Chapter Text
𝓘 𝓢𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻
Years ago, more than he could count anymore, Schlatt had come across a man with eyes that matched the sky, hair the color of straw, and a smile to rival the stars. A quiet meeting, without words or reason. Unheard of for two unwitting immortals traversing the world on land and sea.
𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻
Winter had settled heavily over the little town Schlatt had laid claim to. Not big enough to draw the ire of the gods, but not so small as to leave Schlatt suffocating. Little shacks that barely did anything to block out the cold, a small market, and not much else. A simple village glossed over by most.
Snow laid heavily over the ground as Schlatt stepped out of the town. He breathed in frozen air and blew out pure white mist, feet burning steps in the snow. He’d only stepped a few paces away when the Angel had swept through the sky.
A black lot on a pristine white surface of the cloud covered sky. An omen, he’d mused. Not one he knew how to translate, but one nonetheless.
𝓜𝓮 𝓘𝓷 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻
The Angel had landed not far from him, unafraid and eyes not drawing a glimpse of recognition for what he was. A stain of the gods, horns still growing but hidden by a fluff of curly hair. Wrapped in an icy blue sweater, he suddenly felt like a pretender.
It had been cold. The Angel had asked if he was alright. A question that Schlatt didn’t get often, much less had the mind to answer. It had taken him aback for a moment as his brain caught on to the words.
Of fucking course he wasn’t, he had wanted to snap. He was freezing his ass off in the snow, under a tree. He didn’t remember why he’d decided to sit down to begin, maybe he was tired or something, and the snow looked appealing. But he didn’t say that, he didn’t say anything at all. Just a wordless shrug. Sharp teeth hidden beneath pale lips - like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓢𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓘𝓽 𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷 𝓜𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓘𝓽 𝓓𝓲𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾
Something warm and heavy had been laid over his shoulders. A long winter cloak a bit too short on him, but far better than what he dared to get for himself. It was a heady, addicting comfort that would surely piss someone off. He knew it would.
He’d tried to give it back to the Angel to little success. The Angel had said they refused to let ‘another’ die on his watch, with that same warm smile on their lips. Schlatt had let him win, ignoring the implications and the red seeping from the cloak into the snow. He had just nodded, snuggling close while he could.
At that, the Angel laughed. A sharp thing as burning as his smile, searing into Schlatt’s skin. Like a bell toiling before execution, ringing loud in the empty clearing. Schlatt hadn’t been capable of not smiling in return. A strange feeling worming in his chest at the sight.
𝓘𝓯 𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓚𝓷𝓮𝔀
Two heavy flaps of dark wings had sent the Angel back into the sky, where he belonged. Black faded amongst the clouds until there was nothing more to see. The last goodbye led murmurs over Schlatt’s skin, goosebumps warmed by the ever so slight kindness. He had smiled, honestly smiled, more during that one interaction than he had in decades.
Dogs, large things, more like wolves than not, had torn into the clearing an indeterminate amount of time later. Bloodhounds, Schlatt had recognized, following the scent to the blood stained cloak on his shoulders. The Angel had used him to throw off the trail. He even accidentally used the best person for the task…
Schlatt wasn’t even mad.
𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓜𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓘 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾
Burning sparks filled the air as the village was razed under the judgement of the hunters and still he wasn’t mad. Bruises were thwacked into his back, swords skittering dangerously at their sides and along his skin, and he wasn’t mad. Not when he could still see those eyes every time he blinked.
Eventually, they had let him leave after realizing he knew nothing of the Angel. Nothing, but the few descriptors he’d seen that were already well known. An Angel of Death, they’d called him, Emperor of the Antarctic Empire. None had thought to tell him his name. None had been alive to tell as the miniscule comfort was ripped from him by force. And still, he wasn’t mad.
He did regret losing the cloak though.
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓐𝓼 𝓢(𝓱𝓮)
Many years later, decades turning to millennia, Schlatt had met the Angel again. Lonely years that flew by as he wandered in the same way all immortals do. He had looked different then, but Schlatt had still recognized him.
His face was harder, a small scar marking his cheek, but those eyes were the same. Schlatt had never forgotten those eyes. The same sharp gleaming blue hidden behind a newborn layer of warmth. It had been captivating.
Even losing the tournament hadn’t torn Schlatt from their grasp, although that was bound to happen anyway. His untailored suit had turned suffocating, heart beating in his ears in anticipation. He’d tugged at his horns in an attempt at distractions. It hadn’t worked very well, it never did.
It didn’t give him the confidence to say ‘hello’ anyway.
𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓼 𝓑𝔂,
Of all people to walk towards the Angel after the winners had been announced, Schlatt hadn’t expected the familiar form of Technoblade. The effect he had on the other was impossible to deny though. The Angel brightened, features softening into something undeniably human. An adorable sight that made Schlatt’s heart squeeze.
Watching them talk, congratulations and inside jokes wrapping over his ears, left a bitter taste on his tongue.
Jealousy was a feeling that Schlatt was used to. It came with the territory of pissing off a god and getting cursed for all of time. Comfort was something that he’d long stopped envying, but this? The Angel looked so happy next to the Blood God, next to his son.
It made Schlatt want to walk up to him, introduce himself and remind him of their chance encounter those thousands of years ago. The two other immortals might even welcome a third. It was a lonely existence, after all.
𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓐 𝓢𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓢𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼
Schlatt smiled bitterly, ruthlessly stamping out that tiny bit of hope he’d long since stopped allowing himself to feel. He wasn’t allowed to have nice things, he’d not ruin it. No friends, no allies, and…
Red met red, one set in the open and the other locked behind a mask of bone. Long pink hair fell in waves Schlatt knew would match his, if he hadn’t slicked it back. The same sharp eyes and the same sharper teeth. The same cursed child born of a man scorned by all of existence.
Family was a broken word he shouldn’t have even attempted to fit into his mouth.
𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓢𝓴𝔂
Eyes shifted to meet blue as Schlatt started to walk away, feeling distinctly like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Something brighter and happier than he would ever deserve. But he couldn’t help, but pause when they locked gazes.
Laying on his back, staring at the clouds in the sky, wasn’t something Schlatt did often, but in the moment that’s exactly what looking at the Angel felt like. It made Schlatt feel small, mind snapping back to winter chills and ringing laughter. Breath punched out of his chest, Schlatt smiled reflexively.
