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He said it often enough. Too often, in his opinion, but nobody particularly cared for what he thought, so he supposed often enough was sufficient.
The very first time Nox said it, he'd been speaking to the most delicious pastry he'd ever had. Crunchy, flaky, with powdered sugar that stained the pocket he had hidden it in. Stolen directly from the baker's prized cart, and surely not worth whatever punishment awaited him if he was caught, but he'd stolen it anyway. Old enough to know better, and young enough to try anyway.
Nox had curled deep in an alleyway, his heart racing from the adrenaline of stealing and escaping, and he'd slowly tugged the warm pastry from the pocket of his scuffed pants, and he'd taken a deep inhale. He wanted to believe he was breathing for his desperate lungs to regain strength, and not to enjoy the delightful smell encaged in his hands, but he was never that skilled of a liar.
The alley had been dark, cold, and wet. The ground was muddy from the past hour of rain, but the gray sky only promised more of a downpout. It had been raining nonstop all week, effectively nixing any form of food Nox could usually stumble into. This week, he had been wet more often than he'd been dry, so he let his legs collapse on the ground, clinging mud be damned.
Far more importantly, he clutched the pastry in both hands. It smelled sweet, and when he pulled his forefinger away, a thin web of white clung to the pad of his finger for an entire heartbeat. His stomach growled in anticipation, and his eyes lingered on the pure white of the sugar. He'd heard of desserts like this before, but it was sheer desperation that dared him to take one for himself.
More voices, echoing louder. He hunched his back, pulling his knees closer. This was his safest hiding place—it was the smallest crack he could still fit into, hidden deep within the splintered walls of the impoverished area. Deep in the alley, pressed entirely against his precious hiding spot, ducking his pale face behind his dark, muddy pants. The pastry was inches from his mouth, and centimeters from his nose.
His stomach growled again, loud and brash and furious and hopeful. And the footsteps kept going, loud and brash and furious and hopeless.
"Thief!" the baker yelled, his voice too close for Nox's comfort, but too far for Nox's concern. Cursing, because Nox had hidden too well, and the baker was too old.
Nox knew how to survive. He stayed perfectly hidden until the mud crusted over the cloth of his time-eaten clothing. He stayed perfectly still until he'd inhaled every possible aroma the pastry dared emit. He stayed perfectly silent until the hunger finally won, and he took a snarling bite of the best thing to ever grace his lips.
A loud crunch, betraying where he was to the insects and bugs and spiders who chose to care. Sweetness on his tongue, dancing tightly with a flavor Nox had never known before. He pulled the bread from his chapped lips, his eyes wide, and saw a brown filling smudged along the marks of his teeth.
He wished he could chew it slowly, but he barely chewed at all. His stomach was too overjoyed, ecstatic at the prospect of finally having company. He ran his tongue over the intriguing brown cream, barely able to distinguish the bitter tones from the sweet.
"I love you," he had said, in the moment before attacking for a second bite. I love you, he thought again, just before the third bite. He should have said that he loved it, because it was the chocolate cream that Nox had so adored, but he'd always been a romantic at heart, so I love you were the words he chose.
Blame the slip of the tongue on desperation, perhaps, or just the glimmer of his truest nature, but Nox's first time saying it was then. He'd spoken the words to a stolen overpriced chocolate sugar pastry, and he hadn't even realized that he did. Too hungry to care about something as idle as words, Nox had eaten the dessert on that cold, wet, disgusting alley floor, and had considered himself the luckiest orphan around.
Two days later, Nox woke up four inches tall, metallic, and imprisoned. He did not say those words for a long time.
He taught them to Rose, ironically enough.
"Go and exercise," a Bastard had announced. He'd waved a gloved hand over the Keys, who each shuffled around in their confusion. Nox never understood the purpose of this; when he woke up, he just sat on the edge of the table, and waited until they'd force him back into that awful space.
He sat there, on the very edge of the table, and glared off. There were books everywhere, but he focused his eyes on the least impressive of them all. A podium, brown and wooden and with designs too intricately beautiful for Nox to do anything but snarl at, with its covers separated and its pages displayed.
Disgusting, Nox had long decided. Whatever books these bastards decided were so worth his own suffering must be disgusting. He hated them.
He had heard of books, of course, before this nightmare dragged him into one. He knew of reading, and of letters, and of stories. The other orphans sometimes boasted of their own abilities to the adults, because it was easier to find work when you weren't useless.
