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With the head of the Wild Hunt gone, one would have thought the abyssal monsters would cease their folly, stop to exist and plague the people of Nod-Krai no more. The truth had been much more devastating. Without its head, the dying serpent thrashed violently. It was a death rattle gruesome and unforgiving. Mindless creatures did naught but destroy, hurt and kill in search for what once was its head and mind. It made Flins’ work grueling and exhausting like never before. Yet protecting Nod-Krai as a Lightkeeper was still his sworn duty and he would oblige either until he drew his last breath or until the monsters were gone for good.
Now, the Lightkeepers had quite the burden to carry. Much heavier than anything they had ever experienced before and his colleagues’ resolve stood firm amongst the crowd. Yet the heaviest burden Flins had chosen to carry, unbeknownst to the people he worked closest with. Only Nikita was privy to the fact that the fae sheltered the one individual the Wild Hunt sought out, shielding him from the grasps of the abyss so that he may not reunite with the whispers of folly.
Reunited with his purified heart, Rerir had turned out so much different than any one of them could have anticipated. A man that was not oblivious to the horrors committed in his obsession, but a gnarling husk that had sunken in his own thoughts and regrets once his mind had finally cleared up, sane yet undeniably tainted by the Abyss all the same. A man certainly not easy to handle, but a threat no longer.
Flins all but dragged himself to his abode, returning from a battle that kept up for far too long. There was no longer tactic to the Wild Hunt’s attacks, no coordination. What remained had been sheer brutality and a vast number of monsters that never grew tired, chipping away at the Lightkeepers’ endurance.
Rerir was not to be seen as the fae sank into a chair by the table. However, that wasn’t unusual. Flins had quickly learned that the Sinner dived deep into old reports of Wild Hunt occurrences, reading for hours on end in the old archive. He rarely left the isle to begin with and never did so without asking permission first. Perhaps it was a show of goodwill or simply a means to remain in the clear with his unusual caretaker, or warden for a lack of a better word.
Their relationship had been rocky to say the least.
When Flins leaned back, he stared at the sky above, reminiscing about all the things that had happened. The number of colleagues he had lost to the Wild Hunt was immeasurable, the battles they had fought long and arduous. And yet, the cause of all this most likely sat in the archive, reading in detail about all the hardships of the past. Fate was a peculiar thing.
Sometimes, Rerir would ask about the graves, inquiring about the lives of past Lightkeepers while staring into the distance absentmindedly. In truth, he had always listened closely, Flins had long noticed, but the man kept his thoughts to himself, drowning in whatever regrets he harbored without as much as uttering a single word. What conclusions Rerir drew, Flins didn’t know. Yet certain feelings were impossible to hide as the attentive Lightkeeper knew. The small changes and details in Rerir’s demeanor were a book for him to read. One with heavy seals that tried to keep its contents hidden, yet the seals lay broken mimicking a hindrance that wasn’t quite there.
And then, a soft and quiet noise pulled him out of his thoughts.
When Flins looked down, a cat was sitting on the table, meowing at him with this high-pitched voice, so sweet yet so demanding. The cat was also a new addition to his life that showed up one random day and visited him from time to time ever since. Shy around others, rather quick to flee whenever someone made a wrong move, but always so focused on the Lightkeeper. It was an oddity among all the animals that usually kept a distance from him and even Lauma never had the opportunity to talk to it before it would flee from the woman. A most curious, little thing.
He felt tired, but the cat refused to let him rest, meows growing louder, perhaps even meaner. And with a sigh, the fae discarded his gloves, laying them onto the table in an orderly fashion before his fingers caressed the cat’s head. He could oblige for a bit, after all, letting his fingers glide through the cat’s soft, black fur.
Despite not being the fondest of animals, Flins had to admit that the cat possessed fur so incredibly soft that he thought at least once about just sinking his face into it. Petting it was calming, watching the little creature’s face rub against his hands was charming, yet so uncharacteristic. Cats were stubborn little things and most of them possessed quite the temper as he had learned, but this little one was actually quite sweet and loving, never scratching or biting him. Unusual, considering most animals tended to be scared of him.
Whenever he stopped petting, the cat would chase his hand, rubbing its head against his touch as if it was starved for any kind of affection. Perhaps it was a flicker of whimsy that urged the fae to suddenly pick up the cat and hold it away from himself, observing its reaction closely. Yet the cat softly meowed, politely informing him of its discomfort. Oh so patiently waiting to be lowered and ultimately petted again.
Flins didn’t let it dangle for long, setting it back down on the table rather quickly. The cat remained perfectly calm, letting out a quiet purr before jumping onto his lap. A persistent little fiend, Flins thought, still gifting it with a few, shallow pets. Though, fatigue was an overpowering foe and his eyelids felt heavier and heavier with each passing moment, until finally falling shut.