A sharp, shark toothed thing that betrayed nothing. The smile of Jschlatt the businessman, a man set to swindle you out of all you own for himself. Like he would ever get to keep anything the contract gave him. He knew it would all end up with the people eventually.
The Angel smiled back, sky creasing as he waved. It was an awkward interaction born from being caught staring. At that moment, Schlatt didn’t care. He’d hold that image as close as he could for the rest of his existence.
𝓢𝓱𝓮 (𝓗𝓮)’𝓼 𝓖𝓸𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓜𝓮𝓼𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓲𝔃𝓮𝓭
Words blended into the background but drew the Angel back to Techno nonetheless. A soft red dusting his cheeks as his shoulders tensed in embarrassment. Sharp laughter left him, echoing in the space.
Schlatt forced himself to look away, burning in his chest as he walked further from them. He wanted to say hello and he should, he really should. But he didn’t, not yet. Not until…
He bumped hard into someone’s shoulder, shoe catching on a rock and sending him forward. The guy he ran into yelped, also falling forward. Chin met stone, teeth snapping together and narrowly avoiding tearing off his tongue.
That’s how he met Wilbur Soot.
𝓦𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓘 𝓓𝓲𝓮
Being friends with Wilbur wasn’t a hard thing, something that came to the cursed man’s surprise. Every word that should’ve brought scorn was laughed off. Every action gone horribly wrong was met with mirth and teasing. It was almost overwhelming.
Actually, no, it was overwhelming. Wilbur was a very out-there person, who seemed intent on dragging everyone around him into mischief and chaos. Whether that be stupid challenges or, on one memorable occasion, filling an entire server with lava up to the height limit, just because he could.
Schlatt didn’t know how to deal with any of that, so he didn’t. Just like with the bad things, he rolled with the punches. Sure, with a little more hesitation, but he accepted it wholeheartedly nonetheless. He had to or he’d surely drown in everything that was Wilbur Soot.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when after one of their many disasters, Schlatt was invited to dinner. Not a date, just to meet Wilbur’s family and finally listen to one of those many songs that he bragged about. But it was a surprise. Schlatt wasn’t used to the whole ‘friends’ thing.
𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓜𝓮?
Dinner was a disaster, just like everything else in Schlatt’s life. It did start well enough. Wilbur taking him to some pretty cottage in the middle of the woods, a garden arching around one side of the house and ivy climbing over brickwork. The whole place looked pretty, like a home.
Naturally, Schlatt was immediately set on edge. Even as Wilbur snatched his wrist and dragged him up to the house. He didn’t knock, just barged in with a hello. Schlatt being forcibly guided through the house, scraped up shoes clicking against the ground.
Warmth permeated the house, so thick in the air he felt he might choke on it even as Wilbur seemed to thrive. His eyes lighting up as he carelessly tracked dirt over soft carpet. Another thing that made Schlatt uncomfortable. They looked handmade, why let them get so dirty?
“Dadza! I brought Schlatt over. Schlatt, this is Phil. Phil we’re going to my room so I can defend my honor,” Wilbur tugged Schlatt into the kitchen by his neck, slipping on tile as the introduction blitzed through his head. Schlatt grumbled, pushing Wilbur off him. He looked up.
The Angel looked back, stealing the air from Schlatt’s lungs as he tried to smile politely. It pulled strangely at his lips so he knew he failed. The Angel, Phil , nodded and said something to Wilbur. His voice was light, a chorus that laid pleasant on Schlatt’s sensitive ears.
He was torn away not long after by Wilbur, heat brimming over his nose and cheeks. Phil called out after them, Wilbur responded. Schlatt… was still lost to those blue blue eyes.
Music was lost on him for the rest of the day. He was sure that Wilbur noticed.
𝓘’𝓶 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓯 𝓐𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂
Hours later, Schlatt was back in the place he reluctantly called home. No one but him had ever seen the place or knew where it was, making it more lonely than he would’ve liked, but it’s all he really deserved. A cold and empty house that only felt worse after the disaster of a dinner.
Floorboards creaked and threatened to give way into the basement beneath, more than one hole covered by carpet, but remaining a tripping hazard. Lights flickered noisily overhead. Furniture was caved or broken. A layer of dirt and soot he never bothered to clean scorched into the walls, it would just be reburned in the end.
A cracked mirror reflected him back to himself, as he stood in the dingy background, eyes tracking down his scarred and emaciated form. Too many to count and too many to care wrapping around his chest and sternum, where he wasn’t allowed to die. His ribs poked out under a thin layer of skin. His hair stuck up and his eyes carried heavy bags as he washed makeup from his face.
Bitterly, he laughed at the thought of what the Angel would think of him. No, Phil now because he’d actually spoken to the man now. Would he accuse him of being a vampire? Make fun of his inability to put on weight? No one had ever reacted nicely to him, he didn’t know why Phil would know. His kindness had to just be a cover. Wilbur’s had to just be a mask. No one would honestly like him.
He wasn’t allowed to have something as pleasant as their company, he knew that well enough. Even if the warmth in his stomach he never got from his own shitty food tried to lie to him that they did. They fed him, didn’t kick him out when he spilled pretty much his entire plate on the floor. They didn’t…
It was almost enough to make him think they cared.
𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓖𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻
On another December night, Schlatt was dragged back into that god awful house, too soft and kind for a man of jagged edges and sharper teeth. It was just as warm as before. The fireplace flickered, bright and warm against his skin. An addicting heat he never really but was sure to stay away from. All it would take wsa one misstep for something to catch fire.
Techno was sick, or so he’d been told. That meant that Wilbur had to stay home while Phil got medication for the hybrid, or so he’d been told. Wilbur hadn’t wanted to be alone, so he called Schlatt. He was entertainment, nothing more.
He ignored the part of him that was disappointed at Phil’s absence. It roiled and complained, the bitter taste of longing he should’ve known not to feel. He ignored it, even as Techno stumbled into the main room he and Wilbur were in, a familiar cloak wrapped around his broad shoulders of black and green. An edging of fur that reminded him of burning ashes and frozen snowy days.
