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The thing about Piltover is that, despite the organized layout of the place, it was easy to get lost in. Talon used to like visiting the place; still does on occasion and certainly misses being curious, but he's learned to stay focused on his assigned duties. He simply keeps track of the places he'd like to visit on his down time. Missions are his priority; everything else came after.
Unlike Noxus, though, Piltover offered a—figurative—breath of fresh air. Where other places on Runeterra focused on the past and the present, Piltover stretched to the future, always looking for ways to advance in technology and magic, merging both and creating something else entirely.
He's looking at a sculpture when he rounds the corner on a cathedral roof and bumps into someone draped in purple, clothing torn and dirty and smelling foul. None of that seems different, Talon has seen plenty of homeless in all places, but then Talon makes eye contact with the other and he feels his body freeze.
It's not that he can't move, it's that his body temperature has dropped and he starts trembling. He exhales in shock at the sudden change and notices his breath coloring the space in front of his face. Later he'd realize that sound around him had vanished and been replaced for a heavy silence not typical of Piltover, where he could hear his own heartbeat abnormally loud. And then he'd heard it: a voice, low, raspy and cold, whispering in a language he didn't recognize.
A cloud of black and purple smoke explodes between Talon and the other, and Talon feels himself breathing it in, lungs burning and panic rising as he realizes that the eyes that stared back at him were not of this world.
There's a shop that Ezreal loves to visit because aside from the shopkeeper already knowing him, the quality of the items sold there is fantastic. It had been a good year since he'd last purchased a belt; a year of constant wear and exposure to different temperatures and elements, particularly sand and water.
Recently he'd also lost quite a bit of weight so he'd been forced to twist the belt to prevent the tongue from hanging awkwardly in front of him. The shopkeeper had commented on it and Ezreal had simply chalked it up to having been in adventures where the stress of being on the move for survival had overcome his need to feed his body to keep it in top shape. The shopkeeper didn't seem to buy it but didn't poke further into Ezreal's business, and completed the transaction, freeing the younger man from further questioning.
As he took direction towards his parent's house, he looked around the area. He'd missed the place dearly, but the feeling was tainted with a certain aura of oppression that came with displeasure and sadness that longed to be let go and forgotten. He was just thinking about how to go about spending the least amount of time in the house to prevent souring his good mood when he caught sight of a shadow stumbling down a corridor behind a food joint.
There was something particularly familiar about it and as soon as the shadow looked up at him, he realized why. “Talon?” Dread ran through Ezreal's veins like acid, rooting him in place. He wasn't ready to face the assassin so soon. Not after...
Ezreal frowned, noticing a weird, smokey aura surrounding the other man's silhouette. He was saying something; Ezreal didn't understand it or hear what it was but it sounded song like, like a chant or a prayer. “Talon, are you—?” There was something off about him and the way his eyes were glazed over, unfocused. He didn't seem to know where he was or who was talking to him. Talon coughed violently and then fell on his knees, hard. The sound of him collapsing prompted Ezreal to rush forward.
As Ezreal shouldered Talon's arm and wrapped his own around the assassin's waist, guiding him out of the corridor and towards his parent's house, Talon kept mumbling strings of words and shaking.
Ezreal had barely made it into the house when Talon's strength gave out again and he'd slid down to the floor as if he'd fainted. He looked pale and clammy, his skin beaded in a layer of sweat. Ezreal made sure Talon was on his side in case he needed to throw up and ran to the telegraph, sending a message requesting a physician. As he waited for one to arrive, he came back to Talon and tried to rouse him.
He wasn't really passed out but he may as well be with how little response Ezreal was getting. The explorer shouldered the assassin's arm again and helped move him to the guest room under the stairs, only because it was closer and safer than going up a whole flight with the possibility of rolling down. He did his best not to toss the other man onto the bed but he was tired and Talon wasn't light, so he apologized for the roughness when he saw Talon bounce on the mattress a couple of times.
Ezreal touched Talon's skin and was surprised to feel him cold. It was the middle of summer and the Freljord was a travel at least several weeks away. “You're freezing.” He turned towards the fireplace and lit it, feeding wood into it quickly then turned towards the man on the bed. “Wake up.” The only response the other gave was the brief opening of his eyes before closing them again almost right away and then turning away. Ezreal bit his lip and shook him again. “Talon, please... what happened?”
