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They'd won.
Lio could sense a complicated grief brewing inside him as he stood atop the wreckage and faced the wide blue sky. A clean breeze, carefree and refreshing, tousled his hair as if to tell him to cheer up and celebrate. The destruction was over. The world was saved. No more hurtling headfirst into a cosmic doomsday. No more suffering for his people, and no more Promare. The engine—
"Lio? Hey, where are you going!"
Lio tore across the damaged surface of the Parnassus, boots striking the metal like an alarm bell. The engine. The engine, the engine, that hulking, ravenous thing, the whole reason he was driven to such desperation in the first place. The voices of Lio's people rang in his head as he sought a crack in the hull big enough to pierce through.
Lio found a torn panel and dove straight in. Torn corners of metal and shattered bolts bit at his skin and the leather of his pants. He ignored every discomfort, mind dead set on tearing his way down and down to the belly of the slain metal beast. He scrambled down knotted girders and pipes and dodged sparks and screeching steam. Their battle had rent the polished veneer and orderly steel into a tangled Medusa of chaos. So much dark metal and industrial excess. The true Parnassus, a black hole of resources and greed. Something ugly and twisted and echoing the pain of thousands of expendable lives.
One more path, one more corner, one more crack. The scent of oil and fried wires clung thick in his nose, and his gut told him a yawning space had to be ahead. He had to be getting close.
Lio heard voices before he saw a soul. He dove through a jagged gap and slid down steel paneling, and as the voices got louder, louder, his heart sang with relief. Voices meant life, they had to be alive, his people, his friends, his reason for being and fighting so hard all this time.
One leap and clumsy land later, and Lio burst through a crack in the wall and found himself in the core of Parnassus. The heart of the ship was stone silent dead, but its chamber was bustling with activity. Scientists and Burnish alike were helping the latter out of those wretched pods. Small exhausted groups clustered together amidst the rubble, while others did their best to clear space for more survivors. No one had the energy or focus to spare to notice their leader had come stumbling in for them at last.
Lio took a breath to call out, but something whispered across his face, as small and insubstantial as smoke. Lio rubbed at the spot, and his hand came away smeared with pale grey. His gut turned.
...Oh. It was too high a bar to want to save everyone, he should have realized. Lio pressed the ash between his fingers and gazed around the wreckage once more. He wasn't so naive as to hope it was all dust from the wreckage. The haze in the air, like fog and snowfall, was an indistinguishable mix of rubble dust and the substance of his people. He recognized well what the ashes of a Burnish looked like.
He took a deep breath and allowed the ash to cling to his tongue. Dry, sticky, robbing his mouth of what little moisture it had left.
You could have finished the fight faster, his own voice said to him. You let it drag on too long and let that idiot spout his self-indulgent chatter while your people suffered every precious second. Their blood, on your hands—
No! Lio shook away the snarling guilt. He had done his best. There was no changing what already transpired. The fight was over, there was no more Kray to terrorize them, the cannibalistic engine was demolished, the world was saved. He did his best. That was all anyone could have asked of him. There was no such thing as a perfect fight. His two best friends had taught him that a long time ago.
Standing at the edge of the scattered sea of survivors, Lio was seized with the terribly selfish need to find Meis and Gueira first above all. Those two had to be okay. They were tougher than anyone, likeliest to survive anything hurled their way, but he still— Lio still had to know they were okay before he could do anything else.
His head swiveled and his ears strained for their voices. When that yielded nothing, he swept through the clusters of people amidst the wreckage, sparing flickered smiles of relief when they called out to him, eyes shining with hope upon seeing him unharmed. They had worried for him.
"I'm fine. Have you seen—"
Scraped and bruised arms reached and pointed in unison. They knew exactly who he was searching for. Lio breathlessly thanked them and dashed off. He hadn't thought to spare a moment to check their expressions.
Lio found them on the floor amidst a nest of shattered girders. Conscious, and holding each other, they noticed him as if their compass needles had snapped right to him, and gave him cracked smiles that made Lio believe everything really would be okay.
Relief shot through his ragged veins and flooded all adrenaline out of his system. He staggered over on weak legs and collapsed to his knees, not caring about the chunks of metal and plastic and glass that dug into his skin. His whole body was one big bruise anyways; little pains wouldn't add much to the pile.
