was heavy and I got it up the stairs but then it didn't really fit through the door and I had to tilt it to get it in and I was just trying to set it up before you got back but I forgot to close the door and...”
“OK,” Ashe said. “How long ago was this?”
“I don't know,” Sylvain groaned.
“Try.”
“A couple hours?”
“Alright,” Ashe said. “Stay right here.” He jogged away, returning in a few minutes with a plate of chicken. He extended a hand down to Sylvain. “Come on. You're gonna help.” It wasn't a demand, but Sylvain felt compelled all the same.
They set out together, dropping bits of chicken near the apartment complex, wandering the surrounding blocks calling out “Duran” and checking under any place where she might hide.
It took a couple hours before they finally gave up, settling down in a park a few blocks from the complex with half the plate of chicken still intact. They sat side-by-side on the grass, gazing up at the starlight struggling through the yellow veil of artificial light that suffused the city.
“Ashe, I'm so sorry,” Sylvain said.
“She'll come home,” Ashe said.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because she likes it there.”
Sylvain pondered that, pondered what it would be like to actually want to go home, rather than just slouch back because he'd run out of time or money or options. He knew he'd have to return soon. He couldn't keep imposing on Ashe like this, especially after he'd fucked up so spectacularly today.
“You don't like home much, huh?” Ashe said.
Sylvain grimaced.
Ashe set his hand over Sylvain's. “Do you finally want to tell me why you left?”
Sylvain shook his head. “It doesn't matter. It's always the same old shit, isn't it?”
“OK, then why me this time?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly,” Ashe said.
“Because my father doesn't know where you live.” He cringed, studiously looking anywhere except at Ashe after the admission.
Laughter called his eyes back to Ashe.
“I'm sorry,” Sylvain said. “I know it's a crappy reason.”
“No, no,” Ashe said, still laughing. “It's a great reason. I just didn't expect it.”
Still Sylvain rambled on, his stupid, stupid, dumb mouth stumbling on without him. “I'll repay you for all this. I swear. That was kind of the point of the bookshelf before I fucked it up. I'm not trying to use you. I mean, I like you.”
He stopped, snapping his mouth shut with a clack before anything worse could spew out. Goddess, what was he saying? He was grateful for the deepening gloom as heat prickled up his neck.
“We're friends,” Ashe said, relieving him.
“Yeah,” Sylvain said.
“I'm happy to help you, you know,” Ashe said, squeezing his hand.
Oh gods, he was still touching his hand. The heat shot up Sylvain's neck and right into his cheeks. He hunched forward, hoping his hair covered his face.
“It's been nice having you around,” Ashe said.
“Really?” Sylvain said with a wry chuckle.
“Really,” Ashe insisted. “It's usually just me and Duran. Annie visits a lot, but it's not the same as having an actual roommate. I've lived with my siblings for most of my life. It feels strange being alone all the time.”
Sylvain chanced a look up. The plate of chicken was cold between them, set behind where their hands overlapped on the grass. Ashe was smiling, looking up at the bleary stars. How could he say something so sad and still look like that, like a sliver of starlight fallen to the ground, a bright crescent in the murky, muddled darkness. He caught Sylvain watching him and a soft glow lit the stardust of freckles prickling his cheeks.
Sylvain felt stupid, stupid, insane, impossible words boiling with him. He tried to choke them down, tried to curl his tongue around them and strangle those hopeless prayers before they could chase away the soft, lovely creature before him. A single, forlorn “Ashe” escaped before he could shove it down to lurk and rot and burn like so much else trapped within his chest.
“Ashe.” There it was again, like he was trying to mold his mouth around the shape of the man holding his hand under the starlight and press the imprint against his heart.
He could feel the inevitable crash, the moment he destroyed things beyond repair, but his body was already tilting to the side like a glass spilling in slow motion.
Something bumped into their arms. Ashe gasped. Sylvain jerked back. They released each other's hands, looking behind them to where Duran contentedly devoured the plate of chicken, purring and cooing as she went.
“Duran!” Ashe said, scooping up the cat and hugging her close. She gave a half-hearted meow of protest, then nuzzled against his cheek. “Oh goddess, where were you? Why are you wet?”
The spell broke. Sylvain sighed in relief, even as his heart sank. The night seemed colder, more dim and gloomy and glowering than it had only moments ago. Ashe was standing over him, hugging Duran to his chest.
“Come on, Sylvain,” he said. “Let's head home.”
Home. He picked up the plate of half-eaten chicken, brushing grass off his ass when he stood. “Sure,” he said.
#
Sylvain started sleeping in the bed, at least once in a while, though it always took Ashe begging and making some excuse about work to get him to comply. He learned where the vacuum was, as well, and most days Ashe came home to an apartment so obsessively clean he hardly recognized it. His dishes were washed, his groceries replenished, his books organized alphabetically on the new shelf Sylvain had set up.