Wilbur had ushered Techno away while Schlatt remained frozen, on his elbows from where he’s fallen after a joking push. Bruises numbed against his arms, heat from the tiles soaking through but he felt nothing. He just stared at the familiar cloak.
It shouldn’t have bothered him.
𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓟𝓸𝓵𝔂𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻
Nothing about the cloak was special, nothing at all. Easy to source fabric and dies and fur that could be taken from just about anything. They were a dime a dozen. Any decent tailor could make one or four in a matter of hours. And yet his heart twisted and the bitter taste grew harsh against his tongue.
Phil had given him that, Schlatt recognized dully. A loose feather of black and dark purple and the slightest hint of green speckled with soft white like stars, a beauty he wished to reach out and touch. To trace the constellations and memorize each one. It was stuck in the fur of Phil’s cloak. It was draped around wide shoulders that weren’t his, but his son’s.
His son deserved it, deserved better. That was another thing Schlatt knew. He couldn’t keep friends or family, and even this would leave him before long. But despite what he knew, it still seemed to bother him. A gnat under his skin or a splinter in his finger. The slightest prickle of wrong.
Jealousy.
Schlatt really should’ve known better.
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶) 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻
Really, he should’ve known that he was hoping for too much when that light, feathery feeling first graced his heart all those years ago. A smile dancing on his lips is a crime in the eyes of those who watch. The slightest glint of joy in his eyes is a challenge.
So, yeah, he should’ve known better as Wilbur worriedly pushed Techno back to bed. As his son eyes him like an unfamiliar threat, and as Phil finally hurried through the door. None of them seemed to look at them.
Yes, they saw sharp horns and fancy jewelry and an ill fitting suit stretched too wide over his chest and legs but they didn’t see him. He knew they didn’t, as red met red one last time and they narrowed at him, distrusting, but unknowing. A son who didn’t remember seeing him as a villain.
But he really should’ve known that’s who he really was. Why else would he be like this? Discomfort and pain hunched over on a too comfortable couch that isn’t his, in a home he could never call his own, as he watched the family that would never really trust him.
Entertainment, tolerable at best, weak, slow, always the second choice.
He really should’ve remembered what his place was here.
𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻
Looking back was a mistake, that he knew the moment he glanced over his shoulder as he walked from warm to cold and into the rain and mud. He looked back to soft smiles and kind eyes that would never stare at him. Regret bubbled up in his throat, the sister to bitterness and hope.
But only Wilbur looked up, not at him but at the place he was. A knit of brows before he brushed it off and, as always, Schlatt was pushed aside for for someone better, someone good. Someone who was allowed nice things, and to smile without fear of angering those above.
It was for his son, Schlatt reminded himself. The son he nearly killed with his curse, but ended up losing anyway. The son that was happier without him… the son who captivated the Angel so.
But he couldn’t be mad.
He knew this was going to happen.
…
𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓐𝓼 𝓗𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶)
Either it was a Tuesday or a Thursday when Phil first met Schlatt. He couldn’t quite remember, days and months blending together throughout his life of eternity. All he knew was that he did meet Schlatt, introduced by Wilbur with bright eyes and a self satisfied smile that spoke of mischief to come.
Admittedly, Phil hadn’t expected much from the man, a ram hybrid with burning eyes who seemed incapable of going one minute without another disaster. Whether that was burning the curtains, breaking three separate plates, or nearly sending a knife flying into his son’s head, the man seemed to genuinely thrive in chaos. Every breath brought new things that he would never expect.
In the moment, it had been a little bit annoying, how couldn’t it be? But Phil had never felt overwhelmed, and Schlatt always looked like he regretted each event no matter how close or far from an ‘accident’ it was. He seemed to expect them, even. The longer he went without one bringing shifty eyes and the thrums of claws.
But Wilbur seemed to like him, and Schlatt liked Wilbur too. His eyes would light up like embers, a grin of excitement and secrets spreading across his face that drew the eye. It seemed brighter, somehow, than the gold he adorned like shackles. Phil didn’t know how to feel about it.
Getting close to a mortal wasn’t something he was supposed to do. Time would drag on and he’d perish like the others, something slow and drawn out that Phil knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. So he didn’t. He stayed and watched his son go closer to the man than Phil would ever dare.
𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓭
Phil blinked as Techno brushed by him, seemingly concerned over what was getting Phil so out of shape. Taking a deep breath, he gave Techno what he hoped was a calming smile. One that would hide the way his heart tugged over a mortal he got too close with far too quickly. A lie without words.
Wilbur called out loudly, followed by a harsh laughter that grated like sandpaper over his ears. Schlatt leaned into his son, mirth leaking from every pore as he teased Wilbur into oblivion. A simple minded joy lighting up his eyes.
An arm wrapped around his shoulder, keeping both his son and Schlatt standing as they both cracked up over a joke Phil either simply didn’t hear or didn’t understand. Schlatt leaned into the touch. There it was again, that gentle tug at his heart. One that Phil should know better than to get over-
“You good?” Techno asked again, ringed fingers tapping his arm and dragging his attention away from the two again. Red eyes narrowed in concern once more. Phil tried to reply but found that he couldn’t, or maybe just wouldn’t, lie to Techno. It was such a silly thing, this attachment. So Phil said nothing and looked away.
Techno followed his gaze, a low hum building in the back of his throat as the taller man seemed to puzzle things together.
𝓟𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓐𝓻𝓶 ‘𝓡𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻
Schlatt slapped Wilbur’s chest with the back of his hand, drawing an offended noise out of the brunette, before tossing said arm over Wilbur’s shoulders. His other hand raised to flag down someone, Quackity was his name? Wilbur leaned back into Schlatt, pressing his weight into the ram. His knees shuddered but didn’t fall.
A noise of realization left Techno, somewhere between a hum and a grunt. The look he gave Phil was almost accusatory, far more insulted than anything Phil had done to Techno before. It actually made Phil laugh. Such a ridiculous reaction, even if Phil himself knew that he himself was being silly.
Rather than call Phil out for the way his eyes would catch and stare at every dull shimmering accessory or every glint of dangerous eyes that in no way bellied the man’s lack of actual skill, Techno just shoved his hat down. Vision went black as fabric caught awkwardly on his nose. A heavy arm rested on his head, making it a chore to even push his hat back up.
