Chapter Text
The Recluse stared up at the ceiling of his room.
He had not left, or even moved an inch in Witches knows how long. Not since what had happened with the Sage. The Recluse was unsure how long it had been, the memory a blur in his mind. He remembered being frustrated with him, more so than usual.
It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, no quite the opposite really. He probably would have stayed there for the rest of his immortal life, if it weren’t unfortunately for the needs of his body. Sure, he could go a long time without food, or rest even—but being immortal did not save him from passing out every so often due to lack of sustenance.
The Recluse sighed, pressing his eyes shut for a moment, the lifeless blur of the ceiling snapping out of view. The tower was quiet—still, like the rain’s first ripples before a storm. Though a not quite fitting analogy considering how it was currently storming outside, snow hitting the windows of the tower relentlessly.
Truthseekers had not come to see him at all within the time after their argument, leaving the Recluse in silent solitude, left to his own quiet resolve.
Not even the Sage had come to bother him, or surprisingly apologize. The Sage was not one to apologize—his arrogance simply would not allow it. The Sage did not make mistakes, so there was no real need for apologies. Yet when it came to the Recluse, the Sage would make sure to stutter out every kind of apology possible, clinging to him profusely until the Recluse would threaten to throw him off the Peak from the highest window.
Usually around this time he would be outside the hermit’s door, eagerly waiting for Recluse to let him into the warmth of the tower, then go on chattering about things the Recluse could not care less of, disrupting his peace. His solitude.
The Sage was annoyingly bright. Annoyingly eager and a master of words, yet more the master of rambling on about useless things. Recently, before the Sage had ceased his visits, the top of their discussions had been about a mysterious Cookie that the Sage had taken into liking. It was not unusual for the Sage to hyper fixate over something new every other week, but oh no, this was quite different. The Sage spoke of them any chance Truthless would allow; any time he had his guard down.
“I do not understand what you see in this Cookie you speak of, Sage.” The Recluse murmured, rolling his eyes at the thought of the Sage being with a mortal Cookie.
“Oh, but my dear Recluse! I’m sure you would be very fond of them!”
Truthless tensed at the nickname. The audacity to call the Recluse ‘his dear’ while being entranced by another was baffling. He tilted his head to the side, raising a brow, clear uninterest evident on his face, though he was annoyed beneath the mask.
“Would I now. Why do you think?” The Sage gave an amused hum, a sheepish grin across his face, as if the answer had been obvious to anyone except the Recluse.
“They are quick thinking, sharp and precise with their retorts. A very stubborn Cookie I must say. Perhaps that is what I find interest in them, their ability to counter even me in an argument. Their unwavering devotion to their virtues that not even I can sway.”
The Recluse frowned, eyes narrowing in faint jealousy irritation. His fingers curled inwards, forming a firm fist. They shook.
“I see.”
“Would you like to know who it is?”
..
“No.”
The conversation had been pointless, much to the Recluse’s dismay; his precious time wasted on a fantasizing Sage. Though he would admit, he was curious about the identity of the mortal who had managed to steal the Sage’s obnoxious and arrogant heart.
Was.
Was she beautiful? She certainly would have to be, to capture the attention of the Sage of Truth. Whoever she was, she was most definitely entrancing. What else did she possess that Recluse did not?
The hermit shook his head, scoffing at himself mentally. He did not care what she might have possessed contrary to the Recluse. He did not care that she was likely more enjoyable to be around...more pleasant...more attractive...
He shook his head again. Why should he care? He was done with the Sage anyway; their fragile string of friendship snapped in half; the sliver of trust shattered into forgotten fragments. He did not care if the Sage had gone and found someone he wanted to be with.
“Perhaps that is what I find interest in them, their ability to counter even me in an argument. Their unwavering devotion to their virtues that not even I can sway.”
That sentence had caught the Recluse’s attention. Very few would ever dare to question, let alone argue with the Sage. His intelligence paired with the speed of his answers were quite unmatched. He could not even begin to name someone who could debate the professor with the ease the Sage described. Nobody he knew matched the description.
...
Would the Sage even come back?
It was not Recluse’s issue.
If the Sage chose not to come tonight, or ever, the Recluse would be fine with that. More than fine, he would finally be liberated from the overeager and cheeriness of the scholar, the idiot he was. How could he still be so zealous knowing the truths of the witches? The truths of Earthbread? Recluse would never begin to understand how the Sage’s mind worked. With the amount that he knew, it would have been more than enough for any other to lose sanity. To turn to the more welcoming side, of corruption, like him. To embrace Deceit in its fullest, instead of the ugly Truth. The same Truth that drove people mad. That destroyed, that tore apart. Deceit was easier to accept than the Truth ever would be. To accept false comfort, to believe in a lie.
