Archive of Our Own ^beta

Laios can feel it and it’s driving him insane. 

He notices it when they wake up from a long rest, splashing water on his face to chase the sleep away. It’s there as they continue on, fighting their way through the dungeon and scouring up their next meal.  He feels the irritation build under his skin, slow like heating water at first, but quickly devolving into a rolling boil. He tries to hide it, tries to ignore it, tries not to think too much about it, but any and all effort is futile.

Laios’ stubble is growing back. 

Usually, he wouldn’t care. He’s gone much longer than this without a shave, choosing to ignore the itchiness in favor of the job he was working at the time. He’s had a pretty decent beard going before, and yet… 

What Falin said all those years ago rings in his head: “You look like Father.”

Despite being proficient with his sword, he was lousy with a razor. Maybe his skin was too delicate, or maybe he was too bold, but every time he tried to shave on his own, he always came out the other end bloodied and miserable. Falin helped. After they reunited, she would sit him down in their rented inn room and set to work, carving him out of the scruffiness he grew. Laios knew he should be able to do it himself, but Falin always said she didn’t mind. 

It was a ritual between them, a soft, telling act of the things they usually didn’t put to words: “You’re my sibling. I trust you. I forgive you. We’ll take care of each other from now on.”

The corners of his eyes sting at the memory. He blinks slowly to chase the tears away. 

There was no time to waste when they were teleported to the surface. No time to stop at a barber shop for a quick shave or a vendor stall to pick up a new razor set. He was regretting it now but he wouldn’t change a thing. 

Staring at the cobblestone ceiling above him, Laios silently seethes. It’s itchy. He can’t touch his face because the stubble feels as grating as sandpaper against his fingers. The small, infuriating hairs catch and tug at the fabric of his pillowcase, making it hard to fall asleep. When he spots his reflection, he can see the slowly darkening patches of hair along his chin, cheeks, and neck. His father haunts him despite being alive, even after all these years.

Sitting up, he surveys his party. Senshi snores softly. Marcille’s frame shifts steadily with every slow breath. Chilchuck is buried under his blankets, the top of his head barely visible.

Good. 

He gets to his feet as quietly as he can. He gathers what he needs, sword on his hip and arms full by the time he’s satisfied. Careful of his footsteps, he carries himself down the corridor, away from their camp, and settles by a bubbling fountain in the shape of a lion. 

Laios works quickly. He fills a bowl with water, takes a wet rag to his sword’s edge, rubs some soap onto his hands, and lathers his face. It takes touching his own jaw for him to realize his hands are shaking. He takes a steadying breath, letting the exhale out slowly as he wills himself to keep it together. This needs to happen. It’s the only way. He can do it.

He angles his sword to his neck, the stretch making his arms ache already. Shaving with his sword is risky, but the relief would be heaven sent. 

He just starts to move the blade upwards when a voice shocks the bravery out of him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His sword falls out of his hands. He has to flinch away so the blade doesn’t knick his legs on the way down. The metallic clanging of his sword on the cobblestoned floor has his breath catching, eyes darting around for any signs of monsters the noise might have alerted. After a tense moment, his eyes shift to the source of the voice.

Chilchuck stands paces away, eyes squinted with sleep and his blanket thrown over his shoulders. His feet are bare, without the wraps he usually ties on during their waking hours. It’s a level of disheveled Laios hasn’t seen from him previously, and it was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

He opens his mouth to explain, but he realizes that he must have looked crazy: soap suds on his face, sword poised at his own throat, a bowl of water at his feet. No amount of words would make Chilchuck believe him any less insane, so he shuts his mouth and avoids eye contact. 

He hopes the apology translates.

After a heavy moment, Chilchuck sighs. He rubs at his eye with a fist that’s still balled up in his blanket, and starts to turn around as he casts a scathing look Laios’ way. 

“Stay put.” 

He says it like a command. Laios doesn't dare to disobey.

Laios waits, expecting a tongue lashing or a lecture, dreading having to open his mouth and admit to Chilchuck that he simply couldn’t take it. He would have to admit that he knew diving straight back into the dungeon was a long shot, even downright stupid, putting them all in danger for Falin’s sake. But he would do it a thousand times over, would disregard his own personal comfort or safety, just to make sure Falin will get back to the surface. He needed to. She was his sister. He abandoned her once before to save himself and he couldn’t do that again. He refuses.

Chilchuck comes back, bare feet pattering on the stone beneath them. Laios curls in on himself, his knees almost to his chest by the time Chilchuck is in front of him. He’s expecting a hand to dart out and slap his head, or maybe even an insult, but instead something is put into his lap. 

“Hold this,” Chilchuck says before walking a short distance away. 

Looking down, Laios finds a soft leather bundle in his hands. It looks almost identical to the pack Chilchuck uses for his lockpicking tools, except this one looks exceptionally more worn. The leather tie holding the bundle together looks about ready to wither away with one bad handling.

A scraping sound makes him look up. Chilchuck is shoving an empty crate behind his back.

“You could have asked me, you know,” the half-foot says with a huff. He grabs the wet rag Laios used to clean his sword and dunks it back into the water bowl. He grabs Laios’ chin and angles it towards him, forcing him to look at him, before he sets about sopping up the suds left over on Laios’ face. “If you needed help, I wouldn’t have made fun of you for it or anything.”

Chilchuck’s words are sincere, if a little rough. He handles Laios like a chore and Laios lets him do it. It wasn’t rare for Chilchuck to get touchy, quick to smack a hand away or kick at a shin, but it was rare that he got personal . Up close like this, Laios’ cheeks slightly squishing under his fingertips, he can see the gold flecks patterned into Chilchuck’s irises and the faint imprint of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“I didn’t know you shaved,” Laios says carefully. ‘I didn’t know you had to,’ goes unsaid.

“If I don’t, my sideburns grow in like my dad’s,” Chilchuck huffs, a facsimile of a laugh under his breath.

“I think you’d look cool with sideburns,” Laios says. Chilchuck stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before his hands fall from Laios’ face and the wet rag splats into his face. He sputters.

