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Bryn had once thought the beauty of a dance came from watching the legs of the dancers. The twining together like the thin branches of a tree, tangling and twisting into a confusing mass but always coming undone again, ribbons ravelled by the wind and set free by the parting gust. They’d always preferred to watch it than to do it; especially so when their mother used to, when she’d let her shoulders fall and her wrist rise and be taken by their father. Summer dirt would billow around her bare feet, and her eyes would crinkle, and her lips would part into a girlish grin that made her younger than they had ever known her to be.
It had been a beautiful sight.
But they had lost that - not just to the parting of their mother, but the parting of their eyes. Allfather had gifted them with the ability to change that when they needed to, but they could not do it all the time, and so they adapted, and found out something new.
The beauty of the dance was in the watching, yes, but they’d found it was doubly in the touch. The trust. A warmth incomparable to their internal fire.
Elliott was warm. Gods, was he warm, and soft, in heart and skin. He’d pulled them to him, a hand on their waist, the other on their upper back, guiding them in a slow glide. He contrasted every verbal slight and stumble with the incomprehensible steadiness of his feet, the confidence in his stride and the ease of movement as he swept them both around in circles, guiding them where to place their feet without having to use Allfather’s gift to see properly.
They glided, together, as if on ice. Heartbeats almost synchronous. Bryn rarely stumbled at first, and then, as they kept on, with late nights and early mornings and rare little moments, they soon never stumbled at all-except, funnily enough, when they could see.
It was during one of these seeing times, right after a game, that they giggled themself out of step and into Elliott’s arms. “I still don’t get how seeing makes it harder,” he mused, propping their chin up so they could look at each other. He made them feel so small, and he said they made him feel large, even though they were both really only average at best.
“Makes me feel like I must think about it,” they said, subtly pulling away and slipping their respirator back on as a group of officials passed by. Their relationship was an open secret, but they still didn’t tend to show it. Felt like giving the man pointing a gun at you a case of bullets.
“You’re a great dancer, though.”
“All I had to do was get naked- fokk , I mean nuked.”
He was already belly laughing before they finished. His nose always crinkled up like a little piggy when he did, which they loved (and he hated, so they made sure to mention it frequently). He booped their respirator, saying through the giggles, “I, I mean, I’m not complaining about the first one. The naked one. The one where you’re naked.”
“Uh huh.” They rolled their eyes, moving on-their little moment in a corner of the dropship had come to an end, as that was not the only pile of officials; this next one was headed straight for them, a cluster of idiots in suits that split and ushered each Legend to their respective duties. Press days were always long ones-photos to be taken, poses and quips for the title cards recorded, interviews to be taped ahead of time (which always annoyed them-they said so little, yet everything seemed to drag on till the sun went to rest) and a dozen other things their mind was too mush to comprehend by the end.
They had to see-really see - during all of it as well, and they could not for a moment let themselves ease out of the Allfather’s fire for fear they would not be able to conjure it again from exhaustion, meaning the whole “completely blind” thing might get out. Not exactly something someone with enemies wanted to advertise. They met Elliott in a small underground carpark when the unusually long press day was finally over, their cheeks and forehead blazing under the mask as the results of stoking the fire fed the fever that was slowly approaching a crescendo.
Elliott cheerfully held up a ring of flowers, the muted colors splotches in their fading sight. “I made you a flower crown in between interviews!” He plopped it on their head after they pulled off the leather cap that, aided by Thor’s strength, corralled their fluffy auburn hair. They smiled weakly. They could usually match his enthusiasm, but right now they sort of felt like dying.
“Thank you, elskan.” They touched the silk like petals-petunias, they would guess.
They could almost feel the enthusiasm drip off of him, a pebble of guilt weighing in their chest. “Aw shit, Bryn, you sound…”
“Yeah.” They said, letting the tiredness in fully, finally letting the fire out, their sight gone. But they knew where he was, and stepped forward easily and hugged him. They made sure to smile against his chest. “But I really do like them.”
He breathed deeply, wrapping his arms around them, kissing the center of their head. They felt even smaller than usual, doubled by the tiredness. The sound of his jumpsuit shifting against their cumbersome gear was the only noise in the cavern of the car park. They were completely alone and they relished it. “No game tomorrow,” he said in a hush.
