Work Text:
Rogier awoke, not for the first time, in a cold sweat.
His alarm said 3am, his brain said “ go back to sleep” and his body said “ no ”.
He sighed, rising slowly from his bed--
Pain in his legs, from some non-existent blight, sent him tumbling immediately to the floor.
In his mind's eye, he saw dark clouds and cursed flowers. He saw ruins, and gods, and demi-gods, and monsters. But then he saw a knight, gold and silver and bright, and the darker visions faded.
He took a deep breath, and then another. When he next looked at the clock on his bedside table, it read 11am. Eight hours. That was one of his longest episodes yet.
He rose, slow and shaking, from where he'd collapsed by his bed. There was a simple soft rug there now, an investment after the first few of these damn things had hit him. He moved - his leg wobbly - on autopilot to his kitchen. He put the coffee machine on, resting his head in his hands, elbows on the counter. Far too quickly, the machine finished brewing, and his day began.
“TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT!” the protestors chanted, and Rogier alongside them.
He hadn't quite worked out the rest of the chant. His mind was cloudy, foggy with fatigue and battles against an impossible enemy. This morning's episode had been the latest in a long line, and he really needed sleep. Still, he held his placard high, sung along with what he could catch, and marched alongside his people in spite of--
Golden, silver armour.
He stopped, did a double take, let the people in the crowd move along around him. It earned him a few sidelong glances, but he ignored them all, a boulder in a river as he focussed on the single police officer standing guard by the side of the march. Their protests were always peaceful, so there were never more than a handful of police around, and this guy didn't even have a partner nearby.
Rogier could've sworn he saw that familiar, gaudy, half golden, half silver armour, a metallic figure wrapped around the officer's body. It was gone now, leaving only the simple uniform of a simple officer but--
That officer had a very familiar face, and very familiar eyes.
“D?” Rogier called -- and the officer's attention snapped to him.
Stunned disbelief contorted his face as their eyes met. The crowds seemed to slow, to still. Then every figure in the crowd shifted, changed-- all Rogier could see were demigods and monsters, and monsters and monsters-- he couldn’t breathe. This hardly ever happened so far into the day, and he hadn’t slept enough to handle it, he couldn’t breathe, the monsters were still right there, he couldn't breathe--
He threw up.
His legs failed him at the same moment as the nausea overtook, leaving him crouched on the floor with vomit spattering the shoes of his fellow protestors. He hadn't really eaten, so it wasn't too disgusting, and most people hardly noticed--
D noticed.
The protestors around him yelled and shouted, seeing an officer leaping over the guard rails, dashing to Rogier's side. They all seemed to calm down when they spotted where he was headed, gasping and stepping away from the fallen ally they'd barely registered before. D crouched beside him, a hand on his back and utterly unperturbed by the mess.
“Rogier, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
The pain in his legs was worse than normal, but something about this episode was different. The visions cleared much quicker, but he still felt exhausted. The last thing he remembered thinking was:
He knows my name.
Rogier awoke with a start, bolting upright--
in a prison cell.
He groaned, soreness in his back and a kink in his neck. There was no alarm clock to check, no coffee to heal him, and barely any light from the world’s tiniest barred window.
“Hello?” He called, turning towards the door in the corner. “Is anyone out there?”
The little speaking hole opened immediately.
“...you were assumed to be drunk and disorderly.” That voice was--
“D?” Rogier managed, through the lump in his throat.
He hadn't dreamt all of that, then.
He really had met the strange man from his even stranger visions. That world of gods and monsters that haunted him most nights, too realistic to be a complete delusion but too fantastical to be anything else--
“D, is that really you?” He asked again, when he was met with silence.
He managed to stagger over to the door, trying to look through the hole. He could make out a shoulder, and a wisp of blonde hair. D was standing by the door then, not facing him.
“You saw my name badge.” D said, stiffly.
“You saw mine too, then?” Rogier scoffed. “I heard you. You said my name back there, Darian.”
D went silent once more, stiff, staring out at the opposite wall. Rogier wanted to scream.
“Why am I in a cell? Who gets locked up for passing out?!”
“I told you.” D grit out, “You were assumed to be drunk and disorderly.”
“And just who assumed that?”
“I did.”
“Of course." Rogier huffed, "You absolutely insufferable--”
“I wanted to keep an eye on you and there was no other way.” He sounded... strained.
