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A cascade of pure white descended upon the streets, shrouding every other color in sight. Gone are the calming green that towers over an oblivious herd, comforted by the illusion of protection. Those who are lucky huddle for warmth, resisting the chilling breeze that threatens to envelope their skin and dig under. Even then, the hustle and bustle within the countries doesn't cease. Cain may not be able to see it all, but his ears tell him enough—it’s busy, just like it is every year. Many come together for the season, returning to loved ones with gifts and more, deciding it best to spend the remainder of the year with family and friends.
Cain heaves as he sets down a box, straightening his back with a huff. “All in, ma’am!” He informs with a grin, sneaking a quick glance at the pile to make sure nothing is out of place.
“Thank you,” an old woman beams at him with a gleaming smile, not at all deterred by the crinkles in her face. “Sorry for troubling you. I meant to have my son move all these ornaments inside, but it seems he’ll be a little late tonight.” She releases a faint sigh, which Cain picks up with a hint of sadness.
He gives a hum in reply, crouching down to open the boxes in question. “Is he a busy guy?” He asks, both out of curiosity and for the sake of conversation. Cain rummages through the stacks of lively decorations, whistling when he sees something interesting—a wooden figure of a man in red and white. Had the Sage’s customs seeped into the kingdom’s lives?
“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” she responds, her shoulders drooping just slightly. “He’s not the type to seek out company in the first place, you see—Ah, you can put that on the table.”
“Oh?” Cain follows her instructions, before moving onto the next item for display. “What do you mean?”
Seemingly tired of the weight of her own thoughts, the old woman allows herself to recline back onto her couch. “He doesn’t live with me, he moved away years ago. For work, you know how it is.” Cain pauses to nod, before he continues on with his task, sticking one of the trinkets against the front door. “He comes to visit sometimes, of course, but… He was always so busy, so his visits decreased overtime. And then, I’m not sure.” Slowly, she pushes herself upright, meeting Cain’s gaze—and holds it. “Perhaps he had gotten used to the isolating loneliness of the winter.”
Cain blinks, images of mismatched eyes and a sneering smile colder than snow flashing before his very sight, a picture that he had familiarize himself with many a time. He chuckles lightly as he places down the last remaining ornament. “I think I might know someone like that,” Cain admits.
She laughs, a little brighter. “Is that so? A word of advice then, if you’d care to listen to this rambling old woman.” She waves him over and Cain follows, going down on one knee to match her level. “Hold out your hands,” she directs. Cain does, unsure what to expect at this point, but he knows that nothing malicious will come out of this, not from a sweet mother who wants nothing more than to see her son again.
Within a single swift motion, she takes his hands into his. It’s a gentle touch, capable of providing solace to those who need it, warmth reserved for someone that isn’t Cain. “We have no choice… but to do our best to warm them up,” she declares simply, eventually releasing Cain’s hands from her grip—but not before dropping something onto his palms. In a softer voice she whispers, “and between you and me: some sweet treats can go a long way with that.”
Cain looks down, noticing several small popsicles now in his grasp. “Oh, I can’t possibly accept this—”
“Nonsense,” she shakes her head, pushing Cain’s hands towards his chest, leaving no room for arguments. “You helped me make this barren house livelier. And those boxes were pretty heavy, you know. Not that I could tell if I was only watching you carrying them.” She lets out another laugh. “It’s the least I could give you.”
Cain remembers it as clear as day.
Seeing his comrades fall one by one, the way he pushed himself over his limits, doing things he had never done before, relying on his magic for the very first time, exposing himself for who he truly was—in the end, it was all for naught. Owen was stronger, after all.
He lost his eye that day. And then, his title.
That should have been where their relationship ended, but destiny has other plans for the two of them. Cain finds himself within Owen’s orbit, not too far and not too close. His world, becoming barren with his bizarre injury, was painted with Owen’s contrasts of colors—an intimidating Northern Wizard who does whatever he wants, a clingy child who had clung so tightly to what Cain represented that he trapped Cain within the clutches of Cerberus’ jaw.
Then, the side of Owen that Owen himself would deny with his dying breath: someone who kneeled by Cain’s side and prayed for him so earnestly, his prayers reached Cain’s ears.
Lately, he’d see glimpses of that shade of Owen, a hint to a complicated puzzle piece that Cain can’t solve yet, not when there are parts of Owen he’s still missing. Cain’s not sure Owen would let him collect every piece as long as he lives, but he’s granted with years upon years in his life. Just as he’s determined to reclaim his eye back from Owen, something inside him drives him to uncover more of Owen’s mysteries, from his favorite sweets to the memories he doesn’t remember.
