Archive of Our Own

I've seen even the greatest dolmen would rise for you. You make the Earth shake, and rise by your side. But what happens when it's you who fails to raise?

–V.B

*** 

Nature always took Vezalius’s breath away, no matter how many times his amber gaze drifted upon it. Every glance at it enchanted him as he strolls through the earthy paths shielded by an arch of thorns before disappearing underground. He eagerly looks forward to that date on the outskirts when the moon shyly rises out of its slumber and shines in the indigo. 

The underground passages turned slightly over twelve years old that spring, what was once built after a mutual protection agreement between allied kingdoms, was now abandoned and left in ruins by the years. 

Abandoned, in theory. 

Small fireflies and rusty gas lamps hanging from the walls every couple of meters illuminate the path of the prince as he recalls silently —two allied kings, elbow to elbow, united courts and shared culture— the long gone bond broken by something so colloquial and childish as what was greed. Maybe even jealousy. His arms tighten around the basket he carries as he remembers. 

And, how could he not be flooded with those memories while strolling far into the underground? These were paths he memorized since he was a teenager, a clueless child that didn't understand why he was being stripped away from his friend, his best friend, his most cherished human. An innocent Vezalius who couldn't phantom the idea of having to stay away from Vantacrow forever. 

A matured and grown up Vezalius now, that as his steps start to shorten by the middle point of the passage, sees the familiar silhouette of the heir to the Cold War kingdom waiting before him by the old hardwood door. The more mystical pair of purple collided with the sweetest pair of honey, mimicking each other's small smile, provoking crimson to bloom on each other's cheeks. 

“Sir Vantacrow.” Vezalius utters in mocking solemnity, basket to the hip as he gives a small bow. 

Vezalius’s hair had gotten just slightly longer since the last time they encountered each other, and it was all let down in a beautiful raven cascade brushing on his shoulders, leaving Vantacrow's mouth agape. The blonde’s slack jaw turns into a blinding grin, lighting up his entire handsome face that has matured wondrously. A beyond delightful reward at the end of their forbidden journeys. 

Vantacrow's lips part to speak, drifting his enamored gaze down to Vezalius’s attire. 

“Sir–”

“Vezalius!” A third voice echoes behind the mentioned, which sound travels in horrifying waves to where they stood. 

Their eyes widened like a doe’s, color leaving Vantacrow's face, and if it was possible for Vezalius to get even paler, it certainly showed now so much that Vantacrow feared he would faint. Both men held panic in their gazes, sharing it until Vantacrow's eyes flickered behind Vezalius’s head making him turn around. 

From the shadows, emerged a stranger for Vantacrow's eyes. 

“Salvia…” Vezalius gasps, his shaking hands about to drop the basket he weakly carried. 

The aforementioned was panting slightly, their face scowling in a confusing blend of anger and trepidation. Vantacrow's arm twitched towards Vezalius in a weak attempt to protect him, making eye contact with what he deduced to be one of Vezalius’s court members. 

“You have five seconds to explain yourself,” Salvia spat out, still alert and glancing at the man next to the prince. “or I'm summoning your parents.” 

“Wait! Please–” Vezalius’s voice was light as he stood rooted in the spot, flicking desperate glances towards Vantacrow. “Please, Salvia, this– This is Vanta he's–”

“The enemy. Yes, I've been here enough to know who this is.” Salvia hissed, risking wary glances towards the blonde. “What is the meaning of this?”

At this moment, both of them had forgotten about bureaucratic etiquette. Salvia had the upper hand now, and Vezalius had been caught, after so many years of successful secrecy. Not only had he been caught meeting with the enemy's son, but the veil he carefully placed over the years had been lifted to reveal he'd committed one of the worst sins considered for the Bandage Kingdom; dishonesty. 

Vantacrow's hand reaches for Vezalius’s undeviantingly, lacing fingers together. 

***

It was right before they started taking literature classes. Vantacrow had just turned eleven. Frustratingly, Vezalius was still ten.

They were at Vantacrow's ample backyard, bordering the stream, both on the massive pink blanket his mother settled down for them with food and drink from ever getting nearby. They were playing each other in archery; Vezalius was effortlessly piercing each target on the canvases, giggling while doing so. Vantacrow's mother was sitting on a bench in the corner, silently knitting while she let them be.

