Archive of Our Own

Screams. Unyielding, frightened, stunned screams were what perked the Recluse’s ears.

It wasn’t only him who heard it, either, because those around copied the muffled yells of their own. The end of the hall began to evade the sole classroom like oil and water, weary of whatever lied beyond the door.

Cowardly gnats. He scoffed and began his approach. Recluse fought his way among the crowd, like two currents crashing together.

People were knocked into one another and lockers alike as Truthless’ wings spread to keep them afar, books and papers flying. The protests were only met with an indifferent silence and the thump of his staff along marbled floors.

Even on his best days, he disdained others' touch. Made his skin crawl with unfamiliarity and disgust.

And, after a few long moments of colliding with the sea of kids who managed to get through his barrier, he took to the air. The stained glass shone against his wings from the arched ceiling. His robes felt dirtied by their grubby hands. Recluse always thought it looked akin to a church more than a school. 

Cause that’s all he needed, an exorcism and a priest.

The Recluse had only come for a brief period today, as he did every so often. Not long enough to be coached into a guinea pig by the Sage or for the unrelenting pressure of a headache to form in his temples by his rambles of hasty prattle. Just long enough to feel productive. Accomplished.

He’s learnt the usefulness of time limits the hard way.

Today hadn’t been planned, not beyond the confines of his mind. Though, the things stored there were usually better kept discreet. He tried to recall the subject of the day's lecture from the last he’d spoken to Sage, which would’ve been days ago during a spontaneous visit.

Astronomy…? How to harness the power of the stars? That’s what the Recluse thought it was. But half of the time the fool spoke so fast he couldn’t catch it or he was simply disinterested and would tune him out. 

At first, he hadn't thought about going. Never even remembered it was happening or paid any to the idea. His perfect day on a timeline was to sleep, maybe eat or go for a quick fly, preen anything that needed to be, then sleep more. Maybe a shower if he could cram it in there.

But, when the Recluse woke at dawn, an uneasy pit settled in his gut.

It prevented him from doing anything but move. He tried flying, which usually calmed anything he didn’t have chained away; tried reading one of the many books in the Peak. No luck. 

Finally, when he began to write and simply watched the inked quill drip onto the parchment, he rose with a displeased hiss. The single black dot mocked him, drying into the parchment like a reminder.

Recluse had been caged at the time of the stars’ major discoveries. It might actually interest him.

When this predicament disturbed his day further, he’d been drawn to his last nerve, which paired awfully with the feeling that only grew and squirmed inside of him like a fetus. His wings puffed out as he flew impatiently over the awed and horrified children. Most of them knew of his existence, much to his disappointment and Sage’s elation.

This fact was mainly due to them having a lack of medical knowledge. They used to have a healer, as far as Recluse could recall, but Witches know what happened to them. 

Regardless, this left him to be the “volun-told” healer whenever around. Sure, Sage and others knew some things, at least enough to keep all at bay while he was absent; but it was nothing like the centuries of practice he’s had.

The practice kept up more than his patience had after a millennia.

The Avian’s landing was a whirl of black, not graceful as he’d cared to usually, but not rushed in a panic to find the wonder, as he used to as the Truthbearer. It was the Sage’s classroom, which made sense, in a way. He’s heard the way those kids spoke, acted.

They were delinquents. Just like their teacher. Smart, sure, but delinquent.

Whispers fell upon his twitching, sagged ears. Everybody moved away from him, rather from their own wariness of the Recluse or the situation beyond this door, he didn’t know. Nor care. Maybe if he heals whoever it is—if it’s even needed—and spends a few hours with Sage, he’ll be able to find refuge again. 

The sole thought of ridding the angry tumor in his chest and his ne—bed—was what compelled him to finally throw the door open, walking inside without too much hurry. 

A switch had gone off in his mind the moment he entered.

Recluse’s heart was in his head, making his body practically jolt with each beat. The feeling hadn’t dissipated, only grew like a fertilized vine and drowned him from the inside out. Blood rushed to his head as he froze where he stood, the feeling making his eyes wide with unfamiliarity.

His SoulJam ached.

Before he could control himself, get a hold of his breathing which was slowly speeding from the vulnerability, he pushed through the gossiping, dense group of students. Their voices melted together in his ears, and most flung away from him from his own hand if got too close. Limbs moved without rhyme or reason, his Avianic side in control. He was simply in the passenger seat.

A hole, usually stuffed full of apathy to plug up the leaks, gaped open.

The crowd lessened as he broke through the final ring of kids, all circled around as if about to conduct a ritual. And, once he saw what—or who—was in the middle, it all clicked in his head.

Blueberry Milk. On the ground and limp. The professor's face, usually in an arrogant chide or a meticulous grin, was flattened out. Smooth. But not calm. His monocle has been thrown to the side, his body curled loosely in a fetal position.

It made his guts roll with unease. So unknown, so vulnerable.

Their…situation, for a lack of a better word, was complicated. Relationships felt too outright and acquiesces weren't enough. 

They, at times, sleep together when Truthless can’t stand the quiet of the Peak or Sage doesn’t want him to go—for personal or simply no reason at all, he didn’t know—but the hermit was usually gone by morning.

Sure, they were together, they in a sense, but Recluse wasn’t willing to take it farther. Not yet.

For the first time in centuries alone, his Avianic mind spiralled into an outbreak at the look of Sage. Mate. Hurt. Protect. Flock. Help.

Truthless could hear, distantly, as if underwater, a pupil asking him something. Perhaps if they could help, or what they should do. Maybe something foolish like who would substitute their class. When a hand graced his shoulder, he spun and wrenched away.

Wings puffed out a spread like an eagle, he prowled. “Get. Out.” Heterochromic eyes were wide and dangerous, daring anybody to fight him on it.

It was loud, louder than expected. Contrasting to his monotone, quiet voice, it could’ve almost been a yell. Most of the kids recoiled and retreated out the door. Some even looked grateful that the lesson was over or bored. Fucking brats. Disgraceful bastards. 

Suddenly, he had the urge to crumble them.

The ones remaining quickly followed after a daring glare and the most resilient—or annoying—faced his magic like a tidal wave, which shoved them out and clicked the lock into place. 

The whirring in his ears and the soft rustle of trees outside were the only things present in the room. Finally rid of talk, Recluse sprang into action, staff falling to the ground.

His knees slammed into the floor. With more care than he’s summoned in a while, scarred hands slipped under Sage’s head, shifting the hair gently out of the way. The Virtue was placed on the Recluse’s lap, now on his back, with his head lolling. It was quickly stabilized.

No injuries, as far as the eye could see. Clammy skin, cold to the touch. Sage usually ran cold, but this was below even his temperature. It felt like dipping your hands in ice water. Pale skin along with it. No good signs, but none terribly intense, either.

