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Night was simply a different time of day.
And yet, the air is undeniably fresher. Morning dew and early sunshine long fade out before the evening, and by the time the moon has made itself comfortable in the sky, absence is the only smell on the wind. It had this way of keeping things secluded, when darkness swallowed so much of the world, few precious beams of light are left. Some find it scary, but there is wonder to be found in the thought that, there is simply more room for interpretation. Through the eyes of an artist, amber trees readying for Winter under the glow of orange streetlamps, they are simply the dying embers of a flame. The tongue of a well trodden path feeds into the mouths of hungry buildings, glowing yellow eyes that scan the world for its next feed. Anything man-made loses its definition, and for a moment, anyone could be reminded that the world isn’t nearly as defined as people commonly think it is.
It is this kind of thinking that leads Ororon to life out in the wilderness, so far from anyone else, but his thoughts are his own and they are free from scrutiny if there is no one around. The wooden curb of an empty planter box may not be the most comfortable seat, but it isn’t supposed to be and he’s not going to ask for something impossible of it. As long as the moon doesn’t suddenly shut off, he’ll be fine.
“Ororon? Why are you out here?”
His ears rotate to pinpoint the source of the sound, Ifa, at his doorstep. Heavy boots clank against stone steps, crunching on dry grass, and finally, a body sitting next to him on the planter box.
Ifa eyes him questionably, fingers tapping against the faintly splintered wood.
He shrugs, looking up at the sky, not Ifa. Faint wisps of clouds, a thin mottled sheet to cover the stars. Traveling north, bringing forth Winter, but also gradually clearing the sky. “I do this sometimes.”
His friend shoulders him playfully, “What, just sit out here and do nothing?”
No, not quite nothing. The ember-like trees, Boreas blowing Winter ever closer, the hungry houses. He held back words, not sure if he was ready to divulge all that. There was a limit to how weird he could be before he seriously starts worrying that even Ifa might start judging him. Everyone has a limit of course, that's just how people are.
“Hey, did I say somethin’? You look like you’re deep in thought, man.”
A silent chorus of aphids and rustling wind, accompanied by a fake cough from Ifa, urging him to respond.
“You should go to sleep, I’ll be right in in a few minutes.”
Ifa was sleeping over tonight, as he’d been in the area to treat a patient, and the trip back home was too inconvenient. No problem, they did this often enough. Maybe he was being a kind of rude host to not accompany his guest to bed, but he’d also be a pretty rude host if he made Ifa feel obligated to stay up with him.
“...Hm, a few minutes is basically nothing, anyways. A mora for your thoughts?”
–
He held onto someone, and he sung out, compelled, “You’re why I was right to trust myself.”
–
“Well…” He swallowed, still feeling hesitant. “I was just thinking about… how the world looks different at night.”
That felt tame enough to share, yet part of him still wonders if there’ll be a sneering comment, ‘Of course it looks different. It’s dark.’
Ifa only hummed thoughtfully, “How so?”
Maybe it was the genuine curiosity in his voice that had Ororon tempted to spill all his thoughts to his friend under the cloudy night sky. Proceeding with caution, he regaled his thoughts about the trees. The houses. Something new he thought about while pondering the dying flowers, “They hug their petals close. It’s like when people shiver, they hug their arms.”
There was no judgement in Ifa’s nod, just silent contemplation. Then, with a lighthearted seriousness, “People are a lot like flowers, then.”
He hadn’t expected Ifa to take his musing seriously, but it made him curious what Ifa’s stance on the subject was. “In what way?”
“Well,” Ifa said with a swish in his hand. “Like you said, they get cold. They need to be cared for, too. Water, minerals, sunshine. I mean, you’re probably more of an expert than me, but you get it.”
“Hey, you’re the one from the Feather Flower Clan. I just do vegetables.”
Ifa is oddly animated today, smiling so much wider than usual, with a knee that won’t stay still. He sways slowly, as if just another plant caressed by the winds. “In my tribe, they say that after your soul goes into the Night Kingdom, your physical being becomes either a breeze or a flower… I don’t really know how that works, but yea.”
That gets him curious. He’s never heard that before, but even moreso, it’s so unlike Ifa to bring up a random piece of trivia without bringing up exactly how it’s related to the conversation. He sees the connection, of course, it’s just a very choppy way of having conversations Ifa’s never been good at. It’s kinda like how he himself talks, actually.
“Have you decided if you're going to be a flower or a breeze, then?”
Ifa chuckles, and turns his back to him, pointing a thumb at the gem on his coat. “I think Celestia already decided for me, bro.”
This prompts him to turn his own back to Ifa and they look ridiculous both having their backs turned to each other, but Ifa giggles and maybe it’s not so bad to look stupid as long as it’s with your best friend. The issue of having matching vision placements, apparently.