Well, Nox wasn't useless. He could be poked and prodded. Could be pushed and shoved. He could be a tiny metal thing or a tinier, metalier thing. He could be forced into a story and perfect the same miserable ending again and again and again, just for the glory of knowing that he wasn't useless.
"Psst. Not-Human. Question," something had hissed, and Nox didn't bother turning around. Eyes firmly on the open book, staring at the black squiggles against white pages. Their next adventure, probably. He hoped he wouldn't be needed. He hoped they'd think him useless.
He couldn't feel temperature, but he pretended he did. So when something pressed against the base of his head, at the spot that should be soft and shaggy with strands of hair that he couldn't feel, he pretended that the hand was cold. Nox used to be skilled at ignoring the cold.
"Come on. One teeny question, please," the voice continued, and a second hand pressed against his shoulder. Shaking him slightly, and Nox knew he wasn't supposed to respond by twisting around and shoving the intruder away, but he did anyway.
He did, and he relished in the wide surprise on Rose's face before the other fell on his butt, because Nox so rarely got to see any glimpse of humanity around him. But if he could still surprise, then he could still scare. And if he could scare, then maybe he could escape.
It was a thin line of reasoning that would snap under any line of questioning, so Nox relied on blind faith. He needed to, or he would believe the many Bastards when they said that he was stuck. And if he believed that him becoming a metal key was anything more than a terrible mistake after a lifetime of shitty mistakes, then he really wouldn't be Nox at all.
Rose, rubbing at a spot of his head that never even collided with the tabletop, shot Nox a particularly loud frown. "Goldie said you promised to be nice," he said, bottom lip pouting.
Nox rolled his eyes, because he never made any such claims. He had, at best, lied.
The chatter from the others picked up, and there was even laughter from somewhere. Between Nox and Rose, naturally, the silence tugged between Nox's determined stoicism and Rose's wide puppy-eyes.
He hated silence, honestly. But the others were cheering and laughing, which was much worse than the steady stream of anger and frustration bubbling within his thoughts. They sounded happy, as though happiness were even possible when Nox's entire life had been ruined so completely.
Nox jerked his head away from Rose, and his eyes found the stupid book with ease. He pulled his knees up, letting his chin dig into the armor embedded within them. He was sulking, and he knew it, but he was a little too tired of fighting.
Brown table-top, and a brown podium, and the browned edges of the book's pages. He never minded the color before, but now it suffocated him. The brown table-top to dangle over, and a brown podium to stare at, and browned edges to be forced into.
"At least it sounds like a cute chapter," Rose said, his voice slightly behind him. Nox didn't want to glance over, but then a blur of pink settled next to him, and Nox's head tilted away on it's own accord. Rose just smiled at him, and Nox settled back into his protective scowl.
A moment, with more laughter so much further away. And then Rose's finger pointed, and Nox followed, his eyes settling on the slightly larger scribble on near the top of the displayed pages. "The chapter's titled I Love You," Rose read out, and both of his hands pressed against the top of his chest. Nox watched him openly, now, because Rose was sighing and smiling, head tilted up to giggle at the dumb ceiling.
The idea that Rose—that any of the metal things, actually—were just like the other orphans, with their reading and their abilities and their usefulness and their whatevers, while Nox was still just Nox, who could only ever be pushed and shoved and poked and cursed, was not particularly wonderful. It felt cold, which was intriguing, because Nox didn't even know he could feel cold again.
He twisted away, returning to his pastime of glaring at the pages. It wasn't his fault he wasn't born a tiny metal person thing, and it wasn't his fault he didn't have tutors or teachers or parents or siblings. He wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't stupid. And they knew, too, because Nox had swung for much less than his intellectual reputation.
"I wonder what it means," Rose said, wistful and demure. Nox didn't look over, but Rose shifted slightly closer, and repeated, slightly louder: "Wow, I wonder what that means."
"Fuck off," Nox muttered. He hated when he couldn't tell genuine stupidity from genuine mockery. It was safer, back home, to assume he was being mocked. It was safer, here, to assume he was being stupid. He hated both, so he tried not to care about either. If they all left him alone, and took their stupid mockery with them, then he wouldn't have to wonder.