Rogier stopped cursing. He swallowed, the lump reappearing in his throat. Something was stirring in his chest -- something which he tried very hard to beat down. There was one thing in particular about those visions he'd always tried to ignore; every time this man showed up in them, he’d always had a sense of…
“Well, can I go home now?” Rogier managed to ask, past the whirring in his mind. “I wasn't drunk, and I'm fine now.”
“Does it happen often?" D asked, in place of an answer. "The… episodes?”
“More frequently lately.” Rogier said, clipped. “Same for you, I presume?”
D was quiet once more. This time though, he did turn around, and Rogier caught the briefest flash of his brilliant eyes before he ducked his head to unlock the cell. The door swung open, and D stood out of his way.
“I'll escort you to the front desk, fill out the paperwork.”
“How very kind of you.” Rogier grumbled.
They walked in silence.
How on earth was Rogier supposed to get through to a man who was, for his part, very clearly trying to pretend this strange, otherworldly connection simply did not exist? This was the first time he had ever had - probably would ever have - a chance to discuss it openly, without being treated like a delusional fool, and D was acting like this? It was infuriating , but there wasn't much he could say or do about it.
So, instead, he walked in silence beside him, throwing sidelong glances and glares and pouts.
They reached the front desk, and D completed the paperwork, explaining it all away smoothly. His colleague nodded along easily, trusting him. There'd be no record of this, it seemed. D really had just decided he'd keep an eye on Rogier himself, probably for lack of knowing who else he could call to look after him. Which… there was no one, really.
“You're free to go.” D said, and Rogier stared at him wordlessly.
After several moments of silence, Rogier sighed.
‘At least walk me out.” he said, “I shouldn’t have been locked up and we both know it. My car is still in town. I'll need a cab and I barely know where I am.”
D nodded. His colleague at the desk watched D with the interested eyes of a curtain-twitching neighbour, but D humoured the request regardless and escorted him out.
Rogier turned towards him, “Phone.” he said immediately.
“Cameras.” D said, just as quickly and with a note of frustration in his voice,
Right. Yes. D had a job and a reputation and all of this was probably going to start looking quite bad for him soon. Arresting someone with no real cause wasn’t ideal.
Rogier walked quickly out of the station's vicinity, with D trailing reluctantly behind him.
“Just… let me give you my number.” Rogier said, when he was sure the cameras could no longer catch them, “if you change your mind, I want you to be able to call me. So, phone , now.”
Much to Rogier's surprise, D did not argue. He simply dug his phone out, handing it over. Rogier dutifully punched his own number in, but when D tried to take it back, Rogier quickly placed the call.
“Hey--!” D began, but it was too late -- Rogier's phone chimed with the call and the exchange was complete.
“An eye for an eye, you get my number, I get yours,” Rogier smirked, handing back the phone.
“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” D grit out, “That's the full phrase, you absolutely insufferable--”
Rogier leant in, pressed a quick kiss to D's cheek, and effectively shut him up.
“Call me.” Rogier said and despite the softness of his lips, it sounded like a threat. D pressed his mouth shut and said nothing more.
Rogier left, stomping down the street towards the taxi rank. He was still frustrated, but now he at least felt like he'd won, gotten the last word.
“I'm going.” Rogier said, his chin shoved up in defiance, his hat barely staying on his head.
“Rogier, it will kill you--” D sounded frustrated, tired, but Rogier could hardly hear it. There was too much anger, too much hurt, too much baggage. He wondered, absently, when he’d stopped being able to hear what D meant when he spoke.
He leant in, pressed a quick kiss to D's cheek.
“Too bad I won't have my knight to save me then, hm?” He said with a wink, and a smile, and tears just barely held back.
He left, stomping down the dirt road towards where he was sure the deathroot was growing. He was still frustrated, but now he at least felt like he'd won, gotten the last word.
Rogier took a deep breath, fighting the memory. His legs felt weak, like they knew something he didn't. His hand shot out, finding a lamppost for him to lean against.
“Rogier?” D called, and it did wonders to shatter the memory.
Memory?
Vision. The… vision.
It wasn't a memory. It wasn't.
“Rogier, are you OK?”
“I'm fine!” he snapped, tears in his eyes.
This was different. It was things that were too different , that was what broke him free from the visions, it had to be. But that meant… the other D must not have called after him. Must not have…
“You're obviously not OK.” the officer grumbled, his voice now a lot closer.