“You think an electro vision is more breeze or flower, Ifa?”
“Ah, that’s a hard one… let’s just say breeze so we can be buddies, alright?”
“Works for me.”
–
Keep me up, keep me out late. Keep me close, I need your faith.
–
More meaningless conversation passed. At some point things moved away from nighttime observation, to general nonsense he’d been thinking about recently. Ifa responded thoughtfully to each outlandish prompt, often chipping in with his own thoughts on the matter. Sometimes agreement, sometimes a different point of view entirely, even polite disagreement. To some, it could’ve been annoying for someone else to chip in with their own thoughts, but Ororon finds himself enjoying getting challenged with thoughtful pointers. It was a form of definite proof that Ifa was listening and taking him seriously, which he appreciated greatly.
That was, until Ifa yawned mid-lecture on why in a fight between a Qucusaur and 50 slimes, the Qucusaur would totally win.
“Tired?” He asks politely. He was enjoying the company, but he didn’t want Ifa to feel like he had to stay up just to entertain his silly thoughts.
“No!” Ifa immediately zipped, betrayed by another yawn. “...Maybe.”
Gently he patted his friend’s back, urging him to stand. “Come on, you need to sleep.”
“No…” Ifa was still awake enough to glare at him, apparently. “You stay up the entire day just to spend it with me all the time. I can do one night.”
The all-consuming feeling he knows to be love quietly flares up beneath layers of clothing, struck by his beloved vet’s words. No one’s ever offered to stay up with him, before. It’s usually just, why can’t you be awake during the day like everyone else?
It’s not that he doesn’t want to interact with the rest of the world and that's why he sticks to the night, it’s that the night calls him in. Like it did tonight. It begs to be listened to, be observed with the same reverence daytime is, and he can’t ignore that call when he knows he’s wished for the same thing for nearly his entire life.
Ifa can’t know how much this means to him, ever. That’d be too pathetic, too vulnerable.
–
Keep right where you are, cause I’ve followed this far, like I’m sure that you’re the northern star
–
He does his best to keep Ifa entertained so he doesn’t drift off, but at some point it becomes less entertaining stories, and more boring floaty thoughts he’s had the past week.
How the heck does lemon juice cook ceviche? If they should try Fontainian escargot next time they go. Squirrels are such a weird animal, sure they need all that extra tail fluff to look big and intimidating, but that’s such a cheaty way to go about it. That butterfly off in the distance is the same color as the blue on his coat.
At some point, he registers that Ifa’s responses slowly get sleepier, less thought out. Laced in something velvety and dreamy, like a rich cup of cocoa. His breathing came out with slight chatter, standing out against the natural symphony of a Natlan night.
“Are you cold, Ifa?”
He hadn’t even noticed how cool the night had gotten, too wrapped up in his thoughts. He was still in his standard outfit, but all Ifa had was a half buttoned shirt. He was getting ready for bed, after all.
“D-dude, aren’t you c-cold at’all?”
“Not really.”
Ifa huffs, and the exhale is visible as a puff of white. Indeed, Winter is at their doorstep.
He shrugs off his cloak and drapes it over Ifa’s hunched form, tucking it over his shoulders. Not entirely necessary, but he takes the excuse to rub soothing circles into his friend’s back.
His friend looks at the fabric now clinging to him with wide eyes and mumbles, “You’re goin’ t’ be cold, Ororon…”
“Nah. You need it more. I’m used to it.”
Ifa shakes his head disapprovingly, but still pulls the offering closer to his body, relishing the lingering heat Ororon had left on it. “...‘ts bad for your health.”
“Yes, Doctor. I know. It’s bad for your health, too.”
“...don’t be a smartass ‘bout it.”
–
Talk me up and talk me down, talk too long, I’ll stick around
–
As the clouds cleared, a new point of conversation came up. Apparently, Ifa didn’t know any of the constellations. Ororon wouldn’t say he was an expert or anything, but stars are an extensive subject of study in his tribe. There’s a handful of constellations he can both find and explain the stories of, so that’s what he tells Ifa.
The vet hadn’t relented on his resolve, even if it was obvious he was barely clinging to the waking world.
“There’s Catena Opele, over there.” He pointed at it and drew a curve, “See those 5, how they kind of form a curve? Right below the one in the middle, that’s the 6th star in the constellation. This one comes from your tribe, actually. It’s supposed to resemble a hat with a feather hanging off it…”
In lieu of responding, Ororon felt a sudden weight on his shoulder. Ifa, slumped over, head resting on him. Messy white locks pooled over him, and he froze.