All the while, Sylvain swore he was searching for a job and a place of his own. Ashe wondered if he even needed a job in order to afford his own apartment, but he didn't push. He'd meant what he'd said a few nights ago--it really was nice having someone around to share the apartment with. And if that someone happened to be a tall, attractive red head who liked to make Ashe blush when they were in high school--
He shook himself, trying to focus on his laundry and not the man playing with his cat in the living room. Seriously, how was he going to help Sylvain through this if he could only think about his smile, the laughter in his eyes, that time he walked out of the bathroom in only a towel--
Get a grip! he scolded himself. But goddess, it could be difficult sometimes. Sylvain had never been shy about his body, and he still wasn't, judging from the way he casually sat around the apartment shirtless after a shower and slept only in boxer shorts.
There was a knock at the bedroom door and Ashe startled, clutching the shirt he'd been folding. Sylvain filled the doorway, leaning against the frame. He was grinning, something he'd been doing more and more often, to Ashe's immense relief.
“Hey,” he said, “I have an idea. I want to show you something.”
Ashe tilted his head, confused.
“It's a bit of a ways. Get your coat,” Sylvain said. He started away without waiting for a reply. “And some good, sturdy shoes,” he called over his shoulder.
Ashe followed, more from curiosity than anything else. Sylvain was bundling up in a coat and gloves. He wound a green scarf around his neck that made his hair even more brilliant than usual.
“Where are we going?” Ashe said, but he was already pulling on a coat and beanie, dragged along in the wake of Sylvain's excitement.
“I was playing with Duran and looking out the window and it finally hit me,” Sylvain said. “I know how to repay you. But it's gonna be a surprise. Just trust me, OK?”
“Alright,” Ashe said.
Then they were skipping down the stairs, the crisp air slapping their cheeks, turning the tips of their noses rosy and red. Sylvain was rambling well before they made it to his car. Ashe could do little more than nod along. It was just good to see him animated again. Ashe wasn't sure what had changed in the past few days, but it seemed Sylvain was slowly emerging from the funk that had driven him to Ashe in the first place.
A terrible thought quenched Ashe's excitement as Sylvain started the car and pulled away from the curb. Maybe now that he was feeling better he'd leave. But it was a good thing that Sylvain felt better, an infinitely better thing than the sad state he'd arrived in. It would be worse than selfish to hope he stayed if he was going to be so depressed the whole time.
“Hey, you alright?” Sylvain said.
Ashe shook himself. “Yeah. I'm just... trying to guess where we're going.”
“Don't,” Sylvain said. “It'll be so much better if it's a surprise. Trust me.”
But it wasn't a matter of trust. It was more of a force, a feature of the universe, like magnetism. Sylvain's pull was inescapable, holding Ashe captive like a flame luring a moth.
They wound through the city and beyond, following the highway out past the static yellow lights muddying the air. As they drove, the night deepened, though the illumination lining the highway drowned out the stars. Ashe rested his chin on his hand, watching the night rush by in a silky river of streaking black. He didn't even notice at first when Sylvain stopped talking. The silence was so cozy he dared not shatter it, though. Ashe thought that if all they did was drive like this for a couple hours he'd feel more than repaid for Sylvain's stay.
But Sylvain eventually left the highway, exiting onto a forest service road that quickly turned from smooth pavement to bumpy dirt. The trees closed in overhead, casting them into a dark tunnel that wound uphill. Ashe braced for the jolts and pot holes, wishing he'd paid closer attention to where they were headed.
Soon, a barricade halted their progress. Sylvain stopped the car, cursing under his breath. “This didn't use to be here.” He parked, exiting the car to inspect the gate.
Ashe stepped out cautiously after him. With the car off, the forest was so dark he could hardly see his hands in front of his face. He set his phone on flashlight mode, illuminating the chains and “no trespassing” sign blocking their way.
“Shit,” Sylvain hissed. “I swear this wasn't here last time. He looked around. The barrier wasn't high and he clambered over it, throwing his lanky legs over the metal bars.
“Sylvain...” Ashe said, unsure, scanning the dark forest.
“Come on,” Sylvain said, holding out his hand from atop the barrier. “It's worth it. I swear.”
Despite himself, Ashe took his hand, letting Sylvain help him up and over the barrier. He kept his phone on flashlight as they trudged up the dirt road. Beyond the barricade, the path was littered with rocks and fallen branches, clearly forgotten and untended for quite a while.
“It's been a minute since I came here,” Sylvain said. “I hope it's the same as I remember.”
Ashe hugged his phone to his chest. He couldn't help scanning the dark for threats. Where in all the goddess' mercy even were they? Surely, they were about to get eaten by a bear or a mountain lion or some horrible nightmarish beast. The trees hunched over them like giants scrutinizing their every step. Their hoary branches blocked out the night sky, casting a deeper gloom. Every step felt like pushing through a sea of ink, an oppressive darkness twisting and curling like thick tendrils of smoke. Every scrape of their feet echoed; every crack of every branch bound through the fathomless black like a pinball ricocheting off the boughs.
Yet Sylvain strolled along as though it was midday downtown. He looked utterly at ease, rambling on as they walked.
Ashe tripped over a branch in the dark. He squeaked as he stumbled forward, catching himself against Sylvain's arm.
“You OK?” Sylvain said.