Maybe it’s because of the way Owen would still address him as a knight and treat him like one, even though he was stripped of that position. Maybe it’s because of how Owen helped him through his magic once, despite never doing so to anyone else. Maybe it’s because Cain can’t forget the time he witnessed Owen’s confusion, questioning the very things he had done, listening to Cain as he rambled on about meteor showers—then, he told Cain to forget.
But Cain hasn’t. He can’t. He won’t.
He caught sight of Owen that night, clutching onto his broom as he floated about the sky in a blanket of darkness, away from the rest of the world, out of Cain’s reach.
Perhaps this time, he can breach that distance Owen is desperately trying to maintain, just a little.
Cain had long since memorized the path towards the magic headquarters, but he wouldn’t have thought it difficult to find when he can hear the lively and rowdy sounds of celebration from a mile away. Cain chuckles to himself, he can imagine Heathcliff and Nero struggling to complete their baking endeavors amidst Bradley’s incessant noise as he argues with the younger ones. He wonders briefly whether it’s always this energetic during Akira’s Christmases back home, though he supposes he could save that question for next time.
Instead of entering the building, Cain lingers within the outskirts of the forest. Losing a crucial part of his eyesight, Cain honed and polished the rest of his senses, practiced enough to feel another presence within close proximity—but he never needed that when it came to a certain troublesome wizard, a menacing individual who had crashed into his life yet never stayed long enough for Cain to fix that hole that he left behind.
“What are you doing up there?” Cain asks into the air, as if he’s asking the withered leaves above him.
It was silent at first, but that familiar voice greets him with hostility. “Noisy,” was all Cain received in response. Cain laughs despite himself, he should have expected that answer.
Clearly not getting the hint, Cain continues his line of questions. “You’re not cold up there?”
Cain can hear a faint snicker, like Cain just threw out a meaningless question that deserves no answer. “I’ve been through colder, Mister Knight. Haven’t you been to the North?”
“Oh.” Of course, Owen has faced endless winter for who knows how long. A destructive season that doesn’t end where everything is covered in white murk, enchanting with its beauty yet fierce in nature. How long has Owen been stuck in that cycle, devoid of any semblance of warmth, obscured and out of sight?
Perhaps he had gotten used to the isolating loneliness of winter.
“Hey, Owen,” Cain calls out, knocking on one of the trees—the one he’s sure Owen is perched on, judging from the direction of his voice. “I’m coming up!” Cain alerts, taking no complaints. He doesn’t have a broom with him, so he’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Owen doesn’t seem too thrilled with the idea, even as Cain is beginning to climb the tree. “Don’t,” Owen warns. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I told you,” Cain says in between breaths, the temperature isn’t helping him in the slightest. “I’m coming up,” he repeats, the tips of his shoes producing crumbling sounds as they drag against the sturdy tree.
Cain can see Owen peeking down at him from where he sat comfortably on a branch, legs crossed. Even from this distance, he can tell that Owen is scoffing at him. “You look stupid,” Owen comments, but it doesn’t deter Cain’s determination.
A part of him believed that Owen would up and leave, a habit of Owen’s that Cain is trying to break. Although something is telling him that the only reason Owen even bothered to stay is to witness the small chance that Cain would unceremoniously fall on his butt. Not that it’ll happen, not on Cain’s watch.
With a triumphant huff, Cain reaches Owen’s branch without breaking a sweat. Before he can settle down, Owen is already shifting around—Cain can guess his intentions within the blink of an eye, and he moves faster than his mind could keep up. “Don’t go,” those words slip past Cain’s lips before he could think, like a plea he had been holding back, a phrase he failed to swallow down his throat and bury deep inside him where no one can reach.
Just like that day.
Their eyes meet, a mix of blazing ruby and shimmering gold, a blend of conflicting desires that neither of them understood, remaining at the tip of their tongues to rot.
As if a moth drawn to flame, Owen stays.
Cain heaves a sigh, resting his back against the tree. Owen’s eyes follow his every movement with caution, lips drawn into a tight line. Cain lets out a laugh, a feeble attempt to disperse the tension that he caused. “So,” Cain starts, assuming a relaxed position so Owen wouldn’t be so tense. “Aren’t they baking cookies in there? I thought you’d want to eat all those.”
At that, Owen stretches his lips into a smirk, bearing a secret he’s daring Cain to guess. “I ate them all,” he states simply, no doubt proud of himself for such a childish feat.
“You did?” Cain blinks, though this piece of information doesn’t surprise him.
“Why wouldn’t I? It was all there for the taking, they didn’t even notice. Not until I left.”
Cain laughs under his breath, knowing how Owen would react if he knew Cain’s amused with his actions. Between the ‘little Owen’ and ‘normal Owen’, both of them harbor immature behavior that’s unexpected of one of the feared Northern Wizards. He dares to look at Owen as he’s distracted, carving that childish smile to memory, noting the sparks in Owen’s eyes as he speaks of something akin to a kid’s prank. Owen would never lie about this, but there’s evidence of Owen’s misadventure against the corner of his lips, taking the form of cookie crumbs.