“It’s not a good look,” Chilchuck responds, fingers deftly picking up the leather bundle he left in Laios’ lap. He unties it and spools it out to lay flat on the crate’s top, plucking a vial of something powdery from the lineup and tapping some into a spare bowl. He adds some water and starts mixing. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Laios mutters. The words barely escape him, but he knows Chilchuck heard by the way he tenses up.

“Oh, yeah, and let you kill yourself by trying to shave with a sword? Nice try,” Chilchuck snarks. Laios can feel the way he rolls his eyes at him. The mixture starts to foam, much like what Falin used when she helped him, and Chilchuck starts painting his face and neck with the stuff.

“I just wanted it to be gone,” Laios says meekly. 

“I know,” Chilchuck says. He moves behind him, heaving himself up onto the crate and shifting a bit to get comfortable. He taps on Laios’ head once, prompting him to move closer. Once Laios gets in manipulating distance, he nudges the side of his head. Laios tilts until his temple rests on the inside of Chilchuck’s knee. Then, Chilchuck sets the razor to the side of his neck.

There’s a moment, thick like shaving foam, that passes between them. They lock eyes in a clear question: Is this okay? Laios swallows before nodding almost imperceptibly. Chilchuck sets his eyes lower. The razor starts to move.

“I could tell something was bugging you,” Chilchuck admits after a few swipes. His fingers dance across Laios’ skin, applying pressure where he needs to. Laios can tell by the coolness of his touch that he’s burning up. 

“Was I that obvious?” Laios asks, hoping his voice didn’t sound as raw as he felt. He is a bundle of exposed nerves, hypersensitive in every place Chilchuck touches him. They’ve never been this close for this long before. Laios was never sure he wanted to be, with how vicious the half-foot could be sometimes. But now that he’s here, Chilchuck’s gaze flaying him open and his fingers stitching him back together, he isn’t sure if there was anywhere else he could be. 

“Not obvious,” Chilchuck says haltingly. He brushes the shell of Laios’ ear as he prompts him to tilt to the other side. Laios isn’t proud of the way he shudders. Undoubtedly, Chilchuck notices, but he doesn’t say anything. “It was more like…” the half-foot pauses, the razor gliding along Laios’ jawline, “I could hear it. Your heartbeat. It sounded annoyed.”

“A heartbeat can sound annoyed?” Laios asks before he can stop himself. Half-foot senses were so intensified that they could hear heartbeats?!

“Heartbeats can sound like a lot of things,” Chilchuck replies, a wicked grin flashing across his face. “Yours sounds nervous, right now.”

Laios knows he probably looks like a tomato. “I’ve seen what you can do with a knife,” he says, trying to play it off. He gets pinched on the cheek for his trouble. “Falin’s the only other person I trusted enough to help me,” he tries again, going for a more sincere approach. 

“And now you trust me enough?” The question falls derisive and skeptical from Chilchuck’s lips. Laios has to turn his face, meeting his eye directly, to answer.

“I’ve always trusted you,” he says. He almost smiles at the way Chilchuck immediately flushes bright red. “I just didn’t think you’d agree to something like this.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chilchuck grumbles, pushing his head forward again. “Literally. I’m sure we wouldn’t hear the end of it if Marcille caught us like this.”

The admission, pure and simple, that this wasn’t something normal people did for each other seeps into Laios’ being. Shame licks at him like an overly friendly dog.

“If you need me, though,” Chilchuck says, the final swipe of the razor flipping away from his face with a flourish, “just ask.”

“Really?” Laios asks. He knows he sounds incredulous, and probably ungrateful, but he has to ask. He could just be saying it to say it, like those empty promises people make when they really mean the opposite. Chilchuck may have just helped him this time because he pitied him, or because Laios really might have hurt himself with the stunt he was trying to pull with his sword. He didn’t really mean that he’d help if Laios asked, right?

“Yes, Laios, really,” Chilchuck sighs. 

With three words, Chilchuck negated his whole thought process. Who was he kidding? This was Chilchuck he was talking about. The half-foot didn’t do anything he didn’t feel like doing. Which begs the question, why would he feel like helping Laios with something as personal, as intimate, as this? A slight headache starts to form at his temples. 

Chilchuck’s leg swings over his head, making him duck reflexively and shocking him out of his stupor. Chilchuck hops off the box with a practiced ease, cleaning his razor in the bowl of water before drying it on the hem of his tunic. He turns back to Laios, probably to put away the razor, when he sees that Laios hasn’t moved at all.

“What?” he asks, obviously confused. He kicks at Laios’ folded legs, more like a nudge than anything else, as he moves back and repacks the leather bundle. “Clean yourself up. We should probably try to get some rest before Senshi and Marcille wake up.”

Laios grabs the wet cloth that fell, forgotten, into his lap and hastily wipes his face clean. For a moment, he touches his face, fingertips reveling in the smoothness that was there now. Did he ever have this close a shave until now?

Chilchuck bonks the leather roll to the top of his head.

“Okay, okay,” Laios huffs, pushing himself to his feet.

The half-foot doesn’t wait for him. He didn’t expect him to. By the time Laios gathers up all the stuff he grabbed earlier and gets back to where they’ve made camp, Chilchuck is already curled back up in his bedroll, blanket tucked securely around him. 

He didn’t even give him a chance to thank him. Knowing Chilchuck, he probably didn’t want to hear it.

For once, Chilchuck feels like he can breathe. 

With the red dragon slain, Falin revived, and food in their bellies, things were starting to look up a bit. He’s reserving a part of his lungs for the heavy sigh he’ll let out once they get back to the surface, Falin in tow, but for now the dry taste of the bottle of wine he found was well worth it.

Alcohol slackening his movements, he moves around the maze of a house they commandeered for the night. Senshi’s humming as he looks through every cabinet and drawer, no doubt trying to find something he could adopt into their ingredient stores. Falin and Marcille are unpacking all their bed rolls, setting up mattresses and pushing bed frames around to make up something suitable for the night. Their chatter almost makes him smile.

The sound of Marcille’s voice, though, has his thoughts flashing back to the ritual she did to bring Falin back. He tries to suppress the shudder that shakes through him, but it’s no use. 