“Rogier you're going to get yourself killed!”
“That's my problem!”
Rogier took a deep breath, and then another. No. It wasn't… it was him . He had been the problem, not D, not the deathroot or anything else. He'd been stubborn to a fault and he'd died exactly how he'd wanted to. Sticking to his guns and seeing it all through to the end.
He'd… died? No, this wasn’t-- he wasn't-- it was just visions. It was just--
“I'm calling an ambulance.” D muttered, and Rogier was snapped back into the present again.
He felt an arm around him, doing a far better job of propping him up than that lamppost had been. Or his own legs, for that matter. D had his phone out, he was punching in a number--
“No--!” Rogier snapped, slapping the phone screen.
D looked down at him, frustrated and impatient. “You look like you're about to keel over. Again.”
“I've been to every hospital, every psychiatrist, I've been in circles in a system that just doesn't understand what is wrong with me.” he grit out, “I'm finally free of it, of the letters and the checkups and the thinly veiled threats. I won't go back in.”
D hesitated, but then tucked his phone away. “...I'll drive you home.” he said, and he looked ready to say more. Rogier waited, but nothing else came.
“...ok.” he said quietly.
Rogier spent the rest of his day diving into every web page, every article, every forum and every niche discord server he could find. Anything that mentioned the word ‘deathroot’. It was the only thing he had, other than visions and whispers, to use as a basis for research.
He got nowhere.
There was nothing, no one, no traces and no scraps. He wanted to scream.
Maybe it was all visions. Some terrible fantasy conjured by his mind to torture him in the dead of night. Why had he started to think otherwise? Why would it be a memory--
“ Rogier, are you ok?”
That was why. A man he'd never met with eyes he'd seen a hundred times, diving over a guardrail and calling out a name that he shouldn't have known.
He stared at his phone, chewed his lip. He had a lead. He had one concrete lead that simply refused to speak to him about any of it.
He started a text, erased it, started another.
Hours passed by in an infuriating stalemate with his phone. The tiny, infuriating device he used to love now mocked him, cold and void of empathy.
He needed a drink.
No, he didn't, he needed to sleep.
Rogier awoke in the dead of night, covered in sweat -- but this time it was different.
He stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, swallowing harshly.
He knew he'd felt something, some feeling deep in his chest. He knew there was something about this man that he'd never really forgotten.
His vision - memory? - tonight had not featured demigods or monsters or deathroots or shadows. It had featured a single man, a discarded suit of armour laying beneath a big floppy hat, and a night of absolutely infuriatingly good sex. One of many, Rogier was sure.
He stared at his phone -- but this time, he unlocked the screen.
It range twice, three times, four times, five--
What was he doing. It was the middle of the night, there was no way--
D picked up on the seventh ring.
“Rogier?” he asked, and he sounded breathless.
Breathless.
Not sleepy, not tired. He sounded exactly the way he'd sounded five minutes ago, in a memory Rogier wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.
“Did you… tonight, did you see…?” Rogier prodded.
“Keep talking.” D said, and his voice had changed completely. It was lower now, gruff. “I don't care what you say, just keep talking.”
“Ha!” Rogier couldn't quite hold back the disbelieving laugh, quickly shucking out of his own pyjamas. “Is that what we're doing, then?” he purred.
“Shut up -- no, don’t-- what are you wearing?”
Rogier laughed harder.
For the first time in weeks -- maybe years -- Rogier had a full five days of real sleep. His legs did not give way when he woke. He had only one or two cups of coffee in the day instead of his usual seven or eight. He breezed through the hours, made it to work on time and actually functioned in his mundane little job. He had the energy to think and to be and to live . It was marvellous. It was terrifying. It was almost definitely thanks to D.
Something about meeting him had shifted the focus of the visions. He wasn’t seeing darkness, or reliving what may or may not have been his own pain in a past life. Instead, he was seeing bickering arguments with a beautiful man, snippets of domesticity against a backdrop of dark clouds and nightfall. He was seeing a simple life that may well have happened in this time, this world. He still woke up in the middle of the night once or twice, but he soon realised that D’s.. raunchy visions were almost definitely in sync with his own. It was never long before one of them called the other.
Overall, his life had improved drastically.
And yet .
Rogier let the thumping beat and deafening base reverberate through him, slouched in a booth in a corner of the bar where he hoped he’d be forgotten. His work colleagues had dragged him out--
“You always seem so tired!” one had complained, “You’re finally looking a little alive, take advantage of it! Come out with us!”