Adding onto that list of Owen’s child-like behavior: he’s a messy eater.
Against his better judgment, he doesn’t call out to Owen this time. Still, Owen is sharper than him, that fact hasn’t changed. He’s always guarded, perhaps the product of countless disputes that bore horrible results, on both ends including his own. In spite of this, Cain managed to pierce through that wall—no, he’s slipping through the cracks, little by little. Even with his gloved hand, he can feel the way Owen twitches under his touch, thumb running against skin—soft, softer than he imagined. His eyes fixated on where they’re connected, Cain doesn’t see how Owen’s eyes widen in surprise, misses the sound of Owen holding back a breath.
What he does see, as he wipes away the cookie crumbs from Owen’s face with a tender caress he thought he wasn’t capable of, is crimson faintly blossoming across Owen’s pale cheeks—subtle, but Cain’s eyes have long since become accustomed to Owen’s face, the little changes in Owen’s expressions. From Owen’s empty gaze as he stares out into the void and spacing out, creating an illusion of vulnerability that anyone can break if they step too close, to the malicious grin he would don as he presses some poor fellow’s buttons, intent on breaking their very resolve.
But this is new. Owen doesn’t have his eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed into a glare he’d often send in Cain’s direction. Owen’s not spilling poison and claims of hate from his throat, stunned into a silence that makes time stretch into an eternity where they were. Cain’s focus shifts at one point, fixed onto how Owen’s lips part just slightly. They’re both stuck in a transient moment protected by a shower of snow, a chance in time that Cain seized with a stroke of his thumb. Like this, Cain knows he can peer closer, dig deeper and fish out the fragments Owen sealed away from the universe and himself, the way he did his soul.
Left forgotten, hidden where no one can find, yet connected to Owen all the same.
Owen’s a step ahead of him at all times, though. In an instance, Owen shatters the moment Cain captured with a flicker of luck that he can’t hold onto. Owen’s fingers—slender and cold to the touch even with his gloves, yet gentler than he thought, Cain notes—coil around Cain’s wrist in a warning grip.
“What are you doing?” Owen inquires with that glare Cain knows so well. That’s exactly why it doesn’t faze him anymore, not after everything they’ve been through—not when he’d seen Owen at his most vulnerable.
“You must have enjoyed those cookies, huh?” Cain dares to avoid Owen’s question, willing a grin on his face. He only tugs at his hand, though that’s as far as he goes. Owen doesn’t try to hide his displeasure, bothered with how easily Cain dodges Owen’s efforts. “I got something for you,” Cain changes the subject, patting down his pocket. “Hopefully, your stomach isn’t full yet!”
Owen shoves Cain’s hand off of him gruffly. Cain must tread carefully now, should he risk Owen disappearing from his side once again. “Do I need to remind you of your place again?” As he spouts his threats, there’s a strain in Owen’s voice. “I’m not a child, Mister Knight. You think just because you have some sweets you can go around… touching me?”
Cain lets out a sheepish laugh. “I’ll apologize, okay?” He rummages through his pocket, pulling out the treats that he graciously received from the kind old lady and presenting them to Owen. “Take them. I got them from—”
It’s to be expected, really. Cain doesn’t miss the burst of fury in Owen’s eyes, but he fails to diffuse the situation before it could explode. Cain pushed too hard, poked the holes in Owen’s barrier and was forced to deal with the consequences. The neatly wrapped bundle of candies are no longer in his hands, dropping onto the ground in a splat once Owen’s hand slapped against his—it’s no longer gentle. Cain can make out the mess of sweets splattered on the ground as tiny dots, offering a silent apology to the kind old woman he definitely disappointed.
“Why?” Owen demands in a shrill whisper, taking all of Cain’s attention. “Why did you even come up here?”
That’s easy to answer. “It’s just like that time,” he replies, maintaining his composure as opposed to Owen’s unbridled frenzy.
Owen scoffs, expressing his belief with just a sound. “I’m done talking.”
“That’s fine.” Cain shrugs, coming up with an easy fix the next second, “I can do the talking.”
“I’m done with you ,” Owen states like it’s his final words, but Cain has a knack for ignoring Owen’s wishes, ones he knows are nothing but lies to cover up a truth Owen can’t comprehend.
Cain shakes his head. “If you are, you wouldn’t be here.”
There was no need for Cain to point that out, Owen’s not stupid—he’s aware of the contradictions in his actions, claims that he can’t back up with the things he has done. Owen’s biting on his lip, chewing hard enough to make it red, thoughts Cain can’t read circling through his head. It was Owen who tore his gaze away from Cain first, head tilted upwards.