Furrowing his brows, his thumb drifted over Sage’s neck, his pulse point. It beat rapidly under his fingertips, a little muffled, as well. Weak, for an immortal.

Recluse began to slap Sage’s face, gentle and small hits. Just enough to try and rouse him from this state. He must’ve passed out during his lecture, which resulted in the kids' screaming. 

“C’mon Sage..” He mumbled under his breath.

The hole in the hermit’s chest only felt like it was being torn open wider, threatening to make him bleed out. His slaps got more firm and his voice impatient. Something was wrong and he needed to know what the hell it was.

Mate. Hurt.

Truthless cleared those thoughts away, but they were becoming incessant. “Sage.” 

Protect. Wake. Cold.

No. He was probably fine, just some sleep deprived state sent him to the floor. Nothings wrong with Ma—Sage. Black wings curled around the latter, plumes fluttering.

“Sage!” Recluse shook his shoulders with an intensity and desperation he probably shouldn’t have. He’s never felt this way towards the Sage. Not till now, and it was making him experience a rare dosage of panic. “Wake up, wake up, wake up—“

Help mate. Mate hurt. Mate dying. Mate. Mate. Mate—

He can’t push the words away anymore, nothing else in the room was present. The slaps became harsh, and, though he had half of a birdbrain to feel bad about it, he couldn’t help himself.

“Blueberry Milk!” Recluse shouted, before feeling a shift beneath his fingers.

Sage’s eyes finally cracked open, just enough that his cerulean irises were visible and staring right at him. They were fuzzy, not sharp and educational. Delirious. Confused. His mouth was opened halfway, a small cough breaking out of them momentarily, like he had just been revived, not woken.

The slapping ceased, and Truthless left his hands on Sage’s cheeks for a lack of a better place. The latter leaned into them, the cold persona that is Recluse having toasty hands. 

He quietly cursed, but his wings began to rest, allowing a soft look to form on his face for the first time in Witches know how long. “Sage? You with me?”

The professor looked up, almost with a renewed relief of the sight, as if he didn’t already know he was there. His face was screwed slightly in discomfort, but his eyes were bright with recognition. “Nilla…?”

Truthless’ hands stiffened where they rested on Sage’s cheeks. He was the only one who was allowed to call him that, and just barely.

It reminded the Recluse of other, darker times which plagued his mind; but, in Sage’s voice, the name came with a silver lining. As if it brought out that side of him once more and, instead of dread, made him quite… content.

It was the same as the smile that twitched on Recluse’s lips as he scoffed; it was given out of pure, willing content that no one else was allowed to see. 

He was sure that boosted Sage’s ego.

“Yeah, you fool.” Recluse murmured, brushing the professor’s curled bangs away from his damp forehead. Though, now that he felt it, it was hot.. Did he have a fever? 

Sage blinked at him like a frog, delayed and sluggish. “Wha’happ’ned…?” He…slurred? It sounded like his tongue was heavy and the vowels came out weird.

The healer in the Recluse was suddenly reawakened, then, and his face hardened once more. Other than those two symptoms, plus the fatigue, there seemed to be nothing wrong. These could all be attributed to sleep deprivation, but his chest tightened with that sickening feeling.

The midnight wings curled in further, cutting off the rest of the world.

“You fainted. In class.” Recluse snapped, harsher than meant to be. Sliding his tanned hands under the Sage’s underarms, hoisting him into a sitting position and against his chest as he contemplated why. “I told you not to overdo it, for your sake and my own. I don’t wanna be healing you every second of every damn day. Haven’t I told you to sleep? Why can’t you listen to m—“

When he pulled him up, barely noticed, Sage hissed in pain. Pure, unbridled pain that contorted his face.

Oh fuck no.

Sage wasn’t gonna be a Witches-forsaken martyr and lie to him. So much for the Sage of "Truth", the man was practically more deceitful than Truthless! He always did this, too! Doing something stupid and then leaving it bee until he dropped.

As much as he was angry, however, he was equally rising in panic, and his wings flapped in response to it. Arms kept Sage secured to him, not allowing him to escape. To avoid.

“Show me. Where are you hurt?”

Sage didn’t answer him right away, and the hermit watched his head loll back onto his shoulder, eyes getting foggy again. Their lids sagged, almost like the bags that always hung, and even began shivering subtly.

“S’fine, m’Recluse…” His lips barely moved, “…T’is but a scratch…hehe..” Blueberry giggled, deep in the sludge of disorientation.

Truthless was angry now. Frustrated, irate that he’d joke like this and—

Scared. An unbridled emotion.

He was scared, which was utterly pathetic. Because his other half, the only person who’s ever treated him like someone to actually care about, had something wrong with him.

And was trying to hide it. Choosing to stay in pain over telling him.

Pushing down any self-loathing his mind conjured up, Recluse looked him dead in the eye, his own wide with purpose. “Show. Me.” He ground out through clenched teeth. Talons dug into Sage’s sleeve, warning against his silence.

Sage shifted beneath him, his head hiding in the crook of his neck with his brows furrowed. Hiding from him. From reality. Recluse had half a mind to simply throttle him until he confessed, but knew that wouldn’t help. 

Still, the offer was more than tempting.

The Avian felt Sage’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin, hot breath being exhaled onto his neck. A soft chirp tumbled out of him that the hermit failed to keep in. It seemed that Sage was almost fighting himself on whether or not to say anything.

“Ch—chest..” The professor whispered, barely said.

Truthless sighed in relief at the answer, but not the words. It was a bit odd to see Sage so compliant, though. Sometimes he kept things from him for days just out of spite. Just to mess with him. Where had that gone? Why was he so... docile? Besides from the exhaustion he was emitting, it was strange.

Of course, it was underneath his robes, that’s why he couldn’t fucking see anything! Sage had at least three layers on!

Usually Blueberry Milk would wear tighter-fit clothing, but as of late, they were switched out with heavier robes. He’d been questioned days ago about it, only to reply with how the colder weather called for it and launch into a lecture about cooler temperatures which he hadn't cared to listen to.

Now, the dots are all connecting.

His hands moved fast, swearing under his breath between buttons as they caught and pulled at his fingers. They had always been over-excessive, and he had way too many.

Sage was of no help. Which he barely is for any matter, as his arms seemed to be akin to led, limp at his sides. Truthless couldn’t care less, however, as it would be troublesome with four hands instead of two.

Eventually, after Sage was free from all his confines, Truthless’ hand hesitantly slipped down to  hold his other half’s lanky hand. The latter’s eyes stared up at him, corners of his lips twitching weakly. Recluse went faster in his pursuit, slipping the robes down his shoulders, exposing—

An ugly, possessive caw was shrilled when he revealed the mess underneath.

Holy Witches.