Lio's filthy hands slid across their foreheads and into their hairlines, and he quickly touched his head to both of theirs, shaky with emotion and not bothering to hide it.
"You're okay!" he choked out. Alive. Alive had to mean okay.
"Been better, Boss," Meis rasped, leaning heavily against his partner. Gueira's jacket was draped over him, with its owner hovering protectively by his side.
"You're hurt? Where. Show me. Burning Rescue is up above, once they make their way down here they can help you. They can help everyone."
If they were well enough to talk, they'd be okay in the end. Their wounds should already be stitching back together. They'd be on their feet in no time. Nothing could keep a healthy Burnish down.
Gueira shifted where he sat and grunted uncomfortably. Lio opened his mouth, another question wanting to take flight, but a swirling stream of ash interrupted him before he could speak. A thick trail of it, and like a signal fire, it had a source.
The end of Gueira's pant leg.
Lio's stomach plummeted. He rallied it back through sheer force of will, and mustered a stern facade of optimism for their sakes. His hands slid from their heads and roosted tense in his lap.
"It's all right. You two will be okay, we've gone through worse. We always bounce back. Just wait until you're healed enough to walk out of here, then we can..." Lio trailed off. A grimness weighed his generals down that caught and slowed him like an anchor's dredge. His image of a confident leader faltered, replaced with that of a concerned friend scared to know the truth.
They weren't saying anything. Gueira, always the hyperactive chatterbox, and Meis, who always knew what to say in tense situations like these, were both silent, and avoiding his gaze.
Lio swallowed. "...What is it? What's wrong?"
Gueira traded a glance with Meis. Meis nodded and closed his eyes.
"Guys...?"
Gueira set his jaw, and pulled his jacket from Meis' chest. A fresh blizzard of ash swept over them and stuck to their clothes and hair and skin, and to Lio's frozen lips.
Meis' arm had crumbled to nothing just beneath the elbow. Lio's tongue crept over his lip and withered dry at the ash that clung to it, the remnants of his friend's flesh and blood, cremated alive by the force of that damned, abominable engine. Lio stared dumbstruck, waiting for some sign of reconstruction. It shouldn't be taking this long. The Promare were supposed to...
In his stupor, a calloused hand took his own and guided it to the soft leather of Gueira's pants. Together, they pressed flat to the cold hard floor underneath. The sensation of gritty metal fragments where a strong leg should be nauseated him. This couldn't be. They'd all been through so much worse.
"There is no more waiting to get better, Boss," Gueira rasped. Meis shivered and pulled the jacket back over himself and the brittle remains of his arm. "This is it."
They looked so defeated. So small. Huddled there in a swath of metal and ash, they were so unlike the vibrant fighters Lio knew and loved.
And whose fault was that?
A loud clatter to the kitchen floor shattered Lio's memories, and the rest were swept away by a colorful, familiar cuss.
The room was bright. The windows ushered in autumn fresh air, and the scent of spiced chili wafted from the stove, and from the spoon on the floor. It looked like a miniature crime scene, one that Meis was quick to stoop to with another choice curse.
Meis nabbed up the spoon, dropped it in the sink, opened their utensil drawer (that always jammed and took three tries to open), fished out a new one, and bumped the drawer closed with his hip. It was a seamless action that took all of six seconds. And all of one hand to do it.
Lio glanced at the stain left upon the tile floor. If he approached and tried to take care of it, Meis would let him know he had it covered, and out of respect, Lio would back off and only watch as Meis made good on the claim. So he didn't try to offer. Too many useless spats had taught him better.
It was a little tough trying to be helpful when Meis interpreted any minor obstacle as a chance to prove he could do it alone. Stubborn to the bone, but he had the right to be.
Lio sat back and pretended he only cared about his phone screen. Gueira should be home with groceries soon, according to his last text that consisted entirely of a dozen running man emojis. Hopefully he wasn't rushing himself like the text implied; Gueira had claimed he'd gotten used to his prosthetic leg, but Lio wished he would be more cautious. If not with the new leg, then with what little remained of the original.