Rose kicked his legs out, and the silence returned. Whispers and shouts and the occasional Bastard's warning broke it up, of course, but Nox and Rose stayed quiet. Nox was staring at those three words, trying to figure out how to separate the swirl of ink into I Love You.
He didn't know what Rose was doing. He didn't even know Rose's name, back then. He hadn't bothered trying to separate anyone; the humans that did their tests were all called Bastard to him, and the keys were all just the others. It was easier, and safer, and saner. If he was forced to live a nightmare, then he'd live by nightmare rules. None of them truly mattered, if this was a nightmare. It was comforting.
Nox didn't know what the other was doing, but he knew what I love you meant, and he so rarely got to be the smarter one. And if the others knew how to read, and Nox didn't, then he needed to make sure they knew he wasn't stupid. He was smart, even if it was stupidity that led him here. He could have been smart, maybe, if he lived a completely different life.
Never do anything for free. "If I tell you," Nox said, slow and casual and indifferent, eyes still on the chapter title. He did not care if Rose was listening. It made no difference to him. "If I tell you, then you have to leave me alone."
"Deal," Rose quickly agreed, and Nox glanced at his side. A bright smile, inappropriate to Nox's clouded judgment. Rose dragged his legs into sitting cross-legged, hands clasped together in excitement. A little ways behind him, a Bastard was watching.
He'd admit, much later, that Nox didn't have the exact correct definition. It would be quite the controversy, because so many of the keys only knew the meaning and significance of words from how Ex Libris used them, and those bastards were not fond of saying I love you. He wasn't wrong, necessarily, but just slightly less correct.
"It means you want something forever," he had explained, forever ago. Rose's eyes had been very wide, and he had been nodding, while Nox's voice slowly grew in confidence. His hands, which had been clutching the slight edge of the table, waved lazily over their heads. "You want to…to eat something, or to talk with someone, or whatever, forever. That's basically it."
"Really?" Rose asked, so very intrigued. He leaned slightly closer, and Nox leaned slightly away. "Because in stories, characters always say it. I knew it was important."
Important, Nox wasn't as sure about. He lived a very long time before he felt the need to say it, remember? That delicious pastry. The warmth he'd never feel again, with the taste that he could barely remember. "You don't actually keep it forever," Nox said, and he didn't even realize he was speaking until he did. Too busy remembering, because he wanted, but Nox knew better than most how useless wanting was.
"But to want someone forever," Rose countered, and his hands were pressed against his chest again. He was blinking quickly, and Nox knew that they couldn't actually cry, so he didn't know why Rose was acting like they could. "That's so romantic."
It was ridiculous, Nox wanted to say, but he didn't. He agreed, in a bitter and frustrated and annoyed internal voice that was repressed for a darker, angrier night, that wanting someone forever was incredibly romantic, and incredibly poignant, and incredibly pathetic.
He'd never do that, of course. Not because he was unlovable, which he was, nor because he was a useless tiny metalloid thing, which he was. He'd never wish to want someone forever, because if thinking about a pastry he'd never taste again ached this much, then he could not imagine what it would feel like to love a whole person.
Nox was smart enough to know the pains that would come with loving a person. Fortunately, he was stupid enough to choose, eventually, to love anyway.
"You are embarrassing me," Violet had told him, two minutes after Rose left. Because Nox was the representation of villains, and he was undermining all the work Violet had put into restructuring how villainesses looked. "Fix your shoulders. Sit up straight. If you must scowl, at least try to look scary. You look like a kicked puppy. Like him," she added, swiftly pointing at the same Bastard that had been listening in to his conversation with Rose.
He'd wanted to be offended, truly, but something about how Violet stood, and how Violet spoke, and how Violet was, coaxed his shoulders and his back and his scowl to submit. When she offered her hand, he accepted hesitatingly.
Violet shaped him into the proper villain key. They had several meetings, because the Bastards never allowed them to interact for too long. Nox used to thrive on hiding in the smallest spaces, but the feeling of being restrained and contained for so long began to create icy pinpricks along the metal of his skin.
Nothing helped, frankly. The other keys were too used to their key form; they didn't mind the isolation, except that it was forced upon them. Nox was unique, he gathered, in his hatred of it.
The others took him in, and let him play alongside them. They'd ask questions about the world outside, overlapping with ideas and beliefs that Nox couldn't always answer, because Nox was unique in his experience.