A gash, running long and deep from Sage's ribs to his lower stomach, just below his pant line. It was corroded with purple and green, molted bruises which made him look even more like death. All of which was mostly up nearly his abdomen. Probably his ribs, which explained the slight labour in his breathing. 

It was unruly and had different depths and ridges, as if whoever did it was careless causing it. Just liked the idea of letting him bleed.

The worst part, in a healer’s perspective, was that nothing was treated. It looked as if not a dab of ointment had been applied to the wound, leaving it out in the air. That means that it’s collected germs and dust from his clothing.

It means that it’s most likely infected, from how old it looks and a green-ish puss around the edges. It explained all the symptoms with disturbing precision.

Truthless’ hand was quick to cover it, light forming at his fingertips and contrasting with his dark attire. Light magic was only useful to him in situations like these, so it’s not used as often as centuries ago. 

Blood seeped through his fingers, a golden hue of a dying star, even as he tried to return it to circulation. He gritted his teeth, honing his energy into it, reserves draining steady from the lengths of the wound.

“No…” Blueberry Milk’s head shook warily, eyes pressed shut. “nononono…M’sorry…no..”

He froze. Never had he heard Sage in such a way. 

Free hand tentatively brushing his hair back, Truthless mumbled with slight curiousity. “It’s just me, Sage. Just me.” He utilized more of his healing, ebbing away the infection.

Blueberry Milk looked at his with glossy eyes, vision blurred. Tremors still racked his body, the irrational fear not yet ceased. Just for precaution, a thumb was pressed gently into the mark on his forehead, simply calming his nerves with a wave of warmth.

He felt Sage’s body slowly relax, the tension from—days, weeks?—of pain becoming soothed and drawn out. Though, Truthless couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. 

Pain makes you aware, pain is all you can think about when in the pit of it.

What he couldn’t wrap his head around is why. Why didn’t Sage ask him, why didn’t he heal it when it wasn't as bad? Who did this or what? Why had he let it get this bad—

Sage’s head fell limp on his shoulder.

Recluse got a look at him, a real, analyzing look. The professor’s eyes were half lidded and gazed over like a field coated in fog. Shivering like an abused cakehound which couldn't be stopped. Pupils dilated and lashes fluttered sluggishly.  

He was losing him—

“Hey, no, no, Sage—“ Truthless hand to remove the other hand, which was starting on the bruises, to cup Sage’s face, giving him a jab to the temple. “You’re not allowed to sleep, you need to stay awake—don’t pass out. Don’t you dare, Blueberry, I will smite you!”

With intense hardship, Sage’s eyes eyes wrenched back open, face pale as if the slit bled all the color from his cheeks. Mindlessly, Recluse’s thumb rubbed in circles, trying to motivate circulation.

Though immortal, it didn’t mean that SoulJam users were invulnerable. This could kill him, actually kill him. 

Immortality didn’t live up to all it was made out to be. At most you could sustain more damage and stay younger looking.  If he’s lost enough blood, he may pass out and not get up again. 

Truthless would be alone again. Without his mate to coax out smiles that he thought were long gone, to hold him when he was off, even if he told him to get away and rejected.

He doubted he’d ever care for anyone again, left solitarily in his lone Peak.

His hand quivered and curled. Wings spread like an owl. A sharp trill left his throat at the mere thought of being swallowed by that emptiness once more.

Truthless refused. He wouldn’t.

Wound only halfway shut, the professor moaned from the leftover pain that couldn’t be helped yet. “M’tired…it hurts..” Sage whined, voice more vulnerable then he’d ever allowed the Recluse to hear. Almost a plea. “Wanna…sleep..”

Any shield of anger that Truthless tried to hold up dissolved then. Even when sick, the Sage always talked, talked, talked. But now he sounded weak and truly ill. Small. A year ago he’d leave him, take his SoulJam and let him suffer. Never look back at the corpse as it rotted.

Not now.

Free hand tugging Sage into him, as if to absorb him, he let out a flurry of chirps and trills, low and uncommunicative. His talons, though they tore slits in Sage’s sleeve, were careful never to scrape his skin. Never did he hold to hard, worried of any other hidden injuries.

“I need you to listen, okay? Sage, look at me.” Recluse’s voice turned soft abruptly, apathy ebbing. It was the same tone Pure Vanilla used while still around and healing on the regular, comforting patients. But this was more raw. More personal.

As instructed, Blueberry Milk focused his eyes on the dark figure the best he could, a sheen over them like a child after a night terror.

Not arrogant. Not the know-it-all that he pretends he abhors. Just genuineness.

Deft fingers tucked a piece of platinum bangs behind the injured’s ear, “Hey, there we are. There we are. You feel me? You have to stay up, for me, okay?” The hermit pressed his cheek into the scholars hair. “Can you do that for me?”

Face twisting into almost a pout, Sage turned his head back into the Recluse’s neck. Barely translatable, a jerk of the head. A truce to keep awake while the wound repaired itself. Truthless didn’t know if it was that which persuaded him or the rare gentleness he was emitting. 

Either way, the other was too delirious. He probably didn’t know the difference.

It was a slow crawl, especially with having to nudge and talk to Sage so he isn’t lulled into sleep by the warmth his magic wrought. At times, Sage would reply, others he'd simply hum or shift. The bruises would have to wait, his energy reserves were already depleting with the intensity of the gash and ridding the infection. 

With the longer time ticked by, the worse Truthless’ anger get, rolling in his gut along with nausea. His brow creased with beads of sweat.

The sun dipped a golden yellow, sending rays through the arched windows like a god reaching out their hand. Mid-afternoon approached rapidly. Truthless had forgotten how long it’s been since the ache had begun. Now it was slowly recovering, like Sage’s wound, but never did it disappear.

Pure, white snowfall blew against the windows, students bustled outside as they switched classes. The room they were in was never breached, no noise except for pained winces, sighs and breaths. No one dared to counter the beast.

Except two people, one in his arms and the other responsible for it.

Over time, his wings rested at their sides, trapping them in a soft cocoon of black feathers. Blueberry’s hand, when aware enough towards the final stretch, began to stroke them. They fluttered and Recuse held back an instinctual coo.

The wound fully closed, free of any disease, and Truthless sighed with relief, not only that Blueberry was healed, but also for his magic reserves. Though, he was left with a jagged scar, something he sadly couldn’t prevent. If it had been fresh, it would’ve taken less than half the time, and that made him furious again.

Why didn’t the idiot come to him?! He was right there a few days before and he chose to keep a life threatening wound. Somebody hurt his mate and he didn’t even know when or how it happened!

Gods, it made him feel so goddamn useless!

Pallor skin was cold at his fingertips where he poked Sage to rouse him. It was harsher, more pointed than he meant it to be, but thats where seething gets him. Outwardly arguing didn’t tempt him, he’d rather things stay civil, if his feelings would allow it. He despised conflict as such.