Lio peeked over at the kitchen again. Meis stood at the stove, stirring the pot with the one arm needed for the task. His hair was gathered back with a clawed hairclip, not an elastic, and the apron he wore wasn't tied in the back. The stain on the floor was already cleaned up.
Meis' prosthetic was still haphazardly stuffed in its box in a closet, Lio knew. Just like Gueira's, it was a sleek piece of technology, top of the line, and branded with the logo of the Foresight Foundation's R&D department. A gift, an apology, and a PR move all wrapped into one.
Gueira had thrown himself into the physical therapy and practice needed to walk unassisted on his prosthetic. Meis had tried the same for two months before throwing the thing out of sight. Lio remembered clear as day the grimace and frustration on their partner's narrow face when pressed for a reason why.
"That thing isn't for my benefit. It's for others' sakes, not mine. To make them feel less bad when they look at me. Fuck that. If they're uncomfortable seeing a body like mine in public, then tough shit. They can get used to seeing me like this. Clunky piece of shit only gets in my way."
"I'll set the table," Lio proclaimed. It was easier to help when he stated what he was doing, instead of turning it into an opportunity for Meis to weigh his need to prove himself as capable.
"...Sure, if you insist."
Lio made sure not to accidentally brush against Meis' bad side as he navigated the cabinets.
Right as he set the final plate down, the front door flung open and Gueira charged through, plastic bags swinging and flinging sunshine into the room with his presence alone.
"I'm hoooome! Fuck that smells good, am I right on time?"
"If you were a minute later there'd be none left for you," Meis joked, twisting the burner off and standing aside for Gueira to come bounding over. The glossy white leg caught Lio's eye, and he forced himself to ignore it. His friends were happy in this moment. That was good enough.
Lio shook off the vestiges of his guilt and grabbed two bowls for his two beloved idiots. It would do him no good to dwell on the unchangeable past of his own making. With luck, he could put it all behind him.
Some time later, a jacket appeared. Denim, dusty blue, and stiff with newness.
Lio and Gueira traded nervous glances the first time Meis had come home with it, but their partner's head was held higher than usual, so they said nothing beyond a few compliments. It fit him well, it looked good on him, and with autumn underway, staying warm was a good idea; this would be their first winter having to stay warm manually, after all. Good to get ahead of the curve.
Standing still, both sleeves hung to equal lengths. Lio and Gueira pretended not to notice.
The real concern began when Meis started wearing it around their apartment. They kept the heat cranked up as a comfort for what was lost (bills be damned, they refused to be cold), yet Meis kept his new jacket on like armor. After some secret negotiations, Lio and Gueira had landed on who was going to bring it up first. Oldest friend, or trusted Boss-no-longer?
Lio took over; his sense of responsibility won out over Gueira's fretting concern. He waited until their third had returned from a jaunt outside to toss his observation at Meis' feet.
"I thought you didn't care what other people thought when they saw it," Lio said from the hallway. Blunt was always best.
"I don't." Meis adjusted the denim over his shoulders. A flicker of a flinch did not slip past Lio's notice.
"It's warm enough inside." Lio made sure to keep his tone curious, not accusatory. "No need for a coat in here."
"Maybe I've started running colder." Slippery. Slippery and dodgy, like he always was when he had something to run from—or something to hide.
"It's not like you to willingly cover your shoulders." Lio nodded at the jacket. "It doesn't get in the way?"
Meis glanced askance at the mirror hung in the entryway. At himself, and his obscured missing parts.
"...No."
Liar.
He could believe Meis' claim that he didn't care what other people thought. Not caring about strangers' judgements was one of Meis' core attributes, a punk through and through. Fuck the system, protect the vulnerable, fight the abuse from those in power. There was a lot to still fight for, legal battles and reparations and community re-integrations, so all of Meis' habits should still be rallying strong.
Meis shifted his weight, and glanced in the mirror like he thought his reflection might lash out at him if it noticed his attention.
Lio's mouth halted open when he realized that, oh... it wasn't about other people. Meis didn't like seeing himself like this. At less than his best, when he was already so prone to pressuring himself whenever close to those he perceived as stronger.
Lio fell back on old habits and jerked his head a certain way. Follow me. Meis' eye widened, but he shook it off and strode forth after him. Yes, Boss.