He could feel the cat’s whiskers tickling his face when it carefully examined the fae’s situation, perhaps feeling offended that the petting ceased without its consent. There were a few demanding rubs against his hand, trying to animate him to resume the petting, but Flins didn’t react. He was too sleepy to entertain a cat’s whims.
However, peace was something the fae was no longer privy to. Closing his eyes and sleeping in his seat was a privilege he no longer possessed. That the cat jumped down from his lap was just the bleak omen for what was about to happen next. The events always unfolded in the same manner. He would sit down to rest, his eyes would fall shut and before he could drift into a restful slumber, hands would stir him awake again.
And like clockwork, he could feel one hand behind his shoulder and another at the back of his knees, lifting him up without any effort at all. His eyes fluttered open, sleepily scanning for the well-known perpetrator, always so eerily on time.
“Oh my,” Flins said, his gaze falling onto the expressionless face above him, “you always immediately show up like a specter whenever I decide to rest my eyes for just a moment.”
“Try sleeping in your goddamn bed for once,” Rerir spat back.
Even if his tone was off, and a bit too aggressive for his liking, Flins could tell that the man was just sort of tired. It was the usual spiel whenever the Lightkeeper returned these days, worn out from the battles he fought. Perhaps it was a feeling of guilt that led Rerir to this behavior, or perhaps it was genuine care. Flins had to admit that it was hard to tell when it came to Rerir.
“If I may, what about the cat?” Flins suddenly asked, his eyes darting around for the feline friend.
Rerir hesitated for just a moment, before answering in a mumble, “ran off.”
“Perhaps I should provide that little rascal with some cat food,” the Lightkeeper mused, “what do you think?”
“Don’t be idiotic,” Rerir said, glaring at him. “That Mora would be wasted on a stray.”
Flins hummed. “You’re proposing I should let the cat go hungry and potentially starve?”
“I’m certain that cat doesn’t need food from you, is what I’m saying.” Rerir huffed, signaling to drop the topic.
Flins chuckled in response, letting his head rest against Rerir’s chest. The Sinner’s rocking steps were uncharacteristically soothing, but perhaps the Lightkeeper had just gotten used to being carried around by him. It was quite the common occurrence by now, and apparently Rerir never grew tired of carrying him to bed. Sure, he may protest a bit and tried to lecture the fae constantly, but at the end of his protests, he would always resume to picking up and carrying the accursed nuisance.
Despite their otherwise rather distant relationship, this little spiel always felt scarily intimate to Flins and no doubt was it the same for Rerir. The Sinner was certainly devoted to the bit, for reasons unknown to the fae, yet there was always a smidge of hesitation in his movements as if an invisible sword hung high above his head. Once they had reached the bed, the Sinner proceeded with his usual modus operandi, sat the Lightkeeper down and started to unbutton the man’s coat.
Flins certainly wasn’t the kind of noble who ever had servants undress him. That had always been a task he was capable of doing himself perfectly fine, but Rerir could be rather difficult, demanding time and time again for the fae to sit still and let him handle it. They had these arguments before and every single time Flins had lost to the Sinner’s stubbornness. Whether it was a form of repayment or just pettiness, for the former noble it was impossible to tell.
If he truly thought about it, though, the Sinner’s many abyssal hands came quite in handy. So much so that the fae had to chuckle at the absurdity of this situation, much to Rerir’s surprise. He granted the sleepy Lightkeeper a confused look, yet decided not to comment on it. After all, people came up with the most wondrous thoughts whenever they were about to fall asleep and he sure as hell didn’t want to pry into a fae’s irritating mind.
Once Flins found himself in just his dress shirt and underwear, hands pushed him onto the soft mattress, almost uncharacteristically gentle, while another pair already grabbed the blanket with unforeseen eagerness. What was new, however, was the hand softly petting his head, causing him to blink in confusion. When he laid his eyes onto Rerir, the Sinner froze immediately, the hand retracting in the blink of an eye.
A heavy silence hung in the air. Neither of them was willing to speak about the slight misstep that had happened. Not that Flins minded it, but Rerir seemed restless and utterly unsure if he should just go without speaking a word or address his actions. What could he have said, anyway? There was no excuse on his tongue that would have sounded believable in the slightest. No, the best course of action for him was to keep silent and just move on with his day.
But when Rerir turned to leave, Flins’ hand suddenly grabbed his wrist, making the Sinner look back to him with strained patience, silently demanding an explanation.
“Lay down with me.”
“… Why the hell would I do that?” Rerir seemed taken aback, his muscles tensing.
“I seek comfort,” Flins said, yet confronted with Rerir’s blank stare, he sighed. “Humans find comfort in close proximity to each other. And I desire to test it out, see for myself if it is any use to me, but I fear I don’t have many options around these parts.”