Days of observing Owen’s mannerisms, plucking out both his habits and his abnormalities, contemplating his every movement—Cain isn’t a stranger to guessing what Owen is thinking. This time, Cain can pinpoint the phrase that’s hammering Owen’s mind this very moment.
Why did I stay?
A hushed tranquility passes in a beat, neither of them saying a word. Cain merely watches, careful not to ruin the calm quiet he nearly extinguished. Owen’s wrath slowly fades from the depths of his eyes, facing the sky with a delicate sorrow born from conflict inside him, a paradigm Cain’s struggling to put together. He can still hear it, the rustle of prayers meant for him, but not for his ears; murmurs Owen wants Cain to cast aside, along with himself.
“The sky.” Owen is the one to break their silence once more, basking in the murky shadow that’s taking the shape of the overstretching sky. It envelops the pair of them, indiscriminate. Darkness devours and leaves nothing behind, darkness eats to fill in that void. “It’s empty, tonight,” Owen finishes in a mumble, drowning in a darkness of his own.
“That’s not true,” Cain cuts in, his eyes never leaving Owen, not for a second. “The stars are there. We just can’t see them, for now. Maybe, when you look up tomorrow, there will be glimmers.”
“It’s dark. It’s cold.” Owen’s not looking straight ahead, he’s peeking into a memory—a shimmer across the dark, a bright streak that seems to travel further than they could imagine. Meteors cut through the sky as if they’ll tear it apart, but no such disaster came. They pass through in a single motion, twinkling against the dullness of the night like edible treats; every child’s dream.
Owen breathes in a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching by his side as if he had imagined reaching out, picking up the stars from the ground like in Cain’s story. “They… looked like candy,” Owen reveals a glimpse of his thoughts. “But just as I thought, you’re a liar,” Owen accuses in that soft voice Cain assumed was only reserved for the birds he’d sing to. Finally, Owen turns his head just slightly—locked onto Cain’s eyes, Owen mutters, “there’s no way to pick them up, let alone eat them.”
At that, Cain could only blink. Then, like the snap of a twig, he releases a light laugh. “Guess you’re right.”
Distant as ever, Owen doesn’t exude the same chipper response. “I don’t get you.” A perpetual frown sits on his face, though it stretches slightly upwards, enough to form a line. “I don’t remember any meteor showers. I don’t remember watching the sky like you did. For me, though, the sky… probably, had always been empty,” Owen utters in a hurry, perhaps speaking it all out before he allows himself the chance to regret. Leaning against the tree with a hand, he pushes himself to stand.
Cain’s back to watching Owen yet again, studying the man who’d announce his presence one moment only to vanish into thin air the next. There’s no malice in Owen’s expression now, but it’s one Cain can’t read—even after paying attention to Owen for this long, there are still parts of Owen that Cain can’t comprehend. It’s the same for Owen, Cain’s aware of that. Had Owen never barged into his life the way he did, claimed Cain’s eye as his own and tied their destinies together, they’d never find themselves on the same page. Bit by bit, inch by inch, piece by piece—maybe one day, they’ll get there.
With the silence lingering too long for his liking, Cain sets about to speak up—Owen beats him to it, though.
“It had always been empty, but…” Owen returns to face Cain, the glint of a burning ache whittled into his features. He continues after another pause, as if he was contemplating, volume so small the drop of a feather could overwhelm it.
“But then, it gave me you,” Cain hears—Cain remembers .
And then, Owen was gone.
Always a step ahead.
Cain had a feeling this would happen, prepared himself for it even, but that wasn’t the problem now. The fire that’s roaring in his chest, the tightness of his throat, the pitter patter of his heart—that wasn’t because of Owen’s exit, no.
“...That’s unfair, man,” Cain exhales, smacking his own face with his palm. “Who even says things like that?”
Maybe this was how Owen felt that day, too.
Cain lands on the ground without a hitch. Now that Owen has successfully managed to avoid him for the hundredth time, maybe it’s time to pay the others a visit. He recalls promising to help Arthur out with decorations, after all (or more precisely, making sure that the others don’t ruin the decorations).
Just as he’s about to head in the direction with the abundance of noise, his step falls onto something that rustles, definitely not snow. Cain looks down, puzzled, only to be rendered surprised.
“Oh, this is…” Cain’s words trail off, crouching down to inspect the litter. There’s no questioning it, he can recognise the cutely themed wrapping paper anywhere. It’s splayed across the ground—about two of them are, in fact. Most importantly, they’re both empty, with no signs of the other candies within the premises.
He should have known. Cain can already imagine it, Owen stuffing his cheeks, pleased with himself for discreetly ‘stealing’ Cain’s gift, or so he thought.
Cain picks up the remnants of Owen’s crime with a smile. “I’ll catch you one day, you know.”