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Sometimes, when he thinks Aether is asleep, Lyney rolls onto his side and reaches out to tangle their fingers together. It’s the kind of self-indulgent gesture he could never allow himself when Aether is awake, not only because they’re in that weird, ambiguous stage between maybe friends and maybe more, but because he just barely gained Aether’s trust back.
He’s leaned on Aether too much already, despite not knowing him for very long, and Aether’s hands are full enough without the weight of Lyney’s against it.
Aether is used to people relying on him all the time, so used to people using him and deceiving him, so used to giving all of himself, only to receive less than nothing in return, and it aches Lyney to know that he’s a name on the ever-growing list of people who have hurt him.
The night is quiet and still at the Hotel Bouffes d'ete, where Aether has been staying with Lyney and his siblings for long enough now that Lyney is starting to get used to Aether’s habits, his quirks, which is how he finds out that Aether has frequent nightmares.
Every night, Lyney jerks awake to the sound of Aether’s breathing growing harsh and shallow, his fingers twitching slightly, like he’s reaching for something that always escapes his grasp. His blond eyebrows furrow, and Lyney resists the urge to reach out and smooth the creases between his brows.
Instead, Lyney laces their fingers briefly together, carefully, delicately, so he doesn’t wake Aether, tracing soft patterns against his palm, and Aether immediately stills, his hand warm and comforting against Lyney’s own.
It’s only for a moment, but for that moment, it’s nice.
*
It’s not like Lyney planned on falling in love.
When he first set eyes on Aether, it felt like the world had blurred, making Lyney’s vision center on one thing only, and he couldn’t see anything but Aether and his hesitant smile — small, sweet, and beautiful.
Aether’s smile had been so genuine, it had taken Lyney aback. As a magician, Lyney isn’t used to being around truth and sincerity. Everything he does with his hands is a trick, an illusion. But when he introduced himself and took Aether’s hand in his, he felt something like sparks exploding between their fingertips, and he wondered to himself if Aether could feel them too, or if it was Lyney’s own hands playing tricks on him.
So, it’s safe to say that Lyney was smitten from the very start. Lyney knows Aether, knows that he’d do anything for anyone. Aether cares for everyone desperately and closely, and Lyney never meant to betray his trust.
“I’ve been having these dreams where Paimon keeps trying to eat my hand,” Aether says, after a few weeks of Lyney linking their fingers together in the darkness.
Lyney freezes.
He’s sitting across from Aether in front of a quaint café, with a lavish spread of macarons, assorted cheeses, and fruits spread out on a platter in front of them. Subconsciously, he finds himself thinking back to a time when he could barely afford a single meal for him and Lynette to share.
Lyney coughs and blindly fumbles with a sugar packet before pouring it into his tea, pretending not to notice when half of the packet’s contents land on the table instead of his cup.
“It’s a little odd. I’ve been having the same dream for a bit,” Aether continues, and Lyney finally slants a sideways glance to where Aether is slowly breaking a macaron in half, flicking the crumbs off his fingers before staring straight at Lyney.
If Lyney hadn’t looked up, he would’ve missed the expression on Aether’s face, his amber eyes focused, like he was trying to read Lyney, trying to see through him. Lyney feels like he’ll be turned into stone by that gaze if he doesn’t look away soon.
Aether is sizing him up, and Lyney can understand why. Aether has been through too much to simply open his heart up to Lyney again, won’t make the same mistakes twice, and let his guard down that easily to just anyone.
Lyney knows how to act — he’s loud and smooths things over with his words, he knows exactly how to spin a conversation to get what he wants. Sometimes, Lyney feels like he’s wearing a mask. He’s perfected the art of tilting his head just so, letting the spotlights from the stage wash away his true feelings and expressions. But part of his magic act always depends on the audience, and their willingness to believe in something they know is false. Which is probably why it doesn’t work on Aether.