Unfortunately for Recluse, his other half never seemed to heed his warnings for chasing the Truth. He’d warned him that eventually he would fail, begin to realize that there is no ‘grand Truth’, and he would succumb to Deceit’s sweet embrace. Unfortunately again, his warnings only earned him light chuckles of amusement and a dismissive hand wave, as if Recluse’s words were something to be taken lightly! If only, it seemed to fuel the Sage’s endless cheerfulness.
If the Sage never came back, then so be it. It was the Recluse’s fault for even allowing the friendship. If the Sage never came back…
A knock.
It had caught the Recluse off guard, his eyes immediately snapping open, widening in surprise, wings twitching beneath him. The sound echoed through the tower. Truthless knew those knocks well. Too well for his liking. The way the hand hit firmly against the door the first time, then gently began to knock. It was unmistakably his other half. If one could still call him that.
At first, the Recluse did not stir. He refused to acknowledge it, instead pressing his eyes shut again, bringing his palms up to his pointed ears. He had imagined it. His mind was playing tricks of delirium on him due to his lack of self-care. He had imagined it, most definitely—
Knock knock knock!
This time he could not deny the echoing sound that pierced his ears, sending an unwanted shudder through his lungs. The knocking was persistent, desperate if one listened hard enough. Recluse could have sworn he’d heard the Sage’s voice from there, even if he had rather pretend he had not.
Perhaps it was not his mind after all.
Finally, with difficulty, he sat up on the bed then pushed himself off onto the floor, wings fluttering slightly open behind him. He could simply teleport to the bottom of the Peak, but he preferred keeping the Sage waiting outside for his audacity to show up.
He descended the stairs of the tower, passing through the dim hallways swiftly. Had the tower always been this large?
Finally, he reached the very bottom of the Peak, the door patiently waiting to be opened. The Recluse grasped the golden handle, pushing the top down with his thumb, only to pause.
He did not want the Sage back here. So why was he opening the door? The Sage had clearly overstepped, crossed a line, and he’d made sure to say to never return.
Yet something tugged at him to let the professor in—to listen to what he had to say.
Slowly, his grip on the handle tightened, opening the door finally. A sharp breeze of icy wind blew into the space.
A sullen eyed Sage stared back at him.
“Recluse.”
The Sage looked like he had seen better days. His hair was severely unkempt, the once beautiful galaxy of blues now fading black at the tips, multiple strands sticking out oddly, like the melody of a damaged music box—it was there, but it was wrong. His once grand clothes had been worn, tattered, his usual ruffle collar abandoned.
His face was no better, eyes blanketed by a foggy darkness, swelling faint red where they should have been white, bruising underneath the skin, an indicator that he had not slept in an obvious while.
The sight was unnerving. The way his brows knit together, the way his bottom lip trembled, the tremble in the Sage’s shoulders. It was wrong, like staring at a painting too long.
This was not the Sage that Truthless knew.
“Sage.” The Recluse’s voice carried its usual monotone tone, yet more gentle this time. Perhaps maybe exhausted. He said nothing more, instead allowing his other half a chance to speak.
“Recluse…I’m…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I crossed your boundaries, I know I overstepped. I don’t expect you to forgive me, yet I come to offer you my apologies and pray you find it in your heart to consider.” The Sage’s gaze flickered downward, a silent tear tracing the curve of his cheek.
The dark, long forgotten part of him wanted to reach out, to grasp and pull the Sage into his arms and whisper reassurances into his ear. To apologize instead, for making the Sage feel so miserable. So alone.
That was not who he was anymore.
Yet he was not cruel enough to let him stand in the cold while the warmth of the tower was just within reach.
Slowly, he held open the door, a silent invitation inside. The Sage, reluctant at first, stepped inside quietly, following the Recluse down the hall leading a dimly lit living room.
“Reclu—“
“You look horrible.”
The Sage blinked, brows furrowing in confusion before he smiled sheepishly, a strained huff escaping him.
“I suppose I do.”
“How long have you not slept.”
“Ah. Three weeks…perhaps?”
The Recluse’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed at the Sage’s chin, getting a startled yelp from the other.
“Fool.”
The Sage inhaled slowly, arms trembling at his sides. Was he scared?
“I know you—you told me to not come back. I could not do so without apologizing.” The Sage’s voice was quiet, small. Laced with hurt, but most importantly regret.
For a moment, the Recluse did not know how to respond.
He could have simply kicked the other out, still quite upset with him. Yet...
“You idiot. You came here, all this way to apologize? Fool. Should you not be with that Cookie of yours?”
The Sage lulled his head to the side, frowning in confusion.
“Who?”
The Recluse scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Forget it” He turned away, hiding his face with his shoulder, turning his staff away. “You apologized. You may leave now.” The Recluse ignored the ache in his chest, the feeling that he could not describe. A feeling he had not felt in almost millennia. His heart beat throbbed in his ears, heat rising up to his face.
“Oh! Ah…well you my dear Recluse are more important at the moment.”
There it was again. That nickname.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Hm?”
A wave of irritation washed over him, fists clenching by firmly at his sides. “
Stop calling me your dear when you are clearly in love with someone else!” He snapped.