Techno didn’t approve, Phil realized with a pang. It was to be expected. Techno never approved of him getting close to those who lacked their special sort of immortality, exception made to so very few. Who’s to say that Schlatt was different?
Phil knew not to hope that Schlatt was different,
Love couldn’t stop the slow trickle of time, nothing could.
If only that could make it hurt a little less.
𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓘’𝓶 𝓖𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻
Winter always reminded Phil of the simplicity of mortal lives. To be born, to grow, and to die in a cycle that would reign for as long as he would live outside it all. Leaves would flee from trees, animals hiding from snow and chill, and yet he would remain to watch it all happen. Yet once the season was over, it would all begin anew. Spring brings back the animals and flowers in an ever fleeting existence.
That’s how he knew he had it bad. Not the ever growing fondness for each stupid joke or off handed compliment that came from Schlatt’s mouth or the way he seemed crave the slightest bit of affection but never could ask for it. It’s because Phil was looking at Tommy and Wilbur and Schlatt attempting valiantly to kill each other with snowballs and getting philosophical about it. If only Techno could read his mind now.
Cold bit through his winter coat with a vengeance, barely abated by thick cloth and thicker fur. Snow poured over Schlatt and Tommy as Techno ever so innocently kicked a tree. Curses rang out, more loudly from Tommy than Schlatt. Wilbur just tipped his head back and laughed, bright and cheerful enough that when Schlatt turned to him he paused a moment to take in the sight.
Obvious fondness in his eyes didn’t hurt Phil at all, he knew better than to get attached to a mortal. He did not feel the slightest bit jealous or upset that Schlatt didn’t look at him like that. No, no he did not.
But he didn’t notice the shiver in Schlatt’s voice, the chattering of his teeth and the paleness of his skin that should be flushed with blood. His suit was too thin to keep any real neat. It was the same one he always wore, Phil noted. Washed out dark gray with a blood red tie to match his eyes, rumpled from the play fight and surely soaked through.
Wilbur tugged the man to his feet, eyes teasing as he prodded Schlatt. Phil looked away.
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓘 𝓗𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶)?
Jealousy was a thing that Phil didn’t often feel. He had a loving family that kept him company in the lonely years brought about from eternal life, all the riches he could dream of, and enough fame to last him several lifetimes. Anything he wanted, he could get. Anything he didn’t like, he could deal with.
So when Wilbur kept bringing Schlatt home for this or that reason, when he would freely joke and laugh and get angry in a way that Phil knew he didn’t often let himself do, Phil wasn’t jealous. Not for the looks Wilbur got and not for the closeness he hadn’t yet learned was a bad idea.
In immortal terms, Wilbur was still a baby, one that didn’t know getting close with mortals was always a bad decision. That is why Phil refused to be jealous. Wilbur didn’t know any better. He didn’t know that he could never keep Schlatt as a friend. He didn’t know that in the blink of an eye, he would never be able to see Schlatt again.
He didn’t know how Phil would feel like crying every time he thought of the things he could never have.
Wilbur would know one day… and maybe that was the worst thought yet.
𝓢𝓱𝓮 (𝓗𝓮)’𝓼 𝓢𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓐𝓷 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵
No one could really call Wilbur innocent, not if they knew anything about the burgeoning immortal, but Phil knew better. Phil has existed and will exist for much much longer. He knew there was a special kind of light in someone’s eyes that thousands of years would eventually take from them.
And he knew that light would disappear the moment Schlatt went from their lives. Too close, too quick, and far too… would clingy be the word? Maybe. Or maybe people just liked Schlatt.
Wilbur certainly did and Phil knew his son could be quite the jaded person. Tommy thought the man was hilarious and it seemed that Tubbo was two steps away from forcing the man to become his father. Only Techno kept a reasonable distance and even then Phil knew his friend long enough to know that there was some fondness behind those eyes. Schlatt was just… hard to dislike.
He wasn’t hard to be annoyed at, or frustrated over. It was almost like it was his life’s purpose to be annoying but that simple sort of anger never lasted long. Before the interaction was even over, the feeling would drain and leave behind a reluctant amusement and overwhelming fondness. Every slip of tongue and trip of his feet added to his charm.
Or maybe that was just Phil… what was the word… ‘simping’ over Schlatt. He would argue it wasn’t. How else could one person drag not one, not two, but five immortals from their shells. It was seamless how the man slotted into their lives.
Even if Phil knew that would only make it hurt more later when…
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓐𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷, 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓞𝓯 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓢𝓱𝓮 (𝓗𝓮) 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓢𝓱𝓮 (𝓗𝓮)
Maybe wishing death on Schlatt was going a little too far, Phil considered late one evening from the roof of his house. The wind was especially bad that evening, moon high in an empty sky. Stars glittered up above in a beautiful constant. Even when everything else around him changed, the twinkling constellations always remained steady.
But still, Phil wondered if things would be better off if Schlatt had died his mortal death before ever meeting Wilbur. Maybe then he would be able to sleep without dreading the future that Schlatt would never be a part of. A future of him in their family, of five becoming six. Maybe not as a son or an uncle. Maybe something a little more, a little closer and a little-
No, no that was too far. Phil shook his head as if he could physically shrug off the thoughts. He took a deep breath, ruffling his wings in a restless manner. Eyes dragged from a slow sort of exhaustion but he didn’t feel tired. Or maybe he did but his head was moving too fast to realize it.
That was an issue he had, thinking too much too often. Just like he was thinking about what kind of death Schlatt would have. Would it be long for a mortal? The slow beat of a heart monitor as age caught up with the man? Would it be violent and bloody, torn apart so badly that not even the respawn system could hope to catch him? Or maybe it would be short and sweet, an arrow through the skull dropping him dead between one breath and the next.
Would Phil get to see it? That would certainly be a cruel trick of fate but he knew enough about death to know it was hardly kind. Lady Death was but the act? He’d witnessed enough to it in his younger years to know that it never truly stopped hurting. It was just that, at some point, their faces would blur and the emotions would drift. He would stop thinking.
It shouldn’t hurt like so when he thought about one day forgetting Schlatt. A thousand years or more without him causing his face to get lost like the rest among the sea of ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’. It might be too much to hope to never forget each sharp line and sharper wit. But still, foolishly, Phil hoped.
𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓼 𝓑𝔂
Moonlight reflected off the snow, the slow creak of the back door drawing Phil’s eyes from the sky. Briefly, his mind auto filled who might be up and about at this time. Techno, every forgetful of when he should eat or sleep, going out to check the horses. Wilbur, maybe, deciding to venture to the frozen over lake for inspiration. Tommy and Tubbo sneaking out to the nearby village to cause enough mischief to last till morning,
None of those ended up being the right answer as Phil slid from his perch towards the backyard, boots catching the edge of the house and keeping him in place. Not a sound left him as he watched the figure below crunch through the snow.
Schlatt, dressed only in the wide necked sweater Wilbur had forced him to wear for the impromptu sleepover and his slacks, slowly made his way through the snow. No boots that Phil could see and no more warm than he’d been that afternoon. It couldn’t be healthy. Frostbite was bound to follow each bare footprint, especially as Schlatt made his way under a dead tree and sat.
Why he’d sit in the snow like that, Phil didn’t know. He looked so out of place yet so painfully like he belonged there. Light blue blended in with the blue tinted light. Dark hair and eyes fading amongst the shadows of the trees. Metal ringlets on his horns and fingers seemed to have been left back in the house leaving nothing to glint and show he was there at all. Just a corpse in the snow.
Ah, there’s those morbid thoughts again.
𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓐 𝓢𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓢𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼
Phil tugged at his cloak absentmindedly, fingering the soft furs and wondering for a moment if he should interrupt Schlatt’s… whatever he was doing. Maybe relaxing after a nightmare, a quiet one that no one in the house had heard. Phil didn’t know but it had to have been bad. No sane person would walk out in the snow like this.
An odd sort of silence filled the air even as Schlatt leaned back, tilting his head to look through the interlocking branches and into the sky. Did he too like the stars? Was it to marvel at their beauty or count them like he might one day collect each glittering orb in his hands like beads? What would he do with them? Form bracelets of celestial objects so heavy they might weigh against the love in his heart?
Or was Phil just projecting for he knew he’d pluck each star from the sky to tear the sad expression off of each and every person in his home… and maybe even one out of it. He’d string them along, impossibly strong orbs forming an unbreakable bond to levy his loyalty. From a set of earring from the sun to carry the warmth he felt each time they locked eyes.
For Schlatt, he might make a bracelet or a ring, one to match the scuffed golden things adorning his horns. It would weigh on his head in s reminder that Phil would always be near if he had the choice. A shimmering, permanent thing that would last him even once his body was lowered into the earth. That way, Phil could always feel one piece of him. And all he’d ask for his trouble was that he’d stay one more day.
Just one more day.
It was truly a cold night.
𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓢𝓴𝔂
It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly what caused Phil to make the decision to leave the roof. It could’ve been a particularly strong gust of wind that froze through his sleeping clothes yet barely caused Schlatt to visibly shiver. Maybe it was the fact that Wilbur would be sad if his close friend died of hypothermia. Or maybe Phil was just every bit involved in Schlatt’s life as he pretended not to be.
Whatever the reason was, Phil still bent his knees and stretched his wings. Glossy black feathers reached out to catch the wind as he lept, soaring up before gliding down to the earth. He landed easily, nose and cheeks tinted pink from the sudden rush of cold and not because Schlatt was staring at him intently. He didn’t know what the reason was but there was definitely something behind those fiery eyes.
Phil straightened his back under the heavy look, forcing himself to meet Schlatt’s eyes with the millennia of practice he had. His wings fluffed against his will but that was hopefully ignored. Instead, Phil smiled that same calm smile he always forced onto his face. A tilt of lips that in no way bellied the knot of emotions in his chest.
Clawed hands gripped at that light blue sweater as Schlatt broke first, eyes flicking to the depths of the woods before looking back at Phil like he was expecting something to jump out at him. Briefly, Phil worried Schlatt would tear a hole in Wilbur’s sweater. That was fine though, Wilbur never wore blue if he had the choice. He seemed to prefer to force Schlatt into the color.
He would say he didn’t know why but Schlatt did look good in the color, softer somehow. Fluffy hair free from gel so late at night and shoulders hunching in an uncharacteristic self consciousness. Phil tucked his wings in further.
𝓢𝓱𝓮 (𝓗𝓮)’𝓼 𝓖𝓸𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓜𝓮𝓼𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓲𝔃𝓮𝓭
Deft fingers tugged wordless at his cloak, unclasping the bindings and pulling it from his shoulders. A shiver broke out over his skin as he shrugged off the warm garment. It lay heavy in his hands as he hesitated.
Schlatt looked as though Phil had shot the air from his lungs as the fabric was laid over him, catching briefly on his curled horns before settling around iced shoulders. A tremor started in his hands, tensing and untensing as he pulled them free of the woolen sweater. Phil paused, cautiously taking a step back.
“You looked cold,” he explained, yet it seemed to in no way help the sudden burst of something in Schlatt. The tremor worked up his arms to cover the rest of his body, obvious even as his ears pinned back and he ducked his face into thick fur. He pulled at the cloak, wrapping it further around himself.
Has Phil done something wrong? Was this even a negative reaction? Confusion and hesitance danced over his tongue in equal measure, words failing him as he watched Schlatt shake more than he had when he was bare to the elements.
Rough elements, Phil knew. Ones that prompted him to cross his arms and ball up his hands into fists to stay cold as common sense tried to tug him back inside. It was maybe curiosity and maybe something else that kept him rooted in place.
𝓦𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓘 𝓓𝓲𝓮
“You really don’t remember,” came in pain laced words that lay bitter and rough, bitten out through clenched teeth as Schlatt refused to meet his eyes. It felt like a question yet lacked the inflection. In no way were they soft either, yet Phil couldn’t help but think they were laid bare. Raw, perhaps, was the word to replace ‘soft’ in this case.
He opened his mouth, paused, and clicked his teeth as it closed. Remember… Remember what? Something about Schlatt, surely. It had to be important if the ram was getting so emotional about it yet for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.
There wasn’t a whole lot about Schlatt he couldn’t remember, which for a mortal Phil was far too attached to was a new thing entirely. He knew that Schlatt’s favorite color was a simply awful shade of burgundy. He knew the man liked food that would make an average person cry and music loud enough to burst eardrums.