He can feel himself turning an unflattering light shade of crimson, and he swallows a laugh, immediately going to deflect with his usual charm, because that’s what he knows best. “Well, I know just the thing to keep your mind off your odd dreams,” Lyney says with a flourish, summoning a rainbow rose out of thin air. He hands it to Aether with a wink and a bow of his head.
Aether’s eyes narrow at the rose in Lyney’s hands. He looks thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” he says, eyeing the flower warily. “You don’t have to do this. You’re not on stage. It’s just you and me.”
But everyone is always watching, Lyney wants to say.
Everyone knows him as the brilliant Great Magician Lyney, but the person behind all that romance and unattainable nature is nothing. His act and deception are all that separate him and Lynette from oblivion.
This is all he knows — the acting, the theatrics. As time goes on, Lyney finds that the mask is getting harder and harder to take off, and he’s not sure Aether will like what he sees behind it.
“But a beautiful boy deserves a beautiful flower, don’t you agree?” he says instead.
Aether just closes his eyes and tugs at his braid with a frown. He reluctantly takes the flower from Lyney’s hands. Their fingers brush, and the sparks that Lyney had felt the day they first met are still there.
Lyney keeps on smiling, but it feels like rubber against his face.
*
After that, Lyney stops tangling his fingers with Aether’s in the middle of the night. But the problem with that, is that Lyney finds himself unable to sleep without the warmth and pressure there to keep him grounded.
Stupid.
Lyney knows he’s relied on Aether for far too much already. Aether had dropped everything to help prove Lyney’s innocence, even when they had only met days prior. He had accepted his role and responsibility with such grace, holding Lyney and Lynette together, one well-thought-out rebuttal at a time. It’s kind of embarrassing, to be honest, exactly how much Lyney needs Aether to ground him.
Before Lyney found magic, he had been forgettable. But he’s since learned how to adjust, how to make himself memorable, to twist his words — a silver tongue.
When Lyney performs, he’s praised for being exceedingly friendly, charismatic, glamorous. Lyney knows how to work the audience, knows what angles to conceal and reveal to pull off the perfect trick, knows how to distract the audience so they don’t notice Lynette on the other side of the room, knows how to deceive.
And when the show is over, he knows how to turn on the charm, to smile and bow, and thank the audience for their time. He greets his fans on the street with air-blown kisses and too-loud laughter. His act works like a charm on everyone.
Well, nearly everyone. It doesn’t seem to work on the one person that matters most.
He knows that authenticity and trust are virtues that Aether holds in high regard, but Lyney isn’t sure he can give him that. Lyney isn’t ready to be vulnerable. He remembers hiding in the bathroom when he was younger, staring into a mirror, practicing his smile to make himself more endearing, more vibrant, because it’s one of the most important parts of being a performer. And slowly, it became easier and easier to slide that smile onto his face.
He finds himself doing that sometimes, without thinking — smiling at nothing in particular. Aether catches him a few times, catches Lyney blindly smiling at a bare wall or at the floor, and he frowns and walks in the other direction.
Aether doesn’t seem to have a problem being unapologetically himself, and that kind of sincerity leaves an impression on Lyney.
*
They have another sold-out show tonight, and Lyney weaves through the streets with Lynette toward the Opera Epiclese to prepare for the night’s show.
A crowd of adoring fans has already formed in front of the opera house, and Lyney spies Aether standing to the side, face impassive, observing. He feels Aether’s eyes boring into his back, his sharp eyes tracking Lyney’s movements, watching as Lyney blows kisses to the crowd, taking an audience member’s hand in his own and pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles, giving her a wink as she giggles shyly and preens.
It’s not like she means anything to Lyney. This is a game, and these are the rules.
Lyney gives the crowd one last wave and makes his way toward Aether, with Lynette following close behind. “Traveler,” Lynette says with a nod, and Aether gives her a tiny smile and a wave. “Where’s Paimon?”
“Oh, she found the concession stand inside,” he says, tilting his head towards the entrance of the opera house. “She’s probably indulging in some madeleines or mille-feuille.” Aether pauses and frowns slightly. “I really hope she’s not spending all my Mora.”