He hadn’t seen much reason to argue. He could go home, search through more non-existent books for information on a non-existent plant, or he could come out and try to have some fun. Try to get his mind off of the impossible, and into the tangible, the present. It was terrifying though, to stop and think about his life. He didn’t know who he was, or who he wanted to be -- he’d fallen into every decision by mistake, or chance, so far in his life. He’d spent so long in and out of hospitals, his life so entirely consumed by the hauntings of a distant past. He’d never really stopped to think about now .
He took a long swig of his small drink. It was sharp, and strong, and it burned its way down his throat.
He didn’t want to stop and think. Because whenever he did, he only came up with one thing: D.
Rogier was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He could deny their very obvious and mysterious bond, he could pretend they weren’t having phone sex whenever they inexplicably awoke from the same visions of one another, could pretend they hadn’t known one another before they’d ever met. He didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to think about his now , his present or his future, without factoring in D’s place in his life. But he couldn’t factor D in, because D was too busy being, well… stupid.
Rogier groaned, finishing his drink.
“Hey, that was quick,” some guy -- tall, dark, handsome, exactly the type Rogier probably would’ve gone for -- slid into the booth beside him. “Can I get you--”
“No. Leave, before my husband kicks your ass.”
The guy slipped out again immediately, leaving in quite a hurry.
Husband. Why had he chosen husband and not… anything else? He knew exactly why. He groaned, burying his face in his hands.
D was restless.
D had been restless since he saw an insufferable man in a floppy hat that he wasn’t actually wearing, standing in a crowd of people that had suddenly looked like monsters.
He hadn’t had the visions while awake before. Nightmares had plagued him for a long time, but they were simple things, they didn’t affect his daily life too horrifically. He never expected to meet an actual, living, breathing Rogier .
Rogier was a man he’d assumed to be some metaphor for loss in his life, for the inevitable, for how even though he’d made a vow to protect when he’d gotten his badge he’d never be able to save everyone. He thought Rogier was a figment of his imagination, his brain telling him not everyone could be his problem. But then there he was. Standing in the crowd, and very much D’s problem.
He’d become a particularly frequent problem, too. It was almost every night this week, he’d woken up and--
His phone rang, Rogier’s name lighting up his screen.
D had only just settled for bed, it was barely 11pm. This wasn’t their usual routine--
He answered, more worried than he cared to admit.
“Rogier? Are you ok?”
“Do I have a better offer.” he said, and his speech was slurred.
“...what?” D sat up, flicking on the lamp on his bedside table.
“I’m…” Rogier paused, swallowed, sighed. “Work said to come out. So I came out. But I got sick of that place so I came to this place and now I’m… probably… I dunno.” he sounded so, so drunk. D was out of bed before he even registered his limbs were moving, setting the phone down, speaker on, and pulling clothes from his wardrobe. “This guy is… he’s alright , but really he just looks kinda like you and that’s the only reason I’m considering this. So… do I have a better offer?”
“Where are you?” D said, trying to keep the frustrated edge from his voice. Any guy planning on taking Rogier home when he could barely string a sentence together was not a good choice. He looked at his badge, considering bringing it along.
“Club. It’s called, uh…” Rogier paused, shuffling around for a moment. “The… Tiny Horse?”
Other side of town, but only 5 minutes if he used his lights. He’d been there plenty of times on duty.
“I’ll be there soon. Are you safe?”
“Safe?” Rogier laughed, “Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
“Because you’re a drunk, attractive man, alone in a very unreputable club.”
“You think I’m attractive?” Rogier giggled , and D slapped a hand to his face.
“Stay. Put. I’ll be there in five.”
“Yes, officer.” Rogier giggled again.
D shot out of his house and into the car. He turned on his lights, praying no one took note of his numberplate or questioned it too hard, and sped down the road. The traffic parted like the Red Sea, letting him speed his way to the least savoury part of town. A good man had run The Little Horse, but when his husband went missing the place had gone downhill. It was sad, really. When D pulled up outside, several crowds of people scattered, jumping fences and racing away from his blue-and-red lights. He sighed, turning off the engine and getting out of the car.
“ID.” the bouncer asked, as he approached. D flashed his badge, and the guy looked weary. “We ain’t done nothin’. Who’s called you out?”