Distracting himself, he turns to find Laios sitting at one of the tables. He’s bent over, hands fumbling at the armor around his previously uninjured leg. His left leg is still bare, pants torn from where the dragon bit it clean off, the jagged line of a bubbling scar wrapping around his upper calf like a wreath. 

Metal scrapes against metal as Laios struggles. Alcohol addled, Chilchuck realizes Laios is shaking.

Chilchuck makes his way over. He grabs at Laios’ gorget and pulls him back, forcing him to sit up once more.

“Chil,” Laios breathes. Chilchuck doesn’t scold him for using his first name. Poor guy’s been through enough as it is, he doesn’t need him yelling at him about things he doesn’t understand. The tall-man’s heartbeat is rabbit quick and irregular, adrenaline no doubt wasting from his limbs. Coming down from the high was probably what was making him shake.

“I told you forever ago to ask me for help,” Chilchuck scoffs. He ignores the wide-eyed golden look he gets in response in lieu of stooping down and getting to work. 

“Thank you,” Laios says. It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t shake. Even on the heavier side of tipsy, Chilchuck makes quick work of the buckles and belts that secure Laios’ poleyn in place. He sets one piece down on the table, before moving to the other piece just lower on his legs. “Not just for this, but for the first time, too,” Laios adds. He says it rushed, words tumbling out of his mouth like he was scared they would never leave at all. 

“I told you not to mention it,” Chilchuck says, looking up to smile at Laios as he removes his greave. He looks a little repentant, face flushing a little, but his attention turns to his hands as he puts the armor piece down and his fingers slide on something sticky. His hands come away with blood on them. For a panicked moment, he thinks Laios is still hurt and didn’t tell anyone. His heart beats in his throat as he surveys Laios up and down. His chest plate is also smudged red, and there’s flecks of blood on his face and hands as well, and with a swoop of his stomach he realizes that the blood belongs to the red dragon. 

Laios must have seen his thoughts play out across his face, because he tries to rub the blood off his face. A couple flakes budge under his fingers. “Sorry, I was going to polish them up once I got them off…”

“After you washed yourself off, right?” Chilchuck says, eyebrows raised. Laios presses the tips of his index fingers together, heart thudding in his chest. “Laios, you’re covered in blood.”

“But…”

“No buts!” Chilchuck says, all at once feeling like he’s arguing with one of his daughters. He closes his eyes to gather his inner strength. “It’s gross. You need to bathe. End of story.”

“I…” Laios starts before his mouth pinches up in a weird sort of grimace. “I can’t leave Falin alone. I just got her back. I can’t…”

There’s pain stripping his voice like coal miners in every syllable. Chilchuck feels it too, a strange sort of void in his chest where elation was supposed to be. They slayed the dragon, they got Falin back, but Chilchuck couldn’t shake the feeling that they lost something precious in the process. 

Holding back his sigh, Chilchuck wipes the slightly coagulated blood on his turtleneck’s hem and steps closer to Laios, their knees almost knocking. He reaches around under Laios’ arm, feels the way the tall-man stiffens, and finds the straps of his pauldrons.

“If you think,” Chilchuck says, undoing the first piece and moving to Laios’ other side for the other, “that Marcille is going to leave Falin alone, even for a second, I’d call you crazy.” 

Laios lifts his arm obediently, giving him better access to the pieces of armor as he strips him. 

“You already call me crazy,” he says, some humor in his voice now.

“I’ll mean it this time, though,” Chilchuck says. He slides the pauldrons off, the weight heavier than he expects, but he manages to place them on the table without incident. When he turns back, Laios is already undoing the side straps of his cuirass, fingers already much steadier than before as he tugs the armor off and sets it aside. “Falin’s in good hands. You have to take care of yourself, too, not just her.”

Laios bows his head, taking off his gorget and letting the piece rest in his lap. He doesn’t move for a long moment, head still bowed, until he pulls in a rattling breath and sits up.

“Fine,” he mutters. Chilchuck takes that as a win.

They leave his armor there, Laios promising to come back and clean it later. They duck into the room where the beds were set up, Falin, Marcille, and Senshi all talking amongst each other about something that has Falin’s eyes sparkling. Laios grabs a fresh tunic and a washing rag from his pack as Chilchuck grabs what he needs as well. Laios wanders over to Falin, hand musing her still-wet hair as they talk for a second, and for some reason the sight hurts Chilchuck’s heart. He leaves the room, finds the bottle of wine he abandoned in order to help Laios, and drains it. 

The alcohol burns the back of his throat pleasantly as Laios finds him again, eyes a little wide as he registers that Chilchuck was going to be bathing with him. Chilchuck almost laughs at him, because it's not like they haven’t bathed at the same time before, but he chooses to save the guy some heartache. 

The bathing room is like a sauna, steam curling from the wide, slightly raised swimming pool of a bath. The tiles are slightly slick with condensation, so Chilchuck takes extra care not to slip as he sets his clean clothes and towel down and starts undressing. He can practically feel the exhaustion and awkwardness rolling off of Laios in waves. Unconsciously, he starts singing under his breath to break the tension. 

“Are you…” Laios starts to ask, catching him just as Chilchuck hooks his fingers into the hem of his pants and is about to shuck them down, “...drunk?”

The question is so preposterous, Chilchuck can’t help but laugh. It comes out of him like a guffaw, loud and boisterous enough to shake his shoulders. He drops his pants, wraps his towel around his middle for modesty, and wipes a tear from his eyes as he turns back to Laios. His face was bright pink. Must be the steam.

“It takes more than a single bottle to get me drunk!” he assures, laughing at the way Laios’ expression twists. It’s like if he licked a lemon and got scolded at the same time. Chilchuck finds it kind of adorable. 

“You’re singing,” Laios says, tugging his shirt over his head. “You don’t sing.”

“I sing when I want to,” Chilchuck argues, turning his nose up to him. Laios obviously isn’t happy at the remark, face still pinched, but he doesn’t comment on it anymore. 

They scrub the filth off their bodies in silence, blood and sweat running off of them in rivulets and staining the tiles underneath them. Chilchuck feels Laios’ eyes on him as they rinse off, but he doesn’t feel bothered. Laios still probably thinks he’s drunk. He’s tipsy , and the fact that the world feels like it’s swaying under his feet and his head feels stuffed with cotton is all irrelevant. 