Silver would sometimes sit with him and try to teach him reading, because she was the most patient of them all. Bronze would join, sometimes, just to throw out terrible puns made from Nox's mistakes. Nox, he quickly learned, was unique in his inability, as every other key seemed to know intrinsically what took him forever to figure out.
So of course, of all the keys, it would be Nox who would fuck everything up.
He did not want to remember that night. All that is relevant is this: while escaping, the image of Silver's key shattering replayed in his mind, and all he could think, again and again and again, was I love you, because he wanted his tiny family with him, forever and ever and ever.
He said it again, eventually. It just took some time, because the words were so deeply tangled in want and guilt and the sound of metal cracking.
"I love you," he told Violet, the minute they left the book. He rambled endlessly, gesturing at the air above his hardened hair, because her cat ears that doubled as a tiara that sparkled and glistened and practically glowed had been the single best thing he'd ever worn on his body. The human had been so jealous. Nox loved Violet so much.
She smiled smugly, because she was always so proud of her work. Even here, crouched on her pillow, she looked more majestic than Nox could ever dream. "You're lucky that you're my favorite," she replied, dramatically throwing her head back. He had laughed, then, and he'd felt the same warmth that he always got when Violet complimented him.
Violet never said those words, but she showed them. He felt them, in a way, whenever he entered a story and found his hair slightly skewed, or his sleeves extra sparkly. He remembered the day she interrogated him on his clothing style, pushing well past his immediate I don't mind anything responses.
She'd pulled out what textures he preferred, and he only ever found himself dressed in the softest and most comfortable of clothes. Even his jeans, skinny and tight and form-fitting, were somehow as relaxing as the unfortunate pajama pants she had created for him, during the one day they had a disagreement over mints and chocolate.
Someone had left behind chocolate-covered mints. Nox argued the chocolate was tastier, while Violet argued in favor of the mint. It had been silly and dramatic, but Nox and Violet hadn't gotten to be dramatic and silly in a long time. Nox hid all of their mirrors, and Violet refused to dress him in anything more impressive than stylish pajamas.
Their feud continued for a week, upon which Violet begrudgingly announced a compromise. Better together, she had suggested, and Nox shook her hand in agreement. They were better together, he agreed, even if he thought the mint risked being overpowering.
She'd dressed him extra special the next day. He'd arrived to the book in gray jeans, purple ivy sewed throughout the hems, that dipped around his hips, and in black boots that were soft and stable and heeled enough to make his presence loud and known. He paced around the empty throne room, grinning widely at the clacking between the soles of his shoes and the metal of the ground.
When he dipped his head to better study the intricate designs of the patterns alongside his deep neckline, something cool slipped from his hair. He quickly ran his fingers along the edges of his hair, because whatever it was wouldn't part ways with his scalp. Too metal to be a hat, but too wide to be a tiara.
A wider crown, he supposed, that simply refused to tug ways from his hair. He was supposed to be the evil queen, so it fit. He was often an evil queen, because the human seemed to enjoy choosing fairy tales.
He knew he looked amazing, because the human threw open the throne room in outrage and froze. He knew Violet did incredible, even if he couldn't see the final outfit, because the human coughed and scowled and said, with the infamous wit of the child he was, "Wow."
He knew he wanted Violet to stay with him forever, because when he described how the human's eyes had grown wide, and how the human stumbled over his words, and how the human had left the scene before finishing any of the several important plot points that were supposed to transpire, Violet cackled. Her hands had gripped his shoulders, because she had doubled over, laughing and laughing, because Violet loved her creations deeply.
And Nox had smiled, his own hands covering her wrists, because he loved his sister just as much.
When he first became a key, he thought about the chocolate pastry nearly every day. He tried to imagine the heat in his palms, and he tried to replicate the aroma he had inhaled. I love you, he had said, because he had wanted that chocolate pastry to stay with him forever. The heat forever evaded him, but the aching want was almost as warm.
When he escaped, he thought about Silver breaking. He didn't need to try, because the sound of cracking was in Violet's desperate planning. Violet, who wanted to be reunited with her family more than anything, and Nox, who wanted them all together forever. The trickles of cold burrowed firmly within him, as was natural for a metal like his.
When he was with Chase, he thought about everything. The warmth from when Chase laughed, and the cold from when Chase cried.