Ashe nodded.
“Here,” Sylvain said, taking his hand. “We're almost there. I promise.”
Somehow Ashe felt better then, with Sylvain tugging him along. Even with their hands gloved, Ashe felt warmer with Sylvain guiding him through the dark.
At last, the path smoothed out and the trees relented, untangling their gnarled fingers to expose a softer, paler darkness overhead. A clearing opened before them, a semi-circle of dirt that cut off abruptly. As they approached, Ashe saw that it ended in a sheer cliff. That cliffside tumbled down, down, down to the city so far below. He saw it all laid out before him, the quivering yellow lights like fireflies dancing over a frozen lake, the buildings and streets like black stones beneath the ice.
“Ashe,” Sylvain said, putting his hands on his shoulders, “look up.”
He did and it was only Sylvain's grip that kept Ashe from falling. He wavered in Sylvain's hold, his body swaying like he was standing on a ship.
Overhead, the night was perfectly black, a silky, fathomless darkness. And swirled through the onyx like cream through coffee: stars, planets, faint gray threads of other solar systems impossibly far away. With nothing between Ashe and those roiling heavens, he felt like he could reach out and touch the pinpricks of silver splashed like freckles across the sky.
“I used to come here all the time,” Sylvain said. His voice was soft, reverent, as though he was trying not to disturb the gods arrayed over them. “When I was younger, when my father or my brother or whoever it was pushed me enough, I'd run away. And this is where I'd go. No one knew about it. After the first couple times, they gave up trying to find it. They knew I'd come back eventually. I knew it too, but for a little while, maybe just an hour or two, I could come here and be alone and have all this all for myself.”
His hands were still on Ashe's shoulders, keeping him tethered to the ground so he didn't float off into that silver light.
“That's lovely,” Ashe said.
Sylvain laughed, his breath dusting Ashe's hair. “I guess.”
Ashe heard the strain tightening his voice. He turned in Sylvain's hold. They were close now, but Ashe didn't back away. “Thank you so much for sharing this with me. It means a lot to you.”
Sylvain's eyes skittered around. “It's the least I could do. You've been letting me stay with you.”
“I told you already, I don't mind,” Ashe said. “It's been nice. Really.”
“Heh.” Another harsh cough of a laugh.
Ashe held Sylvain by the elbows, drawing his gaze down. “I'm so grateful you came to me when you needed help. And that you showed me this place. It means a lot, Sylvain.”
Ashe could feel Sylvain going tense and rigid in his hands. “Ashe... I feel really bad. I've taken advantage of you over and over. Now, with this shit, but also before, when we were in high school. I shouldn't have picked on you like that.”
Ashe covered his mouth with his hand but his laugh bubbled past his fingers.
“Hey,” Sylvain said. “I'm trying to be sincere here.”
“I know, I know,” Ashe said. “It's just, that stuff was so long ago. I don't care about high school anymore. I obviously had a crush on you. Of course you were going to pick up on that.”
Sylvain scrubbed a hand through his hair. Even in the dark, Ashe could see how hot his face had gotten. “That was real? Gods, I was just bullshitting.”
“It was,” Ashe said.
Sylvain shifted from foot to foot. “Ah, fuck, I'm so sorry, Ashe. I'm such an idiot.”
“No,” Ashe said. “It's OK. Really. It's not a big deal. It's in the past.”
“Is it?”
Ashe froze. Sylvain was still at last, watching him, his eyes bright and intent. In the starlight, Ashe could see he had some freckles of his own, quiet, almost hidden, but peeking out between the messy swirls of red hair falling around his face. His mouth hung open, as though waiting to catch whatever words Ashe managed to say.
Is it? Is it in the past? Is it a silly old crush? Is it?
“No.” Ashe sighed the single word, letting it tumble from his lips.
Sylvain leaned forward, eager to capture the confession in his mouth. Ashe fell into the heat of Slyvain's kiss, absorbed in the eager press of the confessions and fears drawn to the cusp of his lips. Sylvain's tongue probed past Ashe's lips and licked the roof of his mouth, sending a shudder down Ashe's body. It was like a fire in the dark, a flame to light the way home through the twisting forest and silvery moonlight.
Ashe gasped when they separated, suddenly bereft of that alluring heat, but Sylvain did not go far. He cupped Ashe's face in his hands, looking down at him with wonder.
“You look like stars,” he said.
Ashe smiled, holding back a laugh. “What's that mean?”
Sylvain returned his smile. “I have no idea, but it seemed accurate so I said it.”
Ashe covered Sylvain's hands with his own. “It's cold. Should we go back?”
“I kind of wish we didn't have to,” Sylvain said. “But yeah, you're right.”
Sylvain took his hand when they started back down the dark trail. Somehow it didn't seem as gloomy on the way home.
“Sylvain,” Ashe said as they walked.
“Hm?”
“You should sleep in my bed tonight.”
“Ashe, I told you, I'm not going to--”
“Share with me.”
Sylvain stumbled a step. There was a long beat of silence, a held breath, then a soft “Oh” sighed through the darkness. “I can share,” he said. “I like sharing.”