They slip into the slightly opaque bath water, towels resting on the lip of the pool. The heat is splendid against his skin, enough for him to let out a groan in relief as he finds the ledge built into the pool and sinks further down.

“Now this,” Chilchuck sighs, splaying out, his head lolling back, “this is nice.”

“Yeah,” Laios hums, and he actually sounds like he means it. Relief makes the hot water feel sweeter, because finally Laios was allowing himself to relax. 

“You glad I made you clean up now?” Chilchuck needles. 

“A little,” Laios says. The moment stills, the sound of trickling water filling the silence as Laios works through his words like a particularly tough piece of meat. Chilchuck looks at him through partially closed eyes, noting the redness of his ears and the tension held in his shoulders. “Is it weird that this doesn’t feel… real?”

“How so?” Chilchuck asks.

“She’s back,” Laios answers. He almost sounds dazed. “I know I led you down here saying we were going to get her back, but…” Laios looks up, and it's then that Cilchuck realizes his eyes are swimming with tears. “Part of me thought it was going to be a lost cause, that all of it would be for nothing, that no matter how hard I tried, I would never see her again.”

For a moment, horror washes over Chilchuck. Laios is crying and he’s almost powerless to stop him. Something aches in him at the wet sniffling sound Laios makes. It’s almost like how he felt years ago, when his daughters were still toddling around and one of them would wake up and all they wanted to do was cry. It wasn’t quite right, the feeling that leaves the inside of his chest a little itchy, but it’s close enough for him to know that he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

Languidly, Chilchuck rises from the warm water. He grabs his towel and the soap he had with him and makes his way to the other end of the pool, where Laios is sitting. He sniffles again and Chilchuck has to keep himself from grabbing his head and dunking him in the water.

“Hey,” he says, finally at his side. He nudges Laios’ arm, getting those red-rimmed golden eyes to look at him. “Scoot over, will ya?” he asks.

“Huh?” 

Chilchuck folds his towel so it’s one long swatch, placing it just behind Laios’ head. He doesn’t give Laios time to question him further, hoisting himself out of the water and reveling in the undignified squawk that comes out of Laios as he plants his ass onto the towel. He situates himself so that his legs frame Laios’ shoulders, and then folds the extra length of his towel over his waist to cover himself.

“What’re you doing?” Laios asks, panicked. His hands are over his face, ears burning a bright red. If he was sober, Chilchuck would’ve worried about him overheating.

“I’m going to wash your hair, idiot,” Chilchuck says, grabbing his shoulders and steering him into position. Laios holds himself taught, exactly the opposite of what Chilchuck wanted, but he could remedy that. He leans forward to dunk his hands into the water before lathering a good amount of soap into his palms. He’s just about to set his hands to Laios’ head when he sees that the tall-man is staring at him, eyes still shining, with his head all the way lolled back. “Is this okay?” Chilchuck asks.

“You don’t have to do this,” Laios says, voice creaking like an old door.

“You said that last time, too,” Chilchuck says, clicking his tongue. He slides his fingers through Laios’ short hair, tilting his head forward once more. Bubbles form as he works, fingertips scrubbing insistently at Laios’ scalp, tugging and easing the small knots he finds within the strands.

“Because I’m not a kid, you don’t have to help me,” Laios says. The words are almost swallowed up by the sounds of running water around them.

“You think I’m babying you?” Chilchuck asks, not hiding the incredulous edge of his voice. Laios’ thudding heart is the only answer he needs. Scrubbing harder, raking his fingers through the shorter strands at the back of Laios’ neck, he says, “Listen up, alright? Because I’m only gonna say this once.” He waits for a breath, thoughts tumbling in his head and thunking around trying to find his mouth. “You might be weird, and awkward, and a little bit of a dork sometimes, but you’re a good guy.” 

Maybe the wine was catching up with him, or maybe it was the humidity fogging his brain, but he feels himself sway in a weightless sort of way. His fingers deliberately seek out Laios’ neck, rubbing at the tension of the muscles there and using the feel of him as an anchor. 

“You care about a lot of things all at once, and that’s what I admire about you.” Chilchuck can practically feel Laios’ heartbeat reaching a new high. “You love your sister, you love monsters, you love cooking and fighting and exploring and… I don’t know, Laios, the fact that you don’t seem to love yourself all that much sucks. I mean, the proof is right there on your leg! You were willing to throw everything away for our sakes, and dammit, that’s not okay!”

By now, Chilchuck’s slumping forward, head resting on top of Laios’ soapy head and his arms looped effortlessly around his neck, hands resting loosely fisted on his chest. He can feel Laios’ frame shaking, but he doesn’t know if it's because of choked back sobs, nerves, or just being cold. Chilchuck can feel the edges of the world blurring a bit, just beyond the two of them.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, “just want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t have to be alone. That’s all.”

“Chil…” he hears Laios say, just as his eyelids flutter closed and the world stops mattering.

(When he wakes, he’s clothed, slumped in his bedroll, and his hair slightly damp with no recollection of how it got like that. Senshi and Marcille are giving him weird looks. Laios is polishing his armor, and Falin chats with him for a moment before stooping down and healing the scar on his upper calf. For some reason, Chilchuck’s chest hurts to see the scar disappear into nothingness.)

Laios stares up at the ceiling above him and, in the safety of the Golden Country’s lodgings, lets his jumbled thoughts spool themselves out. 

Falin was a chimera. She wasn’t truly Falin anymore, but Laios knew she was still in there somewhere. The mad mage was out to get them. The Golden Country’s people were expecting them to defeat the mad mage and take over as rulers of the island.

Oh, and he’s in love with Chilchuck. 

That’s the one that trips him up the most. There are things he can do about being antagonized by the master of the dungeon. His hands are tied when it comes to Chilchuck.

Ever since Chilchuck found him trying to shave with his sword, something unidentifiable swirled in his gut every time he so much as looked at the half-foot. It got worse with time, building up in him like a cold. Every time his mind wandered, he thought of Chilchuck’s hands on his face, wondering how he could get him to do it again. 