Like that day at the beach, when Nox ruined everything again. When all of Violet's careful molding broke away, and Nox was the hungry orphan boy, fighting for his scraps. When Nox swung his spear, wild and out of control, and slashed Chase's cheek, and stared in cold, frozen horror at the drops of red.
Or later, still at the beach, when Nox broke a coconut and threw it at Chase. "Hit along the sides," he instructed, and Chase's bright laughter at his success glowed within him. He'd think of that laugh for a long time, if only because it was warm and happy and entirely thanks to him.
Chase was always a mixed bag. Warm to the touch, the day he came into the story ill and sick and gross. Hot-tempered, back when they'd kick and snarl and punch. As comforting as anything, when he'd wrap his arms around Nox's back and gently guide them into kneeling and repeatedly tell him that everything was okay, even as Nox's wet face got warmer and warmer as the self-consciousness grew heavier.
Warm to the touch, but cold in his words. "What does he want?" he snapped, when the vampire bastard became plot-relevant again. Cold and callous and unrelenting, until Nox himself snorted at how ridiculous the whole situation had become, since Nox had somehow become tangled up in wrestling the undead while Chase lectured on therapy tactics. Hot-tempered, but with a cool-down that Nox could only envy. Forgiving with ease, no matter what. A patronizing pat to Nox's head, sometimes, but always with an easy smile.
Obviously, Nox fell in love.
The first time he heard a human say it was actually incredibly irritating.
It was what initially led to Nox's questioning of whether I love you truly meant anything at all, because in what universe would someone unironically say that to a freckly, pale, annoying, bratty, stupid, insipid bastard. "I love you so much," Tiny had said, so genuinely and honestly and factually that Nox had dropped the tray of poisoned biscuits directly on the palace grounds.
The idiot had been surprised, when he finally looked up from the bright white flashcards in his hands, and Silver had done an unfortunately adequate job with his golden coat and white blazer. Brown eyes stared at him, confused, before Tiny's lips quirked into a smile, and a tanned hand pressed against his mouth as he obviously tried to refrain from laughing.
Freckles, to his right, just looked stupid and tall. "Oh. Hi, Buddy," he said, looking even more stupid, with his hand waving stupidly in his stupid brown shirt and his stupid orange vest.
Nox was pretty sure he was dressed as stylish as ever, but Tiny was laughing at him, anyway. "You look so stupid," Tiny even said, cruel and brash and rude, and Nox had turned around and stomped away.
It probably wasn't the actual first time he heard a human say it, but it was one of the few. And Chase, Nox quickly learned, only ever seemed to say it in the most outlandish of moments. It fit, in a way, because Chase was the weirdest person who never seemed to make sense unless Nox took a very liberating break from logic, so of course his use of I love you made no sense at all.
"I love you," he announced to the maids that led him to the dessert tables. Nox had rolled his eyes, because how embarrassing, to announce such a dependency on something as trivial as bread.
"I love you," he yelled, twisting in circles to show off every element of Silver's newest outfit. Nox had even informed him, kindly and selflessly, that there was no way for the keys to hear him from inside the book. "I love her anyway," Chase had said, grinning, waving both arms wildly. She had done a good job, Nox supposed. The thought of Silver still sent a shiver of guilt through him, so he changed the subject, and they bickered again.
"I love you," Chase said, days later, when Nox had returned the hideous red hoodie. For a moment, it could have been—but it wasn't, of course. Chase had been speaking to the cloth, hugging the disgusting thing tightly to his chest. "I love you. Did the bad man scare you? It's okay. You're home."
Nox rolled his eyes, again, and had very intentionally turned away, because the thought that Chase might have leveled an unreasonable I love you at him made his cheeks warm. And Nox loved feeling warm, truly, but he loved warmth the way he loved that chocolate pastry. It was his, this love, and he did not want to share it with anyone.
He didn't really know when he started falling in love. By the time Chase had been ill, resting on the bed with Nox's fingers lightly running through the soft blonde strands, he'd already been too far gone. When Chase had pressed his hand against his cheek, brown eyes staring in accusation as tears and blood mixed together, Nox had only known that he didn't want Chase to hate him. So sometime between the two moment, he supposed, Nox had fallen in love.
It was impossible to break it down further. Chase's outfits never changed in quality, but his eyes steadily sparkled, and his smiles steadily grew. He was never unattractive, but just looking at him made Nox's heart skip beats. He was loud and brash and opinionated, and Nox searched every corner of the story grounds for him, because Nox missed him.