Lynette laughs, and Aether’s frown morphs into a soft smile. In a world full of lies and falsehoods, Aether is a breath of fresh air, something real.
The slight pout on Aether’s face makes his already round cheeks puff out slightly, and Lyney is filled with an overwhelming wave of affection for the traveler standing in front of him. Lyney wants to swallow the dryness in his throat, wants to be able to think, so he can say the right thing to Aether. But instead, he ends up staring at Aether’s mouth.
Aether doesn’t notice Lyney staring, too busy worrying about his companion potentially spending all his Mora on Fontaine’s specialty pastries. When Lyney manages to compose himself enough to trust his mouth to open and say actual words instead of babbling all the things he doesn’t want, he reaches out for Aether’s hand. Aether’s eyes immediately snap towards him.
“You should’ve told us you were coming! If I knew, I would’ve talked to the host and had all your concessions paid for on the house,” Lyney says, leaning forward to press a kiss against the back of Aether’s hand. Aether sucks in a sharp breath and pulls his hand away before Lyney can press his lips against scarred knuckles.
“You can save it for your adoring fans,” Aether says harshly, but he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds disappointed, hurt. He turns and walks away from Lyney, and Lyney feels like he’s missed an important part of the puzzle.
He stares as Aether disappears through the entrance of the opera house and slowly lowers his arm, balling his hands into fists against his sides.
“It’s okay,” Lynette tells him quietly. She has an arm wrapped around his shoulder, her hands pressing reassuringly into the space where Lyney’s shoulder meets his neck. It reminds him of how the two of them used to huddle together under awnings when it’d rain, trying to shiver off the cold because they had nowhere else to go.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lyney says.
Lynette nods. “I know,” she replies. But she doesn’t explain.
*
It hasn’t always been this complicated.
When Lyney was young, it had only taken a few small performances on the side of the street to figure out that he and Lynette were good at this whole magic thing.
It was a lot harder in the beginning to keep up his act, to keep up with the constant deception and trickery, hiding behind elaborate performances to fulfill missions for the Fatui.
Lyney’s smile always slid off too easily, and he’d have to stand in front of a mirror to reconstruct the artifice, to bring that smile back to his face so he could continue to charm and work the audience, reminding himself that this is what he needs to do to survive. He would bring his hands up to his face, hooking his fingers at the edge of his lips, stretching them up and out into a wide smile. When he moved his hands, the smile stayed.
Lyney found himself spending more and more time in front of the mirror, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt. But as time went on, it slowly got easier, and at the end of the day, the smile became harder and harder to remove.
Back then, his smile and performance were what kept him and Lynette off the streets, what helped fill their stomachs, what gave them love and validation and acknowledgment.
But now, as Lyney watches Aether walk away, he wonders when the law of physics changed on him, when his smile started to do more harm than good.
*
Lyney stumbles backstage after the show and pushes into his dressing room, immediately heading for the sink tucked into the corner of the room.
His stage makeup feels heavy on his skin today, like it’s caked onto his face, weighing him down, clogging his pores, and settling over his skin uncomfortably. Turning on the tap, Lyney scrubs at his face hard with a cloth.
When he glances back up at the mirror, it seems as if none of the makeup has come off at all, which is ridiculous, because he’s used up nearly all the soap, and he can see the beige powders rubbed off onto the cloth.
So he runs the tap again and brings his hands to his face, using his fingernails for a deeper clean. It’s almost hypnotizing, watching as the cool, clear water swirls down the drain, and he feels a bit like he’s suffocating, like there’s a pressure on his ribcage that he can’t quite alleviate.
There’s a loud pounding on his door, and Lyney straightens abruptly, nearly smacking his head against the tap from where he had his entire face ducked inside the basin. Lyney isn’t sure how long he zoned out for, but it must’ve been a while if the frantic knocks on his door are any indication.
It’s okay. Lynette can wait a few more minutes for him to clean up before they head back home together.
