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“So,” Cain’s troubled smile is adorable. It is adorable to anyone who looks at him, and so many people are.
Girls from all Countries have always been head over heels for him. Cain is so honest and chivalrous, not to talk about his looks.
Well, he is good looking. Owen can tell as much.
“Hey, Sir Knight. Those girls are looking at you.” Owen rudely points at them, and the girls stop whispering, instead gasping in unison.
Cain shakes his head. “Yeah, I could tell. No need to point at them…”
Owen shrugs. “It’s probably because of your brute muscles, and the way your ugly red hair matches your tan skin. And also your annoyingly warm voice. I especially hate the way your lips curve into a smile when you’re happy.”
“That’s very detailed.”
Owen glares at him, and buries his face back in the menu.
The ice cream shop is a colorful, tiny building in the middle of the city. It’s a lively place, but not too crowded. It’s pretty hot too, so ice cream is a must. Perfect for a date—or whatever their little hangout could be be called.
They’re sitting outside under the gazebo, which offers shelter from the scorching sun, and Cain thanks himself mentally for having picked getting ice cream, rather than an activity that required walking outside for longer than two minutes.
Though, a nice walk around the city would surely be less awkward than sitting in front of Owen in complete silence while he scopes all the different ice cream flavors the shop offers.
Cain tilts his head up to take a better look at Owen’s face. His expression is pretty intense, it’s almost cute how focused he is. Cute for a couple moments, before Cain feels Owen stretch his legs under the table, hitting his pretty hard.
“Owen—your legs.”
“Don’t care.”
As if to show that he really doesn’t, Owen stretches his legs even farther, brushing against Cain’s.
“Trying to play footsie with me?” Cain jokes, nudging Owen’s leg lightly with his own.
“That’s disgusting,” To get his point across better, Owen kicks Cain’s leg hard enough to bruise. “I’ll end you.”
Cain massages the spot, cursing under his breath.
“So,” Cain tries to change the topic, patiently smiling. “I saw this shop on my way to the palace, and I thought you’d like it. Ah, ice cream’s on me.”
“…I want the strawberry one. With whipped cream. And also chocolate. And vanilla. Cotton candy and Tiramisu too.” Owen’s monotone voice is a stark contrast to the grin on his lips, after purposely ordering almost everything off the menu. Cain’s wallet feels empty already.
“That’s, uh… an interesting choice of flavors.” Cain doesn’t know why Owen goes out of his way to get him in trouble. But since their last battle with the Great Calamity, when Owen “accidentally” fed him to Cerberus and then prayed for him, something shifted in the way Cain sees him.
In a way, Owen now looks more like someone who truly doesn’t understand himself, or others.
“Stop staring, it’s annoying.” Owen murmurs, and Cain realizes he’s been looking at him for the whole time, and can’t tell what kind of expression he’s been making.
“Ah,“ Cain looks away, and takes the menu from the table to keep his eyes occupied. The mango flavor looks especially good in the drawing, and if he’s going to spend this much on ice cream he might as well enjoy it.
He calls the waiter with a gesture of his hand, and tells him their orders. The way he smiles so politely is captivating, and Owen wonders for just a second how he can be so cheerful all the time, and so gentle even to people he’s never met before.
Owen doesn’t seem surprised when Cain actually recites the whole list of flavors he’s told him, and doesn’t even forget the whipped cream — but he is surprised when Cain turns to him before dismissing the waiter, and with the gentlest, most annoying expression ever says:
“Do you need anything else?”
Owen wishes he could rip that beautiful smile off of his face. Instead, he pouts and looks away. Cain takes it as a no.
When their ice cream arrives, Cain’s is way smaller than Owen’s, which was placed in an oversized cup with an excessive amount of cream, courtesy of the shop.
The moment the waiter puts his cup onto the table, Cain gets to see his favorite expression Owen rarely makes; a wide eyed look, almost sparkling with happiness, but it’s all so subtle that anyone would miss it. But not Cain. He loves looking at all of Owen’s expressions, even if most of them look like he just wants him dead.