“You– You still awake, Ifa? We should get you inside…”
He’s not sure if he’s relieved or devastated when Ifa makes some unclear mumbly noise. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Ifa fell asleep on him– Carry him inside to bed? Is he even strong enough to lift Ifa?
…Would Ifa let him?
Ifa stubbornly buries his face in Ororon’s neck which is going to cause irreparable damage to his heart for sure, “Not goin’ an’where… tell me more ‘bout… about the…”
“Catena Opele,” Ororon finishes for him softly. “A constellation that has folklore surrounding it going back only about two centuries. They say it represents the iconic hat of a sauro-vet who gave her life treating the abyss from her patients. I’m kind of surprised you don’t know it, none of your textbooks talk about history or anything?”
Ifa mumbles something that sounds kind of like no and then a response, but it’s gotten to a point where he’s having trouble understanding.
“Ifa?” He jostles the vet gently, “I think it’s time to go in. I have no idea what you just said.”
“No.” Ifa says it with great conviction, like he’s just decreed a new law. His arms come to wrap around Ororon’s waist, trapping them to the spot.
There’s a moment of hesitation, before he shrugs an arm around Ifa’s shoulder, pulling him in closer. He responds keenly, leaning into the touch, no different from a moth to a flame.
–
Talk me into following you somewhere far, like I’m sure you’re the northern star
–
“One more constellation, Ifa. Then you go in.” And selfishly, more time to hold you. “Deal?”
“Uuuu… mh’kay.”
He lightly squeezes Ifa’s shoulder to get his attention, “That cluster of stars over there next to Catena Opele, is Vampyrum Spectrum. If you can’t tell by the name, it’s shaped like a bat. There’s a chain of 5 stars that form a funky looking ‘M’ shape, those are the wings.” His arms stretch out to mimic the shape, and Ifa lets out an unrestrained giggle, pressing closer into the form of his open chest.
“Um– Yea, so– It’s, uh– Oh! So, a little bit offset from the center is the 6th star in this constellation. It’s actually kind of a special star– It’s the northern-most one. All year around, it stays the exact same place as everything else moves around it. You’ve at least heard about the Northern Star, right, Ifa?”
This time, there’s nothing but the whistling of a gentle zephyr. Ifa’s finally succumbed to his own fatigue.
–
Oh I’m sure that you’re the northern star
–
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, willing his body to relax and not tense under the weight of his beloved vet. A stray Autumn leaf had fallen to make nest in Ifa’s hair, which he plucks off. The vet looks sound asleep, eyes closed in soft shimmering ease. “Ifa, Ifa, Ifa… what am I going to do with you?”
Part of him knows it’s time to get both of them inside before it gets too cold out, the night already starting to become a little too chilly for his preference, too. Except, he doesn’t want to. Not yet. Not if it means pushing Ifa off him when his body is so warm and soft and molded to him perfectly, snoozing with the smell of dying dried flowers on the wind.
A few minutes, he tells himself. We’ll get up, in a few minutes. Just a few.
–
I’m sure,
–
A few minutes pass. And then some. Realistically speaking, it’s been somewhere around 12 minutes of a comfortable weight leaning on him and a breeze that gets progressively colder, urging them inside.
It’s time to face the facts, time to go in.
And still, in the past 12 minutes, he’s come to the conclusion that he absolutely cannot wake Ifa like this. He’s sleeping so soundly, he doesn’t have the heart to.
Softly spoken to an unconscious audience, “Up with you, Ifa.”
He lets gravity put Ifa into his arm, fixing the cloak around his shoulders and taking his other to support Ifa by the crook of his knees before taking his stand. As expected, Ifa is heavy– but not so much that he can’t handle the short walk inside.
Ifa’s head lulls to rest against his heart once more, and he’s so careful to not jostle the vet in his sleep.
Alas, he must’ve messed up somewhere when Ifa rustles in his arms. He pauses right at his cottage doorway, willing the vet to fall back asleep
The fidgeting stops, and Ororon thinks he’s all clear to take the step inside, except–
“Mmm… ‘yer kind’of… a… ‘orth st’r?”
He stares in shock at Ifa’s mouth barely moving, is this guy sleep-talking or actually awake?
“...Ifa?” He says as a test.
If he is truly awake, then he’s clearly too far gone in the depths of drowsiness to comprehend Ororon’s voice.
“...’m shore… ‘ure… sure… mine.”
He can’t help himself when Ifa’s forehead just looks so kissable. His friend subtly leans up into the touch, which will certainly cause him heartache someday far off. “What are you trying to say, little breeze?”
No more responses come. Ifa’s head fully turns towards his chest, and he can no longer see the vet’s face. The sight is so endearing, a full faced smile surfaces on his lips.
“Tell me in the morning what you said, okay?”
–
And I’m sure that you’re the northern star
–