The assassin mumbled something; it sounded like a name and Ezreal fought hard not to let it get to him. What Talon did now and who he called was none of his business; he was ill and he needed help. The best he could do was get him up and going and make it his mission to go in the opposite direction. The knock at the door couldn't have been a more welcomed sound and Ezreal ran to answer.
The physician was guided into the room and he opened his medical kit, putting on some gloves, a mask and a coat. “What happened to him?”
“I don't know, I found him like that.” Ezreal cleared his throat when the doctor gave him a pointed look of judgment and added, “he's an old friend, is all.” A friend who he'd spent months looking for and responsible for the fact that he'd needed a new belt to begin with.
The doctor hummed and then went back to his assessment. He checked Talon's temperature and approved of Ezreal's leap of good will to warm him up before continuing. Eyes, throat, ears and nose were checked, followed by gloved hands pressing Talon's body looking for broken bones, bruising and sensitive areas. He requests Ezreal's help to remove Talon's clothing and after a moment of hesitation, they work together and get it done. A stethoscope comes out that the physician presses on Talon's chest, his belly and his back and listens carefully. He makes sure to wrap the assassin in blankets then looks back into his medical kit, extracts a vial and a syringe and gives him a shot on his arm.
In a previous time Talon would've never allowed such a thing to happen; he was a proud one and arrogant, and had a tremendous fear of anything medical. Ezreal knew something was wrong if Talon hadn't even flinched this time.
It was haunting.
“Your friend should be careful where he spends his down-time,” the physician says as he starts looking between the things in his kit. “It seems he has inhaled a poison that has severely but temporarily impaired his function. Did you inhale the smoke you saw around him?”
Ezreal looks at the doctor blankly. He hadn't really thought about it, he had just wanted to help. He tells the doctor so. He gets his own check-up and his own shot, and then the doctor tells him that an assistant will come by later to deliver medicinal herbs that Ezreal will have to prepare in a tea and assist Talon in drinking. It's supposed to help expel the poison in his lungs by promoting phlegm production. He also gives the younger man a couple of bandage wraps and antibiotic topical cream for a wound Talon has on his left forearm. “Keep it clean and dressed. Watch for signs of infection. Call if anything changes for the worse.”
The doctor leaves and Ezreal is left with a heavy sense of loneliness. He heats up water and then goes back into Talon's room with a sponge, some soap and a towel and once the water is ready, gives the assassin a sponge bath. It feels odd to do this, touch Talon without his permission and after so long, but he found a little bit of comfort knowing that he was doing this for a medical and hygienic purpose, not anything else. He was just finishing up when the assistant showed up with the medicinal herbs. Ezreal made sure he understood what he had to do before the assistant left and then got to work in grinding the leafs before slowly boiling them.
He quickly realized that he couldn't spend a lot of time outside the guest room without wondering if Talon came to and Ezreal wanted to be there if he did. He tried his best to make Talon drink a warm tea and then allowed him to sleep as he moved stuff around to bring back into the room for easier access; a cauldron to boil water into, the mortar and pestle, a chair and a small table... it's the most cluttered the guest room has ever been and somehow, with Talon's presence, also the most comfortable.
The first couple of days are filled with Ezreal hovering over the assassin, checking for signs of fever, infection and pain. Talon coughs constantly and Ezreal makes sure he's there to turn him to his side if necessary and helps him clean up whatever he coughs up. It looks gross and tries not to think about how foul it smells and makes sure he cleans his hands thoroughly when he's done.
Talon's always been plagued by nightmares, as far as Ezreal can remember. It had been frightening to hear him struggle in dreams because Talon had always been so emotionally stunted that he appeared strong. To hear his cries in helpless manner and see his body curled and tense in panic had been a wake up call to Ezreal that Talon frequently fought with his own demons, just as anyone else did, but in hidden silence.
That had been months ago and the nightmares hadn't stopped. Ezreal had hoped that their time apart had eased them up, that Talon had seeked help but Talon wasn't one to ask for it nor accept it when it was offered. Ezreal took the opportunity to wake him up during those times, and ease the tension in his body, to also help him drink the tea the doctor had prescribed. And every time he woke him up there was a string of words that were followed by a name that stabbed Ezreal's heart with jealousy.
“Please, I—love—don't leave...” Just random words spewed at random between coughs in no particular order and with no intention of being understood.