He led them to their shared bedroom. A place of refuge and familiarity. Most nights, they would bundle up together like they were on the run again, like all those nights where they simply didn't know if tomorrow would be the day they lost the chance to ever hold each other again.
Today, Gueira was away at the gym and wouldn't be back for another hour. His additional support would be sorely missed, but Lio had already started this. Whatever 'this' turned out to be. 'This' had to be for Meis; it had nothing to do with assuaging his own sense of guilt. Or so he told himself. Ordered himself.
They sat upon the edge of the bed, big enough for three to sleep apart, which they never did. Meis gravitated to Lio's right side, as he always did, but this time, it felt less habitual and more deliberate. Meis sitting on his right meant his amputated arm was out of Lio's sight on top of being hidden inside the denim sleeve. It wasn't missed; Lio had every detail of it memorized anyways.
The scar that capped the extent of the damage was more akin to a blurry burned patch than a defined surgical line. Their bodies had crumbled to ash, not been severed or sawed. The last generous act the Promare had managed was ensuring there was no bleeding. The doctors had called them the cleanest amputations they'd ever seen.
(That didn't prevent phantom pains from haunting them, or the soreness and struggle of adapting to tools meant to replace what was lost—tools of varying usefulness and convenience. Gueira loved his leg. Meis hated that arm.)
Lio scooted close enough for Meis to relax slightly. He may have relied on old gestures to get Meis to follow, but his concern was that of a friend and partner, not a leader.
"I know you don't like it when we beat around the bush," Lio said.
"So get it over with."
"That depends on you being willing to talk."
"Just tell me what you want," Meis groused, fussing with his silky hair.
Lio sighed and placed a light hand upon Meis' thigh. It twitched, then settled under his touch. He wasn't sure yet, how to treat this. Like ripping off a band-aid, or like easing someone into a hot bath? He didn't want to be insensitive, but he didn't want to baby Meis and piss him off that way, either.
"You've been bothered by... something." Lio's hand slid up until it reached the bottom hem of the new jacket. He toyed with the stiff, shielding fabric, and that alone was enough to finish the real meaning of his sentence. You wouldn't wear this unless something bothered you.
"So what if I am?" Meis deflected. He was always a tough clam to crack into, unlike Gueira, who would burst open as if waiting for the pinprick of a concerned question.
"If you're bothered, we're bothered. We don't like sitting back and watching you struggle with something on your own."
Meis stiffened. Lio retracted his hand.
"I'm not struggling."
"Then why are you—"
"I don't need you two to fuss over me!" Meis' jaw clenched, and he gripped the sleeve that was half air. "I can manage just fine."
"Meis... This isn't about how capable you are," Lio said, once the disconnect dawned on him. "Something's been eating at you. We can tell. And we won't sit by and do nothing, we'd be assholes otherwise. So, please..." He carefully replaced his hand on Meis, this time on his lower back, with a slow stroking thumb. "Let us know what's been up with you."
Meis sat in rigid silence. Lio tried again. "This doesn't have to leave this room if you don't want it to. You know Gueira's fine not knowing the details so long as you're alright."
Patient, Lio imagined the ticking of a clock passing the seconds by. They didn't own any real, ticking clocks—bad memories for one of them—but to Lio the sound was therapeutic stability, even if he could only hear it in his own head. Time moved forward even if nothing else did.
Some dozen or so imaginary ticks and tocks had ticked by before Meis let out a quiet breath, with equally quiet words.
"Okay. Whatever. It stays in this room."
Lio didn't let himself relax yet. He stayed close, and kept stroking Meis' lower back. Firm palm, but light strokes. I'm here, but no rush.
"What's been on your mind?" Lio prodded.
"Where do I start," Meis dryly replied.
"Wherever you want. You know I'm good at connecting the dots."
"Yeah, 'cause you're paranoid." Meis chuckled weakly. His opposite arm twitched, then his left reached up instead to comb through the silk of his hair. "I like that about you, though. Always on the watch to keep us safe..."
"And happy," Lio reminded. "Now that we aren't in mortal peril anymore, I can focus on making you guys happy."