“Let’s—“ Before Cain even gets to finish, Owen immediately digs in.
The way he holds the spoon is… peculiar? Is that even the right word, Cain wonders. He takes big spoonfuls of all of the flavors, mixing them together into one weird colored blob, then stuffs it in his mouth with little care for poise.
Cain’s mouth is slightly open.
He’s probably insane, because as gross as that looks to everyone else, and as much as people around them are whispering or getting scared by Owen’s intensity; Cain thinks he looks so darn cute.
Is it a spell Owen has cast on him? No, that can’t be. Why would Owen want him to think he looks cute of all things?
Why did he even agree to go on what is obviously a date with Cain?
Owen is halfway through his gross dessert, when he looks up, mouth half-full of ice cream, to find Cain staring at him with a feeling Owen can't quite place.
"What?" He asks, his voice muffled by the ice cream. A bit of whipped cream sticks to the corner of his mouth. Cain gulps.
“You’ve got some cream on your face.” He manages to say. How does Owen look so beautiful even with cream all over his face? Cain is losing his mind for sure.
Owen tries to wipe it off with a napkin, but only succeeds in smearing it further across his cheek. Cain feels his self control fade away by the second.
He thinks of trying something, but he’s sure Owen won’t let him; not in a million years.
But he still does.
“You’re making it worse,” Cain says, leaning over with a napkin. He reaches out and gently wipes the whipped cream from Owen’s cheek.
Owen goes still, and Cain prepares to be turned to stone on the spot by one of Owen’s spells.
But it does’t happen. Instead, Owen is silent, his eyes locked onto Cain’s. Moments pass, and their ice cream melts even more.
Time freezes, background noise disappears, then, Owen’s eyes somehow grow wider and his gaze softens.
“Sir Knight!”
That sweet voice only means one thing.
Cain sits back down, and sighs. At least, Owen won’t be casting a deadly spell on him now. Probably.
“Where… where are we? Ah—ice cream!” The moment the little Owen sees the dessert, he immediately starts eating it again, still messily, only way worse.
“H-Hey, how about you try to hold the spoon like this?” Cain demonstrates how to, and Owen tries to imitate him, only to fail miserably.
It’s so adorable that Cain feels weird; the affection he has for the little Owen is so strong, it makes him sick to his stomach compared to what he usually feels for the other him. But then again, what does he even feel exactly?
“I thought I’d be in that dark place forever…” Owen’s lips quiver. He looks so vulnerable, Cain just wants to protect him from their cruel world. How ironic to want to protect someone people should be protected from.
“…But you came to save me, and you even got me ice cream! Thank you so much, Sir Knight…!” Owen smiles, his teeth and lips stained with ice cream.
At that point, some people have started sitting farther from them, and although Cain notices, he doesn’t care.
All of his attention is directed at Owen. He knows how scared he is, how vulnerable he can be when he’s in that state. He would never do anything to hurt the little him, or the big Owen.
“Of course I did. But don’t eat too much. You’ll get cavities, you know.” Cain smiles warmly, and Owen nods hastily to his words.
“I promise I won’t eat too much! So don’t worry Sir Knight.”
“Good boy.”
Owen’s face lights up at the praise.
He finishes his ice cream quickly, while Cain barely gets to enjoy his, since it’s almost completely melted. But as long as the little Owen is happy, Cain is too.
Owen licks his lips; his hands are sticky with cream, but he still reaches his hand out for Cain to grab, and he does. Their fingers intertwine.
There’s something different in the way Owen is looking at him in that exact moment, and Cain feels his chest tighten up.
“Sir Knight,” Owen’s mismatched eyes are impossibly bright. In his yellow eye, Cain can see his own reflection.
That’s his eye. Owen took his eye. He would never forgive him for that, would he?
“Do you love me?” Owen’s words carry a type of helplessness that Cain has never heard in his voice before. He’d think it’s satisfying — if he was a jerk — but instead it hurts him deep within.
The reason is so obvious that it hurts his pride.
If only it was the other Owen asking that.
