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A harsh shiver ran through the Recluse, the chill of the late night unforgiving on his dough. He leaned against the railing of his balcony, the edge of which was pressed harshly against his abdomen. With his staff discarded back inside his room, the night was nothing but a sea of darkness at this height, the only interruption being his immediate surroundings that were illuminated from the small light from within his room; not even the moon cared to be with him tonight. His breathing was sharp and uneven as he choked on his own breaths.
The truth was not kind.
He knew that now, all too well. The truth was something cruel and unforgiving, and he was just another one of its victims, a body in an ever-growing pile. All he had ever wanted was to help others, and here he was, punished by his own goals and ideals.
He brought his sleeve to his wet cheek, rubbing the tears away harshly. He was not weak; he did not cry over such trivial things. Yet the tears continued to fall down, blurring his vision further. No one was around, no one would hear him sob, yet he swallowed any noise that dared to bubble up.
He was so pathetic.
He found himself lowering himself to the floor, sudden lightheadedness hitting him hard. He crumpled to the ground in a pile of dark, starry fabric. Knees pulled to his chest as he curled in on himself. It all felt so childish, really. Crying wouldn’t change a thing, because the night was still cold and he was still alone.
That seemed to be a common theme with him, being alone. For so long, he has resided at the peak of truth, carving his home into its many many rooms, his only company being those he turned away. They were all so young, at least to him, the disappointment in their faces clawed at his heart each time. Only children in his eyes, dough so soft and filled with curiosity. He never saw most cookies ever again, never learned their names or their lives; the information served no purpose. Most left the same, disappointed; some were angry, some cried, some tried again and again; none swayed him. He was never cruel in his rejections, soft, kind lies flowing so easily as to soothe their heartache. There was no way to convince him; his ideals being set in his dough, they would never understand, they could never understand what he protected them from. So his loneliness was handmade by the rejection of any and all visitors.
At least, almost all. There was one cookie who had somehow managed to sneak himself into his life, and home, and bed. The Sage of Truth, his complete and total opposite, given form. He frowned deeply. Just what would the man say at the pathetic display of the Truthless Recluse? Perhaps he would scoff, insisting that this was further proof his ideals were correct, he may laugh, mock him, rub salt on the wound. Thinking about it only made him feel worse; he may be sick. Even still, it would be better than being alone.
Time passed, he could once again breathe steadily, and the tears had stopped, leaving his cheeks sticky. He should really get up, but his jam felt like lead, far too heavy for him. So instead, he looked up at the stars he could not see; the world was truly empty to him.
Perhaps sleeping on the balcony would be a poor choice; he would certainly fall ill, or at the very least be sore the next morning. Yet he could not find the strength to get up, as if he deserved it at all. So he shut his eyes, sinking into his large robes, seeking some form of warmth.
“Why hello there, shooting star.”
He cracked his eyes open to look up to his right. There was the Sage of Truth, so refined in his elegance. He hovered just over the railing, blue, starry hair flowing so beautifully in the light breeze. He smiled, but it was saddened at the sight of the Recluse, like he was something to be pitied. He didn’t want to be seen like this; he didn’t want to be seen at all.
He lowered from the railing, landing without a sound just an inch off the ground, “Rough night, I presume?”
“How did you know…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.
He laughed a bit, he knew quite well what he meant, “I didn’t, I just wanted to see you. I was hesitating because I was worried you would already be asleep, but perhaps I should have come sooner.”
The Recluse met his eyes; there was no judgment in his soft gaze, only love and sympathy. A heavy sigh escaped him; he wanted to push the Sage away and to be left alone, but he didn’t do that, because that’s not what he wanted.
The Sage settled down on the ground next to him, sitting cross-legged. A comfortable silence fell over the two, and against his best judgment, the Recluse began to relax. As much as he expects harshness from the Sage, he knew better and allowed himself to be less on guard with him.
“Do you want to talk?” his tone was soft; he was so close.
The Recluse shook his head, “There isn’t much to say, really. As you said, it’s just been a rough night.”
There was a small hum and a nod. The Sage took his hand, lacing their fingers together, but he immediately stiffened, “Witches, you’re freezing, and I'm usually the one with cold hands,” he thought for a moment. “Here.”
He took both of the Recluse’s hands in his, breathing hotly onto his hands to help warm them up. The action was touching; he really didn’t need to, but he was. Recluse interrupted him by leaning in and kissing him. It ended as quickly as it began, leaving the Sage blinking confusedly. His smile returned quickly, however, and he placed a kiss on Recluse’s cold fingers.
When the Sage was satisfied with the warmth of his partner’s hands, he let go and instead wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. The Sage was often the colder of the two, his hands often chilly against the Recluse’s warm dough, but after his time outside, the Recluse was significantly colder. He pressed closer into the warmth, his face becoming obscured in the others' clothing.
There was some chatter between the two, small musings about their days. The Sage went over what he had taught in today’s lecture. The Recluse wasn’t all too happy to hear about it, but he let it go for tonight. His day leading up to this wasn’t all too interesting, mostly his usual, but the Sage listened just as intently as ever.
“You’re shivering, love. Let’s go inside, we can start the fire and make tea. You are likely dehydrated, and we should remedy that.” he let go of the embrace, standing and holding out his hands for the recluse to take, which he did.
Once inside, he was promptly sat in front of the fireplace and had a blanket wrapped around him. The Sage had phrased it as they would do this together, but in reality, it was just another way for him to sneakily dote on the man. Lucky for him, the Recluse was far too tired to object. It wasn’t long before a cup of hot vanilla tea was placed into his hands, and the Sage once again cozied up to him, joining under the blanket with his own cup.
It was all so warm and comfortable to have his lover with him. He rested his head on the Sage’s shoulder, and an arm wrapped around his waist in return. There was the occasional idle chatter, but they were quiet for the most part, enjoying the other’s company.
A kiss was placed to the top of his head, and maybe he wasn't so alone.