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Sebek isn’t sure why he finds his steps slowing as he approaches the cottage in the woods. He’s come here countless times in the past, eager to train under Master Lilia, eager to face off against Silver and finally emerge the victor in their battles.
Of course, Master Lilia is not going to be training them today. He’s spending the summer in the east, where he plans on recuperating. It’s also where he plans on doing the first three months of his internship. Now that his magic is slowly returning, he has decided to remain a student of Night Raven College.
Silver had assured Lilia that it was fine for him to go so far away, as long as he communicated regularly, whether by text messages or letters. Lilia had looked so proud and so close to tears, Sebek had felt the back of his eyelids beginning to itch during Silver’s stern lecture.
It was obvious to Sebek that Silver was putting on a brave face, and if Sebek had noticed, then Lilia had, too. Therefore, Sebek had inserted himself in the conversation, loudly asserting that Lilia could certainly take care of himself, no matter where he was – especially after his magic had started to return.
And now, it’s just Silver staying at the cottage, alone.
It’s not the first time that this has been the case. Master Lilia has gone on long journeys numerous times in the past, leaving Silver to fend for himself. It’s just that this is the first time Silver has been alone since they’d all fought against Malleus, and Sebek doesn’t like the idea of Silver having so much time to get lost in his thoughts.
He’s here to suggest a week-long intensive training, putting the skills they’ve acquired to the test. He’s still determined to defeat Silver, after all, and this is the perfect opportunity.
Surely, Silver will see the wisdom of Sebek’s suggestion. Silver is as determined to improve his skills as Sebek is, or at least nearly so. Sebek takes a deep breath and resumes his trek through the woods.
There is no answer when he knocks at the door, nor when he bellows Silver’s name. Silver is probably chopping wood or collecting water from the stream, or perhaps practicing his swordsmanship alone.
When Sebek finds Silver, he’s doing none of those things. His sword is strapped to his side, but it seems all wrong. Silver is wearing a soft, worn tunic of some indiscriminate shade of beige, paired with dark brown breeches. He seems to be engaged in conversation with a tree, or more accurately, a squirrel peeking out of a hole in the trunk. Even from this distance, his expression is serious, until a bird swoops down, a wildflower in its beak. It lands on Silver’s shoulder and begins threading the stem through Silver’s hair with its beak. It all seems rather domestic, and Silver turns to thank the bird for the gift, a small smile on his face. When he notices Sebek, his smile grows a bit more, and it does uncomfortable things to Sebek’s insides.
“Sebek,” Silver says. The flower in his hair is deep sapphire in color, and the contrast of the petals against the silver strands is striking. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Were we training today?”
“I…” Sebek’s words get caught in his throat. Silver’s gaze is steady and familiar, but there is something about it today that feels different. Silver’s eyes are the same unusual color they’ve always been, framed by lashes the color of moonlight. The question in Silver’s gaze seems to shift, and the bird takes flight as Sebek approaches.
(Silver’s animal friends have never been particularly fond of Sebek.)
It’s just the two of them here – Sebek doesn’t count the woodland creatures – and there’s something about the way Silver is looking at him (through him) that has Sebek aching for a fight.
He unsheathes his own sword and stands at the ready, and without a word, Silver draws his own weapon. He immediately blocks Sebek’s first strike with a grunt. There is something satisfying about the sound of their blades clashing and the way the hilt practically hums in his hands. Sebek feels invigorated, and his next strike forces Silver back a step. Silver’s training under Master Lilia shows, for it takes little time before he turns the tables, forcing Sebek into a more defensive role.
Silver has never lacked power in his strikes, but today, he’s more aggressive than usual. More driven. It’s as if every negative emotion Silver has ever felt in his life has waited for this very moment. As if he has needed this outlet, has needed Sebek to force it out of him.
It’s still frustrating when Sebek is forced back against a tree, Silver’s sword against his throat. There’s a chorus of protest from the birds nesting on a nearby branch, as if Sebek has purposely disturbed them. The ruckus doesn’t cause Silver’s arm to waver in the slightest, but his blade is so close that when Sebek swallows, the tip nicks his skin. Silver notices at once and takes several steps back before dropping his sword on the ground and covering his face with his hands.
This is unacceptable. It’s insulting.
Sebek pushes away from the tree and grabs Silver’s wrists. Silver meets his gaze – of course he does – and Sebek scowls at him.
“Do you think me so weak that this,” he releases one of Silver’s wrists and swipes his thumb over the tiny pinprick of blood, “would bring me low?”
“No,” Silver says with a shake of his head. “Of course not.”
Sebek believes him, but it’s still galling that Silver has defeated him once again. It’s always been a prick to his pride to be defeated by a human – by Silver – but he can’t deny Silver’s skill. Nor can he deny the fact that while training under Master Lilia has made both of them stronger, competing against each other has made them better.
Silver is looking at him curiously, and a muscle in Sebek’s jaw twitches.
“You think I let you win,” Sebek says accusingly.
“No!” Silver’s eyes widen. “...Did you?”
“Of course not! I always give my best!”
Just then, Sebek’s stomach growls, and Silver’s lips curve upward.
“You do,” he says, and he means it.
That weird, twisty feeling in Sebek’s gut is back, gnawing at him even worse than his often near-insatiable hunger.