“…Hey, Owen. Let’s pay and go somewhere else.”
“I want an answer!”
Cain sighs. He stands up, without letting go of Owen’s hand. “You’ll get one if you come with me.”
Owen seems to think hard for a few moments, then, he stands up with a little hop, as if the chair is too tall for him. “Okay.”
___________
Hand in hand, they walk around the city.
They cross busy streets, while Cain does his best to hide Owen’s affliction from prying eyes. But it’s incredibly hard, and Owen’s attention is stolen by anything mildly interesting, so much that Cain has to forcefully (while still being careful and gentle) drag him away.
Thankfully, when they get to the manor, most of the wizards are either busy or on a mission, so it isn’t particularly difficult for the two of them to get to Cain’s room without drawing attention.
Once there, Owen leaves Cain’s side to jump on his bed. His hat falls on the floor, and he buries his face in Cain’s pillow. The scent is boyish, but warm and pleasant, and Owen, at least in that state, can’t get enough of it. “Sir Knight, come here!” His voice is muffled by the pillow.
Cain sighs again, eyebrows knit together as he watches Owen act even fussier than usual. But he knows not listening to him might mean getting his limbs bitten off by Cerberus… or worse, he’d make him cry. There’s no way he can’t comply to Owen’s wishes when he’s like that.
Cain sits down on the bed, next to Owen, who’s curled up into a ball on the bedsheets, digging his nails into the soft pillow.
He puts one hand on Owen’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on the soft fabric of his coat.
“Aren’t you hot wearing all that? At least take off your coat and jacket.” Cain suggests. Owen seems to be uncomfortable with all those layers of clothing anyways. It must be pretty restricting for a kid who just wants to run around and move freely.
Owen nods in silence. He sits up, and takes off his coat. Next is his jacket, but he struggles with the buttons, and immediately looks at Cain for help. Cain shivers.
That’s… he didn’t imagine the first time he’d get to somewhat undress Owen it’d be in a situation like that. He sure doesn’t find anything sexy about it, and the way Owen looks at him waiting for guidance makes him feel so warm and fuzzy. Oh, how he wishes he could be intimate with Owen when he’s himself, rather than now.
Cain neatly folds Owen’s coat and jacket, and puts them on a chair nearby. Owen is left in his black shirt, and Cain can finally get a good look at his body.
He never quite realized how slender Owen is. His arms, usually hidden under two different layers of baggy clothing, are incredibly thin. Cain wonders if sweets are all he eats, after all.
Owen falls back on the bed but, this time, he’s reaching out his hands towards Cain with a small pout.
“Sir Knight, Sir Knight.”
Cain looks down at him, patient. “What is it?”
“Here. With me.” As Owen says that, he pats the space on the bed next to him, then shifts on his side.
“You want to sleep?”
“Mh-mh” Owen nods. His eyes are wet with big tears trapped behind his lashes.
Cain slowly lies down next to Owen, and prays with every fiber of his being that the real Owen doesn’t come back in that moment, because he’s sure he’d really murder him this time.
Owen grabs Cain’s arm, putting it on his waist, so that he’s cradling him. He feels so weak under his fingertips, Cain wonders how he can be so scary.
Cain feels weird. That’s the only way to explain the feeling. He doesn’t know what to do or think, but he’s sure of one thing; if Owen needs him — any version of him — he’ll always be there.
Owen yawns, and his eyes soon flutter shut. But he’s not sleeping, and his quick, quiet breaths indicate that he’s still awake and listening.
“You didn’t answer.”
Cain bites his lower lip. He thinks about playing dumb, but it’s no use when Owen speaks again.
“Do you love me, Sir Knight?”
Cain wonders if he even has a choice. Owen’s magic is strong, and if he’s mad he could easily end him with one well aimed blow.
But then, he realizes that he has a choice. It doesn’t matter how strong Owen is, when he’s in that state, he’s obedient, he listens — which is unheard of for Owen, of all people — and Cain feels an answer form on his lips, but caged by visceral fear. But not fear for his life.