And then they resurrected Falin and Chilchuck stripped him of his armor and shoved him into the bath. The weight of his own feelings didn’t even hit him until Chilchuck’s nude body was situated behind him, his dexterous fingers weaving through his hair and rubbing knots out of his neck, all the while telling Laios all about his good points. It wracked through him, all the laughs and the conversations and the touches they shared over the last three years that they’ve known each other, love so overwhelmingly sharp in his chest that all he could do was sob. 

Chilchuck had leaned on his head, every point where they touched branded into his skin, and told him that he didn’t have to be alone. Laios opened his mouth to say something, anything, love spilling out of his mouth like a fountain spout…

And Chilchuck passed out. 

Laios had caught him before the half-foot cracked his head against the tiles or fell into the bath water, but after that was kind of a blur. Whatever feelings he had on his tongue had to be swallowed and ignored as he did his best to dry Chilchuck off and stuff him into the fresh change of clothes he brought with him. 

When he carried him back to his bedroll, he was met with wide-eyed, curious gazes.

“Overheated,” Laios said, and left it at that. 

Now, with this impossibly large feat hanging over them all, all Laios wants is to feel those hands on him again. It’s something he tries to force himself not to think of, guilt coiling hot under his skin whenever he does, but he can’t help it. He watched as Chilchuck maps out the shifting of the dungeon floor, making meticulous notes as he goes. He watched as Chilchuck fought with his shapeshifter duplicates, seeing his mannerisms reflected onto odd copies of himself. He watched as Chilchuck aimed his bow, his form textbook as his arrow hit the ice golem’s body dead on, pride blooming on his face as he hit his mark. 

Laios never thought of himself as a romantic. His parents were never the picture-perfect couple, always perfunctory and poised as they interacted with each other. When he was forced into his engagement, he barely knew the girl he was supposed to marry, and she didn’t have much interest in him, either. He left for the army before his parents could force him to make good on the arrangement, anyways. Romance never made much sense to him before.

Now, Chilchuck makes something inside Laios sing, a dull hum filling his chest when he wasn’t paying attention and a full choir when he was. He’s more than content to just watch the way he works, the way he eats, the way he talks with his hands. Laios takes all these little tidbits he never noticed before and files them away for later, playing them back in his head before he falls asleep. 

Sure, nothing will happen, but at least he can dream.

Suddenly restless, Laios silently gets up from his bed. He leaves Kensuke propped up next to his bed—the Golden Country was the safest place they’ve been in, and he wasn’t planning on going far anyways. Still, on habit, he takes stock of his party: Senshi, snoring away, Marcille, muttering something about egg tarts in her sleep, Izutsumi, curled up and happy on Chilchuck’s chest. His eyes linger on Chilchuck for a moment, just long enough for him to realize the half-foot was awake, grimacing and clearly uncomfortable with Izutsumi’s weight on him. Laios makes a face, something that he hopes looks like a cross between sympathetic and apologetic, before he ducks away towards the balcony connected to their room. 

The night’s breeze is cool against his skin, the fake moon shining bright enough for him to see the rolling fields around them. Some minotaur roam around in their pastures, some grazing on grasses or bales of hay that were left out, others playfighting in a loosely formed ring. Some direwolves and basilisks linger around the villagers’ homes, almost like they were protecting their caretakers listlessly. 

It’s refreshing, to say the least, to see the monsters he loved so much so content like this. He was so used to them acting hostile that he forgot they could be docile like this. Laios thinks of a world with no fear, no pain, just monsters living side by side with the civilizations already topside. It was a fantasy world, one where he would probably fit in better, would be more understood. It aches in his chest just enough for him to push the thoughts aside.

“Hey,” someone grumbles. Laios has to tense everything in him to keep his startled cry in. Chilchuck heaves himself onto the stone bench next to the balcony’s bannister, leaning over its side a bit as he takes in the view.

“Chil,” Laios huffs. Being close to him like this, alone, makes his heart thud faster. He knows Chilchuck could hear it, he just doesn’t care.

“Before you say anything stupid, I couldn’t sleep either,” Chilchuck huffs, his eyes trailing up to meet Laios’. “Izutsumi is a pain now that she’s cuddly.”

Laios swallows his mild jealousy down. “I’m surprised you were able to get out from under her,” he remarks.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Chilchuck laughs. He shakes his head, almost like he was clearing the air around him, before turning back to the view. Laios follows his gaze, watching a direwolf poke its head through the fence of the minotaur’s pasture and licks at a baby’s face. “So,” Chilchuck drawls after a moment, “too much on your mind to sleep? Or are the beds a little too comfortable for you?”

Laios can’t help it. He chuckles. “Well, the beds are softer than what I’m used to,” he says, shifting a bit so that their arms are brushing, “but yes, there’s a lot on my mind.”

“I don’t blame ya,” Chilchuck says. Unconsciously or not, the half-foot leans into him. Laios has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “It’s a lot to commit to, a prophecy like that.”

“I still don’t know if I should,” Laios says. Thoughts he desperately didn’t want resurfacing came back full-force. “We barely got out of our last encounter with the mad mage, and now we’re expected to defeat him? And that’s not even including that they want me to be the next king,” Laios bemoans, stooping down to put his head in his hands. “This isn’t what we came here to do. I don’t want to force you guys into more danger if we don’t have to.”

“You know,” Chilchuck says slowly, as if he was plucking the words out of the air around them, “I thought that, too. The only reason why I said you have to refuse them earlier is because someone had to tell you that you could. You’re your own man, Laios. Not even a prophecy can force you into something you don’t want to do.”

Laios’ insides shimmer. The care and belief that was hidden most of the time shines through with every one of the half-foot’s words. He lifts his head, searching Chilchuck’s face illuminated in the moonlight and finding a soft expression there. It’s moments like this when he’s reminded of just how he feels for the half-foot, how his chest squeezes impossibly tight when he’s around, stealing his breath away. Laios shifts, turning towards Chilchuck, and briefly wonders how it would feel if he closed the gap between them and kissed him.

But Chilchuck claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of whatever daze he was in. 

