Work Text:
He’s dead.
Leonard looked out through a window at Tingen at the hordes of people living their lives peacefully. He was stuck, seated limply within his sick bed—where he had been confined due to his injuries for the past day.
He faintly heard a nagging voice in his ear but ignored it. Nothing was important anymore. How could he care about anything when everything he cared about was taken from him.
It would be soon he recovered from his injuries. But he could never recover from his loss. After all, the dead don’t climb out of graves and walk the surface again.
The city of Tingen was peaceful. Market vendors worked their stalls, selling out offers and bargaining with customers. A carriage would trot down the street every so often, carrying passengers with enough wealth to ride them. Children would run down the streets, laughter reaching the eyes and the world around them as they chased others in whatever game they had just invented.
And for all of these people's lives, just two were lost.
But those lives were especially dear to him—captain, with his ever forgetful memory, but heartful caring for the rest of the Nighthawk team and… Klein.
He had only known Klein for three months. His death shouldn’t have impacted Leonard much in comparison to Captain’s death who he had known and trusted with his life for years. After all, he and Klein were at most just friends, colleagues in the same dangerous line of business. Nothing could have possibly developed in such a short time.
And so the stabbing pain in his heart must have been due to Captain’s death—after all it was the loss of a trusted captain, mentor, and friend. This feeling drowned him such that the world seemed but a blur of noises outweighing any past memories of sorrow he experienced.
He felt alone.
And loneliness made his already wrecked limbs seem heavier and weaker, as it was now he realized he was facing the world alone. He was but the sole carrier of this loss and it was only he that could avenge their deaths.
Yet his limbs felt so heavy.
…
Hours passed and Leonard’s sleepless constitution restitched his ruined flesh back into a usable state. The crimson moon rose high as its arrival marked the second day since two Nighthawks were stripped from Tingen.
Leonard jolted upright, arm outstretched, waking from a dream with contents he didn’t wish to relieve. He watched Captain, then Klein die while he stood helplessly. His arm fell limply onto the bed as he could only stare at the crimson moon shining through the window.
Later today he would be sent to inform Klein’s siblings of his passing. He would be the one to be the bearer of bad news. Originally it would have been someone else, but he felt compelled as the one who saw Klein alive last—as the one who allowed Klein to die.
He sat in silence as he watched two ravens take flight from a lamppost. The two soared in the air, their wings flapping in synchronization as they spun in circles throughout the night. It was a beautiful sight as the two would seem to become mates for life.
Until one raven crashed into an unseen window. The bird dropped head first, unable to orientate itself and spread its wings to fly again. The other raven tried to help, it turned around, soaring with all the speed it could muster to grab its mate from certain death. But it was too late; the raven hit the floor, most certainly dead.
And now there was only one raven, flying, but most certainly not soaring the same as before.
Then the sun rose and Leonard found himself dressed in mourning garments, knocking upon the door of 2nd Daffodil House.
He found his mouth moving, speaking words of condolences as his eyes watched Klein’s siblings' faces widen in shock, then despair.
But he didn’t feel any of those emotions. No, he just handed over the check, bowed, then turned around and returned to the carriage he had arrived in.
The carriage started up. He looked out the window at the passing streets as he returned to the cathedral.
He didn’t feel anything at all.
…
Klein’s funeral went smoother than he expected—especially since his siblings were present. His limbs did shake as he carried his coffin to its final resting place but the heart ache that had been gnawing at his mind since that faithful day settled. The chill from the stone coffin still lingered in his fingers, however.
Perhaps laying Klein to rest put some ease to his heart; he could finally send him off to slumber for eternity besides the Goddess. Or maybe it was because he could entomb his regrets beneath the Earth, to be forgotten for as long as he walked the land of the living.
The nib of the pen in Leonard’s hand snapped as he tried to write a poem for the first time in so long. His mind was unsettled, and in no way capable of writing.
Words and his heart knotted together as he felt an inexpressible longing unable to escape his mind and soul. The crimson moon shined upon him as tears of grief shed from his eyes—tears he thought had long left. Perhaps he was mistaken.
But this sadness only seemed to be a product of longing, a wanting for something, someone he could never have. It was unexplainable, he had never felt such feelings before.
Maybe that was why he found himself standing in front of Klein’s grave, illuminated only by the crimson moon and the faint lanterns flickering somewhere in the distance. In his hands he held a bouquet of striped carnations—flowers based yellow and tipped red at the very ends.
He had visited Captain’s grave first—a brief prayer to Evernight, resting some flowers (crimson red roses), and an extended period of silence; but this wasn’t enough to distill the sorrow that pained him. Of course even if it did, he would have still visited Klein’s grave either way; it was only proper.
Leonard set the carnations on top of the gravestone as his head was bowed in prayer to Evernight. His prayer echoed throughout the cemetery like a midnight song, containing evident feelings of grief and sorrow.
The only escape is tranquility.
And then his eyes were set upon the epitaph that marked Klein’s grave. He felt that feeling again, regret, boiling within his knotted heart.