Silver glances down at Sebek’s fingers, still wrapped around his wrist, and Sebek snatches his hand back quickly, his face flooding with warmth. Without a word, Silver picks up his sword and sheathes it, then waits for Sebek to do the same.
Their trek to the cottage is in silence, interrupted only by a single bluebird that swoops to deliver a small, crushed, wildflower to Silver, who had lost the flower in his hair during their battle. He accepts the bloom with a smile and a sincere thank you.
(The smile, although not directed at Sebek this time, still does things to Sebek’s insides. It’s just… it’s nice to see him smile.)
It’s such a Silver thing to do, to show appreciation for such a simple thing.
When Silver notices the way Sebek rolls his eyes, he tucks the wilted bloom in Sebek’s hair, jabbing it with more force than necessary. When Sebek sputters in protest, Silver firmly tells him to be quiet.
It’s so normal.
Once inside, Silver sets a kettle on the stove for tea, and then he runs a soft cloth under the faucet and dabs at Sebek’s neck, leaning in to inspect the barely-there wound. His breath is warm, and it makes Sebek’s skin prickle.
“Enough,” Sebek finally says, and Silver lifts his head, his eyes meeting Sebek’s.
Have they always been such a breathtaking color?
Of course, they have. Sebek knows the color of Silver’s eyes the way he knows that no matter where they are, some woodland creature will eventually approach them Silver. He knows every facet of Silver’s face – the furrow of his brows when he’s working out a problem, the slight tilt of his lips when he’s pleased, and the small scar on his forehead, right near his hairline, from a branch that whipped him across the face when they were hiking.
And the way Silver’s face lights up, as it should, when Malleus praises him.
(It’s been several months since Silver let his classmates get to him, to let them make Silver feel like a burden, and it’s only now that Sebek understands. Still, Silver never should have given any kind of weight to their words. Not only were they mere humans, they were probably easily bested in their mock battles, incapable as they were of seeing what was right in front of them. Complete idiots, the lot of them.)
He can feel the muscles in his face begin to tighten, his fangs beginning to bite into his lip, and Silver gets up from the chair and walks to the stove, even though the kettle isn’t ready yet.
“Thank you, Sebek,” he says without turning around. “For everything.”
It takes Sebek a second (or two or five) to realize Silver is talking about their battle within the dream, when Silver had nearly succumbed to the darkness.
“You don’t need to thank me! I will always correct you when you are wrong!”
Silver extinguishes the flame on the stove and turns around. “I know you will.”
“Then there is no need to-”
“I love you.”
The words hit Sebek harder than any of Silver’s blows ever have. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and Silver shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not…” he shakes his head again. “I suppose I just needed to tell you. To let you know that your feelings are not unrequited.”
“My what?”
“Your feelings. What you told me in the abyss. That you loved me.”
Sebek wishes that he didn’t know what Silver was talking about, but he does. He remembers exactly what he’d said, and he remembers cutting himself off, to avoid poking at feelings that were better left unexplored. The important thing in that moment had been reminding Silver that Lilia loved him, that Lilia had shown – not with words, but with his actions – just how much he cared for Silver.
For his son.
Sebek’s feelings were – not inconsequential, but lesser. They were a distraction, something better left unexplored, especially with the arrival of the prefect and his direbeast imminent.
There had also been Sebek’s uncertainty about his feelings for Silver – the complicated, contradictory feelings that had grown and twisted around Sebek’s heart like Malleus’ briars had enveloped the school.
Of course, Silver always had had a way of getting to the heart of things.
Sebek’s feelings for Silver are still complicated, but he supposes that what Silver thought he heard isn’t entirely incorrect.
And that means that Sebek was the one to first announce his feelings!
“I love your smile,” Silver says, tracing a finger over Sebek’s lips.
Sebek grabs Silver’s wrist, but he doesn’t pull Silver’s hand away. Silver looks at him expectantly.
Challengingly.
Sebek has never been one to back down from a challenge, least of all from Silver, and he isn’t about to start now.
Still, the touch of his lips against Silver’s is hesitant, searching, and it isn’t until Silver sighs into Sebek’s mouth that the kiss becomes something else. Something deeper, darker, more desperate. As Sebek pulls Silver closer, he feels fingers bury themselves in his hair, and they fall into a familiar pattern, sparring with lips and tongues instead of swords and batons, neither of them willing to yield.
Sebek doesn’t pull away until he can taste blood, and he’s glad to see he’s not the only one whose chest is heaving. Silver’s lip is bleeding where Sebek’s fang pierced through the skin, and the sight is ridiculously attractive.
And then Silver’s tongue swipes the blood away, and it’s the most mesmerizing thing Sebek has ever seen. Just as he leans in, to tackle those tempting lips once again, Silver begins to laugh. Before he can ask what Silver finds so funny, Silver pulls something out of Sebek’s hair.
It’s the flower. It had been bedraggled before, but Silver’s fingers in Sebek’s hair have completely obliterated it. The stem now holds a single petal, and Silver pinches it.
“He loves me,” he says, just before plucking the petal.
It’s a ridiculous game – there is no surprise when the outcome is easily predicted by a simple count of the petals – but Sebek doesn’t care.
The flower is, after all, entirely correct.
But he kisses Silver again, just in case there’s any doubt.