Right, they’d almost forgotten-they had the week off, all the interviews and extra content afforded all the Legends a small break. They could rest. They could sleep in. Thank the Gods.
The trip home was long, but to Bryn it was no more than a second-they’d konked out soon as their seatbelt was buckled. Then they were in the elevator, and then the apartment -Elliott had moved in with them, ah, what, three months ago? Yes, three months, because that was how long it’d been since they’d tripped over their own clothes. He was devilishly clean and organized while they were...not, which was nice.
They walked in with Artur under their arm and went to where her bed was, feeling it for stray seeds before setting her down and petting her feathers. They barely got off their gear before they were in bed, running their hands over the sheet, feet several inches from the comforter folded at the end of the bed that Elliott always complained made his feet sweat. They laid down while he was doing...something, whatever Elliotts’ did at midnight before bed. They heard the floor creak and could smell his cologne before he reached the door-really, freshening up, right now?
They didn’t get to tease him before he started laughing. They huffed, half amused. “What now?”
“T-The petun-peeto-the flower crown is still on your head!” His giggles got closer and they felt him come over and gently take it from their head. A petal fell on their nose and they blew it away, though it swirled around and landed on their forehead instead. They assumed this is what made him giggle again. “You’re so fucking cute, holy shit.”
“Says my little piggy.”
“ Uuugghhh ,” he plucked the petal from their forehead and booped their nose in the same motion. They reached out to try and pinch something-his butt, preferably- but only felt the ghost of his underwear and heard the raspberry blown in response to their attempt.
They huffed, pretending to be cross with him when he got into bed, but of course he didn’t believe it for a second and still cuddled up and spooned them, despite Solace’s perpetual summer heat. They hated to admit it, but they were getting used to it themself. Once he was settled he kissed their shoulder, adjusted the arm around their middle, and all at once the air went out of him, and he was heavy enough to weigh them down in a storm.
Even if he likes it more than I do, they thought, he’s just as tired as I am. If not more, with the drive…
They decided, quietly, to make it up to him.
---
Elliott set an alarm for 6am every morning. He would get up, go for a run and be back at exactly 7. Then he would shower, dress, make coffee, take his vitamins, eat, and then trim his beard, do his hair and brush his teeth. Bryn, who woke up anywhere between eight and noon, knew he developed most of this routine as a child midst the the literal and metaphorical rubble the war had made of his life. They knew not to mess with it. That the only thing that ever changed this routine was Christmas, travel, and those golden mornings where they woke with the light beside him and they both forgot time existed.
This would be one of those mornings, granted it was planned. They’d managed to get their earbuds and music player-they still didn’t have a phone-from their bedside and set the alarm to just before his. They woke up dog tired, but they were determined and pulled his hand from their stomach and kissed the knuckles. He stirred behind them.
They tried to wiggle around and face him, but his stupid arms were stupid and...and stupid, and heavy, so by the time they’d managed it he was awake, albeit groggy. They placed a hand on his cheek, spreading their fingers out so their thumb brushed over and rested on his lower lip, their forefinger following the curve of his cheek to his nose, middle finger near the corner of his eye, the rest in his beard that was just long enough to be soft.
They very carefully kissed his lips. “Good morning.”
“Mrrrumthehel…” he tilted his head up to kiss them back. “You’re awake.”
“Mhm.”
“What...did you do.” His voice was thick and gravelly, a low sleepy chuckle deep in his throat. He chuckled again when they kissed the corner of his lips, then dipped down to kiss his neck, speaking against it.
“I woke up.”
“Ha.” They brought their arms around him, and a leg over his hip. They kissed again, lazy and soft. Some days they preferred it to coffee.They slowly rolled until they were straddling him, still kissing, the heat rising-which was unintended but welcome. Well, at least until they heard him start choking on their hair. “Ack, ew, bunny you gotta tie this back, damn.” He finger combed it away from their face as he said that, summoning a hair tie from some-goddamn-where and securing it away.
“I want to take you out today,” they said, making sure to whisper.
“With a gun or on a date?”
They huffed, and whacked his chest, feeling the vibrations of a repressed laugh. “Don’t sass me.”
“I’ll sass you whenever I want.”
“Then I’ll sass you whenever I want.”
“You already do.”
They huffed, leaning back and throwing their hands in the air as he laughed again. “Whatever, still. Unless you’re tired,” they added quickly.
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s nothing big...but it’s a surprise.”