Blinking his cerulean eyes open, the other did look better. Not on the tip of unconsciousness anymore, nor bleeding out. Though still shaky and pale, his eyes were clear and looked as if reality had dawned on him. 

Yet, he didn’t say anything. No denial, no retorts to not be pitied. Nothing.

“You need sugar.” Truthless muttered under his breath, more to himself. Sage needed food, a water, rest and a good answer to all his questions. “Can you sit up? Stand, maybe?”

Witty remarks would usually snap back at such words. Laughs of deep amusement that would make Recluse roll his eyes and repeat himself impatiently.

“Geez, a lot of favors I’m doing for you today!” Sage would complain, but with a tone of reluctant glee.

Or..

“Aw~ Would you pick me up if I said no~? Pamper me? Getting soft on me, are you, Nilly~?” He’d giggle and insist on his demands.

Instead, a contemplating look. Scanning his face as his had subconsciously grabbed the monocle from the floor. Trying to pick him apart like a trapped butterfly. A hint of anger directed at him. Anything but a facade of kindness that he didn’t know how to handle.

Without finding any, he resigned. “Mhm..” Blueberry hummed, raising himself on quivering arms.

Recluse spotted and followed his movements, always being there when, eventually and inevitably, he fell. Though sitting up had been a success, standing was a differed tale. His knees gave out, buckling beneath him as they strained. Quickly caught and hoisted up in Truthless’ arms, he didn’t complain.

He simply laid his head on the Avian’s shoulder, staring at nothing. Thinking.

After rising and yanking it off the ground, Truthless pointed his staff forward, summoning a portal. Easier, less eyes than there would be in the hall. He knew the Sage wouldn’t want the latter while in this state.

However, his staff’s eyes couldn’t look away from him.

Swirling with the navy blue and black of the Recluse’s magic, they stepped through and into his quarters in the peak. Sage has never entered his bedroom, not even briefly. He’s been caught once trying, and attempted more times than Recluse could count, but never had he been inside.

Much less been sat down on his nest, back against the mount of pillows. They practically swallowed his weight with how much there were.

While the other looked around and examined the unknown room, the Recluse left the bedside, the staff leaving against a corner. The professor’s eyes darted. Dark canopy bed with fine drapery and sewed designs, some lilies and constellations. A vast window on one wall which caught the bright skylight, one cracked open and allowing the room to breathe. A desk, filled with papers he didn’t know the contents of.

On one, out of his sight, a single droplet of dried ink.

It was messy, and the perfectionist in Sage inwardly grimaced. Books and fabrics scattered, bed a pile of comforters, random trinkets here and there. No system. No meaning.

Truthless had retreated to search for food. He always kept small things in here in case he forgot to eat and didn’t feel up to making anything. A bad habit, sure, but it came into use at times like these. 

“Truthless.” The scholar's voice came, clear but riddled with tension.

Instead of an answer, a rumbling deep in his throat was the only thing Sage received. Almost a predetpry growl. Worried that if he engaged, he would yell and break his rule of conflict. Renewed fury rolled inside him, overwhelming the unknown one that has grown almost minuscule.

It wasn’t clear whether it was directed forwards Sage or the assailant anymore.

“Recluse. Look at me.” Thier roles now felt reversed, like the Recluse was the one to be taken care of.

He would not. Couldn’t. The hermit was all about the room now, digging for anything he could shove down Sage’s throat. Clicks from his heels was the only sound in the room for a while. 

Jaw snapping shut, teeth clenched, Truthless tugged open a drawer and rummaged through, cursing himself for not having more. Witches above, was this his fault? Did Sage choose to not come to him because he didn’t think he’d care? 

The two of them aside, someone laid their hands on his— the Sage. Made him bleed and, for some reason, he didn’t fight back. Why wouldn’t he, he has magic! That was its entire purpose! It was another level of stupidity that he just couldn’t understand from any angle or perspective he tried to view it from.

A forced sigh as he finally landed upon some candy bars. Not too much so that Sage could keep it down, but enough to regain energy and heighten his blood sugar, even if just a bit. Now, just some water would—

Two arms wrapped around his waist.

Recluse seized, body tightening and breath catching within his throat. Once he saw the paled blue hands interlocked at his navel and feeling the figure behind him leaning on him like a human cane, he loosened. But only a bit.

Truthless took Blueberry’s arms, unclasping them and holding him upright as he turned. The other was slouched over terribly.

“Recluse.” Sage’s voice edged on desperation to be heard. To be responded to by his glaring other half. The latter dragged him to the edge of the bed, his shaky legs unable to support his weight.

Just about to turn around, Truthless’ sleeve was caught, making him bristle like a cornered cat. “Pure Vanilla.”

That—that got a reaction.

“What.” Recluse hissed, eyes slitted with a dangerous tilt. He tried to whip his arm back, but the professor held tight and almost fell once more. Wings spread out, objects clattered onto the ground wildly. “What can you possibly say that will make this any better?”

Blueberry’s breath hitched at the quick retortion, but he quickly went to defend himself. “You don’t understand—if you’d just listen to what I have to say, I think—“

“No.” He boomed, hands pushing Sage back onto the bed, pressing firm against his chest. The latter winced from bruises unhealed, eyes wide at the outburst. His Recluse was never one to be loud. “You’re gonna listen to me for once in your Witches-forsaken life!”

Sage uncharacteristically jumped, but his mouth stayed sewn.

“I went into that classroom and you were unconscious, half dead, stupid, and bleeding out. I thought you were going to die; that I was going to—“ His voice cut itself off, and the others face melted. “That you were just gonna leave.”

Wings now raised and looming over the teacher, the hermit finally broke his dam of questions. “What happened? Why did you leave it unattended for so long. Who—“ He took a shaky breath, lips pinched. “Why keep it from me? Why let yourself bleed?”

Sage’s shoulders curled in at the question, making him look like a child instead of a Virtue. His face was unreadable, but his eyes told a story all in their own. 

Clouds of fear. Of shame. Of doubt.

“Well?” Recluse demanded, their roles now reversed. Now Sage was the one being endlessly poked and prodded, pried open for his heart to be vulnerably picked apart. 

He never felt any guilt for it. Just pushed and pushed until Truthless fell off the edge and gave in to his nagging. No matter how personal or sesitive the subject was. He only cared for his own curiosities.

No matter how deep the answer made him feel. No matter what say he had in the matter. Some might think that the hermit was foolish for coming back to the scholar, but the truth he loathed so much was that he lo— couldn’t stay away from his other half. He’d become as enthralled as Sage has with him.

But, now, as he watches an emotion cover Sage’s eyes with both exposure and realization, and he knows that he understands now.

Shoulders dipping with exasperation—and exhaustion—Truthless picked the teacher up by the back of the thighs. Whom of which gripped onto his nape like a harness as he yelped in surprise. The ride wasn't long, simply to the pillows and Sage was dispensed carefully. He threw three bars at him, all of which went into his lap.