Phil knew Schlatt got emotional over the tiniest of things, a misting of his eyes every time a kitten sneezed and a coarse comment to hide his fondness whenever the kids did something cute. He knew that Schlatt could never meet Techno’s eyes and when he did there was a painful longing that Phil could never puzzle out. He knew each joke that made the man laugh and all the creative insults he could come up with that never sounded rude but always landed true.
But at this moment, it was like he didn’t know the man at all. Eyes unfocused, laughter finally breaking out from deep in the man’s chest even though nothing was funny, and the slow slip of weak tears dripping from his eyes. What a sight he made, shaking in the snow from a reason that seemed completely separate from the snow and the cold. And Phil? Phil felt lost.
A heartbreaking sort of loss that came hand in hand with each and every missed birthday he was halfway across the word traveling during and each apology that fell short. Memories of when he was an awful father and each mistake he made when trying to be better clawed themselves from his brain. He swallowed, forced them back, and took a step forward.
𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓜𝓮?
“We‘ve met before, you know?” There again lay that bitterness, “before all of this.” A hand reached out from the safety of his cloak, waving around them like that explained anything at all. Phil easily assumed he meant from before Schlatt met Wilbur.
Yet, reaching back, there was nothing about a man with a shark’s teeth and curling horns and a laugh that sounded like shattering glass and unrestrained mirth. Nothing that felt like Schlatt. It hadn’t been a mistake.
“It was fuckin forever ago but this whole mess is so similar, I just can’t,” the laughter pestered off, falling from loud to quiet so quickly the sudden absence of noise hurt Phil’s ears. The wind whistled through the threes, a howl echoing from deep in the woods. The smallest bit of memory prickled at the back of his tongue.
“I… don’t think I remember that,” Phil replied, if only to fill the silence. It felt redundant, especially after Schlatt’s first statement but he had to say it anyway. His feathers itched, wings twitching on his back as the sudden feeling of something prowling filled him. Like something was looking for him…
Yet he did not remember a single thing.
“I know,” Schlatt growled as if something within the man was blaming himself for it. Blaming Schlatt for Phil forgetting one memory to the sands of time. It was a given for anyone to forget things and yet Phil felt guilty for doing so. How could he forget a man like this? So bright and loud and heart achingly soft under an exterior of sandpaper and thorns.
𝓘’𝓶 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓯 𝓐𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂
Living as long as Phil did, there were a few things you simply didn’t do anymore. Everything from counting the days to things as simple as storytelling. Of course, when one was read he would stop and listen but never did he seek them out.
Many stories were simply retellings of retellings of things that Phil had experienced himself. Scary things inspired by the actions of The Angel Of Death or glorious tales of ancient princes and princesses. Truly original thoughts were always so rare, which wasn’t a bad thing for the average person.
Average didn’t really reply to the constant tales told over the course of his life. There were only so many times he could hear the same story before it grew old and he realized there was simply nothing for him to listen to. What was the interest of ancient tales if he’d been around since before they’d even existed?
Particularly fancy or outrageous retellings were all that caught his interest anymore and even then it wasn’t like he seeks those out. Those ones were only ever spoken of in whispers by those ostracized by the rest for radical ideas. Sometimes they were painfully wrong, others too close to the truth for comfort. Either way, Phil never asked about stories of the past.
Yet in the face of having forgotten some clearly important thing, Phil found himself doing it for the first time in decades. He met Schlatt's eyes, knelt in the snow, and asked for him to tell him a story.
No matter how long it would take, Phil would listen. That was one of the benefits of immortality, he had all the time in the world to remember and understand, even if one day he may forget again. But that he wouldn’t think about, not now. Not when Schlatt tilted his head up in consideration.
Moonlight caught his eyes, reflecting black where there was once red and turning pale skin porcelain. Dark bruises under his eyes weighed so heavily Phil could feel them too. Part of him wanted to reach out and wipe them away, curl his wings over his cold body to block out the cold and anything else that would want to hurt him.
Before any of that could inspire Phil to action, Schlatt began to speak.
𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓖𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶) 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻
The way it started was just as cold as tonight. Same snow, same tree, with only the time of day marking the difference. Blue sweaters and bright skies, one clouded and one not. A story of wolves and hunters and a man soaring above, nameless except for the moniker of an Angel he so clearly deserved.
Schlatt tugged at the cloak again, jokingly apologizing for losing the first one as if it hadn’t been soaked with blood that would’ve been impossible to clean back then by his means. He didn’t let Phil respond as he continued on, the story getting older and rambling oddly.
He spoke the story of a boy who’d never been mentioned in legend nor whispers nor the broken wisps of the wind. Of someone young and stupid and scorned by every rock and plant and star in the sky. Who could talk and talk and didn’t care who he possessed off of only to garner a bit more attention.
A quiet voice spoke of the loneliness of such a short life, of one tragic loss of the only one who cared. Coarse admittance of a crime to the gods that not even Schlatt could remember any more. A crime that tore all comfort and care for his life.
Ice covered tears tracked hot down his cheeks as Schlatt talked and talked, words falling out desperate like he was afraid each word would disappear if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. A weight of a secret that had been laid on him for so many empty millennia finally lifted.
Tired eyes spoke of Phil’s old cloak like it was the holy grail, looking down into the snow like it was feeding him the secrets that only he knew. His words stumbled and grew tired, a poorly timed joke falling flat with the wind. Schlatt swayed.
𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓟𝓸𝓵𝔂𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻
Even as Schlatt seemed to collapse under his own exhaustion, falling back as Phil scrambled to pick him out of the snow, a traitorous ball of hope still bubbled in Phil’s chest. The mortal he’d gotten close to was not so mortal after all. A tale Phil never knew swirling in his head as a secret he’d been entrusted to keep.
Plain green fabric dragged against the snow covered ground as Phil carried the taller ram back inside, struggling not to trip over his own cloak. It was awkward but he persevered with every step. A smile so weakly fond played over his lips like it wasn’t sure it was meant to be there.
Nothing was special about this cloak or the last but then again, nothing was objectively special about any of them from an outsider’s view. Looks were deceiving and all that, Phil mused.