He tried his best not to care. He couldn't care. He just needed to get Talon healthy so he could back out there and continue the search for his parents. So when Talon started opening his eyes randomly and looking around for a couple of seconds before passing out, Ezreal considered it a step in the right direction and continued what he had already been doing.
Every now and then Talon would look in his direction, murmur that name that wasn't his and follow with a string of whispered prayers. Talon didn't pray, Ezreal knew, but it was better to think of Talon praying than of Talon saying sweet nothings to the new object of his affection.
Then came the warnings. Sick. Cold. Hot. Hungry. Single words stated in a clear enough matter than Ezreal knew what he wanted and promptly helped with. Always followed by long silence and more sleep. The phlegm started coming out less stained and so he changed the leaves being boiled to the one the medical assistant had indicated. The poison was out, now it was just a matter of getting Talon's respiratory tract back to normal.
On the fourth day, Ezreal woke up to the sound of sheets shuffling and almost had a heart attack when he saw Talon trying to stand up. He immediately rushed over. “What are you doing?”
“Toilet.” Oh. Well, he'd helped this far. But Talon pushed him away and did his own thing, struggling but effectively. Once he was done, he walked slowly towards the bed and allowed himself to lay back down. “Hurts,” he croaks.
“Hurts? What hurts?” Alarmed, Ezreal came close and accepted the arm Talon was handing him, the one that had the injury. Ezreal undid the coverings and studied the area. “It looks good, but it's time to change the dressing. I'll be right back.”
He's surprised that Talon is still somewhat awake when he comes back with his arm still laid out in the open for easier access. Ezreal does what he said he'd do and then helps Talon drink his tea before helping him lay back down. He watches the assassin tossing and turning for a few minutes and then hears, “Dizzy.”
“It's the medicine. Stop moving around and go back to sleep or you'll make it worse.”
Talon tosses and turns a few more minutes and then covers his head with the covers. “Bright.”
Of course. “It's the fire,” Ezreal explains. “It's keeping you warm.”
Talon isn't listening. He lays still and within a few minutes Ezreal hears the soft snoring.
Talon startles awake two days later and sits up breathing heavily, hand on his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering against his fingers and for a wild moment he doesn't know where he is and lashes out at Ezreal when a hand lands on his shoulder.
He doesn't mean to push the other away, but it's instinct. Ezreal seems to know because he doesn't seem hurt or surprised. “I heard you scream,” he only says. “Nightmares again?”
Right. Ezreal knew about them. They had spent a whole six months traveling and sleeping together. He'd know. Talon just swallows and neither confirms nor denies it. “I'm fine.”
“The circles around your eyes are looking better. How long has it been since you last slept?” Talon limits himself to shrug. He can tell Ezreal is itching for a conversation because he stares expectantly. Talon looks down at his arm and fiddles with the dressing, feeling the dull pain underneath. “Does it hurt? I can get your medicine for that.”
“It doesn't hurt.”
“Well, it's time to change the dressing on it anyway—”
“I'm alright—”
“I insist.” Ezreal gets up and gathers the supplies then comes back and grabs Talon's arm via the wrist and gently presents it. Talon allows it only because he knows Ezreal will continue this nonsense until he gets his way. He's stubborn that way. He removes the bandages and then applies a cream to the site. “Are you hungry?”
“I'm okay. I'll be out of your hair soon.”
“Stop telling me you're okay!” Ezreal's outburst takes both of them by surprise, but at least he tries to hide it and tries his hardest not to grip the arm tightly, hurting it. He doesn't want to have to start over. Not when they're so far into the plane of recovery and so close to having Talon leave. Talon knows this because Ezreal makes it obvious he wants Talon to leave. There's gentleness in his motions but no personal care, typical of someone finding an injured wild animal and helping it back to health, but having no intent behind it to keep that connection. In the middle of silence Ezreal begins to shake his head. He grabs another roll of bandages and goes back to wrapping the extremity. He exhales and then sniffles.
Talon blinks. "Why are you crying?"
Ezreal stops what he's doing and looks at the other man, blue eyes watery. He almost looks like a child, Talon realized: scared and helpless and upset, and it brings back memories he wishes would vanish forever. He remembers feeling that way, once upon a time. Before—He closes his eyes, unwilling to go down that rabbit hole.
“Why did you come back?” Ezreal returns. Talon sighs and turns away.
After Ezreal is done, Talon tries again. “I'm just asking.”
