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They were happy to have him back. Terzo’s return had been met with thunderous applause, so much screaming and tears it had been almost frightening. He’d stood and waved at the shrieking audience, just like old times. Crisp black-and-white suit. Skull paint. Cocky smile.
They would never know what his true return had been. How they’d dragged him from the earth after five years, from his peaceful slumber, to come crashing into the harsh, unforgiving world of the living. How he’d awoken, confused and afraid, in a coffin, and waited four hours as they dug him out.
How when they pulled him from his grave, he’d tried to crawl back in.
And things were different. It wasn’t ‘just like old times’ like everyone laughed and said it was. Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil (if he could indeed be called that; Terzo doubted he would ever see that man as his father after he’d taught him what it was like to be buried alive) acted like everything was fine—jaunty and cavalier as always, focused solely on the Ghost Project, producing records, planning tours, building churches, spreading the word. Mr. Saltarian and the siblings of sin were like ghosts to him. They breezed through the cavernous halls of the ministry and did not look at the Emeritus brothers. Funny, Terzo thought, how they’d been dragged back from the dead only to still be treated as such.
The ghouls were the only ones who seemed to understand. The ghouls and Copia, but Terzo didn’t want to face him yet. ‘Yet.’ That excuse had held a lot more water before he’d been resurrected for three weeks.
Terzo spent most of his days in his room, sleeping or moping, eating little, glad to be alone. He told himself he was glad, at least. Because the last thing he needed was prying, judging eyes. Curious eyes. Worried eyes.
There was a scar on his neck. It wrapped around his flesh, wiry and thin and easily hidden by a high collar or a scarf, but it was still there. Terzo had flipped his mirrors around, had taken to avoiding reflective surfaces, windows and shiny paintings and glass in all forms. When he was forced to slink from his cave of solitude, he walked with his head down and made his trips as quick as possible.
One week after being resurrected, there had been a knock at his door. “Terzo?” It was Primo. Unblessed Beneath, it had been years since he’d spoken to his brothers. Years since he’d heard their voices. “Are you... feeling alright? It’s been... it’s been a long time, fratellino.”
They had been brought back all at once, but there hadn’t been much of a reunion. They had all been too disoriented and bone-weary to speak, and they’d been whisked off to be cleaned and prepped for a public appearance. They’d had two days to prepare before they were shoved on stage and presented to the world, forced to smile and wave and pretend that things were, indeed, just like old times. When Terzo staggered off stage, he’d kept going until he reached the tour bus, and avoided his brothers for the rest of the week.
“Terzo?” Primo was never one to pry, but he was one to fret. “I understand that you need time, but I also think you need— we need—to talk.”
“Talk to Secundo.” He hadn’t spoken in days, and he felt it, the words rough and painful as he scraped them from his throat. Primo’s shadow hovered under the doorframe for a few seconds more, and then his boots thumped down the hallway and out of earshot.
Since then, Terzo had spoken to no one. There had been a few notes slipped under his door, mostly Primo, Copia, and the ghouls asking after him and offering him someone to talk to if he needed it. Three days ago, Sister had informed him that he would be joining Copia on his next tour, set for three months from now. Back in his classic suit, dancing under the smothering stage lights, singing his little heart out while people clapped and cheered and told him how they loved him.
And they would see the scar. He knew it. The collar would slip, and they would see, and they would all know.
It wasn’t like they didn’t know already, he told himself, even though such platitudes meant nothing. They’d watched him die and mourned his death; they’d begged for his return and celebrated when they got their wish. Who was he kidding? What did he have to hide?
Who am I hiding from?
Anyways.
It had been three weeks.
He didn’t want to talk to Copia. Didn’t want to face him. He knew Copia would blame himself; knew he’d been dragging around the guilt like a ball and chain. It was cruel to make him suffer, to hide from him and make him feel hated. A part of Terzo didn’t care; he was too proud and too ashamed to let himself be seen like this.
A part of Terzo was glad, because Copia had stolen from him everything that made him Terzo, and now Terzo had his peace stolen from him just to watch Copia soar.
He was in the midst of such musings, pacing madly and muttering to himself like a man crazed, when there was a knock at his door. No one had knocked in so long that Terzo startled. He froze in place and stared at the door like it might fly off its hinges towards him.
“Terzo?” He would recognize that voice after a millennium. “Please, open the door. We need to talk, mi—Terzo.”
Terzo remained still. The shadow under his door was massive, imposing. He could see horns and an impatiently swishing tail. “Terzo,” Omega said again. He didn’t sound angry or sad or even insistent. Just... hopeful.
Had he been hoping, all these years, for his return? Had he believed all along that Terzo would be back? Had he waited?
Fuck, he hoped not.
Terzo thought, for a second, that Omega might just leave. Wander away like Primo had, defeated and disappointed, but understanding that right now, Terzo could not be seen. But of course, this was not Primo. Omega was loving and protective and gentle, but he was also bold and bull-headed, and he had never been one to wait for permission. Not when he believed he was doing the right thing.
There was a heavy thud, and the door rattled on its hinges. Terzo flinched, trying not to think about the figure who had slipped behind him, the needle that had pierced his neck, the way he’d slipped into darkness so easily, quietly. The way he never stood a fucking chance because they--
Omega burst through the door, gripping the handle to keep it from slamming against the wall. He very nearly filled the entire frame, blocking out the dim light from the hallway, but the thin rays that spilled through illuminated Terzo’s pathetic image. He cringed away from the light, instinctively tugging his collar up to cover his throat.
There was silence. Omega stood and stared at Terzo, and Terzo stood and stared back. It was as if the air in the room had been drawn in, a breath waiting to be released. Omega’s mouth hung open, light dancing in his eyes as he struggled to find words.
