Work Text:
Alethea sat motionless before the mirror, the reflection before him a painful, jarring contradiction to the person he remembered. The sterile light from the hospital room, colder than any light he’d ever known, cast a harsh, unforgiving glow across the skin that had once been soft, unmarred. Now, it was cruelly scarred, a harsh map of the flames that had torn through him. His gaze, weary from exhaustion, found its way to the rough patch of scarred skin on the left side of his face—the spot where his eye had once been, where his past self had once existed. Now, there was only emptiness, a hollow space that felt like a void stretching out into everything around him. The world, once so familiar, now seemed unbearably sharp, as if it was cutting into him with every breath.
His fingers, unsteady, trembled as they traced the edges of his bandaged face, skimming the jagged scars beneath. They burned, physically, yes, but more painfully still, emotionally. The rawness of his skin was a constant reminder of how he had been torn apart, how the fire had come to claim so much of him. His fingers halted at the edge of the gauze, where the wound still felt tender, like a wound to his very soul. How could he ever be whole again with this face? How could anyone look at him and not see the monster the flames had made of him?
He had heard it in their voices; the nurses, the doctors, even Cìan. He never dared to admit it, but he could hear the thin veil of kindness they wrapped their words in, masking the pity they must feel. How could they not pity him? How could anyone look at him now and see anything other than the scars? Was it possible, even for Cìan, the person who had once been so close to him, that he could still see past the changes? Could he still look at Alethea and not recoil, not see the monster the fire had turned him into?
"Alethea?" Cìan's voice pierced the silence, soft yet steady. He must have seen the struggle, the tightness in Alethea’s posture as he sat frozen before the mirror, a wall between him and the person he used to be.
Alethea didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to admit the fear gnawing at him, the fear that Cìan, too, would see him as monstrous. The fire had stolen so much from him, and now it threatened to take what remained, his very sense of self. He could feel the sharp burn of his empty eye, the sting of tears pressing against his eyelids, but he fought them back. He couldn’t cry. Not in front of Cìan.
He heard Cìan approach, footsteps deliberate but gentle, as though walking on fragile ground. Then came the soft, reassuring touch on his shoulder, Cìan’s hand warm against his skin.
“You’ve been sitting here for a while,” Cìan said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Alethea shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. The words were tangled in his chest, suffocating him—disgust, loss, confusion. He couldn’t let them spill. He couldn’t bear to hear Cìan’s pity, the hollow reassurances. It would never be okay again.
But Cìan didn’t let it go. Not this time.
“Look at me, Alethea,” Cìan said softly, the command gentle but insistent. “Please.”
Alethea hesitated, but eventually, he turned toward Cìan, his head still lowered, his gaze fixed firmly on the bedspread. The tears he had been holding back threatened to spill, but he swallowed them down, pressing his lips together in a thin line.
Cìan didn’t give up. He gently took Alethea’s face in his calloused hands, coaxing his head up, urging their eyes to meet. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “You’re still the person I know. I see you, Alethea. All of you. The fire didn’t change who you are.”
Alethea’s breath caught in his throat, the words crashing through him like shards of glass. His chest tightened, a sharp ache blossoming at the core of him. How could Cìan say such things? How could he see past the destruction, the scars that marred every inch of Alethea’s skin? How could anyone still see him as beautiful?
"Stop," Alethea choked out, his voice raw, trembling. He jerked away from Cìan’s touch, his hands shaking violently. "Stop lying to me, Cìan. I’m not beautiful anymore. I’m not the same. I’m a monster. How can you not see that?" His voice cracked, and the tears finally broke free, streaming down his face. He didn’t care anymore. Let them fall. Let the world see how broken he was.
Cìan’s face softened, a quiet tenderness filling his eyes as he knelt before Alethea, bringing their faces level. His hands hovered for a moment before gently cupping Alethea’s tear-streaked cheeks, his thumbs brushing over the wetness clinging to his skin.
“I’m not pitying you, Alethea,” Cìan whispered, his voice thick with sincerity. “I’m not saying these things because I think you need me to. I’m saying them because it’s the truth. You’re still you. The person I’ve known. The person I love.”
Alethea let out a strangled sob, his chest tightening with a force that left him breathless. The self-loathing, the guilt, the overwhelming weight of everything he had lost.... it all came crashing down. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He just wanted to disappear.
But Cìan didn’t let him. He didn’t let him fall back into the dark. He was there, holding him steady, his warmth wrapping around Alethea like a shield. Slowly, Cìan pulled him into his arms, steady and sure. Alethea froze for a moment, but then something inside him broke. The tears came harder, shaking through his body as he collapsed against Cìan’s chest, letting the sobs wrack his frame. His body felt small, fragile in the embrace, but Cìan held him tight, never loosening his grip.
“I don’t know how to be this… this person,” Alethea gasped between sobs. “I don’t know how to live with this. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Cìan’s voice was soft, soothing as he whispered into Alethea’s hair, his fingers running gently through it. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just know that you’re still you. And I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. Not because I pity you, but because I love you for who you are, inside and out.”
The words hit Alethea like a tidal wave, and for the first time since the fire, he didn’t feel so alone. Not because he was whole again, but because he wasn’t carrying the weight of it all by himself anymore.
“I don’t deserve your love,” Alethea muttered into Cìan’s chest, his voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“Yes, you do,” Cìan replied firmly. “You’ve always deserved it. And you still do.”
Alethea shuddered, gripping the front of Cìan’s shirt, letting the storm of emotion wash over him. Slowly, the chaos inside him began to quiet. His body still shook with the aftermath of his breakdown, but the suffocating weight in his chest had eased... just a little.
“I’ll be here,” Cìan whispered again, his hand soothingly stroking Alethea’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since the fire, Alethea didn’t feel quite so broken. Not because he was whole again, but because he was no longer alone in the pieces.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that—his forehead resting against Cìan’s shoulder, his fingers curled tightly into his shirt, as if letting go might send him unraveling again. But Cìan never pulled away. He stayed. He grounded him in a way Alethea hadn’t realized he needed.
The storm had passed, leaving behind exhaustion and a strange calm. His breaths had slowed, no longer trembling, though his body still felt heavy with the weight of everything he had let out. But there was lightness, too. A quiet relief in knowing that Cìan hadn’t flinched, hadn’t turned away.
With a deep, unsteady sigh, Alethea finally pulled back just enough to meet Cìan’s eyes. His single eye searched his face, finding only understanding there—no pity, no forced reassurances. Just Cìan, as he had always been. As he still was.
A small, wry smile tugged at Alethea’s lips, barely there but real. “I probably ruined your shirt.” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, but there was a quiet ease to it now.
Cìan chuckled softly, his gaze warm. “You think this is the first time you’ve cried on me?” He tilted his head teasingly. “It’s fine. I’ll just make you wash it later.”
Alethea scoffed, shaking his head, but the tension in his shoulders had finally started to ease. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of his scars, his missing eye, his fractured sense of self—it didn’t feel suffocating. It was still there. He still had to face it. But for now, it wasn’t unbearable.
Because Cìan was here.
Because Cìan saw him, in all his brokenness, and stayed anyway.
A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that no longer felt heavy. Just peaceful. Alethea let out another slow breath, his fingers relaxing their grip on Cìan’s shirt. And then, in a quiet, almost hesitant voice, he whispered, “Thank you.”
Cìan’s expression softened, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from Alethea’s face. “Anytime,” he said simply, as if it had never been in question.
And Alethea believed him.