A shame. He tried for his face.

“Eat. Then talk.”

Reluctant but also relieved, Sage carefully unwrapped a bar with trembling fingers. Usually so nimble, now uncoordinated and stiff. Recluse made his way next to him and tucked a wing around him as he watched his movements—not wanting him to choke—but flushed when he realized what he did. It was so thoughtless.

….The wing stayed where it was.

It must’ve been the slowest snacking he’s ever seen apart from his own. Nibbling such tiny bits that must have been but atoms. Sage’s albino bangs fell over his face, hiding yet again. But Truthless could feel it from his SoulJam clearly enough. Uncomfortable. Nerved.

During the ordeal, Reclus left momentarily to fill a small glass of water in the sink connected and adjacent to his room. After shoving it in Sage’s face, chiding him to drink, he watched the scholar take measured sips which only got more greedy later.

But one and a half bars got eaten in the end, the remains pushed to the side. Good enough. At least Sage didn’t look half dead anymore. The scholar was highlighted almost angelically by the warm sun's halo as the wing at his side rested on the mattress. Freckles glowed like stars in the ambient light.

Sage removed his monocle from a hidden pocket, gently turning it to reflect to light with one hand while the other brushed back his messy hair. Truthless watched him in a possessive, enthralled manner, eyes dilated as he looked at Blueberry Milk, holding back a trill that built up in his throat.

He was so unused to seeing Sage not be like an eager cakehound of a man, following him around with a smugness.

“I didn’t want to get healed. It wasn’t you.” His other half muttered, pulling a knee up to his chest and finicking with the monocle.

What?

Bristling, Truthless clenched his hands in his lap. “What do you mean you didn’t want to get healed, you fool? Why in the Witches name wouldn’t you want it healed?”

Sage stilled momentarily before rubbing at the glass with his sleeve, eyes lidded and averted pointedly. “Maybe because I did it. And I liked the pain. Kept me awake, aware. Allowed me to grade my pupils’ work quicker.” Though no stutters parted the sentance, a hollowness chained it down.

For a moment, no words passed. But, as Truthless realized the falsity of Sage’s words, he grabbed his shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Don’t be ludicrous. I’ve seen thousands of injuries, and these aren’t self made. They were caused by someone else.” 

When the professor tried turning his head away fully, he took his jaw. “As much as I applaud your horrid attempt at deceit, you can’t lie to me. Why did you let this get so bad?”

Sage watched his own reflection in Truthless’s expecting eyes, wide and dangerous. He’s seen that look before, but it was back when they first met and Sage had been trespassing in the Peak.

The Virtue's hands began to shiver again, out of the Recluse’s notice.

A smile, faux and wide, split across Sage’s face, not at all matching his eyes, which were hollow. He tilted his head, as if they were discussing spellcraft. “Because I deserve it.”

Truthless practically revolted.

Sage was the last person he thought to be unworthy, out of all the little people he knows. He was a teacher, purely loyal to his students and his Creators, treated Recluse like he was a person again. Loved him like he wasn’t a Beast. Sure, he was self-absorbent and irritating, pushy at the worst of it, but…

He thought he deserved pain? 

It didn’t make sense. Sage was always so full of himself, acting like he was above everything and everyone. Thats what made him so unbearable. Though, it was also his insistence that caused Truthless to finally let him into his life. Why would someone like this think such hypocritical thoughts?

So what could’ve brought this on? Recluse’s face hardened as time slowed and thoughts quickened. The Sage he knew would’ve obliterated anyone who would do this to him, or at the very least would’ve bandaged himself. He’d only known Blueberry to be admittingly lesser than—

No.

“Who planted that idiotic thought in your head.” He bit, demanding more than questioning. His hands found themselves on Sage’s face, cradling but firm. Not like earlier. “Who gave this to you, Sage?”

Sage’s pained smile fell, brows furrowing. “No one—“

“Don’t play me for a fool.” The hermit’s teeth bared as he snapped. Demanded. “Who.”

Blueberry’s throat convulsed, hands fisting in his pants. They were still shaking, progressively getting worse. A click as his jaw clamped, then loosened. Eyes darting, anxious. Truthless knew the signs like the back of his hand as he’s experienced them so much.

It wasn’t supposed to be on Sage, though. It wasn’t a good fit; like putting the wrong head on one’s body. Uncanny, odd and uncomfortable.

Sage sighed, shaky. “I’m not supposed to love you. But I do, beyond the belief of you or me or… others. More than I could even comprehend.” 

He laughed warily at Truthless’ shock; even if the latter was already aware of the fact, it was nerve-wracking to hear. “I mean— you’re a Beast, I a Virtue; you hate me, I love you. You’re a hermit and yet I search for you like water in a desert, even if you try to drown me.”

Truthless was—for some reason—quick to deny, “I don’t—“

“You did. Hate me, I mean. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still do, but if you did, you would’ve left me to bleed out and take my SoulJam for yourself.” His hand graced the jewel on his collar, reflecting Truthless’ face in a sky blue. 

What did this have to do with anything other than blatant accusation?

Sage’s face fell, eyebags from apparent days of restlessness suddenly becoming apparent. “I wasn’t supposed to.. The Witches didn’t appreciate our closeness and called it a distraction to my purpose. Said I—“ 

He shook his head, cutting himself off. “They said I needed to be reprimanded. To “stay aware” during my lectures and remember their own. The pain was a gift, they said. Merciful to such a lowly being with such shortcomings.”

"First Milk did this? Said this?" Recluse asked incredulously. He's always known her for her kindness. Mercy. At least, that's how Sage described her to him.

Sage's breath hitched at the mention of his parental figure. "No, Gods no-! She hasn't been... back yet. I haven't seen her for..." His shoulder curled uncomfortably.

Truthless quickly backtracked, voice lined with a slight regret. "Sage, that's not what I-"

But Blueberry only continued, unable to speak further of his creator. “If I was so careless with the power they gave me, using my mind towards something decrepit, I would bleed.” Sage’s words were suddenly the only things in his own ears; if Truthless said something now, he wouldn’t know. “I would bleed out until I learnt to be grateful for what I had. To rid me of unnecessary feelings—“

“Sage-“ Truthless’ hands tighten on his jaw, trying to cut through the rambling. His wings closed in on the two of them, ruffling.

This was his fault.

“M-maybe they’re right.. I-I-I’m terrible at this. I don’t deserve any of t-this power— I never—“ The professor’s arms wrapped around himself, ears quivering in anxiety. He was dead to the Recluse’s words. “They s-squeezed me so tight I thought I would burst. Hehe, isn’t that funny..? Their—Their nail cut into me and it was so painful—I thought I would d-die-maybe I wish I did—if I can’t—“

“T’is but a scratch..” the slurred words bounced around Recluse’s head now.

