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Sometimes, Wanderer forgets how easily Sethos can get to him.
It shouldn’t be possible, not with everything he’s lived through. After centuries of disappointments, betrayals, and pain, nothing should surprise him anymore. Nothing should get past the thick walls he’s built around whatever still counts as his “heart”.
And yet, Sethos places a small wooden box into his hands, and suddenly it feels like someone lit a fire inside his chest and left it burning too close to his ribs.
He feels Sethos watching him. Of course he does. Sethos always watches him the same way he watches the sky during stargazing nights—curious, sharp, but with so much admiration while trying to understand what's out there. Wanderer tries not to react. He pretends that he doesn’t notice the weight of that gaze as he clicks open the lid before his thoughts can spiral.
Inside the box is a ring.
Gold. Simple, elegant. A subtle swirl carved along the band, reminiscent of a breeze sweeping across desert sand. It glints under the lamplight in such a soft way that it knocks the breath right out of him.
His fingertips hover just above it, trembling without his permission. He doesn't like showing weakness, but his hands just won’t stop betraying how he feels.
“… What is this supposed to be?” He asks, voice softer than he wants it to be. Soft in that way that means he’s already losing this battle against himself.
Sethos laughs quietly, like he had been anticipating this exact reaction. The sound is warm, the kind that loosens something tight in Wanderer’s chest even as he resents it. “A gift for you.”
Wanderer swallows and glances at him, eyes sharp but uncertain. “Sethos—”
“It’s not just a gift.” Sethos’ voice shifts into something deeper and fonder. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and the lamplight catches in his eyes like a flicker of fire. “It’s something I… thought about for a while.”
Those words make Wanderer’s throat tighten. He turns back to the ring, unable to hold Sethos’ gaze for too long. “You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to.”
The words hit him like a physical thing. They land heavy against his chest.
Humans are strange. Wanderer has always thought so. Their lives are short, their attachments fleeting, their hearts so fragile yet they keep offering them freely. And they cling to the idea of soulmates. To the idea of a person written into their fate from birth, tied by an unbreakable thread and a mark on their bodies as proof of it.
Sethos has one somewhere out there. Someone he’s meant to meet and spend his life with.
Someone who isn’t him.
Wanderer has no such thing. He's a puppet, so he wasn't “born” with a mark because he was created by a God. No fate ties him to anyone. He’d taught himself not to care, not to notice the small mark on Sethos’ wrist and wonder who it would lead him to someday.
But some nights, when Sethos sleeps beside him with an arm draped over him as if holding something precious that might disappear, those thoughts crawl out of their hiding place.
Will the thread pull Sethos away? Will Wanderer become just another temporary attachment in his life?
His hold on the box tightens, the edges pressing into his palm as if urging him back to the present instead of spiraling into those dark thoughts again.
“I know you worry about my soulmate.” Sethos says quietly.
Wanderer’s breath stops at that.
He wants to scoff, to brush it off and pretend he’s above something so foolish. But Sethos’ voice is too gentle. Too knowing. He knows lying won't do anything to get him to back off.
“It’s pointless.” Wanderer mutters bitterly. “I’m not supposed to have one.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve one.”
Sethos says it with no hesitation. No doubt. And something inside Wanderer twists sharply.
When he finally lifts his gaze fully, Sethos is holding something between his fingers. Another ring. The twin of the one inside the box. Gold, warm in the light.
“I had two made,” Sethos says, and his voice goes softer. Vulnerable. “One for you and one for me.”
Wanderer’s vision wavers for a few seconds.
Sethos is holding the ring like it’s precious. Like his connection with Wanderer means everything to him. The realization makes his chest ache in a way that borders on painful.
“I want…” Sethos hesitates, but only barely, as if he's trying to be careful to avoid scaring him away. “I want you to have someone who chooses you. Not because fate says so, but because they want to.”
His eyes meet Wanderer’s, brimming with a devotion he can’t look at for too long without feeling like he's being unraveled in ways he's not used to.
“And I choose you.”
The words echo inside him, quiet but shattering in their sincerity. Wanderer grips the box, swallowing down a mix of fear and longing that rises too fast.
Sethos extends his hand patiently, silently waiting for his response.
Wanderer reaches into the box with trembling fingers and lifts the ring. The metal is warm, like it was waiting for him. He passes it to Sethos and watches as he slides it onto his finger with so much gentleness.
It fits perfectly.
He stares at it, completely stunned.
Sethos slips the matching band onto his own finger and smiles with something unbearably soft. “Now we match.”
Wanderer’s chest stutters. He has to breathe slowly to keep from becoming overwhelmed.
“You’re a fool.” He whispers, voice cracking in a way he can't hide.
“If I am,” Sethos begins fondly, “then I’m your fool.”
He leans in just close enough as an invitation, never demanding something Wanderer isn't ready for.
And something in Wanderer gives in as it always does.
He touches the ring again, brushing the metal lightly, afraid it might disappear if he lets himself relax.
“… Thank you,” he breathes out so quietly that it almost dissolves in the air.
But Sethos hears it anyway. He always does.
He cups the back of Wanderer’s neck gently, guiding their foreheads together until their breaths mingle. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin beneath Wanderer’s ear, tender enough to make his chest feel unbearably full.
“I don’t need a soulmate chosen by fate,” Sethos whispers against his skin. “Not when I’ve already found the person I want for life.”
The ache in Wanderer’s chest swells. It’s warm, painful, overwhelming, but oh so beautiful.
He leans into Sethos. Just for a moment. Just long enough to let the warmth sink into every cold corner of him. Just long enough to believe it.
His eyes close.
The ring rests solid against his finger.
And for the first time in a very long time, he feels chosen.