“That being said, you’re a good man , too,” Chilchuck says. His words echo his drunken manifesto from what felt like ages ago, back when they revived Falin and Chilchuck had drunkenly forced him into the bath. “We’re not leaving here without Falin, I agree with that, and defeating the mad mage is probably the best bet we have in saving her.” Chilchuck squeezes his shoulder, the movement like a subtle test to see how much tension was under his fingertips. Laios hopes the moonlight doesn’t translate how much his face flushes. “Besides, I know you. A whole kingdom of people who are very familiar with living symbiotically with monsters just asked you for help. It’d tear you apart to say no.”

Laios’ mouth pops open before he can stop it. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Chilchuck laughs, the sound unabashed and bright. In his hilarity, he pushes at Laios’ shoulder, making the tall-man rock with his force. Laios can’t help but watch him, his expression slack and happy as he guffaws, one hand gripping the bannister and the other clutching at his chest like he would laugh apart without it. He’s so charmingly open, bearing his soul in a way he so rarely does, that it makes Laios want to wrap him in his arms, keep him close, and swear to make sure nothing ever hurts him again. 

So, he does. He plops down onto the stone bench and doesn’t wait for Chilchuck to sober up or ask him what he’s doing. He weaves his arms around Chilchuck’s waist, tugging him close as he crashes into him. Chilchuck is still laughing slightly as Laios buries his head into his chest, the sound lighter than before, and it’s a miracle that he doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, he leans into Laios, letting his hands drift from the bannister to thread through his hair, scritching at his scalp slightly as he does. 

Laios has to physically bite back a moan at the feeling. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, hugging like that. It’s long enough for Chilchuck’s heat to become his own, for a direwolf to start a howl, and for Chilchuck to lean down and rest his head on Laios’, his breath musing his hair with every exhale. 

“Thank you,” Laios murmurs against Chilchuck’s tunic. 

“Don’t mention it,” Chilchuck answers. He ruffles his hands through Laios’ hair once more before he breaks the embrace. For a moment, they stare at each other, the cool breeze stealing their shared warmth as their arms fall uselessly to their sides. Chilchuck breaks the stillness first, pulling in a breath as he juts his chin back towards the room, bidding Laios to come with him. He waits until Laios nods back to hop down from the stone bench and make his way inside. 

Laios thinks it’ll take him forever to fall asleep. All it takes is for him to tug the collar of his tunic to his nose, smelling Chilchuck’s lingering scent there, for him to fall asleep. 

Chilchuck leans on the doorframe of the room, looking in. Falin’s newly reconfigured human frame lies in the bed, the same position she’s been in for the past couple days now. Her heart’s pumping, her lungs are working fine, and her stomach is starting to growl, just a bit, from what Chilchuck can hear. Izutsumi is curled up at the foot of the bed, her body angled carefully so she wouldn’t touch Falin’s feet. Marcille is slumped back in her chair, arms slack at her sides and head lolling backwards as she snores. 

And then there’s Laios. He’s sitting up in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his head bobbing up and down as he fights sleep. He’s been stubbornly difficult as they wait for Falin to wake up, refusing anyone who calls on him and begging Senshi for broths or mana-replenishing foods that he could try to force feed Falin to help her recover. Chilchuck looks at him and sees an old livestock dog, guarding his flock with dogged but practiced loyalty. 

His head bobs again before it jerks back up again, his slow breathing kicking back up to a waking notch, as he blinks blurrily around the room. Chilchuck’s chest squeezes. Holding in his sigh, he pushes himself into the room. Laios’ gaze snaps to him, the weight of those golden eyes on him as familiar as the contents of his adventuring pack. He comes just close enough to tug at Laios’ sleeve, insistent.

“Come with me,” Chilchuck says low enough to not disturb the quiet in the room. Laios’ eyes wander back to his sister, worry pinching his brows together. He opens his mouth, to protest most likely, and Chilchuck cuts him off before he can voice it. “I’m not asking, Laios. Come on.”

Wordlessly, Laios complies. He follows Chilchuck as he turns on his heels and leaves the room, their footsteps and heartbeats pattering down the hallway as they go. 

“I can’t stay for long,” Laios finally says after a short while, his voice still gruff from disuse. “I have to be there when…”

“I know, I know,” Chilchuck soothes, placing his hand on Laios’ elbow as he ushers him into the next room. The small table is piled high with dishes he and Senshi made, and the sight obviously catches Laios short since Chilchuck has to grab him more insistently and practically shove him towards the table. “Have a quick bite and stretch for a bit, and then I’ll let you get back. I promise.”

Laios looks like he’s about to protest again, but his stomach growls loud enough to shock the both of them. Chilchuck bites back his laugh as Laios hangs his head and moves to the table. He grabs a plate and starts loading it up, taking a bit from each dish on the table. He still looks tired, meek, like he was guilty for some huge crime just by eating while his sister couldn’t. Laios’ eyes drift to him more than once, a question written clearly in the hopeful arch of his eyebrows. 

Chilchuck didn’t feel that hungry, but he knew better than to refuse Laios.

He grabs a plate for himself, doles out a serving or two, and then spots the plate of dumplings Laios had missed. He grabs a couple before moving to sit across from Laios, shuffling some dumplings onto his plate as he sits.

“Those are potato and cheese dumplings,” Chilchuck explains when Laios pins him with a look. “You mentioned your home country makes them like that, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Laios answers, a waver in his voice. Chilchuck’s afraid the tall-man might cry. “Why did you…?”

“Senshi and I have been making food non-stop, just in case Falin wakes up and needs a proper meal,” Chilchuck says slowly. “Plus, all the provisions we gathered for the feast will most likely go bad soon. All the food we make and can’t eat goes to the adventurers or half-foots that don’t have enough, so it’s not like it goes to waste.”

“Oh,” Laios says. He looks sad, in a ‘puppy not being let into the house’ sort of way, until he picks up a dumpling and sinks his teeth into it. What used to be borderline tears turn into sparkles as he chews and swallows. “These are incredible!”

“Yeah?” Chilchuck asks through a laugh, not able to hold back his delight. “Here,” he says, shuffling the rest of the dumplings he picked up off his plate and onto Laios’. The tall-man eats them like he’s been starving for days. Chilchuck’s content to watch him eat, to hear his heartbeat strengthen with every bite he takes, his color coming back to him moment by moment, but he realizes how weird that is. He resolves to finish off his plate, chewing slowly as he goes.