“My husband. Let me get him out of here, and we won’t have any trouble.”
The bouncer eyed him up for a long moment, but then let him through.
The club was crowded, sticky, and smelt of sweat. D grimaced, shoving his way through the sea of people and approaching the bar. He pulled his phone out, trying Rogier’s number. No answer.
“Hey!” he called, flashing his badge to get the bartender's attention.
The bartender rushed over immediately. “Put that away , you trying to ruin us?”
“That depends.” D said, tucking his badge back out of sight. “I need to know where my husband is. He called me, said he was here somewhere. Messy black hair, not really long but not short either. Yellow-ish eyes.”
“ Yellow eyes?” the bartender laughed, “dude, did you marry a cat?”
D felt a sudden headache, the world around him shifting out of focus for a split second. Rogier didn’t have yellow eyes, not here, not now. Or did he? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t…
“He’s drunk.” D said, “Really, really, drunk. You have to keep an eye on those sorts, don’t you?”
The bartender scratched his chin, then realisation lit up his eyes. “Oh, I think I do know who you’re talking about,” he said, “Check the bathrooms. I think he went in there to throw up, but…”
“But?”
“He was with a guy.” the bartender said, wincing.
D left immediately, not sure how to explain that he’d lied about being married. Why had he done that? He knew why, deep down. He chose, not for the first time, to ignore it.
He kicked in the door with far more force than was necessary, startling several young men standing at the sinks on the other side. The bathroom was long, one end lined with cubicles and urinals, the other with sinks and mirrors. He ignored the handful of patrons shooting him unimpressed looks, instead rushing down the length of the room.
“Rogier? Rogier, are you here?”
A man, standing outside one of the cubicles, turned around.
“What do you want with him?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
The guy had mid length blonde hair not unlike his own, and he was wearing some gaudy gold-and-silver sequinned shirt. D nearly laughed. Looks kinda like you , Rogier had said.
He walked over, calm as could be, and threw a punch squarely into the guy’s jaw.
The guy reeled back from the force, looking positively scandalised. Just as he was squaring up to fight back, D flashed his badge.
“If you leave right now , I might ignore the fact you were ready to rape my husband.”
It was a bold statement. D had no idea how drunk Rogier really was, after all. Or how drunk this guy was. Not to mention they weren't actually married. It did the trick though, the guy looking mortified. He backed up slowly, then turned and ran away.
D knocked gently on the cubicle door.
“Rogier, are you in there?” he asked, soft as could be. He wasn’t really sure if this was what the other man had even wanted, or if--
Rogier threw the door open and dove into his arms, wrapping himself around D tightly.
“It happened,” he muttered against D’s ear, breathless. Over his shoulder, D could see vomit in the cubicle. He wasn’t sure it was all alcohol-induced. “It happened again, I was seeing them again but it hasn’t happened all week and it happened now--”
D wrapped gentle arms around him, guiding him out of the bathroom. Whatever this was, fresh air and fewer bodies would certainly help.
“What?” D asked, cautiously. “What happened?”
“Do you get them too? Visions, dark and too real?” Rogier muttered. D avoided his gaze, and Rogier groaned with unrestrained frustration, “Stop ignoring it. Stop it, and just tell me, talk to me, I need to know what you see!”
Ah. Perhaps he’d been a little bit… selfish, with all of this. Rogier had mentioned psychotherapists, hospitals. He needed this, needed D to just…
He took a deep breath, pulled Rogier out of the club with a nod of thanks to the bouncer. The cold air hit their heated skin, relief and shivers passing through them all at once.
“I’ve had recurring nightmares for as long as I can remember.” D relented, “You’re in them. But I never really see anything when I’m awake.”
Rogier went quiet, pressed up closer to him.
“I see the nightmares after I wake up sometimes. Sometimes I just lose hours of my day, sitting on the floor because I can’t stand. It never hit me in the middle of the day like this before, it got worse recently, everyone in that club looked like… undead, just now. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“...no.” D whispered, “Or I’d have to be crazy, too.”
Rogier laughed, and it sounded almost manic.
“Let’s get you home.” D headed towards the car--
“Already?” Rogier pulled away from his side on wobbly legs, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards an alley down the side of the club. “Phone calls aren’t going to cut it tonight, D.”
“You’re drunk!” D said, trying to pull him back, but Rogier was deceptively strong.