“You revoked your right to 'just ask' the moment you left without saying a damn word to me, Tal. You don't get to come back and act like nothing changed.”
“You could've just let me die,” Talon says quietly. “You didn't have to take me in.”
“You just don't get it, do ya?” Ezreal raises his voice and stands up straight, hands on his waist as he looks down at Talon on the bed. “I had to watch my parents leave and never come back. I had to learn how to fend for myself, learn to steal and learn to haggle to pay for the house so in the odd chance that they're still alive, they have a home to come back to. I spent years neglected by my uncle, then years exploring, facing all sorts of danger to find mom and dad, chasing leads and finding dead ends. I've been sick, starving, injured; I almost died three times.” He took a deep breath and continued, now his voice cracking. “And all of that doesn't compare to the pain I had to go through to move on. Letting you go is still the hardest thing I ever had to do.”
Talon knew about all that. He'd seen Ezreal raid ruins and then try to sell the item at a ridiculous price to get money for his parent's house because he wanted to prove he was responsible. And yet, something didn't quite click. “It couldn't have been that hard to move on if you were the one that did it first.”
“Excuse me?” Ezreal frowned. “You left without saying a word. You left. ”
Talon shook his head. “You broke up with me.”
“Wha— You broke up with me. ”
“Excuse me?” Talon threw Ezreal's words right back, baffled.
“You're many things, Talon, and deaf isn't one of them.”
“You left me a note saying you wanted to talk.” Talon spat.
Ezreal nodded. “Because I wanted to talk.”
“I bet you did.”
“I wanted you to move in with me.”
Talon's venom vanishes on his tongue as he takes a moment to process this, frowning and blinking. “What. ”
“The house is big and frankly lonely and I really enjoyed your company so I wanted to talk to you about having you move in here with me.”
“Why didn't you write that?”
Ezreal sighs. “How was I supposed to know you would take off?”
“No one ever says 'we need to talk' and then it turns out it's something good.”
“You left... because you thought...” It was Ezreal's turn to frown and blink and process the situation. Then, “okay, well anyway, you moved on anyway. And that's fine, that's my fault. I should've been more—”
“You keep saying I moved on.”
“Just stating facts.” Ezreal waved his hand in a dismissing manner. “Look, I know I'm not the center the world or whatever, and you found someone else and that's fine.”
“I found someone else?” Talon searched his memory for any indication that this might be true and found none.
“You kept calling me by another name. You kept saying 'Marcus.'” Talon couldn't help it; he started laughing. Honest to gods, he laughed so hard his eyes teared up and his face and belly hurt and his lungs burned from being unable to breathe. Ezreal, meanwhile, fumed. “What's so funny, you asshole? I swear I don't even know why I—”
“Marcus is the name of my adoptive father.” Talon finally managed to say and then laughed again. Ezreal's face fell in shock as if that was a plot twist he wasn't expecting. Talon stopped laughing and shook his head, rubbing his face and grabbing the tea cup from the nightstand table. “You're an idiot.”
“Get off your high horse. As far as I'm concerned, there's two idiots in this room.”
Talon scoffed and leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh. “I never mentioned it because I didn't think you'd want to know.”
“I want to know,” Ezreal says after a pause. “I want to know everything. I want to meet him, even, if that's possible—”
“I—I don't think—”
“You're right, it's too soon. But then... why did it sound like you were half in love whenever you said his name?”
“Marcus wanted me to come to Piltover on a mission and I kept having nightmares that he thought I betrayed him. I kept thinking about that time he saved my life.”
“He doesn't know yet, does he? That you see him as a paternal figure.”
Talon sighed and shook his head, looking away. “I don't think that's what he wants. He just wants a weapon, effective and efficient. I wouldn't want to burden him with something trivial like that.”
Ezreal sits very still for a few minutes, and Talon can see the gears grinding in his head. Whatever he's thinking, though, he doesn't say. He simply extends his hand towards Talon's and interlaces their fingers and smiles. The atmosphere feels familiar.
Talon feels the words coming out before he can stop them. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Caring the most out of both of us.”
Ezreal opened his mouth to argue but then stopped. “You say that and yet I know that if the roles had been reversed, you would've done the same for me.”
Talon squeezes Ezreal's hand and then slips out of the grip to hold the tea cup with both hands. He blows on the surface of the liquid and then drinks from it and says nothing more. Ezreal smiles, knowing he's right.
That was all that mattered.