"I thought he was stupid and annoying and dumb," Violet told him. She crossed her arms, sending him a very annoyed look, because Violet hated being incorrect. "You rambled on for hours about him trying to teach Cinderella's stepsisters about the perks of a college education."
And he was stupid and annoying and an idiot, when Nox chose to ignore how brilliant and funny and creative Chase actually was. "In his defense," he said weakly, and Violet loudly groaned and stomped off, her words about not letting a cute face break Nox's resolve falling on deaf ears.
He thought the words I love you a lot. Sometimes, when he leaned in a little too close, Chase would turn a delightful pink, and Nox could almost pretend that those words were on the tip of Chase's tongue, too.
Nox just never thought, whenever he glanced at Chase's shiny lips or Chase's pink tongue, that he'd actually get a taste.
There were benefits to the world falling apart around you. The benefits were:
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Kissing the guy you fell in love with.
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Kissing the guy you fell so deeply in love with that you are actually kind of falling apart.
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Kissing the guy you stupidly fell in love with so hard that you get flustered and embarrassed at the thought of ever seeing the guy again, because what if that kiss was your I love you and his I don't want to die.
"I've never been a hero," Nox said, and he meant every word. That brown tabletop, that brown podium, and those browned pages. Brown eyes, staring widely at him. The warmth of his heart, as it beat frantically under his chest, and the ice in his limbs, as he gently brushed a soft lock of blonde hair behind Chase's ear.
Chase was just staring at him. Staring and staring, completely melting to Nox's touch. The world around them was nothing more than wet pages, ripped and shredded and horrifying. The sky was a mess of letters and words, scribbles that Nox could only read after Violet had painstakingly taught him.
Nox carefully laid his hand against Chase's cheek, and Chase leaned into the touch. He brought his other hand, barely even able to distinguish this reality from the dream it could have been, to Chase's chin, and the blonde let Nox tilt his head up. "I want to be yours," Nox barely even heard himself say. The I love you thrummed loudly, in his words and in his touch and in his shaky breath, as he slowly pulled Chase closer and brought his own lips lower.
He must have kissed characters before. The villainess often had to, and Nox didn't really mind. He must have kissed someone before, at some point, because he knew how to tilt Chase's head, and he knew how to mind his nose, and he knew to close his eyes. He must have kissed someone, but he had absolutely no idea, because he was kissing Chase.
His lips, warm against Chase's. Soft. Light, at first, because Nox was terrified, and then Chase pressed closer, and Nox's hand slipped into Chase's soft strands of hair, and something was tugging Nox even closer—he thought, at the time, that it was his own mind demanding as much of Chase as possible, but he learned soon enough that Chase was just clingy and pulling the collar of Nox's shirt, because Chase was hot-tempered and warm to the touch and comforting and perfect.
He couldn't even think I love you, if Nox were honest. He couldn't think of anything at all, because nothing existed. There was no book, and there was no key, and there was no wish. In this moment, he was kissing Chase. There was nothing to want, because he was kissing Chase. There was nothing to ache, because he was kissing Chase.
In retrospect. Fuck that chocolate pastry.
Sorry, no, Nox couldn't move on yet. He kissed Chase. He actually kissed Chase. His lips pressed against Chase's, and Chase's lips pressed against his. Chase's fingers had gripped Nox's clothing, and Nox had run a hand through Chase's hair.
Soft strands nestled between his fingers, and the warmth of the small of Chase's back against the palm of his hand, and the quiet, surprised sounds that came from either Nox or Chase. He didn't even know. He kissed Chase.
"What happened in that story?" Violet had asked, one hand pressed against her hair. She groaned softly, and Nox couldn't even tell her, because he kissed Chase.
He really tried not to stay in love. Falling in love was fine, because he could want in peace. Being in love was worse, because there was a chance Chase might want him back. He couldn't say no to that. He wanted and wanted and wanted, and if I love you meant I want you with me forever, then he loved Chase unquestionably.
"What do you think love is?" he asked Violet, the very next day. She had been admiring her latest crown in the mirror, after Nox straightened it. She hummed, eyes still on her reflection, because it always took her a moment to remember that there was a world outside the beauty of herself. In that way, she was a little like Chase.