Aether smashes into the room a few seconds later, chest heaving, his hair falling out of its usually neat braid, blond strands thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. His knuckles are red and nearly bruised. For once, he isn’t looking at Lyney like he’s trying to figure Lyney out. He looks worried.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for ten min—” Aether blinks, and then his eyes widen. He stumbles forward and grabs Lyney’s face with both hands, pulling Lyney towards him. Lyney trips on his feet and faintly registers warm, calloused palms against his cheeks. “What happened?”
“What?” Lyney asks, confused. The feel of Aether’s skin against his own is distracting. He notices the water from his face dripping down Aether’s wrists and forearms, and he has a belated thought that Aether is going to get his hands dirty from all the residual makeup that has yet to be washed off.
“I’m not done cleaning up yet,” Lyney says. He grabs onto Aether’s wrists in an attempt to move him, but Aether holds his ground, his eyes still wide and stunned and devastatingly fixed on Lyney. “I’m going to get makeup all over your hands.”
Aether is silent for a few moments, and he opens and closes his mouth, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, his gaze unwavering. “Lyney, your face is rubbed raw. The makeup has been washed off a long time ago,” he says quietly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Lyney blinks. He turns towards the mirror and stares. The makeup really is gone. His skin is slightly inflamed, ruddy, and red from his fingernails digging against his skin. As he studies himself in the mirror, Lyney notices that he’s still smiling, the smile that he plasters onto his face before he walks out on stage and greets the guests of the opera house.
“Oh,” Lyney says, because he can’t quite think of anything else to say. The makeup is all washed off, but Lyney still doesn’t think he looks like himself.
“Lyney,” Aether says softly, and Lyney’s eyes snap back to golden irises. “Why are you doing that?”
Lyney makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat, confused. “Doing what?”
“Smiling. Like you do for the crowd.”
As quickly as it had come, the smile drops from Lyney’s face, leaving his expression tired and muted, and it feels good to relax his demeanor, his muscles. To feel like he doesn’t have to be on all the time. “Sometimes, I forget how to do anything else,” he says truthfully, and Aether sucks in a quiet breath.
“I see,” he says, studying Lyney with a particular single-minded ferocity.
Aether continues to hold Lyney’s face in his hands, his fingers gliding feather-light against Lyney’s jaw, his thumbs tracing Lyney’s cheeks, massaging the muscles there, sore from keeping his mouth turned upright. Lyney stays so still, he thinks he might’ve stopped breathing. He doesn’t lean into Aether’s touch even though he so desperately wants to, afraid that if he makes any sort of movement, he’ll ruin the moment, and Aether will turn around and walk away from him, maybe for good.
But Aether doesn’t do that. He keeps rubbing small, soothing circles against Lyney’s jaw, and Lyney closes his eyes, finds himself falling deeper and deeper into a headspace where everything is comfortingly blank except for the feeling of Aether’s strong hands against his face.
It’s been a while since he’s been able to let himself go like this.
Suddenly, something warm presses against his lips, and Lyney feels a shiver curl through his entire body, from his head to the very tips of his toes. Those sparks are back, and Aether is kissing him, very softly, nothing more than a hesitant brush of lips.
Lyney is too stunned to move, too stunned to do anything but open his mouth in a silent gasp. Aether tastes like vanilla cream, and Lyney has a random thought that he’s glad Paimon shared some of the mille-feuilles with Aether, instead of devouring them all by herself. Lyney’s eyes flutter open slightly, and from this distance, he can make out the blur of Aether’s eyelashes.
It’s the gentlest kiss anyone has ever given him, and it makes something inside Lyney ache, but it’s a sweet kind of pain. Aether’s mouth is warm and soft and gentle, just like he is, and his nose is pressing against Lyney’s cheek, like one last piece of a puzzle slotting into place, and Lyney’s head spins.