It would be fine, wouldn’t it? Owen never remembers what happens while he’s under the influence of his affliction. And regardless, it would make the little him sad if he said something that isn’t true.
Cain hesitates again. What even is true?
“Sir Knight.” Owen’s nails dig into the skin of his hand. It hurts as much as it would if Owen was himself, but there’s a kind of hopelessness that he rarely feels from him. He doesn’t want to hurt Cain; he’s clinging to him like his life depends on it.
Cain’s eyes narrow as he grits his teeth through the pain. Owen’s grip only tightens.
“Answer.” Tears finally come flooding down, and Cain’s heart aches for every single drop. Owen looks pathetic, vulnerable and so lonely.
But he’s always been lonely, and Cain wonders if the way he’s acting now is how he truly feels, hidden deep behind his ornery attitude.
Cain moves his arm so that his hand is on Owen’s back, and gently guides him to rest his head on his chest. It feels weird to be so close to the person who took his eye, his dignity, and the job he loved so dearly. But it feels right, and Cain always does what’s right.
His strong arms wrap around Owen’s body so nicely, it almost feels like they’re two pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly.
“Owen,” Cain breathes out, and he wonders if what he’s about to do will be the end of him.
“Of course—Of course I love you.” He whispers, almost lovingly, he holds Owen impossibly close, his heartbeat accelerates.
Silence.
He looks down at Owen. His expression is strange; not the usual strangeness that always accompanies him, but a mixture of confusion, surprise, and a glare that could turn anyone to stone. His eyes aren’t big and glowy anymore, only red from the tears still dancing on his lashes.
Cain has become an expert at telling when Owen shifts back to his normal self. This time, he finds himself thinking that he’d rather be dead than have to explain the situation to a less clothed Owen than usual, as they hug and lie with their legs entwined.
And he prays, prays to the sky that Owen didn’t hear what he said, or doesn’t remember.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Owen spits out his venom as per usual. Cain’s reaction time is slow because of the position they’re in, and Owen recites his spell with pure disgust embedded into each letter.
“Quare Morito.”
Cain feels himself levitate for a few seconds, before he gets thrown against the wall with more force than usual. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, and Cain wonders if he’s started to get used to Owen’s rough manners — which wouldn’t be a good thing at all.
In the blink of Cain’s eyes, while he tries to recover, Owen is standing in the middle of the room, his jacket, coat and hat already back on.
“Do you have a passion for throwing me around like a toy…?”
“Oh, but a toy you are. Maybe I should make you Cerberus’ squeaky toy.” Owen’s eyebrows are furrowed. He must be seriously angry, but Cain doesn’t understand why. Still, he dares to push.
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“…What.”
“You prayed for me, remember?” Cain smiles. It shouldn’t make him happy, after all Owen is the one who reduced him to lying in a puddle of his own blood. But he still smiles, because Owen has never known what love and patience are. He wouldn’t know better. Cain understands, somewhat.
“Don’t remember. Bye.” Owen prepares to disappear into thin air, but Cain grabs his wrist. It’s usually not enough to get him to stay; when he tries to grab him, he just feels his fingertips grasp nothing.
But this time is different. Owen stays, for some strange reason, and looks back at Cain. There’s something different about him. Cain swears he can see the faintest blush on his cheeks. But that’s impossible. Owen would never blush, especially not for something he said.
“…Stop pulling me.”
“Stay.”
Owen pulls his arm out of Cain’s grip. The blush seems gone, as if it was Cain’s imagination playing tricks on him.
“Why?”
“Uh—um… because I just want you to…?”
Owen’s eyes tell paragraphs on how much he wants him dead.
“I would never stay for the likes of you. You’re disgusting. You obviously took advantage of me to satisfy your weird perversions of holding me close. Your bed reeks of your disgusting scent. All of it.” He’s especially serious as he says that. Pure anger courses through his veins.
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want to.” Cain crosses his arms, the outlines of his muscles look beautiful under the afternoon light filtrating through the window. Did it feel good to be held by them? By Cain?