When Laios is done, he leans forward to dole himself out another portion. He thinks better of it at the last second, though, sinking back into his seat with a clear pout on his lips.

“You can have more, you know,” Chilchuck says through his mouthful. “There’s plenty to go around.”

“I know, I just…” Laios says, his hand coming up to scratch at the side of his face nervously, “I should get… back.” His words are stunted as his hand lingers on his face, eyes glossed and fixed on something past Chilchuck’s shoulders. Chilchuck swallows, waiting for Laios to snap back to it and continue what he was saying. 

He sets his fork down. Chilchuck can be patient.

Laios’s hand slowly drifts from his face, dazed.

He can’t be patient. 

“You alright there, Laios?” he asks pointedly.

That seems to get Laios back. Sitting up straighter, his hand falling into his lap, and his eyes refocusing on Chilchuck’s face, Laios flushes. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay, I’m…” Laios starts to say, nervousness in every note. Skepticism must have been written across Chilchuck’s face, because Laios wilts under his gaze. “Actually, uhm, I was just thinking… Do you remember when you said that, if I needed your help, all I had to do was ask?”

“Yes?” Chilchuck says, drawing out the syllable. He had just spent ages messing around with dragon blood and intestines for the tall-man, and now he’s embarrassed to ask for a favor?

“Can you…” Laios starts, his voice barely a whisper before he clears his throat and tries again. “Can you help me shave my face again?” The request is not what Chilchuck was expecting. He stares for a long moment before Laios pipes back up with a, “Please?”

“Is that seriously all you wanted to ask?” Chilchuck asks. It takes everything in him not to laugh at such a small request, especially as Laios gives him a little nod. “You need to learn how to ask for bigger favors,” he sasses, before hopping to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Laios follows him through the house they commandeered, eyes wandering like he’d never seen it before. It wouldn’t surprise Chilchuck if he hadn’t; with how closely Laios had kept to Falin, he wouldn’t have had any reason to see the rest of the place over the past few days. Chilchuck shows him into the room he claimed, gesturing for him to sit on the floor up against the bed as he gets everything ready. 

He feels those eyes following him as he goes. It doesn’t bother him anymore.

He settles down behind Laios, bowl of water next to him and wet towel at the ready, as he slathers his face with shaving foam. He’s comfortable with the silence between them, in stark juxtaposition from the chaos that had surrounded them for the past week. Chilchuck’s gliding the razor up his neck, happy that this small something hadn’t changed, when Laios speaks.

“I need to tell you something.” 

“Can it wait until after I don’t have a sharp object pressed up against your neck?” Chilchuck asks. He’s skilled with the razor, sure, but he doesn’t think Laios is going to come out of this unscathed if he insists on talking through it.

“No,” Laios answers simply. 

“Well,” Chilchuck says, adjusting his grip on the razor’s hilt so he can pay closer attention, “go ahead.”

“Okay,” Laios says, almost sighing the word out, before he takes a deep breath. Chilchuck dances his fingers across his skin as he keeps shaving. “When we first met, I didn’t think you liked me much. You were closed off and kind of prickly, but you never lied to me. Your honesty was the first thing I admired about you.” He speaks low, somber, keeping the movements of his lips to a minimum. Chilchuck can tell he’s doing everything he can to not disturb Chilchuck as he works. “And then I started admiring the way you handled traps, and the ways you knew your limits, and the ways you handled yourself, too.”

Where was he going with this? What was he even saying? Maybe it was the lack of proper rest, or maybe something was wrong with the food he ate and now he was delusional.

“I only really noticed it when you started helping me like this, you know,” Laios continues, his words even. There’s determination in his voice now, mixed with the bitter notes of resignation. He sounds like he has no choice but to say it, whatever it is. Chilchuck’s throat feels tight as he tries to not knick Laios’ jaw. “You’re good with your hands, you never do things you don’t want to do and… and you don’t lie. So, I shouldn’t lie to you.”

Chilchuck opens his mouth, wanting to say something, anything. Maybe tell Laios he has food poisoning and needs to lie down, or that he’s talking nonsense. The words die in his throat, though, when Laios’ hand comes up to grip at his wrist. It’s only then that he realizes that his hands are shaking, the razor’s edge dancing dangerously close to Laios’ neck.

“I like you, Chil, more than I probably should,” Laios says. He might as well have been announcing someone’s death. “I just needed to say that before I start running a country and you start taking care of the other half-foots and getting your own shop. That’s all.”

His words are a blow, nearly concussing him, leaving him dazed and a little confused. Laios likes him? What the hell does he mean by ‘that’s all?’  

Laios’ hand slides upwards, his touch hot as he reaches for the razor blade held loose in Chilchuck’s hand.

“Here,” he says, like he didn’t say anything important the minute before, “I can handle the rest.”

Panic grips him then, fierce and true, and he grips the razor tight to stop Laios from slipping it from his palm. 

“I got it,” Chilchuck bites the words stinging as they leave his lips. He hates the way Laios flinches. He readjusts his hands, resting them on Laios’ jaw with new, insistent pressure, as he sets about to finish the job. He can feel Laios’ heartbeat stuttering under his fingers, a sad sort of rhythm that would put a funeral march to shame. He moves when Chilchuck moves, molding himself to his whims just enough to convey that he expects this to be the last time.

And isn’t that the fucking thing, huh? For the better part of three years, Chilchuck has stuck by the tall-man’s side and never thought twice about it. After everything they’ve been through during this last dungeon dive, Chilchuck had almost forgotten that he wanted to retire from adventuring after this, almost forgotten that it would mean he wouldn’t be able to see much of Laios at all after that. Once, he would have laughed, maybe even joked that it was for the best. Now, the thought both terrifies and pisses him off. 

How could it not? Laios, with his odd way of cheering people up, with that metallic golden glint in his eyes when he fights, with that over-friendly voice as he chatters about monsters, with that strangely endearing way he melts into Chilchuck’s touch… It stings and blooms like a bruise when Chilchuck thinks about not being able to be around him anymore. 

