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The newspaper crumples in Sol’s hand.
Sol tries to not keep too close of an eye on what Ky might be up to, but he can’t just let Sin’s dad die without him noticing. This means he finds himself reading terrible tabloids more often than any self respecting bounty hunter should. Luckily, Sol lost any self respect when he became a gear.
The tabloids love Ky. He’s a pretty face in a seat of power and a hero to boot. That doesn't mean they like him though. Most articles are crude, comments on his looks or if his policies are reasonable. Ky the soldier and Ky the Commander were infallible, perfect pinnacles of humanity. The First King has been deemed an easy target.
At least that targeting usually gives Sol consistent updates on whatever bullshit Ky’s gotten himself into this week. But there’s been nothing, no proclamations or forged scandals, just radio silence.
He’s on a bounty with Sin somewhere in the southeast of what used to be Europe, not that he could remember the name even before the world ended twice over. The towers of Illyria loom over his mind with each step as they hunt for their mark. He tries to focus but Sin is too damn observant for a kid that stupid. The second he misses a stair and nearly tumbles down the rest, Sin’s quick to rib him for it.
“Old man, get your head outta the clouds!” Sol regrets raising him the way he did a little when Sin’s flag whacks into the side of his head.
“Shut up!” He slaps out at Sin, only to hit empty air as he dances back, sticking his tongue out at him. He glares at his boy, knowing it’s his fault alone that he’s like this. Well, looking at the jut of his chin, maybe there’s just a little Kiske pride in there.
Illyria. Rome. Just a short ride away. If he were to call 500 miles and a mind numbing boat ride “short”.
He pulls the newspaper from his pocket and idly thumbs it. The flipping sound draws Sin’s head out from his sandwich to look. He scans the cover for a face he recognizes, and doesn't find one. He rolls his eye with a huff that sounds exactly like Sol’s.
“I can handle turning in the bounty myself by now. You go do… whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, intent neither here nor there. He’s starting to come around on his father, but Sol doubts he’ll like him any time soon.
“Fine, prove you won’t fuck it up without me there babying you.” Sol says, knowing he’ll be grinding his teeth with worry the whole time.
-
The ferryman lets Sol on to repay an old favor. Though, as he leans on the railing and feels the cold water spray at his face, he thinks everyone on this damn planet owes him more than a few debts. He bites down on his cigarette as a holier-than-thou-but-too-good-to-brag-about-it voice reminds him of his own dues.
He spends the majority of the ride tending to his bike, hunting for spots of rust that would turn his decades of work into a heap of junk. It's also good for avoiding the few passengers onboard who might not be thrilled to be sharing a boat with the Flame of Corruption.
A bike can only be cleaned so many times though. He finds himself standing at the bow, hunkered down in his jacket, thinking about where he’s going. Ky’s probably fine, just hiding from the public eye like any reasonable person who wants privacy would do.
He’s fine, he thinks as they dock.
He’s probably just pissed off the Conclave, as he walks his bike onto the dirt road.
This is a waste of my damn time, as the engine roars to life.
-
Rome, Illyria. He never saw the place before everything went to shit, but he’s gotta admit, they’re really done a number on the place since it was smoldering rubble. The towering spires cast an imperious shadow down upon him as he dismounts his bike. Hard to forget the blood they were built on though, what it took from a boy whose shoulders the world was dumped on. There’s a reason he took this route, a path that avoids a mythical last stand that people have long forgotten was made by a boy too thin for his uniform.
God, Sol’s gotten sentimental these past few years.
Sneaking into the castle is easier than he thought it would be. There’s enough guards outside to keep up appearances but inside it's a ghost town. He was anticipating having to strong-arm some servants into keeping quiet, but the empty silence is downright creepy. A particularly large inhale of dust makes him sneeze, the sound echoing down the cold halls.
“Sol?” At the top of stairs stands the man he came all this way for.
God, he looks like shit.
His hair is greasy and spills around his shoulders, his regalia rumpled and ill fitting. Sol can just barely stop himself from sucking his teeth at Ky’s bruise-dark eye bags and the miserable tilt of his lips. “What are you doing here?” Ain’t that the question of the hour, Sol thinks.
“Was in the area. Thought you might have managed to get a bigger stick up your ass and decide to go off on whatever new quest you thought of.” Ky’s dry chuckle sends a chill up Sol’s spine. Everything feels wrong.
“Well, would you like some tea?” His smile is carved like the face of a porcelain doll.
Sol hates dolls.
He follows Ky up the stairs anyways, ducks into the bedroom and tries to ignore the cloying scent of mold in every corner. He opens his mouth to ask Ky about that tea but he beats Sol to the punch.
“What are you doing here? I told you to take Sin as far as possible!” He hisses, stepping into Sol’s space.
“Well sor-fucking-ry that I stopped by to make sure you weren’t a rotting corpse in the corner of your own castle,” Sol bites back in Ky’s face.