“Blueberry Milk!” His hands tightened on Sage’s jaw; not enough to hurt, just enough to bring him back. Dark Moon Magic swirled around his body, signaling his anger. 

Shaking, Sage jumped and looked up at Truthless. His breathing was labored and his skin was pallor. Soothing his grip in his face, his thumb swiped over his cheekbone, features becoming softer. Sweat dripped down his temples, face burning him alive.

“Breathe.” He insisted, letting go of his Sage’s face momentarily to grasp at his hands. From where they were tearing into the scholar’s white pants, some blood had formed, seemingly breaking the skin. “With me. In and out.”

An exaggerated breath made his chest rise and fall under Sage’s newly placed hand. Heartbeat against his fingertips like a drum. 

In.

Out.

The other’s eyes were wide, too stuck in his head on his spiel to realize how far into panic he’s delved. Getting the memo, he begins trying to match Truthless’ breathing.

It was an excruciatingly slow process. A dry sob fell out of Sage's lips and hiccuped another breath, trying and failing to copy him.

In.

Out—

In a last ditch effort, the Recluse tugged Blueberry into his chest, the latter’s ear over his heart. They both stiffened, one from the rare affection, the other from giving it.

“Just.. breathe.” The hermit muttered, stiff and strained. His hands healed the scratches and brushed through tangled navy locks.

Like a lightning bolt, it all crashed down and rain poured.

A shuddering cry spilled out of the Sage, and he was no silent crier. It was ugly, face twisted up and flushed, glossy eyes overflowing. His words mashed together and sputtered, trying to regain himself. 

He obviously didn’t cry very often, seeing how the Witches viewed it, so Sage was repelled by continuing. Tried to tug away to get ahold of himself. But as his Recluse’s arms hugged him firm, wings curled against his back and hands filtered through his hair, he couldn’t cease it. 

It must’ve been weeks in pain, considering the amount of infection in his wound. This was his resolve finally breaking down, his body overwhelmed.

The Witches condemned crying so pathetically. Maybe they viewed it as a reward and said he “didn’t deserve it” once more. Only until they were hidden such as this could he..

His wings covered them further. The thought made him shudder with rage.

Recluse pressed his cheek against the professor's crown, gently teetering them back and forth. He softly trilled and chirped, instincts rushing into a problem his persona couldn’t handle. The hand against Sage’s nape turned protective, cradling it.

“Sorry—“ Blueberry stuttered, “M’sorry—s-sorry, sorry, sorry—“

A silencing hush from the hermit made Sage’s sobs simmer into whimpering pleas. The former wonders, venomously, if this is how he begged to the Witches. When they were cutting and confining him in their bony hand, did his Sage stammer such as this?

He’s going to kill them.

Birdbrain seeming to reciprocate this thought, he pulled Sage in further. Possibly too tight, but his Sage never complained. He actually seemed more relaxed than ever, settled in his arms like this. Eased his shoulders with every coo or sweet nothings that fell from the Recluse’s mouth. So rare and loving and unfamiliarily caring.

Silently, he oathed to skin the Witches alive for messing with his Sage. For turning him into a sobbing, bleeding mess instead of the confident cookie he knew him to be. 

Every new apology out of Sage’s mouth increased his emotions further. It burned a fiery inferno in his gut, to think of what they did to his mate.

Sage never apologized. Especially like this.

That feeling in his chest, the unruliness of his limbs sense he woke—maybe it was their bond warning him. Urging him that something was amiss, knowing that Sage wouldn’t last the day if he didn’t leave the Peak. 

Thank gods for his Sage’s blabbering, or else he wouldn’t have come. For their bond that held tight, even if the Recluse tried to sever it. For once, he was grateful.

Sage’s cries have quieted, now small gasps and murmurings, prayers interlocked in some of his words. Not in admiration, but in a beg for forgiveness. The Witches are the only beings—other than Truthless, who have been subjected to Sage’s praises before—that the teacher has both a loyalty to and is terrified of.

Recluse found it ridiculous to worship such horrid beings.

Easing both of their bodies up to the headboard, wings slowly and reluctantly backing away from Sage, he began to pull away. Blueberry, who was laid against the pillows that made up the nest, reached back for him blindly. 

Wide eyes met each other before the professor’s recoiled back. Truthless has just grabbed his staff to get a proper look.

As expected, he looked awful. Pale dough, body still riddled with tremors for various intervals. Crazed, red eyes and violet steaks down his cheeks. His robes had some stains of gold from contact to the wound, his monocle sat on the side table where Sage must've teleported it in his frenzy.

“Sorry—I mean—“ Sage muttered, face forming a despairing, dopey grin that overcasted the shame hidden beneath. The seed the Witches implanted seemed to have formed a tree. “I can get out—I don’t need your assistance now, I’ll—“

“Stay. Put.” Truthless, albeit gently, pushed his chest down before he had the chance to rise. “I’m just heading downstairs. Don’t move or I’ll throw you off the balcony.”

After a moment of quiet, the words seemed to register in Sage’s head and he chuckled. A real chortle that was both soft and genuine. Not obnoxious or loud, just real.

“So I’m on nest rest?” He jested, but his shoulders loosened and he cuddled back into the comforters. His weary, exhausted eyes sagged a bit.

“Yes.” Truthless grumbled before—albeit tentatively—pivoting away from the bedside. 

After checking back momentarily and easing the door gently behind him with a soft click, he made his way down the spiral of stairs that lined the Peak. His heels echoed with sharp cracks as he descended, staff in hand and clutched close.

Dark moon magic was already flitting around the kitchen before he stepped foot in it. Steam rose in an almost fascinating pattern from the kettle, ingredients to steep tea already laid out. 

Sure, his magic could’ve done that for him as well, but Recluse always thought that it tasted wrong when done like that. Without the human touch to perfect it. Magic just couldn’t replicate the flavour as well as precise fingers could. The room soon fills with the soothing aroma of chamomile, the earthy tones making him breath easier than he has in hours.

Though his shoulders never slumped, staying rigid like a statue, the hurricane in his gut calmed into a rippling lake. His bloody visions ceased for the moment, and just focused on his hands, swiftly moving about.

It had begun to snow hours before. Though rays still cut through and brightened the horizon, white powdered over the ground and coated the trees like frosting. From here, the small twinkles of civilization were just barely visible. 

When he flew, his thick feathers and robes protected him, making it just fine to fly in. It made Winter one of his favorite seasons. Quiet. Less people to nag him and a great excuse to store all the blankets he could find in preparation for Spring. Though he usually earned himself unwanted stares in the markets, carrying several blankets, he gets those despite the situation.

Ceramic was hot under his palms when he picked up the two cups, using levitation to cause the kettle and his staff to follow like stray dogs. He flapped his wings gently, easing up the middle, empty section of the stairs. 