Laios said he liked him, more than he probably should. For all of Chilchuck’s heightened senses, he somehow missed the cruel truth that he felt the same. 

“I don’t know where you get the nerve, you know,” Chilchuck says, finishing the razor’s final swipe with a flourish. He ignores the way Laios stiffens, guilty, as he speaks. “You come to me already acting like you know how I’m going to react,” he says. He sets the razor down, the instrument clinking in the bowl, and he grabs the wet towel he abandoned earlier. Getting to his feet, he comes around to Laio’s front, popping a crooked finger under his chin to angle his head up. 

When those golden eyes finally meet his, they’re red-rimmed and watery. 

“How many times did you rehearse that speech in your head, huh?” Chilchuck asks. He starts wiping the leftover shaving foam from Laios’ face, not giving the tall-man an opening to argue. “What did you think was going to happen? Did you think that I was going to get angry?”

“You are, ” Laios manages to mutter. Chilchuck smothers his upper lip with the rag. 

“ You were the one who had a farewell spiel prepared, so zip it!” Chilchuck admonishes. He huffs, frustration egging him on as he throws the rag to the side and frames Laios’ face with his hands. His cheeks squish comically under his palms, but he can’t enjoy the sight at all. “What the hell even was that?” he scolds. “You weren’t going to give me a second to respond? Just thought ‘oh, I’ll drop this bomb and we’ll go our separate ways like it doesn’t matter at all,’ huh?”

“You always said no inter-party relationships!” Laios argues. He shakes his head like a wet dog, dislodging Chilchuck’s hands from where they held him.

“Newsflash, Laios!” he shouts, flinging his hands out and gesturing at everything around them. “We don’t have a party anymore! There’s no dungeon to explore, no treasure to find, no jobs to work, it’s just us! Here! Up top!”

“Then, there really is no reason to stick around, is there?” Laios says, bitterness mixed with deliberation in his tone. “There’s no contract keeping us together. You can do whatever you want. That’s what I’m saying—”

“Do you really think I stuck around you just because of my contract? ” Chilchuck asks. His blood is singing in his veins, it’s running that hot. He has to turn away from Laios, stop staring at those perfectly golden eyes, or else he was going to hit something. Most likely Laios. He paces as he talks, his hands moving as frantically as his mouth. “You were the first person, the only person, to accept my contract outright. No questions, no objections, no amendments. Nothing! You respected what I brought to the party and didn’t try to push me into doing something else. I didn’t go down with you to save Falin because of some stupid contract! It’s because you’re the only decent person on this island and I didn’t want to lose you!”

Something catches his forearm and it takes his whirling mind a moment to realize it’s Laios’ hand, forcing him in place. His eyes are still glossy, but they’re pleading now. Chilchuck doesn’t know if he’s asking him to stop or keep going. He places his free hand on Laios’ own, his heart thundering in his ears, as he continues.

“I didn’t get it either,” he confesses, trying to catch his breath, “until I saw you with your sword to your throat. Or until your leg got bitten off, or until you were staring off a balcony like you’d rather just jump off it.” His hold shifts, his thumb caressing gentle arcs into the back of Laios’ hand. He feels the tall-man’s heartbeat uptick. “You’re the greatest thing I can’t bear to lose. So I’m not going to just sit here and let you walk away like whatever this is doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does mean something,” Laios croaks, the emotion forcing its way through his throat. “It means everything. That’s why I had to tell you. Even if nothing happened, even if you didn’t feel the same, I needed you to know that I like you enough to…” He moves, both of his hands coming up to cradle Chilchuck’s own. His palms radiate heat and Chilchuck can’t help but luxuriate in it. “I like you enough to let you do whatever you want to do, whatever you need to, without worrying about me or feeling obligated to say or do anything.”

“And I like you enough to tell you that’s stupid,” Chilchuck says. He threads their fingers together, the movement as easy as breathing, and gives Laios’ hands a squeeze. “We’ll handle things the way we have been: together. Alright?”

“Okay,” Laios nods. He squeezes Chilchuck’s hands back as he smiles, warm and hopeful. “Okay.”

Laios shifts nervously under Chilchuck’s insistent touch, the skillful slide of the razor against his skin a common occurrence now. The half-foot pauses as Laios moves, his eyes meeting him with a critical edge.

“What have I told you about keeping still?” Chilchuck says, the threat lying just underneath his carefully pleasant tone.

“Sorry,” Laios says, barely containing his grin. “I’m excited.”

“I know,” Chilchuck says. He rolls his eyes, for good measure, before going back to his task. “Just hold onto your jitters until after I’m done. I can’t have you showing up to the feast with cuts all over your face.”

“You’ve never cut me,” Laios counters. 

“Do you want me to start now?” Chilchuck jests. 

“No,” Laios answers. 

“That was a rhetorical question, love,” Chilchuck says. “And also a joke.”

“I know,” Laios says. He can’t hide his smile at the term of endearment. “I just can’t believe they wanted to make the feast an annual thing,” his smile goes wider as he adds, “ and that we’ll be going together.”

“You’re a sap,” Chilchuck laughs, smacking his face lightly. “Now, let me finish.”

Laios carefully schools his expression as the blade continues its arc across his face. He’s putty in Chilchuck’s hands, just as he has been for the past year, letting Chilchuck maneuver and guide him to where he needs him to be. Despite their challenges, their stressors, their ups and their downs, they had stuck by each other. And now, after many late-night talks and what seemed like endless worries, they were going to make it official to everyone at the now-annual feast to celebrate the Golden Country’s revival.

It was no wonder Laios could barely sit still. 

It isn’t long before Chilchuck is putting the razor away and handing a towel over to him. He mops his face up diligently, marveling at the smoothness of his skin. He’s spoiled, he knows, and he’s already sworn to spoil Chilchuck right back. 

A hand presses to his cheek, gentle and familiar, and when Laios looks, Chilchuck’s staring at him with a soft smile. 

“You’re handsome,” Chilchuck says. The love in every syllable has Laios’ stomach doing somersaults.

“You are, too,” Laios says, leaning into his touch. He tries to hold back his grin as he adds, “especially with those sideburns you started growing out.”

He gets a pinched cheek and his face shoved away as Chilchuck laughs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.”