“Mmmm, I like those.” He sat up, kissed them and then scooted them off his lap, with a couple more kisses for posterity. They found his arm as he slipped off to the closet, which was 90 percent his clothes and 9 percent theirs. The other one percent was Artur’s sweaters. They listened to him get dressed, thinking perhaps they should get up early more often. They’d never actually heard him go through his full routine, nor seen it in any capacity. They were half tempted to summon the Allfather’s breath and watch right now, but opted to save the energy for later.
He kissed them before leaving. Given they were too awake to sleep again anyway they got up to feed Artur, except even Artur wasn’t awake so they went ahead and prayed at their altar to the Allfather in the corner, then showered (it always made Elliott nervous if they didn’t use their sight while doing so, so they tended to shower when he was out) then finally summoned the energy to bear the fever that came with it when they reached the kitchen.
This, too, was because of Elliott. If he came home and they had cut off another fingerpad he’d have kittens.
They put all they planned for lunch in a little cooler hidden behind three large bottles of vodka at the back of the fridge. Elliott came back when they were cleaning the knife and eyed them curiously but only smiled at them on the way to the shower. They had coffee ready when he was out, and he made breakfast as he always did and finished out his routine while they, blessedly, slipped into darkness and sat on the couch.
Time passed relatively quietly; both were, after all, still rather tired. The clock chimed for the sixth time since they’d woken up, meaning it was noon. They suddenly got up, grabbed the cooler from the fridge and smiled in Elliott’s general direction. “Okay, we’re going now.”
“Oh thank God,” he said, making them laugh. “I’ve been sitting here like, what are they doing? What are we doing? This is kind of chill but this isn’t a date? Are they just gonna dispos-posses-disposs-of, clothes-are they just gonna take off their pants?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Pruthee-prith-prooth, shit- duh .”
They smiled in a way that they hoped came off coy. “Get in the car.”
“Oooh, mystery. It’s like being kidnapped, but fun!”
They cocked their head to the side, feeling a whoosh of air as he passed them, going for his shoes by the door more than likely.
“Oh don’t worry, I’ve only been kidnapped once. And it was my brother kidnapping me from school to go get ice cream.”
“Ah.” They chuckled, following him out the door.
They drove to a park they’d hiked in once, way on the outskirts of Solace City where it bled out into grassland and high peaked mountains. The park had tall oaks and birch and cute little paths, but Bryn was looking to take Elliott somewhere else.
They wore sunglasses when they got out so people wouldn’t see glowing red eyes and would think that the second coming of Christ was upon them (again).
“Hot.” Elliott said, dressed in a hawaiian shirt and khakis. He claimed people recognized him less when he dressed like that, but Bryn felt the truth was he knew exactly three styles: sporty, formal, and Dad ™.
They took his hand and they walked, starting on one of the paths but soon leaving it to go over a grassy knoll between the trees.
“A picnic,” he said.
“Well, yes.” They admitted, smiling softly. The fever was settled at the front of their forehead where the cool wind hit so they almost felt normal.
“But?”
“Well, it’s a particularly nice spot for certain activities.”
“What kind of activwities-activ-act-seriously? Activities? Of all words?” He huffed, pursing his lips.
They kissed his hand. “Fun ones.”
This thought seemed to distract him enough. They went further into the park, where the oaks leaned closer and closer, and new, wild trees came up-walnut, ash, cottonwood, and even a sycamore, which they pointed out to Elliott. They came to a steady incline. “Almost there,” they said as they went up, reaching the peak in the full midday sun, the heat exceeding their fever. But there it was, on the banks of a shallow river: a weeping willow.
“Oh wow,” he said, his voice hushed.
They were almost vibrating when they heard him talk like that, glancing at his face as they made their way down to the bank of the river. The grass was soft and green, still cut this far out even though they’d never seen another soul there. The willow was old and twisted and hung half over the bank and half over the grass, leaves a curtain against the sun but where they dipped into the running water, which pressed them together in clumps to let in bolts of light.
Elliott looked simply awed and delighted, and Bryn felt a pleasant warmth in their belly. Nailed it. They parted the curtain of leaves and gestured over-dramatically with their cooler laden arm. He grinned and ducked his head, standing and looking up. Even knowing the city as well as they did now, they still felt smaller under an ancient tree than they did beside a skyscraper. If they were right, he was experiencing the same realization. Or sensation. Ack, English .