When he reopened the door to his quarters, he almost outwardly groaned.

The room was lit with soft candles, flickering in a sunset orange. Most of his things were moved, his ink pot, his books, all that were messily strewn across the desk in a formation, was all in their own space. 

White Magic was pungent in the room, but weak; still going around and reorganizing, lighting more candles, stopping when Sage saw him. His wing twitched in annoyance, and his face must’ve conjured up something of a grimace, because the scholar put his hands up in mock surrender.

“You said to stay in bed, not that I couldn’t manipulate things outside of it.” Sage insisted innocently, though voice raspy, grinning like a fool. While it was true that he stayed put as told, Truthless still didn’t like the strain magic would have on his body in this condition.

“Drink.” While he placed his staff and kettle to the side, he shoved the cup into Sage’s hands. For now, the magic ceased and the latter whiffed at the cup before taking a small sip with satistfaction. “My things did not need your reorganization, Sage.”

Gingerly placing his own cup on the nightstand, Truthless started to rummage through his dresser, sifting through the clothing inside.

“I’d beg to differ, my Recluse.” The scholar chuckled, and Truthless rolled his eyes. “There’s no system! For such a composed being, I’m surprised that it’s so messy! Or, was.”

“It’s Winter.” He grumbled, wings fluttering as he felt dirt in his coverts. He’d have to preen them later. “Avians like to hoard at this time to get ready for Spring. It’s just instinctual, nothing for you to mess with.”

Just when Sage was about to defend himself with a lecture or speak his curious mind, a sweater hit him square in the face. Cup almost falling out of his hands, he whisked it into the other realm as he grunted and pulled it off, examining it. 

Black, like many of the Recluse’s clothes, but hued in a formal navy. It was soft under his fingers; cotton, he concluded. Golden strings and thread, the inside soft with faux fur that preserved body heat.

“Put that on.” Truthless demanded, or at least tried to. His voice had grown softer throughout the day unwillingly. “Your robes are filthy.”

Unclasping and peeling his outside robes off, Sage cursed under his breath like a child not getting their way. Maybe mocking him, but Truthless couldn’t care less. His SoulJam was suddenly on the sidetable, defenseless. Trusting.

Suddenly, he caught himself looking, pupils slits and intent. Not at the jem, but at the scholar. Sage’s stomach was smooth and pale in the ambient light of the room, but filled with scars much like his own. Some from magical mishaps or battle, some random and unknown.

…And the colourful ray of bruises that he had forgotten to heal. Right down the ridges of his rib cage. Shit.

But, when was going to put the sweater on anyways, arms raising to slip into it, Sage hissed, clutching at his stomach. 

Recluse sighed at his stubborness, taking a seat of the bed perpendicular from Blueberry Milk. His own clothes were set aside; the same hue, just lesser fabric, wing holes and shorter sleeves. While his Sage always ran cold, he was the opposite, always sweating in his robes.

Another reason in which he loved the Winter.

As he reached for Sage, the scholar jerks back and waved his hands dismissively. “My Recluse, I don’t need it to be healed-! I—It’s not that bad. I can just use some magic to—“

When hands met Sage’s abdomen, his words cut off and he shivered. Not a tremble, a full body chill that surged up his spine. While being ridged with scarring, it was soft with a slight pudge. The former also cascaded down his arms that sat at his sides. While presviously thinking his hesitation was from the Witches' ideas, not he found that he was simply... sensitive.

Recluse would think that this was but another way Sage was better than him in the sense of innocence; but after today and even the view of his marked up body from previous incidents, he could no longer say that.

Unused to touching anyone, Truthless felt his face and nape light up in nerves. Though, Sage’s face was worse than his, a navy trickling down to his shoulders. Fluster isn’t something he thought to see on Sage, but… he can’t say he hates it.

Gods, this man is making him soft. Curse him.

The actual healing process didn’t take more than a minute, but the air between them was stifling. He’s never seen the scholar this off kilter before, and it made him almost want to laugh. 

Bruises are one of the most easy wounds to clear up, quick and effective in a way that doesn’t drain your mana. He barely has to emit any of his reserves for the blotches to begin fading. 

Once they're gone, he hesitates, hands resting upon the soft torso, before pulling his hand away. What ridiculous things he’s feeling today. “Now you can put that on.” He gestures to the sweater.

“Right..” Blueberry seems to snap back to himself, and tugs it over his head.

It matches his skin nicely and surprisingly. The latter due to the fact that Sage always wears lighter, more saturated colours and this was very bold and dark. After came the locks of, once confined, constellations spilling over his shoulders like waves in the ocean. Curly and fluffy.

But irritatingly knotted by the past hours’ escapades.

Sighing, Truthless reached out and tentatively took some between his fingers, itching it back and forth. “May I?” His dueled eyes crack open just enough to see Sage’s violet face.

“I don’t need it, Reluse! As much as I appreciate your aid, I don’t need your help any longer, you've done enough..!” He insists further, hastily swings his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to rise with a chuckle, “Why don’t I help you preen, you’ve done so mu—“

“I don’t care. And sit back down.” He said, voice firm with his own persistence. A headache was growing from the needless arguements. He positions himself behind Sage, the same navy brush the latter that held tufts of blonde within the teeth. “I wish to assist you for once, you moron. Just stay still and rest while I do it.”

After a moment's silence, and no movement from Sage, Truthless pulled him back against him, almost touching but not close enough to. The scholar's shoulders tensed like he would announce something, but then smoothed again.

The starry hair was unnaturally soft between his fingers, carefully picking apart the knots before going in with the hairbrush. He’d only ever been able to touch it momentarily, not like this; so domestically intimate.

A soft, airy feeling filled his body. Content, perhaps? No, it was too giddy; content is to be serene.

Sage started to fall back into the heat of his hands by the time he was halfway done. The brush suddenly seemed irrelevant, and was forgotten on the side without acknowledgment. 

Recluse felt in some sort of a trance, wings limp behind him, hands simply scratching Sage’s scalp like a cat and running through the blue locks. Soft purrs even began to reform in the back of Sage’s violet-blushed throat.

Even a soft, almost endearing coo slipped from his lips to match.

Truthless must’ve begun to doze against his better judgement, because he was jolted up from a head leaning back on his shoulder. A similar scene to earlier, yet much tamer. 

Seems he wasn’t the only one tired, the way Sage laid on him like a clingy child. On a normal day, Truthless would’ve shoved him off, chided him for his pointless love. Now, however, he let him be. They’d been through enough of a whirlwind today.

Plus, it would be slightly hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

With a thump, he leaned backwards and sent them both into the mattress, causing Sage to gasp out of his incapacitated state. He rolled the other onto his side, face threatening to burn from being under Sage. Their breaths mingled, hair and limbs strewn about. 