“You’re asking me to cuddle with you,” Rerir clarified, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This creature surely was a hassle to deal with. “And let me tell you, that is a horrible idea.”
Flins however smiled, so annoyingly infuriating. It was the selfsame smile he harbored whenever he thought of some irritating prank to play on Rerir, even if ‘prank’ may have been the wrong word for the fae’s intentions. The man was constantly trying to push him out of his comfort zone and Rerir certainly wasn’t fond of it.
It was a smile way too gentle for someone like him.
“Mayhap you expect me to ask the Fatui for assistance then? They are the closest alternative I got, after all,” Flins said, drawing each of the last words out a bit too much.
“Have you gone mad?” Rerir sounded a bit too blunt, yet with the fae’s usual whimsy he was quite conflicted about the prospect of him knocking on the door of those unwanted neighbors. Surely he wouldn’t dare, but what if…
“Rerir,” Flins all but hummed, “I’ve worked hard. Please be so kind as to do me this simple favor.”
“What are you, a child?” It came out as more of a huff, followed by a resigned sigh. “Just this once.”
Despite his words, the Sinner still hesitated. Even after Flins had scooted over to make room for him. It was something the fae obviously wanted, but for the Sinner it felt incredibly wrong. They had been enemies, and more than once had he tried to kill this man now so vulnerable. What an absurd twist of fate.
And yet, those eyes wouldn’t leave him. Eyes so piercing as if they could glimpse into his very thoughts, and twist each and every intention to their liking. The fae was not a fool. That much, Rerir was painfully aware of nowadays. Chances were the Lightkeeper was long aware of the shenanigans he pulled, silently playing along, trying his best not to be too pushy.
The mattress dipped under Rerir’s weight once he had removed the unnecessary articles of his clothing and steeled himself to walk into the trap – or rather lay in it. He couldn’t shake off this awkward feeling. Not with the Lightkeeper next to him, and unfavorable memories nagging at the back of his mind.
And as if his struggles weren’t enough already, did Flins shamelessly close the tiny distance between their bodies, leaned his head against Rerir’s chest and carefully took his hand into his own. Centuries had gone by without any comfort or affection and now it felt all too much for the Sinner to bear. He tensed up, fearing he would lose himself to something other than the Abyss’ call. Unsure, if he could risk losing himself once more.
“You feel so cold,” Rerir caught himself saying, far off from the thoughts that were actually racing inside his head.
“Is that so?” Flins chuckled while his thumb caressed the back of Rerir’s hand. “Ironic, isn’t it? My body is a flame, yet it is not capable of sharing warmth with anyone. It’s such a pity.”
“It’s not so bad,” Rerir forced out a huff. He meant it, but it didn’t need to be obvious.
“Oh? Are you trying to console me, per chance?” An amused smile danced on the Lightkeeper’s lips, fingers now intertwining with Rerir’s.
It was nothing more than just a simple touch. Only a hand that held another. Sweet, fleeting, innocent. But if the Sinner was honest with himself, it was so much more than just that. It was a touch he had missed for centuries. A kind of affection he had considered so normal until it was gone, ripped from him in an instant. It didn’t matter that the hand was cold. The only thing that truly mattered was that it was there to begin with.
And yet, the question of why engulfed his mind like wildfire. There was no sense, no reason to it. A Lightkeeper that comforted his mortal enemy? It was absurd. He expected to be locked up in some deep dungeon, imprisoned on the moon or ripped to pieces once more for all he had done. Instead, he laid in a comfy bed and basked in an intimate moment he wasn’t deserving of.
When he thought about all the reports he had studied in the archives, his stomach twisted and his heart churned. For better or worse he was unable to die, unable to escape his hailing thoughts and harrowing regrets, and perhaps that was precisely the punishment he deserved. To spiral with an entourage of bitter regrets, and a mind that was finally sane again, yet cursed with a body tainted by the Abyss.
Then, a gentle squeeze of his hand drowned out the thoughts. It was all too unfair.
“I’m starting to understand the reason humans like this type of proximity,” Flins spoke softly. “It feels warm and comforting when the heart races.”
Ah, the pin dropped. Rerir sighed deeply. “Idiot. You’re not even subtle.”
That’s when Flins shifted to a position more comfortable for him to look at the Sinner. There was a dangerous, knowing glint in his eyes Rerir didn’t quite like, but he had long since known that the Lightkeeper wasn’t as direct in his approaches. Then again, the same was true for Rerir as well, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Partially, because it was too embarrassing.
“Then allow me to be more direct with you for once,” Flins said. Gone was the soft cadence in his voice. Instead, he sounded awfully stern. “It hasn’t slipped past me that you try to punish yourself, but you obviously yearn for comfort and here I am, offering. Be so kind as to consider it at the very least.”