He'd already fucked up immensely by being the reason Gueira and Meis had lost major parts of their body. Since their losses weighed squarely on his shoulders, it felt paramount that he fight harder than ever for their happiness.
"Yeah. Always the attentive Boss," Meis said, with the slightest touch of nostalgia.
"Attentive, but I can't do everything on my own." Lio leaned closer, in part because he was needier than he let on (always needier), and wanted Meis' closeness to keep steady. "Help me help you? Please?"
"Ugh, don't say it like that... Alright. I cave. I have been bothered. By... Ugh, what else." Meis suddenly jerked his right arm forward. A portion of the sleeve flopped over limp, and Meis stared at the dangling cuff like he wished it would fill back out on its own. "It's been a long time already, but I still..."
Meis shook his head and whisked his injured arm back out of sight against his side. He tugged at the sleeve self-consciously, and Lio guessed that he was fussing with the fabric to make it look more occupied.
"It's okay that it's been a long time. There's no deadline for adapting or feeling better. Now that we're not being hunted, we can take our time with things like this."
"Easy for you to say. Look at Gueira. He's been... thriving," Meis muttered. "He was a gloomy wreck when he couldn't be on his feet. Crutches helped for a while, but now that he can walk and run around again, it's like he's able to forget what he's missing." Meis' grip tightened around the remainder of his arm through its sleeve. "I know he can't really forget, when it still hurts sometimes. You've been really good with us, Boss, when this shit starts hurting. But Gueira's just... He's doing well, and I'm not."
Lio tilted closer, reeled in by a loved one's pain. The shame coloring Meis' voice was a thorny net around Lio's own heart, and the question of why didn't you say something sooner didn't need to be asked. Meis hated being a burden. Meis hated feeling like he was falling behind. If everyone else seemed okay, he would wire his jaws shut against anything lurking inside him that might escape and bring the others down with concern for him. It was a habit Lio wished he would break, but it wasn't a habit to be broken—more something to be coaxed out of instead, with time and patience and the demonstration of love.
"You don't have to be doing well. I know I said I want you both to be happy, but if you're not, that's not letting me down by any means. You're allowed to still be upset."
The Parnassus, the battles they've endured, the life on the run, the rejection and fear and the hatred, all of that was traumatizing. A short life with everything turned around couldn't erase that. They all still bore ghosts, some heavier and more malicious than others.
"Well I don't want to still be upset. We're trying to build a new life and I don't want to bog you guys down with my shit. I feel like I'm lagging behind you all, and I'm not the one who lost my whole damn leg." Meis pressed his palm to his forehead and hunched over his knees. "I should count myself lucky I didn't lose more."
Lio's throat went dry, and his mouth leapt ahead of his brain. "Don't say that. What you lost was bad enough. There was nothing lucky about it."
"No, we are lucky. We all survived, we came out mostly unscathed, we've got a nice place with a good view, our fridge never runs low on shit, public opinions on us 'reformed terrorists' have been shifting. I should have nothing to complain about. And yet..."
Lio clung to Meis' words to escape the whispers of his own guilt trying to claw their way to the forefront. This wasn't about him. This was about helping Meis.
"And yet... what?"
"Is it selfish to want to grieve more? It feels selfish. I've got nothing to complain about, like I said. New life, new stupid fucking lip service prosthetic, my friends are alive, nobody's hunting us. I should be able to forget about one stupid body part and move on like the rest of you. But it's— it's hard, Boss," he said, voice cracking. "Like what are legs for, anyways? Getting from point A to point B? An arm? Shit!"
Meis slammed a startling fist against his knee.
"I can't play my guitar no more. Putting my hair up is a fucking hassle, and I can't wear any shoes with laces if I don't wanna make you tie 'em for me like I'm a fucking kid. Fuck, I can't even take a shit without being reminded every five seconds that I'm missing something. And I still can't say I have it all that bad. Just... fuck." Meis shuddered, and Lio's heart broke all over again.
Meis steadied himself through a few slow, uneven breaths. Lio stayed silent. It didn't feel right to interject with all the reassurances he wanted to throw at Meis right now. They wouldn't land and wouldn't stick.