Violet had hummed, and then glanced over her shoulder. She shrugged, because nothing could ever be easy for Nox.
She remembered something. "Rose used to say," Violet mentioned, running her fingers against the gleaming crown. She paused, tilting her head a little, before Nox nudged her back on track. "Rose used to say something about wanting forever. Which I think sounds rather morbid, honestly."
Nox nodded immediately, watching his sister's expressions through their makeshift mirror. He completely agreed. Wanting anything forever was awful, because it would doom him to an eternity of want. He completely agreed. Yes. Absolutely.
Damn his contrarian mouth, speaking without permission. "But you still told the others you loved them, right?"
Another pause, this time with her eyes on his. They were both staring at the mirror, even though Nox's fingers were curled over her shoulder, and even though her elbow rested against his arm.
"I love them," she finally said, and the tension broke, because of course Violet loved her siblings. There was nothing Violet loved more than her family, and Nox knew that. He'd seen her painstakingly design every step of their plan into recovering everyone, and had seen her fury and panic when she'd first learned that everyone was gone. She loved her family, no matter the definition of love she chose to follow.
She twisted around, finally locking eyes with Nox. "But they know I love them," she said, and she was correct. Nox nodded, because Violet's love for her family was in everything she did. There could be no question, ever, because Violet loved her family more than Violet cared about anything else.
If that Bastard had asked Violet for help, she would have refused. She wouldn't have entertained the thought, because she would never even consider risking the safety of her family. It was a line of thought Nox had long exhausted guilt from, because trust the villainess key, born and raised, to stay more pure and more good than the cursed human.
He told himself, very firmly, that he was not going to stay in love. Or if he did, then he would be in love like before, where he repressed and suppressed and oppressed. Chase likely didn't love him back anyway.
Chase did, because Nox tasted the love on the tip of his tongue, but maybe Chase didn't. Maybe, somehow, Nox could forget. Maybe he could combine the taste of love with the taste of that chocolate pastry, and two wants could cancel each other out.
He was supposed to firmly stop being so obviously in love during their first interaction, but then Chase asked if the kiss meant nothing, with his eyes wide and devastated and heartbroken.
"I thought…" Chase had said, quietly, and his fingers slipped away from Nox's sleeve. And Nox had panicked, because the I love you tugged his heart like a tiny angel pulling at his shirt, and he left the book completely.
"What is wrong with you?" Violet demanded. Nox, curled into a corner of the oversized box littered with chocolate crumbs and glitter residue, could only groan.
He tried once more, and it took precisely one conversation before Nox gave up entirely. It took half of that, really, because Chase pressed a chocolate bar into Nox's hand, because Chase was kind and sweet and beautiful, and Nox could never really anticipate what Chase was going to do next. He thought Chase would be angry, perhaps, or awkward, or bitter.
Instead, he had smiled, and eagerly gushed over Nox's mermaid tail. "You're so cool," Chase had said, and the words were warmth splashing all over Nox's heart. Splashing all over Nox's face, too, when Chase gave him an exaggerated kiss on the forehead, because Nox could hear the I love you embedded in the kiss.
Violet was going to kill him, probably, if this damned heart of his didn't do it first.
It probably wasn't the actual first time. It was more romantic, though, if it was, and truthfully, it very well might have been.
"You are such an asshole." But Chase laughed, because Nox was apparently allowed to win a makeshift wrestling match if they were both dressed as angels, dangling on a cloud thousands of feet in the air.
Chase snuggled closer, shifting until his head was pressed against Nox's chest. This gave Nox perfect access to Chase's hair, and he wrapped the different curls around his forefinger, watching as the hair slipped stubbornly off. He could feel the weight of Chase lying against him, and he could see his own breath in the slight rise and fall of Chase.
When Chase tilted his head back, Nox got an absolutely perfect view. He could see the brightness of the brown in Chase's eyes, the very color Nox saw everywhere in his life. He could see the faintest of freckles, ones that blended almost seamlessly with Chase's tanned skin. The dimple in Chase's cheek, which Nox pressed a finger against, or the gleam of Chase's lips.
"Lip gloss," Nox teased, because Violet had done so much research into different forms of makeup after a librarian magically changed her lips into a dark purple. And Chase's lips spread wickedly, because apparently lip gloss was an imperative element in any kiss.