They’re close. Closer than they’ve been in a long time.
Sol hates to admit it, but he didn’t come here to fight.
Ky doesn't look like the saint of honor Sol knows him to be. He looks like a weak, tired, man.
The moment stretches as Sol waits for Ky to strike back with his own words. Years ago he would have risen to the challenge in an instant, matching heat with lightning. But they aren’t the men they were years ago. Maybe something’s gone soft in both of them.
Maybe they just miss the company.
In the silence Sol’s hands rise to Ky’s sallow face. His thumbs run along his cheekbones and he wonders if Ky will complain about his callouses scraping him. He doesn’t. Instead he raises a hand to Sol’s shoulder, resting so lightly he can barely feel it.
He traces the curves of Ky’s face, searching for what the man cannot say. A golden circlet forces his brow into a permanent scrunch and his eyes from looking up towards the sky. His lips curl downwards, weighed down by the weight of every lesser evil chosen. Their eyes meet and Sol wishes he could bear some of the misery with him.
Maybe he can.
They don't talk about this. This air that hangs between them, thick with static and patient embers. They don’t talk about what they dance around, orbiting an invisible point, maintaining distance so as to not destroy one another. But Sol is the Flame of Corruption, Great Ruiner, hero only by circumstance and accident.
He tilts his head, getting a touch close through the angle. Ky’s swordhand raises to Sol’s collar, thumbing the stitching of the leather. His gaze moves from Sol’s eyes to somewhere lower.
He can’t do everything for him, but he can give him a push. Sol drags a finger from his jaw downwards, following the black line of Ky’s collar to rest on an odd circular bump from under his shirt. He flattens his palm against him.
Ky’s heart punches out at Sol through his uniform but the moment his hand touches Ky's chest, his own hand darts out to grab Sol’s wrist. His breathing nears frantic, his grip like a vice. He keeps looking at the door, the window, the dark corners of the room.
Sol has seen Ky scared. He’s seen him stare down the biggest of gears and when his hands began to tremble, it took only a breath to steady him. He does not scare easy.
In a room that should be the safest in the kingdom, he is terrified. Glancing around Sol can see furniture lingering close to the door, ready to make a barricade. He sees teacup upon teacup on Ky’s desk, rings of coffee staining the wood. The air itself is stagnant, windows having not been opened in weeks.
He looks back to Ky himself and his eyes seem to beg for something. Ky shakes his head once, twice, less a motion and more a tremor. His grip tightens. “Not here.” He whispers, as if through a muzzle, caging his voice and spirit. Sol’s old beaten down grouchy miserable heart wants to break in his chest.
Sol has always been the brash to Ky’s strategic. He is not going to allow him to fester like this any longer. He ignores Ky's whispered words and leans in.
They can feel their breath against each other. Sol’s lips part just enough that Ky might imagine the warmth of his mouth. Their eyes fall closed. A tender, quiet air fills the room.
And then it is broken by a thunderous CRUNCH as Ky’s grip snaps Sol’s wrist.
They both stumble away, Sol’s face stricken with shock, Ky’s a hard line. Neither of them knew he could do that.
Sol flexes his wrist, feeling the grind of bones already settling back into place.
“Ky what the hell-” he’s cut off by a crackle of lightning jutting up Ky’s arm from his clenched fist.
“Get out.” Ky won’t meet his eye.
“C’mon seriously? You’re just gonna kick me out after all that?” Sol rushes to him like a wildfire, a backdraft burning up a room.
Ky responds in kind.
Surging forward he grabs Sol's jacket collar, lifting him off the floor. He’s reminded that he is only a few inches taller than Ky as his feet leave the ground.
“You will not endanger my family with your recklessness. You will not turn me from the duty I have sworn myself to.” Finally Sol can see his eyes. They gleam blue with bottled up lightning, a comforting sight in the face of a man who’s been empty and silent for so long.
One eye flashes something else though. A shade like the morning before a storm, a warning sign. Red. Sol wants to ask, to help him with what seems to be in his blood now, but Ky won’t put him down. “We gave you Sin to keep him safe, not for you to bring him back into this den of vultures for something as stupid as sentiment.” He spits that last word like it’s a curse, like it’s blasphemy. He shakes his head, static snapping at the tips of his hair.
He drops Sol without ceremony or kindness. He turns his back, king’s robe flicking in Sol's face. “Leave. I have much to do without your foolish ideas.” The emptiness returns to his voice, the spark and life gone from his countenance. The only thing that remains is the thick smell of ozone.
Sol wants to try again, say something to fix this. But the shake in Ky's shoulders as he opens his mouth stops him. He’s not sure if he imagines the murmured “please” but it hits him all the same. He doesn’t want to, feels like he’s betraying the both of them, but he leaves.
He pretends he doesn’t hear the door lock as soon as it closes behind him, nor the teacup shattering against the wall.