Oh.
Shit.
Why did he say that!?
Reluctantly, the Sage grinned.
“Truthless...are you jealous?”
“...No! Of course not you ridiculous fool.”
“Oh, my dear but you are, liar.”
“Here, I’ll give you a hint of who it is. They are amazingly beautiful. Very witty and resourceful…when they want to be. Strikingly handsome—“
”Is this another excuse to get me to listen to you fantasizing again?”
The Sage let out an amused laugh, brushing the white bangs out of his face, before gesturing forward to the Recluse.
“What? You think this is funn—“
“It’s you, Recluse.”
“What?”
“It’s you I’m talking about, who else would it be? Who else could catch my attention better than you could? Who else is just as, if not more intelligent than I am?”
He brushed a golden lock out of the other’s face, cradling his cheek gently. The Recluse’s eyes widened, a warm flush visible on his face.
“Liar.”
“I thought you said I was a bad liar, my dear?” He chuckled leaning in closer to the other, so that their noses barely brushed. Then his demeanor changed.
“Recluse, I truly am sorry. Please do not take this as me trying to disregard your feelings. I understand if you wish to remain upset with me.” His fingers traced gently along the Recluse’s face, studying every curve in the dough. Their gazes met. The Sage grinned, causing the hermit’s heart to clench.
Every inch of him screamed at him to pull back, to get away, not allowing himself the comforting touch of his other half. But he could not find it in him to do so. This was against his nature, against everything he stood for, yet he could not bring himself to pull away. He was upset, yes, yet merely seeing the Sage made him feel things he hadn’t felt for anyone in millennia.
A tear rolled down his face, burning slowly, like the heat of a steady growing flame. The Sage brought his other hand up, gently wiping the tear from his face. His gaze was fond, almost enamored. It was rare to see the Sage like this—calm, steady. Unlike his chaotic and eager demeanor. The Recluse could see what he hoped was longing in the other’s eyes. Longing for that emptiness they both shared to be filled.
“Oh, my Recluse...you’re so pretty when you cry. I love you, you know that?”
The Recluse shook his head, shoulders now trembling. In either disbelief or anger he did not know.
“You do not love me, Sage. You are delusional and a fool.”
“Then I am your delusional fool. Recluse.” He teased, pressing their noses together.
He should not. But it was so tempting.
“This is dangerous, Sage.”
“Then let us endanger ourselves.”
The Sage’s arm slid down his body, wrapping around his waist slowly below his wings. He pulled the Recluse in slowly.
Truthless tensed. He’d never been held like this, ever.
After a moment, he returned the action, pressing harder against the other’s lips. It was slow, affectionate, like resting with a companion after a long day. He was fine with just this, yet Truthless decided to test waters, letting his mouth open inviting the other in who complied immediately. The Sage tasted of blueberries and cream, with a chilling mint like bite. The other’s tongue explored his mouth, tasting what Truthless was sure sweet vanilla. The taste was almost familiar, as if designed to pair together.
Recluse was the first to pull away, resting his forehead against the Sage’s, eyes pressed shut.
That had just happened, oh Witches.
He was dizzy, angry, yet completely in love.
“Sage…” the scholar placed a hand on Recluse’s chest, pushing both of them through what he assumed was a portal.
Recluse gasped as his head fell back against the plush pillows of the bed, wings fluttering open behind him. The Sage tugged at the blond’s sweater, pulling it over his head, revealing his bare chest. He traced a finger along the sides of his torso, over the healed scars, and along the edges of Truthless’s wings which twitched at the touch.
Slowly, he bent down, biting on his neck, before peppering kisses along the sides, slowly trailing down to his chest.
Once Recluse’s brain had finally registered that he was safe, he melted under his other half’s touch, wrapping his arms around his neck and wings around the two of them. He pulled the Sage closer who moved to kiss the side of his jawline. The feeling was beyond what Truthless had ever felt before. He felt alive, the Sage’s touch electrifying him, igniting a new fire of passion. He gasped at the sudden pain from his neck, feeling something sharp piercing the skin.
“Oh, my Recluse…” he murmured into his neck which sent a shudder through his chest. He pushed the Sage off, only to pull him into another kiss. This time it wasn’t slow—it was ravenous, hungry, desperate. Their mouths clashed together in an attempt to dominate the other, no clear or distinct rhythm unlike before. The Sage took Recluse’s hand, intertwining their fingers into a tight grasp.
Finally, they broke apart, the sounds of their breathing echoing through the room.
The Sage slowly rolled over to his side and wrapped his arms around the other, nuzzling at the crook of his neck.
“I love you, Nilla.”
He allowed the words to sink in a moment.
Did he love the Sage?
Sure, his other half could be quite the pest, yet he’d never truly hated him, despite what he insisted on claiming every time they crossed paths.
He was definitely still upset, yet they had all the time in the world to apologize.
After a few minutes of silence, he whispered,
“I love you too.”