His eyes traced over the final line in Klein’s epitaph. He read the phrase over and over even though it was not the first time he had seen it and will neither be the last.
“If only you were alive,” Leonard softly spoke, uncaring if anyone heard him.
Three months may be too short to develop anything substantial, ordinarily, but the Nighthawks lived in a profession where death was prevalent and trust in one’s teammates was essential. When one’s life depended on another, the two would naturally grow closer. It was a characteristic bond nowhere else could replicate.
Leonard kneeled down and stretched his hands forward, touching the smooth stone with his fingertips. His eyes teared up as his fingers traced the countless engravings, following the lines that spelt out his name. He would be forgotten despite his heroic actions and remembered only by the mark spelling Klein Moretti here.
The wind bristled various tree branches as Leonard kneeled, one knee against the ground. feeling his unsettled heart slowly unravel. The gravestone’s coolness seeped into him through his arm as a passing thought flew through his mind.
The Best Colleague.
…
Tears dripped from Leonard’s eye, splattering onto the stone floor. Uncertainty and confusion had washed away leaving behind only the untethered regret and interminable longing to overwhelm him.
He had so many opportunities during these past three months, yet he had let them slip through his fingers much like the tears he could not keep within his eyes and heart. It was as if he was incapable of holding on to anything that mattered.
Why was it only now, when Klein was buried and gone, that he realized what had been tugging at his heart strings all along. Was it some cruel twist of fate that binds him above the ground, alone?
His hand grasped the head of the gravestone, leaning in closer. The last memory of Klein lay upon this very stone yet instead of the warmth of Klein he would have felt he instead felt the chill of the nighttime stone soaking into him.
Leonard looked at the marking that spelt Klein’s name and insurmountable regret washed over him. Three days ago—If it was just three days ago he could have been grasping the warm body of Klein with his mouth on his lips. He had waited too long and now there was nothing.
He wouldn’t wait any longer.
His lips pressed against the cool stone as he felt himself joining with the last physical memory of Klein. His tongue engraved within the ridges in the markings as he felt himself tracing every letter of his name.
It was cold. Colder than whatever he could have imagined, desired. But he felt his own warmth passing into the stone. His body reached around the gravestone so his chest was against the portion beneath and his mouth was positioned directly on Klein’s name. His arms were wrapped around, one diagonally on the top and one at the bottom.
He felt his warmth vanish from him but he did not object, for it meant the stone was warmer and in some sense he could feel the warmth from Klein again.
The passage of heat continued in this cycle as Leonard’s tongue never left the engravings. It tasted gritty, with the texture of stone. Yet, he did not feel repulsed by it. Overwhelmed with longing, his eyes saw nothing but an extension of Klein—and thus he treated it as such.
Illuminated only by the crimson moon, Leonard didn’t move from his spot hugging the gravestone. The bouquet of stripped carnations lay untouched behind him as his fit of passion ceased. His head hung low as only sobs and an endless stream of tears came down his face.
It was cold—He was cold, much like the dead and everything he couldn’t have.
A breeze swept through the cemetery, chilling the tears against his face and piercing his skin through his clothes. He remained frozen like a statue against the gravestone, his limbs cold from the wind and sinking down with only the gravestone for support.
The night moved on, no one passing by to disturb Leonard’s vigil. His eyes gently shut as both mental exhaustion and cold overtook him. During his dreams he felt himself being embraced by death to be brought directly into Klein’s arms. It was as cold as it was warm and happy. It seemed his life could only be inhabited with contradictions. He could only live life at its finest within his dreams. After all, he was alive while Klein was… dead.
The sun peaked up over the horizon, its first rays shining upon the cemetery. A new day was brought upon Tingen.
Two ravens took flight from a nearby tree, soaring high in unison. One of the ravens seemed to have a slightly damaged wing but it still flew well nonetheless. They twisted and turned in circles before flying off into the distance, high above the cityscape.
Leonard’s eyes cracked open as he realized a new day had come; He still held the gravestone—warm due to his presence—with a faint longing but he would be forced to leave soon to attend to his duties as a Nighthawk.
He was faintly aware of how ragged his clothes were, covered with dirt and misaligned. His face was stained with dried tears. His eyelids were red and puffy from both grief and a night of poor sleep.
His arms pulled themselves off of the gravestone—it was a reluctant movement but he couldn’t stay longer. The sun was rising and he vaguely heard footsteps approaching the area somewhere off in the distance.
Until suddenly, beneath his feet, Leonard felt a faint rumble as he was thrown off his spot upon the gravestone—his legs were still numb from the coldness and lack of movement. He was jolted wide awake as he rolled across the ground, lifting his head to see the source of this commotion.
The stone slab in front of Klein’s gravestone slid open as a hand reached out, pulling the rest of its body out from the tomb. From beneath the ground a head popped up with a striking resemblance to Klein.
The head looked around, observing its surroundings before freezing in recognition of the handsome green-eyed man that laid similarly startled beside it.
Klein looked at Leonard.
Leonard looked at Klein.
And despite his confusion, he felt warmth again.