Owen is disgusted with himself for even thinking that.
Owen’s hand closes into a fist. Cain prepares to be thrown out of the window this time, but Owen looks away instead. In a mere second, his attitude changes, and he looks back at Cain with a wide grin.
“…I heard you. You know.”
Cain wishes the ground would swallow him whole. He’s silent, and Owen takes it as his cue to keep mocking him about it.
“You love me sooo much, Sir Knight. Don’t you?” He sticks his tongue out. If it wasn’t for how different he looks from his little self — even while keeping the same, beautiful face — Cain would almost think he’s being influenced by his affliction again. But he’s not; truth is, Owen has always been immature and childish. The way he refuses to acknowledge his feelings is the prime example of that. “You’re disgusting.” He laughs mechanically. “Just to let you know — I don’t reciprocate.”
There’s something that shifts in his expression as he says that. Regret, maybe? Well, it doesn’t matter. There’s a part of Cain that hoped Owen would take off his mask for once, and let his real self show through. But that’s not like him, that wouldn’t be the Owen he loves.
It could be the quick sadness that crosses Cain’s face, or the way he sits down at his desk and begins taking care of paperwork, wordlessly, almost as if Owen isn’t even there; but Owen finds himself torn between mocking him more, and being vulnerable.
The idea itself sounds so absurd, he almost dismisses the thought as soon as it appears in his mind.
The quick solution would be disappearing, or maybe going back to the Northern Country and stay there forever. He could even die a bunch of times until that annoying feeling in his chest leaves him alone.
But it’s as if he’s being pushed towards Cain. A force he doesn’t recognize, one that he can only imagine is the little him who craves Cain’s attention just as much as he does, but actually shows it. He breathes out. A single, shaky breath.
Cain turns to face him. He looks worried. What kind of face is he making? Owen has no idea.
“…I despise you.”
Of course. Cain feels stupid for expecting him to say anything else. But Owen’s cruel words don’t matter now, the only important thing is that he’s okay.
“Are you okay? Owen.”
“I despise you beyond measure.” He sighs. Cain’s attention is completely directed at him. Owen can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it, but in that moment, he wishes he could disappear. Not like he can’t, right then and there, but he doesn’t want to.
“…But I wouldn’t say no to another—“ Owen pauses, Cain looks so focused and hopeful. “…’Date’. With you.” Owen almost chokes on his words. Actually, he’d rather choke than have to suffer through the way Cain’s worried expression turns into one of pure happiness.
He hates it. He loves people’s faces when they writhe in agony and despair.
But for once in his life, Owen finds himself thinking that a smile looks much more suiting on Cain, rather than a frown.
“Then, let me treat you to some cake next. It’s on me.” Cain’s smile has never looked more radiant.
Making someone happy rather than sad and annoyed… being seen in a positive light… Owen feels like he’s watching himself in third person. But that’s not happening. He’s making conscious decisions. He’s following his heart for more than a simple whim, like who to pester for the day.
“Shall we go?” Cain is standing at the door. It’s half open, and the light from the hallway projects Cain’s shadow onto the floor. For some reason, it looks immensely bigger than Owen, and he realizes he’s afraid.
A fear that petrifies him, and one that anchors him to the tiny spot in his heart that he’s confined himself in.
But Cain offers him a hand, and oh, he looks so beautiful. And he could be his. All of Cain could be his.
But Owen would rather let him have a part of himself too. He doesn’t want to be alone; he wants to be part of the puzzle that makes both of them, as entwined as their existences are.
Usually extremely talkative, Owen silently takes Cain’s hand in his, much to his surprise. He stands next to Cain, his head low.
“Is this fine?” Cain asks, and Owen digs his nails into his hand like he usually does. It grounds him, and it reminds both of them that things will still be the same.
“Of course. Don’t be fooled, once you get me the cake I’ll kill you for touching me.”
“But you’re the one who took my hand—“
Owen glares at him, Cain would usually look away awkwardly to not be thrown around by one of Owen’s spells, but this time he holds the contact, and laughs lightly.
“Sorry.”