And maybe it was bad to feel joy over such a depressing tale of pain and loss and tearful acceptance that maybe Schlatt didn’t think he deserved nice things but for once he couldn’t help himself. Not when Schlatt might actually get to be a part of this family. Phil wouldn’t have to lose him. Wilbur wouldn’t have to…
Wilbur… who Schlatt was so much closer with.
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶) 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻
Once again, Phil was not jealous of his son. Regardless of what Techno did or Tommy implied or Tubbo just flat out said, Phil was not jealous. There was nothing to be upset over in his life, just as previously stated. To even insinuate otherwise would be incorrect to the highest degree.
Not that that would stop Techno from claiming that he was in denial before going back to pretending he didn’t actually like any of them as if it wasn’t painfully obvious that the ‘Blood God’ actually had feelings. Pot meet kettle. That might just be why they get along so well.
But, yes, not jealous or in denial over any presumed jealousy. He did not care that Schlatt preferred to hang out with Wilbur, his son deserved to be happy. He was not bothered by their inside jokes he would never be privy to, that was a friend thing. And he was not aching over the realization that this was something he could have. Maybe not now, but eventually.
Jealousy was an ugly thing, after all. It wormed in your chest like a thorn covered rose wrapping around every happy thing until all you could feel was a longing that overwhelmed the simple joy that should’ve come. It made you angry and sad and anything but gleeful to be near who you cared about. All because you couldn’t be happy and just wanted a little bit more .
So, no, he was not jealous over Wilbur and Schlatt being close friends. He was not jealous over lingering touches or soft smiles that almost seemed out of place on Schlatt’s face. The fondness didn’t weigh on him with wishes it were for him. Phil was an adult, one far older than the rest of them -except maybe Schlatt and wasn’t that a thought- so he could be reasonable. He had no claim on Schlatt,
Wishes and thoughts notwithstanding, he had no expectations and shouldn’t think so. He knew enough to know that this wasn’t his. It could be but it wasn’t…
Maybe that realization hurt more than anything else.
…
𝓘 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻
Sometimes, all people want is to be more than they are. They either lack the ability to realize they can’t be or decide before they even try. It’s a tailor trying to be a warrior despite never having picked up a blade. Or it’s as simple as a boy down the street wooing a girl who has no interest in men.
In this case, Schlatt doesn’t know what they are. Are they the tailor and the sword or the boy in the street? Does it even matter what they are? Had he just gotten ahead of himself thinking that one late night admittance would change this between them?
Maybe it had and he just wasn’t looking at it right, wasn’t appreciating it enough. Maybe Phil was letting himself be closer not that he knew Schlatt wasn’t human or maybe he just felt that disgusting thing called pity.
Pity, Schlatt hated that word. It was ugly and cruel, mocking kindness and generosity until it was something that no longer felt warm. Instead it was thick and dripping with false sincerity as they only did something to make themselves feel better. That is, if they did anything at all. Stares were often worse than gifts of false propriety.
No, no Schlatt knew what pity looked like and it wasn’t whatever the fuck was gracing Phil’s eyes. They were downturned, yes, like a soft sort of sadness whenever they washed over him or maybe someone near him. But his smile was true enough, just as sharp and slightly chilled with what was surely the taste of death on his lips. A taste Schlatt would love to find out but knew he’d only ruin what little he was allowed.
Was that what hurt the most? Knowing he would never be allowed more than this? Knowing that for each soft touch and softer smile he’d been forced to spend another night in the cold or risk losing it all to one stroke of bad luck?
Because that’s all Schlatt was in the end, bad luck. They didn’t deserve him, or maybe more accurately he didn’t deserve them. They did deserve the incidents that followed him like a plague threatening to burn their home and ruin their peace.
He didn’t deserve the warm cloak that weighed heavy on his shoulders that Phil had refused to let him return. He didn’t deserve Wilbur’s hugs or Tommy’s tricks or Tubbo’s careful connection that felt more like family than anything he’d tried to touch before. It felt fragile, in a way. But… the good kind of fragile he could barely remember from before…
Before the horns and sharp teeth and sharper eyes. Warmth and kindness, simple and allowed and something he could only long for now. Something that he might find as he sat on their couch in their home next to his son, his Technoblade who either didn’t remember him or didn’t care for him. Someone he couldn’t help but look for and wonder ‘what if’?
𝓘 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻
Perhaps it was poetic that it was another blistering day when Techno finally decided to confront him. Poetic in the same way that it was when Phil gave him that heavy cloak on a chilled winter day, or night this time. Just like with Phil, the only difference was the sun high in the sky rather than the moon peeking over the horizon. A different time of day but nothing else to break the illusion.
Spring had just barely begun, flower bulbs breaking out of the earth and leaves cautiously returning to the trees, but it seemed the temperature had not gotten the memo. Wind just barely attempted to cool them off. Shade was an oasis that any sane person would stick to with a fervor. Only Phil had left the property, spreading his wings to do some chore list that was surely important but Schlatt didn’t know anything about.
Of course, Schlatt stopped claiming to be sane a long time ago which might be why he was outside in the heat instead of inside with the others enjoying this simple thing called air conditioning. Or maybe that was his version of sanity, seeing as how being cool in this weather was another thing too nice for him. If he went inside, the whole unit might burst into flames. It’s certainly happened before.
It wasn’t as large of a surprise as it should’ve been when Techno joined him outside. He knew his son was part piglin, part cursed whatever Schlatt was, so his temperament against the heat was a given. Techno was barely even sweating.
There was a small bit of envy at how well Techno was faring against the hot day but that was more from the awkward way his button up was sticking to him than anything else. His head was foggy, dehydration a bitch but he didn’t dare go back inside. He would say he almost didn’t notice Techno’s approach but those boots against the ground were almost too loud instead. They grated against his ears but made it no surprise when his son finally spoke.
“I know you,” Those three words felt damning for some reason, like there was a big secret that Schlatt was trying to hide. Maybe there was one in their blood relation or Schlatt’s forever cursed immortality. He hadn’t tried to keep it a secret. It was just something he knew to not acknowledge. Nothing more than that… right?
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Schlatt quipped back, starting a conversation that would escalate between casual deference and increasingly frustrated questioning. He didn’t know why he was deflecting but it was natural somehow.