“How did you find this?” He asked softly while they knelt, pulling the blanket out of the cooler, which Elliott almost automatically came to help them lay out.
“Solace was one of the first places I came when I left home,” they said, pulling out the lunch-sandwiches and watermelon and chips, but also herring potato salad, rye bread, sheep cheese and skyr, all things they had “converted” (his words) Elliott into liking. “I wandered with Artur and a backpack all over. Found this place coming over from Angel City. Stayed here a while. I hated the heat even more then, so it was a sanctuary.”
“Ironic, coming from Lava Land.” He smiled, looking out at the water, where one could see shreds of the opposite bank through the strings of leaves. The water gurgled quietly and the leaves clustered and then parted in the wind, making a sound like ocean waves.
“Lava Land was cold,” they argued, making a mental map of where the food was set, and of Elliott’s beautiful face before letting their sight fade again, holding a cool can of soda to their forehead as the fever tempered.
“You said it could get hot.”
“Yes, it could. I think I can count on my fingers how many times it actually did. Uncle Artur was worse than you in the cold.”
“Really?” They could hear the peak of interest-they rarely spoke of their uncle.
“Yes, he was a big, ah, what is it you say?”
“Man-baby?”
“Ja, man-baby.” They snorted. “All the men in the village were when it was hot. Nobody else was much better, I’ll admit. We’d all usually go to the stream and swim all day.”
They heard a crunch-he’d put potato chips on his sandwich, was pressing the bread back into place. He always mangled the things. “That sounds kind of awesome.”
“Kind of was.”
“We’d go break the fire hydrants when it was too hot.” A shift, a thump-he was laying down. His shoes skittered down the bank to a little circle of dirt before the water. They pulled theirs off as well, and their socks, setting them aside. “Run through the stream on that hot ass asphalt.”
“Is that why you have no feeling in your feet?”
“Probably that and the fourteen years of dance.”
“I thought that was why your toes are weird.”
“It is,” they heard an almighty crunch when he bit down. He never talked with his mouth full-they rarely did now, since he got on them about it. They continued eating. He got up and leaned against them after a bit of quiet, kissing their cheek. They smiled, tilting their head and hurriedly wiping their hand off on their shorts before bringing it to his face, feeling the full round cheeks of a smile, and the creases around his eyes he pretended weren’t there. They could see it so clearly in their mind, and even if they had never seen in their life they would have loved the feel of his skin.
“This is great,” he said softly. They warmed and leaned their head against his shoulder, playing with the collar of his shirt, making a mental note on how thin it was getting.
They idly talked and ate, conversation weaving from work to Elliott’s latest holotech project, his mother’s health, a brief discussion on when and where they planned going on their next hunt that was followed by a strange line about whether or not flying fish actually flew.
“Done eating?” They asked when they heard his plate crumple.
“Mhm.”
They smiled, leaning back on their palms as they slowly brought on their sight, watching him tidy, waiting until he was looking away to pull off their shirt. When he looked back they saw his brain short circuit.
“It’s hot,” they said.
“Y-yes you are.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Huh?”
They stood up, stretched, joints cracking that they swore didn’t do that a few years ago, very aware of his eyes while they undid their belt, shimmied out of their shorts and then gingerly hopped over the half-put-away lunch spread toward the water. They stood in the dirt and dipped their toe in, glancing over their shoulder. Elliott was staring, hunched over with his elbows on his knees like a kid watching their favorite TV show.
They giggled, stepping in, the water a cool relief, and then stepped out again, all at once sinking to their chin. They played it cool as they could, swirling around to smile at him with half lidded eyes. They dunked down and swept their hair out of their face coming back up, lips rising in a grin. “Are you going to join me or not, Yndið mitt ?”
“Ah-abh-I-yed-yesth- yes ,” he scrambled up, limbs flailing about like a baby giraffe and tried to pull his shirt over his head before he remembered it had buttons.
They hid their smile beneath the water. They watched him strip his clothes, watched him dip in, squealing at the chill and collapsing with a splash, swimming to them with a mischievous glint in his eye that they banished with a kiss, closing their eyes and feeling the upturned corners of his lips, ring finger resting on his thudding heartbeat while they they had one, single thought, running around their brain like an old wheel of film.
Elliott Witt. What a sight.