"I'm lucky I still have my elbow," Meis murmured. "And this... thing." He bent the joint, and the vestigial forearm moved inside the sleeve accordingly. "I'd have it way worse if I lost any more than this. I should be grateful I've got what I've got, but you know me," he airily said, punched full of holes by grief, "always the fucking pessimist of the group."
The iron collar of Lio's guilt dug fresh welts into his neck. This was all his fault. If only he was faster, if only he was stronger, more brutal, if only Galo hadn't forced him to show mercy, then his loved ones wouldn't be suffering like this. He could become a murderer if it meant the people held dearest in his heart could feel whole.
"Meis..." Lio leaned closer and wrapped a clinging arm around Meis' waist. "I... I'm sorry." He swallowed around thorns. "I don't know if it will help, but you can pin your blame on me. Be frustrated at me, not yourself."
"What would that help?" Meis ugly-scoffed. "It's all in my head, my heart. It's my shit to deal with."
"You not aiming all these negative emotions inwards would help. I deserve the burden, not you. Blame me. I'm the cause of all this in the first place."
"What?" Meis hissed, jolting back upright. "No, nobody blames you, you saved us. You saved the whole world—"
"They can blame me for not doing enough. I was too slow to fix everything, and it left you in pain. How can I not feel responsible for that?"
Meis was silent. Lio took it as bitter agreement, and continued.
"You have to live with the consequences of my incompetence. That's why I deserve your disappointment, and all your frustration. If you have to hate something, hate me. I can bear it, I'll understand."
"No! Boss—Lio, you've already had to shoulder so much of other people's pain. I won't let you take mine, too. What am I if I'm burdening you?"
"You were never a burden—"
"Well I'm less capable now than I used to be! The least I can do is not contribute to all the weight you're always carrying—"
"If I can't help you, what's the point!" he spat louder than intended. "You and Gueira, you're everything to me. If I can't help you, if all I've done is hurt you and take things from you, then I..." Lio's voice fractured. His body trembled.
What kind of friend was he? What kind of leader, what kind of lover. Everything he fought for resulted in a history book victory, but what was the point of winning if he hurt the two people most important to him?
Lio struggled to swallow and tried to gather all the fragmenting shards trying to escape from the tight bundle he kept them all crammed in. Keep it together, Lio. It didn't matter if things didn't fit right inside him as long as it was all together. Taped up and manageable and not hurting anybody. He could do this. He always managed.
His heart knocked inside his ears like it had a warrant for his arrest. Shit, calm down, Meis was right there, this was about Meis, but he kept making it about himself. Could he stop taking advantage of his loved ones for just one day?
He didn't realize he had hunched over until a timid hand grazed over his back.
"Hey. Hey, hey, Lio, listen to me..." Meis' voice softened and Lio felt terrible about it. Just like he'd failed to keep them safe, now he failed at helping Meis feel better. Meis was worrying about him when he should be focused on himself. "Boss, it's okay."
"It's not," he rasped. "I hurt you."
"Kray hurt us." Meis suddenly wrapped his arm around Lio's back and jerked him close. Lio was too weak to resist what he didn't deserve. "Did you build that engine? Did you strap us into those cells? Did you try to use our bodies up like gasoline?"
Lio shivered, and was drawn in tighter against Meis' side. He hated that Meis felt the need to comfort him.
"I... I let you be used," he tried to insist. Meis shook his head.
"No. The answer to everything I just said is no. Everything you did was to stop all that from happening. If you did nothing, we'd have all been turned into space dust by now."
"I could've done better—"
"Can it with the could-haves." A warm cheek pressed to the top of Lio's head. "You did real good, Boss. I might be havin' a hard time with my arm, but don't let that make you think I'm not happy to be alive. You're the reason I'm still here. I could never hate you for that."
Lio's eyes stung in their sockets. This time, he didn't feel guilty over letting Meis comfort him. With a little maneuvering, he was pulled sideways into Meis' skinny lap and boxed in on all sides. Narrow chest to his cheek, a sharp chin on his head, and mismatched arms hugging him. He'd long stopped letting himself be bothered by his tiny stature; fitting so nicely into the shelter of Meis and Gueira's bodies was one of its few benefits.
His breathing stilled when Meis adjusted around him and there was a shuffle of fabric. The denim shielding Meis' body fell away and was tossed to the floor, and Lio breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Meis' bare arms around him. That was so, so much better.