Without a word, a blanket was pulled up to both of their chins, including an extra layer. Their contact broke as he averted his eyes. Recluse spread one of his wings out, covering Sage with it just like he had done in the classroom. He could easily lie and say it was because he knew the Sage was cold, but it was easy to tell that he was still protective.

And Sage knew that. You could see it by the way he looked at him, the glint. 

Twisting to become comfortable in the blankets, Blueberry relaxed into the mattress. “Geez, keeping me snuggly, taking me to your tower and powdering me with your love? You care about me or something, Recluse?”

There he is.

Finally.

The comment was obviously supposed to be a light hearted jab. A poke, if you will, at his hypocrisies. But the Recluse went quiet, his gut turning over with the leftover fury that set aside his relief. Never placated, even from these past hours.

Sage shuffled next to him, unseen as he turned to his back, staring at the ceiling now. Of course he cared, how could he not after so many futile attempts from Sage to get them closer? 

What could’ve happened if he didn’t get there or Sage got home before he found him and bled out? That strange feeling was the only thing that got him up this morning—Gods, was that only this morning?—so what would’ve happened if he’d have ignored it? Stayed home?

He knows the answer; it makes him sick.

“You’re angry.” Blueberry mumbled, somehow now snuck up on Recluse’s shoulder and pointing out the obvious. “And not a cute angry. Like an ‘I’m gonna incite a genocide’ angry.” Sage continued after a quiet laugh. “I know you.”

Scoffing, Truthless partially turned back to him. “No, you don’t.”

“Maybe not all of it. Not a margin of your past or your magic, but I do know you.” The professors cheeks laid upon his forearm, head next to Recluse’s on the pillow. When had he gotten closer? “I know your silences, Nills.”

“My silences?” He mused. “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh sure it is. You have the angry at me silence, where you have that furrow in your brow that makes you look ancient— yeah, that one.” It only deepens by the tease, “then you got the overthinking silence, where your magic goes berserk and your hands tremble.”

Recluse looked back to the ceiling, as if it had more interesting things in store for him. “Then there are these kinds. The pursing of your lips, the fisting of your hands,” he takes the hermit’s hand, prying it open. “Just say it. You know I’m gonna nag you till you do~” He sing-singed softly.

Humor almost spilled over the blockage in his throat that made it hard to speak. Almost. It was so Sage that it was daunting compared to the corpse he’s been most of the day. 

Taking a deep sigh, he weighed his options. He wasn’t one to ever be in a vulnerable position by choice, but this felt only fair. Just an hour and a half ago, Sage had been sobbing in his arms. Five hours ago he was half dead.

Though he never looked at Sage, he spoke. “I thought you would die.”

Sage snorted dryly, but also in disbelief. “I wouldn’t have died, per say.” He shifts where his head is comforted in his arms, “Maybe tortured, but thats—“

“It could have led to something that could’ve killed you, then.” Truthless narrows his eyes, pressing a palm to his brow. “You’re immortal; not invincable. The SoulJam could break with too much damage to your person.”

“Oh, I see,” Sage chuckled, but a touch of disappointment, “it was all the SoulJam, right? That’s why you were so wor—“

Truthless whipped around in a flash of movement, not thinking, not breathing. Just needing Sage to shut his mouth. To stop blabbering his self decrepacies.

His own met Blueberry’s lips, one hand on his nape while the other cupping his face possessively. 

Screw his Avianic tendencies.

The scholar stiffened, not daring to reciprocate at first, then melting into it. They’d never done this with one another before, no matter how much Sage bugged him. Only on the cheek, and even that was pushing it. The liar had never been prone to touch, even though Sage tried endlessly.

The latter’s lips had a faint softness of chapstick, which he always applied during mornings, while his own were shamefully cracked.

It was sloppy. Their teeth clashed and foreheads bumped at first, but soon they found a middle ground. The Recluse’s wings spread wide behind him, midnight black and puffed. 

Vanilla and blueberries, an odd match but a pleasing one that bloomed between them. Sage’s arms draped over his shoulders, as if an anchor point, and coiled his claws in blonde hair.

They both clearly hadn’t done this in a while. Especially Truthless.

When they broke away, panting softly for air with a dab of sweat on their upper lips, Sage was embraced. It was rigid and awkward, but not forced. Just unknown. His wings curled around the two of them, tucking close to his back.

“The SoulJam doesn’t matter. Not with this.” He growled, forcing out. Said jewels sat on his nightstand next to one another, gleaming where they had been teleported. “You are—you don’t get to die. Not by them. Not when you’ve only just made me lo—“ His voice sputtered like a broken engine. “…feel for you.”

Stripped of any facade, Sage froze in his arms, which he was squeezed in turn for. His nose was tucked into Truthless’ neck, and, unlike the Witches’ cruel hold, this one was almost begging him not to go. 

Warmth bloomed in his chest, curling into the Avian and engulfing him whole. A requirement he’d only dreamed of having. A care he’d daydream of to be met with the Recluse’s scowl. A love he’d never had.

Distantly, their SoulJam’s buzzed, reconciled and content.

“I’ve led you on carelessly, even if I didn’t mean to, I take fault. I thought that if I pushed your love away, I couldn’t harm you. Clearly that’s untrue due to your idiocy, but—“ Sage chuckled, and Truthless’ neck bloomed red. “Seeing you injured like that—I—“

Words got stuck in Truthless’ throat, but he forced them out. “I don’t know how to “love” anymore. You have reawakened the possibility to me, even if I think it utterly useless and foolish.” Tanned hands traced Sage’s ribs, where the gash had been. Now clean with pallor and semi-smooth skin. “I can… learn again. If you give me time.”

Sage shivered under the touch, waist sensitive not only from the tenderness but in general. He had a feeling it would be a use for blackmail some time around.

Shifting, Blueberry pressed a kiss to the underside of his Recluse’s jaw, who flinched a little and ruffled his wings. He chuckled, their embrace growing tighter around the nest of fabrics and pillows.

“As much time in the world,” Like a cat, Sage curled up in the arms of the hermit. “My Recluse.”

My. A word of ownership, possession. One that indicated that you cherish and sometimes adore the person. A term of endearment he’s never gotten to use in eons.

Starlit hair tangled between Recluse’s fingers, already beginning to re-tangle. He’d have to brush it again, wouldn’t he? Though the thought wasn't even disappointed, just passing through. “Rest…My Sage.”

A soft purr rumbled through the scholar’s chest. Another kiss, then another and more, were peppered onto Truthless’ jaw.

The sun was setting on the horizon, now a deep orange that illuminated their faces. It was barely evening and yet Sage was already drifting, crazed mind coming to a slow. Recluse knew the feeling, the exhaustion after attacks and injury. Tonight there was both, and they both were exhausted.

He was finally warm. Lax.

This was something he could get used to.