And yet, words fell on deaf ears, a grumble the only answer he would get. There was a barrier Rerir couldn’t quite cross. Honesty the Sinner wasn’t capable of, for various reasons. By now Flins had already surmised it was Rerir’s attempt of holding himself accountable, cursed to handle his troubles on his own, undeserving of any and all sympathy.
And while there was a kernel of truth to it, in his time among humans Flins had learned that people who were left to their own devices, without any helping hand, were prone to stumbling into further messes. An outcome he wanted to avoid at all costs, otherwise it would have all been futile if the Sinner ever regressed to his obsessions.
Still not getting an answer, Flins continued with a hollow threat, “Mayhap I should buy cat food.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” Rerir objected, glaring at the fae with an expression that was a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.
But once the fae had put his mind to something, there was no stopping him. Especially not when it served to drag another out of their comfort zone. The blanket was pushed aside in one fell swoop, baffling the Sinner even more when that wretched fae made attempts to climb over him to leave the bed.
In a fit of agitated panic, Rerir did the only thing he could think of to stop the nuisance. His arms quickly wrapped around the fae, pulling him back mercilessly. And only then did he notice the major downside of his actions. The Lightkeeper now held firm in his arms, bodies pressed against each other in a tight embrace – one the Sinner had wanted to avoid at all costs.
The nuisance shook in gentle laughter. About a plan that had worked out oh so perfectly. And yet a thousand thoughts raced in the Sinner’s mind as he watched that single thread of his resolve finally snap. One of these thoughts cursed the fae’s trickery. And another was thankful for it.
Flins could hear a sharp inhale.
One arm slung around his waist, the other hand caressed the back of his head. Then, Rerir’s body shifted, rolling them onto their sides to make it much easier to pull the Lightkeeper close. It was a wonder, Rerir thought, that his body even remembered how to embrace someone. That it vaguely remembered this feeling, and yearned for it.
“Rerir?” Flins’ voice was barely a whisper. A gentle inquiry.
“Shut it,” the man hissed, pressing the other even closer.
The last thing the Sinner wanted was commentary. He wanted nothing but to sink into that familiar, yet odd feeling. The body he held was not warm, but that didn’t matter. The tingling feeling of being close to someone was more than enough for Rerir and he had to admit, the cheeky fae was a good fit for his arms.
It was a proximity he shouldn’t be allowed to have. He had discarded any right for comfort a long, long time ago and yet, his body slowly but surely relaxed like this position was only natural. While his mind screeched at him that everything was wrong, his body was simply of a different opinion. It just felt right. Embracing the Lightkeeper felt like the right thing to do. Holding someone in his arms to protect, to cherish, was what the Sinner had truly longed for ever since he had arrived on this island.
It was quite the same for Flins. His words hadn’t been a lie. He truly started to understand what closeness felt like, and why humans appreciated it. For once the fae, ever the protector, was shielded from everything else – and it was eerily calming, adorned with an unknown warmth he had no name for.
Centuries he had spent defending his homeland, had observed tragedy, had laid himself to a lonely rest, and when he had awoken, the self-chosen mantle of protector had befallen him once again. He had carried his burdens relentlessly, and had not even dared to share them with anyone. This, however, this was so much different. An embrace a bit too tight. One that protected and shielded him from all those troublesome thoughts that had tried to chase him down, to wrestle his restful sleep away.
Feeling safe was not what he had expected. And yet, the carefree, fleeting thought of sinking his face into the not-so-stray cat’s soft fur the next time it visited crossed his mind. It would be sure to elicit an interesting reaction, after all.
There was a soft and quiet noise. One Rerir recognized as the gentle breath of a man falling into slumber.
Not once had he witnessed the Lightkeeper fall asleep so soundly in such a short time. Perhaps they had both gotten what they wanted. The simple comfort they were denied for so long. And maybe, just maybe, it could become his excuse to seek it again on another day.
Carefully Rerir brushed aside a strand of hair, beholding the calm expression on Flins’ face. As if the man was content with his life, despite all the hardships and nuisances. It wasn’t bad, this life. Rerir had to admit as much.
An abyssal hand grabbed the blanket once again, slowly covering them, careful as not to wake the sleeping fae. Then, a wicked smile appeared on the Sinner’s lips when that selfsame abyssal hand glided towards the desk in the corner grabbing what was sure to be the Lightkeeper’s bag of Mora. Mischievously it hid the bag in one of the larger cracks on the wall, in hope Flins wouldn’t be able to find it all too soon.
Rerir giggled softly, noticing that it felt so unlike himself. Yet when he imagined the face Flins would make once he noticed his Mora was missing, he couldn’t quite help it. Maybe a little mischief was fine. Maybe he could let loose just a little, and a little more often.
Only one thing was certain. He wouldn’t be eating cat food anytime soon.