Chase kissed him, this time. It was very different from their first, in that the world was a beautiful blend of pink and blue and orange, and because Chase asked, "Are you absolutely sure this is okay?" four separate times, and because Chase's lips, soft and slow and tantalizingly delicious, tasted bright and inviting and vaguely sweet.
When they separated, Chase's cheeks a bright pink and his eyes wide and overjoyed, Chase's head was hovering over his. "Did you like it?" he asked, as though there was ever a world where Nox wouldn't love Chase's kisses.
Nox's face must have conveyed his disbelief, because Chase laughed loudly. There was an edge of something wild within the laughter, breaking Nox's lips into a fond smile as he watched his Chase laugh and laugh, shaking his head against the cool breeze ruffling his hair.
"I meant," Chase said, still laughing, and it took him a moment to fully compose himself. He was still smiling, sitting upright with his knees on either side of Nox's ribs, while Nox's hands had slipped away from Chase's face and were now idly playing beautifully tanned fingers, bending and straightening them to the tune of the thoughts of I love you that seemed to follow wherever Chase went.
There was something captivating about knowing, without doubt, that Chase was letting Nox fiddle with his fingers, and there was something even more captivating about looking up and seeing the overly fond smile gracing Chase's face. "I meant my lip gloss," Chase said, softly, his eyes flickering between Nox's eyes and their overlapping fingers. "I got the chocolate-flavored one. Since you're addicted to it. Do you like it?"
The pink gloss had smudged over the bridge of Chase's lips, and Nox let go of Chase's hands to reach up and tangle his fingers back into Chase's soft hair. "Do I like it?" he muttered, more breath than words, and gently pulled Chase's face, giggles and all, right back down to his.
He pressed a softer, lighter kiss against Chase's lips, because he could feel Chase's smile like this. And when he pulled away, he immediately aimed for the smudge of lip gloss that dared to smear away, and then aimed for the corner of Chase's up-ticked lips, and then aimed for the opposite corner.
I love you, Nox thought, and he kissed the tip of Chase's nose. That got him an outright laugh, with Chase's eyes opening into that beautiful brown, the color that sparkled and darkened and Nox was so lost in them, so he kissed the eyebrows that outlined both. He pulled Chase even lower, so he could properly press a kiss against that golden halo of hair that haunted every stream of sunlight in his life.
He couldn't remember how time unraveled. That day, when he had been curled up with the chocolate pastry, saying I love you between every bite, and today, curled with his boyfriend, thinking I love you between every kiss.
I love you, he said, and snarled into his next bite. I love you, he thought, and gently kissed the tips of Chase's perfect fingers. I love you, and I love you, and I love you.
"I love you," Chase said, when Nox finally looked up. He said it breathily, his cheeks dusted as pink as the swirls of sky behind them. "I really love you, Buddy."
And Chase was always the braver of the two, because when he pressed a glossy kiss against Nox's forehead, he said it again. "I love you," he whispered, and a kiss was pressed against Nox's cheek, and a kiss was pressed behind his ear. "I love you. I love you like crazy."
His hands, tied too deeply into Chase's hair to even thinking about leaving. He was so warm, all of him, and it was warmth that put the sun itself to shame. Nothing existed, frankly. Each kiss was exactly like their first, because nobody existed but them, in a world where the only important moment was completely theirs.
It wasn't his first time saying it, surely. He couldn't remember every saying it before, but he must have. Because if love meant to want someone to stay, if Chase saying I love you meant what Nox believed, then of course Nox would stay.
"I love you, too," Nox said, breathless, for what might have truly been the first time in his life. And he knew he said I love you so often, so many times, and he knew that the words were etched throughout his life, but to have Chase, of all people, love him first? "I love you too. I'll love you forever."
Chase grinned, just before dropping his head to rest against Nox's shoulder. He threw his arms around Nox, who would take whatever Chase wanted to offer with every ounce of love within him. They stayed there, with Nox idly saying the lip gloss was fine to Chase's startled laugh.
They'd leave, eventually. The story had to continue. Nox would have to return to Violet, wiped clear of his earnest love for the boy wrapped in his arms. Chase would have to return home, to live the life he couldn't risk sharing with Nox. They'd leave, and this moment, too, would become an aching want that Nox would never forget.
That was later. For now, in this moment, they were two angels arguing lightly about who was the better kisser, with flushed cheeks and wide smiles, too deeply in love to really care about something as silly as a little story.