(𝓞𝓱, 𝓞𝓱)
It ends the same way it did before, with Techno turning away and leaving Schlatt behind. But at the same time it doesn’t because it doesn’t feel like being abandoned or a decision Schlatt never got to choose. It’s not for safety's sake or the clawing regret in his chest.
Their conversation had been tense, of course. That’s just how it is in a one sided interrogation where everything in Schlatt was begging him to lie and run because if Techno ended up actually caring for him by the end of it all or, worse yet, forgiving him then that just might tip it all over. That might be the final straw to break this illusion of family.
But he didn’t. He refused to run away a second time, not when everything was so different from all those years ago. Techno was grown, strong and hardy with every muscle built up from decades of training. Schlatt could look at him and almost relax knowing that at the very least Techno could keep himself safe.
Whatever the end result was, Schlatt didn’t know. All he had was the dull realization that Techno knew and didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did? Behind that bone mask and blood red eyes that always hid everything and anything behind a veneer of ‘fine’. It was something they had in common, that constant deflection.
But still, Techno left and Schlatt could only sit there in the heat and think. Thinking was something he did a lot so maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Unless it was seeing as how his thoughts were spinning and convincing him that this could only go wrong. Schlatt bit his lip, tearing himself away from Techno’s retreating figure,
And a bucket of water splashed over his head.
𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻
A sharp tinge of relief from the sudden chill was swiftly burnt out by the rough call that left him, accusatory as the bucket hit just next to him with a loud bang off a tree root or rock. He jolted to his feet, ignoring how his shirt was plastered to his skin and how it tugged in that too tight manner it always did.
Peels of laughter left Tommy as he tumbled out of his hiding place, nearly hiding Tubbo’s soft giggling in the tree and the low rumble from Techno. They broke out in a dead sprint towards the house and Schlatt tried and failed to push his hair away from his eyes. He stumbled after them, each twig they missed trying to trip him up.
Tubbo was the one to fall victim to him, shoe slipping on a rock and directly into Schlatt’s arms. He swept the kid up, ignoring the squeals of ‘wet’ and ‘gross’ in favor of trying to soak Tubbo through proximity. It was his fault, after all. He had to deal with the consequences.
A now familiar sound of beating wings filled the air, causing him to lose his grip on Tubbo. The kid escaped to the safety of the indoors just before Techno closed the door on him. Schlatt twisted to see Phil land heavily on the ground, bag brimming with items at his hip. The winged man stumbled and straightened,
Maybe Schlatt imagined the way pink dusted over Phil’s cheeks when they locked eyes. He had to have, right?
𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓜𝓮?
Phil made him wait outside as he got a towel, the water sticking stubbornly to Schlatt against the heat in a way that could not be natural. So Schlatt sat on the porch steps, toed off his shoes, and watched the sun slowly march its way down the sky. It felt strange, somehow. A floaty feeling that made all the bad a bit easier to tolerate as he thought of the family inside the house he craved to be his.
Wilbur came out at some point, the towel promised in hand but Phil not so much. There was a quip and a joke at Phil’s expense on his lips that Schlatt didn’t quite understand but his confusion served only to make Wilbur more amused. That he also didn’t understand even as he soaked up the water in his hair.
Miraculously, the towel didn’t work very well, they never did. He would always be uncomfortably wet for uncomfortably long until the water vapor physically couldn’t linger any longer. The thought was nice though.
And at some point, as the sun just barely started to dip below the horizon, Phil came outside to join him.
𝓘’𝓶 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓯 𝓐𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂
Pinks and oranges and yellows danced in the sky, falling over the landscape in a lush of color that was breathtakingly beautiful. But as Schlatt turned to see Phil next to him, he couldn’t help but think that the land and nothing on the color in Phil’s eyes. A radiant blue that sparkled like gemstones.
Straw colored hair seemed to reflect gold, the pinks highlighting a delicate flush of cheeks. It danced over light scars, one across his nose and the other marking down his cheek. A warrior should not seem so soft, Schlatt decided. Yet for Phil, he seemed to pull it off. He was death yet made it seem so endearing.
And when he smiled and turned to Schlatt, his heart stuttered in his chest. A blooming moment that locked his lips close and turned his voice to mute. Anything word, any sound felt it might break this fragile moment. A moment he didn’t even know what was but so desperately wished to preserve.
𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓖𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶) 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻
Calloused hands brushed over his own and Schlatt wondered if maybe he read the situation wrong. That traitorous hope singing in his heart that this one thing could be for him. Maybe Techno was just a friend. Maybe those quiet looks and soft smiles were from decades spent by eachother’s side and not stolen kisses in the dead of night. Maybe maybe maybe.
Schlatt smiled back, a tight lipped thing refusing to show sharpened teeth as if they were knives set to cut through his heart. A heart that speeds and beats in his ears in a growing cadence. Phil seemed to soften, eyes crinkling in a way they always did when he was happy.
Not a word passed between them.
𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓟𝓸𝓵𝔂𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻
Wings fluffed up, moving to cup them but dancing just before they could actually touch. Light suddenly blocked out only succeeding in taking his heart away as blue grew truer and the rosy color dancing over his nose became impossible to deny. Heat rose to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature,
A hand rose almost against his will to brush the feathers, claws seeming far too dangerous to dare mark the beautiful things. The wing moved closer, feathers as soft as he’d imagined. He traced them reverently, eyes following the motion.
Slowly, as if in a daze, Schlatt let his eyes track back to Phil. His hand moved to delicately trace his jaw as if a silent question.
‘ Can I have this? ’
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓻 (𝓗𝓲𝓶) 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻
Phil leaned in, letting claws that could cut through skin and muscle like a hot knife through butter thumb against his cheek in careful sweeps. Straw colored hair met curly locks and forehead delicately bumped together. Schlatt could jerk his head and easily send a horn through Phil’s eyes but he would never dare.
Locking eyes felt like a storm in his chest finally breaking free and stealing the air from his chest. He felt as if he should say something but he didn’t know what. Phil didn’t seem to think words or necessary.
Thin chapped lips met his own, cold against heated skin. His eyes fell closed, the sun dipped below the horizon, and he pressed back.
As Phil felt that ball of love burst in his chest, a beautiful thing that he couldn’t begin to describe, he could help but sigh. Something quiet and loving and entirely true.
𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮…
And Schlatt felt his heart stop in his chest.