His hands come up to hover over Aether’s shoulders, a hair’s breadth away from actually touching. Aether kisses him slowly, deliberately, his lips soft, their pressure firm. The sweet scent of Aether fills Lyney’s nostrils, and when Aether slowly pulls back, Lyney has to resist the urge to chase after his mouth.
“You don’t have to do that in front of me, you know,” Aether mumbles against Lyney’s lips.
Lyney’s brain is screaming at him to bring his persona back to the surface, to smile and laugh and tease, but he finds himself unable to do so. “Do what?” he asks breathlessly.
“You don’t have to act,” Aether says, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t have to smile for invisible audiences. It’s just me.”
Those words seem to do something to Lyney, and the barrier falls completely. He frantically grabs at the front of Aether’s shirt, pressing their lips back together. Aether shifts, moving against him and with him, hands sinking into Lyney’s hair and tugging, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and at that point, it’s all Lyney can do to hold on.
They kiss for a long time, minutes, maybe ten, maybe twenty, Lyney doesn’t bother counting. When they part, Aether softly brushes his thumb over Lyney’s lower lip.
“I finally have the real you,” he says softly, and Lyney wants to cry. Almost does, actually. He bites his tongue hard to stop the heat of tears, and nods, his hands still clutching at Aether’s shirt. Aether turns Lyney towards the mirror and hooks his chin over Lyney’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Lyney’s waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “This is the you that I want to see,” Aether says softly, finger thumbing at Lyney’s hipbone, and Lyney lets out a watery laugh.
“Okay,” Lyney says. He’s suddenly so tired, like he’s finally standing flat on his feet after years of being on his toes. He pauses. “But you don’t think my pick-up lines are that bad, right?” he asks with a frown.
A loud laugh punches out of Aether’s throat, and Lyney feels it as a vibration against his back, comforting. “They’re alright. Some are better than others. I like it better when you give it to me straight.”
That’s it, that’s it. Aether doesn’t like dancing around subjects, or reading between the lines, or making people guess his ulterior motives. He just knows how to be himself. And for Aether, Lyney can learn to be himself again, too.
Lyney meets Aether’s eyes through the mirror’s reflection and smiles, a real smile, for what feels like the first time.
Lyney thinks he’ll probably never be laid open to another person this way again. That’s how he feels when he’s with Aether — bare, real, like he can take off the mask and just be.
*
That night, when Lyney thinks Aether is asleep, he laces their fingers together again.
He feels Aether stir, and Lyney goes to let go of his hand, out of habit. But Aether reaches out and twines their fingers back together, tightening his grip against Lyney’s.
“Um,” Lyney whispers, which isn’t really the first thing he wanted to say, but it seems pretty appropriate in retrospect.
“You’re not Paimon,” Aether says, rubbing his eyes as he blinks awake. His voice is deep with sleep, but there’s a playful lilt to it. “You can hold my hand if it helps you sleep, you know,” he says quietly.
Lyney makes a soft noise under his breath. “You let me lean on you too much,” he says. “You’ve done too much for me already.”
“I want you to,” Aether says, sounding so honest, his thumb grazing softly against the back of Lyney’s hand. “This is as much for me as it is for you.”
For a second, it looks like Aether has something else to say, probably does, but he doesn’t say it, just leans over and kisses Lyney. Lyney isn’t expecting it, but that’s not to say he doesn’t want it. It’s quiet and soft and so much like Aether that it makes Lyney smile, even with their lips pressed together.
They fall asleep like that, fingers intertwined in the space between them, like they’re meeting each other halfway.
When morning comes, Lyney rolls over and presses a soft kiss against Aether’s cheek, sincere and real, and Aether stirs, letting out a quiet laugh as Lyney brings their lips together. Lyney slides his fingers through a handful of Aether’s sun-struck hair, eyes closed tight as they kiss, and he no longer feels like he’s drowning.
Lyney doesn’t have to summon rainbow roses from thin air, doesn’t have to keep a smile plastered to his face, doesn’t have to keep himself so tightly wound. He just has to be himself.
That’s always been enough for Aether.
And that’s all that matters.