Meis rubbed his back with his uncovered, amputated arm. With only an elbow and a few inches beyond, it felt the exact same as he always knew, warm and loving and protective and everything Lio was dazzled by that someone this great could feel all those things for him.
When Meis leaned them back onto the bed, Lio willingly followed. They fell into a tangle of limbs and fiercely cuddled like they couldn't let a single square inch of skin go untouched between them.
Lio ran his hand up Meis' waist, crossed the plane of his chest, and smoothed over his right shoulder. He pulled himself up and placed his lips there, and kissed Meis' shoulder several times, leisurely and intense. His hand slid down and his lips followed. Inch by inch, kiss by kiss, until he cupped Meis' bony elbow, and his mouth brushed over blurry scarred skin.
Meis shivered underneath him as he pressed feathery kisses to the end of his amputated arm. His grip was just firm enough to encourage his partner to not pull away, and he rewarded Meis' endurance of his affection with a pleased sigh and nuzzle of his cheek against the same spot.
"Does it hurt...?"
"Not right now..." Meis shook his head, blushing behind his messy hair.
"Good." Lio took his time and caressed his lips over the vestigial limb again. "I'm sorry again. For lots of things. But I know you'll be mad if I try to take on all that guilt again."
"Damn straight," Meis breathed. "I don't want you to feel bad every time you look at me. I've got that covered by feeling bad every time I look at myself."
To-the-point, and painful for it. Lio furrowed his brows and pressed himself flatter atop Meis, a possessive gesture. A past mistake wouldn't stop him from protecting Meis with his everything today. One thing he had to start trying was letting go of that stubborn sense of responsibility for the past. He didn't want Meis to feel like a source of his guilt. He only wanted Meis to feel love from him, not remorse.
And one way for Lio to move onwards, and for Meis to feel more stable, was...
"Please let us help you," he softly asked. Meis stiffened. Lio kissed the scarred flesh again. This was the best thing that came to his mind that might help all of them.
"You take pride in your independence. Anything less feels like you're failing yourself. But you're not alone, you have us, we love you and want to help you. You can be missing one arm, but you've got four more at your beck and call. They're all yours, just like we're all yours. Always have been."
Meis' long throat bobbed in a tight swallow. Lio was getting through to him, he could tell in the perch in Meis' lips and the tightness around his eyes.
"You haven't let Gueira brush your hair since before the incident. He'd love to do it again, and he'd love to tie it up for you the way you like it. And I've always been wanting to learn to make pancakes the way you do. You can yell at me when I fuck up the timing and flip them wrong."
"I'd never yell at you, Boss."
"Maybe I want you to. Scold me until I get better at doing things the way you like them done. I'll serve you and Gueira a fat stack of pancakes and be happy when you dig in."
"...Will you wear the dumb apron he bought?"
"Only because you asked."
Finally, a smile. The sight of it filled Lio with new energy, like a brief shower upon a garden. He'd wear that tacky thing all day if it meant Meis felt better about being assisted.
"I'm still not using that stupid prosthetic," Meis said with half a grin. "I'd rather use a couple inches of arm I can actually feel than some clunky robot shit."
"You don't have to use it. Like you've said before, if it's not actually helping, you shouldn't feel pressured to put it on."
"And if people stare?"
"Tough shit," Lio finished, a perfect echo of his partner's past harshness. Meis' grin spread the rest of the way and they shared a little laugh. "You're pretty enough to give them new reasons to stare once their eyes are on you."
"Yeah? I can tell 'em my eyes are up here, bozo."
Lio snorted and giggled, and fell into Meis for another embrace. They couldn't fix everything, but changing the direction they were looking already felt a little like healing.
The next day, the jacket stayed crumpled on the bedroom floor until Gueira "accidentally" kicked it under the bed. Meis didn't ask where it went, and the next time he went out with them—a group trip to the grocery store for pancake ingredients and fresh maple syrup—it was with bared shoulders, a head held high, and a smile that they had all missed.
It felt like things were better, and Lio was determined to allow that feeling to exist inside him. He had a family to love and good memories to make that would outshine all the bad.