“Not that drunk. Though, I did enjoy your little display in that bathroom. Aside from the fact it cleared those horrendous visions, you’re just very sexy when you’re all--”
“Rogier!” D barked, as he was pulled into that alley and pressed up against the wall. “If you weren’t drunk, you wouldn’t be doing this!”
“Do you really believe that?” Rogier drawled, pressing up closer, hands sliding over his hips. He’d only managed to pull sweats on in his rush to get here, so if Rogier-- “Ha!” Rogier cheered, as his hand dipped under the waistband. “If you didn’t have exactly the same idea, then where’s your underwear, hm?”
“I was in a rush to help you--” D tried, now breathless with his own want. He needed to keep a clear head, this wasn’t--
Rogier closed the distance between their lips in one swift, easy motion. He pressed up close, kissed him hard, let his hand travel lower -- but he tasted of alcohol and his legs were still wobbly.
D grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away. He wrapped his free arm around Rogier to steady him, kissed him for a moment longer -- then broke apart.
“I’m taking you home.” D insisted, firmer this time.
“...only if you’ll stay.” Rogier bargained. “Even if you don’t want to fuck me--”
“I don’t want to fuck you right now --”
“It’s been better since I met you.” Rogier finished. “It’s like… it’s like that’s what all this has meant from the start, like my brain just wanted me to find you--”
“I’ll stay.” D sighed, “So just… stop this, for now. You’re drunk, and tired, so just… stop. Breathe.”
Rogier, to D’s great surprise, took his advice and did as he was told.
They made their way back to the car. D opened the passenger side door, depositing a shivering Rogier inside. The cold had caught up to him, and D was willing to bet he’d be rather ill when they got back.
“Rogier, you’ll die!” D had cursed, grabbing his wrist and yanking him around.
“Ha! That’s not what you care about.” Rogier said, with a roll of his eyes. “This is about your Golden Order, not me. Don’t pretend you--” he cut himself off, looked away. There was a ring on a chain around his neck. He refused to look at it, to touch it.
D was silent for a long moment, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“Fine.” he finally said, at long last. “Curse you, Rogier.”
“Oh?” Rogier laughed, tilting his head, “Pray tell, what curse do you lay upon me, love of my life?”
“Never to forget,” he seethed, “to regret this decision, to relive every terrible thing that happens as a result, until the day you are finally wise enough to find me again and confess your mistakes.”
Rogier’s smile was wild, sharp. “Then I’ll curse you in kind, dear heart.” he said, now lifting that ring into the air. It felt so much heavier than it ever had before. He pressed a kiss to it, meeting D’s frustrated gaze with his own defiant one. “‘til death do us part, and for every life after.”
Rogier awoke in his bed, not entirely sure how he got there. He was sure, however, that he was not alone.
D was pressed up to his back, the protective arm of a caring knight slung over his waist. A knight that had cursed him, and set this whole damn thing into motion probably without ever realising it.
When Rogier turned his head, shuffled around, he found D’s eyes were open. He stared into Rogier’s with something pensive and anxious written across his face.
“They are yellow.” D said.
“...what?”
“Your eyes. They’re yellow. Like a cat.”
Rogier laughed, nervous. “Yeah… birth defect, they said.”
“Eyes are the window to the soul, and your soul is the same as it was back when such a thing was far more usual.” D reasoned.
Rogier swallowed harshly.
“...you’re ready to talk about this then?” he ventured.
“...tonight’s vision was… interesting.” D replied, quiet and nervous.
“You saw the same thing as me, didn’t you?” Rogier realised, “You cursed me.”
“You cursed me, too.”
“I didn’t think I could curse!”
“Neither did I!”
They both fell silent, lips pursed and gazes askance.
Then, Rogier sighed.
“I didn’t think you could either.” he confessed. “...I’m glad to have found you again. I’m glad to… confess my mistakes?” he chewed his lip. “If you are.”
D swallowed harshly. Then, with the hesitance of a teenager, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “No golden order. No deathroot, no reason for us to… part. Not this time. I’ll gladly… confess my mistakes, too.”
A wave of calm settled over him, and he could sense the same was true for D. It was like the heaviest weight in the world had been lifted from his shoulders. The weight of a curse, he realised.
“ Almost no reason to part.” Rogier tutted.
“...what?”
“You’re a filthy cop now, D. ACAB.”
D groaned, and Rogier laughed.