In the end, Terzo spoke, the silence unbearable.
“Did you burst in here just to gape at me like a dead fish?”
Omega’s features softened, and he laughed. Terzo’s heart fluttered. “I’ve missed that wit,” he said. He stepped fully into the room, closing the door gently behind him. Terzo tensed, his chest tightening. This was Omega, he reminded himself. There was no danger. They wouldn’t kill him twice.
“Terzo,” Omega began, and the serious dip in his tone felt like a punch to the gut, “listen, I know...”
“You don’t know anything,” Terzo whispered. “I know you want to help. Everyone does. But you can’t.”
“Just let us try, Terzo,” Omega pleaded. “Talk to us. Be with us. It can’t be good for you to stay cooped up here all the time.”
Terzo folded his arms. His eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but Omega. He grappled wildly for something say, and eventually, he landed on, “since when am I ‘Terzo’ to you?”
Omega blinked. “I... I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just... been a long time.”
Terzo felt tears prickling in his eyes. He bit his tongue, willing anger to fill his veins instead of this sudden wave of crushing sorrow. This wasn’t a surprise, he told himself, to no avail. Of course Omega moved on. Why would he have waited all these years? What was he waiting for?
For him?
For me?
“I see,” Terzo said, his voice strangled and soft. Omega’s eyes widened, and he took a tentative step forward, reaching out a clawed hand.
“Terzo, I don’t mean--
“No, I understand. I do.” Terzo turned away, unable to keep the tears at bay, completely unwilling to let Omega see him break. Not after everything else. “I’m not—I'm not angry, I just—I want to be alone, for now.”
“For now?” For the first time, a hint of anger crept into Omega’s tone. “It’s been nearly a month, and nobody’s seen you. We’ve been worried, Terzo. We—some of us worried you’d--”
“Worried I’d what?” Terzo snapped, whirling on Omega. “Worried I’d died? Worried I’d been killed in the night by some—some traitor? Some assassin? Did you think I’d outlived my use so quickly that they would have to toss me aside yet again?”
Omega had jerked away, his eyes wide. “Terzo,” he said softly.
Terzo stared, angry, and afraid, and not sure why he felt this way towards Omega, because Omega had loved him when last they spoke. He remembered the conversation, too—they'd walked through the gardens and laughed about nothing, promised to meet that night. How long had he waited? How long had he worried, wondering what was wrong? At what point did he leave, searching for his beloved, only to find the worst possible answer?
How did he find out that Terzo had been ripped from him?
“Terzo,” Omega said again. His voice was like silk, gentle against Terzo’s skin. He reached for him, the ghoul’s rough skin brushing lightly against Terzo’s pale, sunken cheek. His fingers drew back spotted in teardrops.
“I’m sorry,” Terzo whimpered, stepping back. He sat down, landing heavily on his bed. He hadn’t made it this morning, or any morning. Hadn’t changed the sheets in—fuck, since he died five years ago.
“Oh, Terzo.” Through the onslaught of tears, Terzo felt the mattress sink as Omega sat beside him, and felt a strong, comforting arm wrap around his shoulders. Omega drew him in close, until their heads knocked together, nuzzling his forehead like they used to before everything changed.
Before Terzo was stolen, and Omega was left alone.
Before Terzo came back different.
Broken.
Useless.
“I’m glad you moved on,” Terzo sobbed, hoping Omega could understand him, because he didn’t think he could say this a second time. “I--I’m glad you didn’t waste your life.”
“Terzo,” said Omega softly, “mi amor. Look at me.”
Terzo flinched, shaking his head. Omega sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. It was so greasy and tangled, knots twisting around his fingers. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. Just listen to me, okay, my love?”
“...love?”
“I didn’t,” Omega ground out. “Move on. I... I missed you. I’ve been missing you for five years, my love, and I never even thought about moving on, because there was nowhere to go from us.”
“Omega,” Terzo whimpered, his voice desperate and empty, full of longing. Years of it.
Fuck, this hurts.
“I just... I didn’t know if you would still want me,” Omega went on. “It’s been so long, and I wondered... I don’t know. I didn’t want to rush back into things.”
Terzo drew back, wiping furiously at his face. His skin was slick, his hands sliding as if along ice. “I’m not the same,” he said, “I’m not... I’m afraid, I don’t think I--”
He choked on his words, another sob building up inside. He swallowed it hard and buried his face in his hands. Omega laid a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
“I can’t be the same Terzo you left behind,” he whispered, so quietly he worried Omega wouldn’t hear. “I’m not the Terzo you loved.”
There was silence, and Terzo thought wildly that Omega would just leave. Then his hands were pulled away, and he was brought face-to-face with him. His Omega. His amor. His...
“I love you,” Omega said. “Still.”
Terzo couldn’t speak.
“I’ve been loving you all this time, mi amor. Every day for the past five years.”
Terzo couldn’t breathe .
“I don’t even care if you love me back. You don’t have to. You don’t owe me that. But I will love you forever, until the stars go out and the world ends.”
He reached for Omega’s face, and when his hands brushed against his cheek, it felt so familiar that he began to weep anew. Omega pulled him in close, and wrapped in his love’s arms he felt more safe and more whole than he had in...
Three weeks?
Five years?
Since the last time he’d seen Omega, when they parted ways in the garden, with a blown kiss and a promise that they would meet again.
“I love you,” Terzo wept. “I love you, still. I love you too.”
Omega rocked him, fingers combing delicately through his hair. He held Terzo against his chest like a tiny, fragile thing. Like he was afraid. And Terzo didn’t blame him. He was afraid, too.
Terzo didn’t say another word, and Omega didn’t ask him too. He hummed softly and rocked him, and as darkness fell and Terzo faded into oblivion, Omega stayed, and held him until morning light.