“You’re cheating!” Vantacrow accused, huffing as he slotted his arrow through the bow again, shooting in hopes for his shot to score anything against Vezalius. He got increasingly irritated as he watched the target fill with arrows everywhere but the center, Vezalius’s target barely missing any.

“No, I’m not, I'm just good,” Vezalius said with an infuriating giggle. “You just need more practice.”

“I’m just letting you win!” was Vantacrow's favorite excuse.

Vezalius didn’t even bother with a response. He simply kept shooting his arrows with precision and swift movement until his sheath was empty. Vantacrow gritted his teeth; Vezalius simply smirked. Without thinking, Vantacrow threw his bow to the grass with a stomp, taking his sheath off his back and doing the same with it. The other boy's smile faded immediately, lowering his own bow as he ambled to Vantacrow. 

“Hey… Vanta?” Vezalius mumbled quietly, searching for his friend's eyes. 

Vantacrow was looking away from him, tears clumping around the corner of his eyes as his first clenched in frustration to his sides. “I… I suck at this…” He mumbled with a nearly broken voice. “I'll never be a good warrior like my dad…” 

Vezalius’s hand came up to rest on Vantacrow's shoulder, and he spoke to him with a genuine tone, “But, that doesn't make any sense, Vanta. You still can be a good warrior! Don't you remember how amazing you are with swords?”

Vantacrow sobbed once, blinking away his tears. “Ah… Ye–Yes but… I don't think that's enough…”

“But it'll be enough if we team up! With me as the archer and you as the swordsmith, we'll be inv… Uh…”

“Invincible?”

“Yes! That! Wouldn't it be awesome? I'll get even better with my bow, and shoot the enemies your sword can't reach, and I'll be able to protect you!” Vezalius nods with a smile. “What do you say?”

For whatever reason, Vantacrow feels his cheeks tingle with a gentle heat. He plays it off by idly rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Hmh… I guess that's… alright…”

Vantacrow's mother watched them with an attentive smile from where she sat, surely grateful that she did not have to stop a fight this time. 

With a few more sobs, Vantacrow dried his tears away. He hated crying and looking weak in front of his friend, he was supposed to be the strongest one. He was supposed to be the one to protect Vezalius. And yet, Vezalius telling him he wanted to protect him too felt… Good. It made his tummy twirl strangely, but it felt good. 

“What about you put poison in your arrows?” Vantacrow smirks with a newfound confidence. 

The last remnants of his frustration faded away when Vezalius once again beamed at him with a gasp. 

“Genius! You're a genius Vanta!”

Vezalius’s bandaged hands grabbed his, pulling him closer as he spun them around on their feet across the grass. It drew giggles out of Vantacrow, and Vezalius echoed with his own. 

“You still have to teach me how to get better at aiming. I won't let you be too ahead of me!”

“Same to you! Teach me how to slash!”

Despite the comfort that it brought knowing both could work and grow together, the little stubborn sprout in Vantacrow pushed him to be better by his own, grasping for greatness with the sole purpose of shielding what mattered to him. He never knew where it came from or how, but from that day on… 

They soon were holding each other's hands all the time.

Often would Vezalius start getting curious about it— why every time he faced any difficulties with his training or alchemy studies Vantacrow would simply ground him with his hand in his— and to be a patronizing brat, Vantacrow would coo, “Aw, does someone need some help?” while actively being in the movement to tug him from the hand. Vezalius smiled and grumbled, but he never pushed him away, lest he was really sheepish.

Vantacrow had accidentally taken his mom’s words to heart.

If Vezalius asked, he was going to claim that he was simply being the bigger person—something Vezalius for sure could relate to. He never planned to admit that he simply liked holding his hand; he liked the scent of Vezalius’s soap, he liked the way he felt next to him, he liked being close to Vezalius in a way no one else was.

But Vezalius never asked.

***

Vantacrow lowers his fur cloak on the chair under the window. It took a while for Vezalius to calm down, and he couldn't hide how much he hated to see him under distress. It was fair, they had been found, period, hands off. Even so a scowl was plastered in his countenance as he leaned against a wall, listening to Vezalius explain their story. 

“We were not planning anything, I swear we were not.” Vezalius sighs from his chair. 

“Oh is that so? Does a promise coming from you even count as something to rely on after this?” Salvia snaps, crossing their arms and burning the surroundings with a glare. 

Vezalius drops his forehead on his palms for the second time, speaking in a defeated tone. “Is there any point in me trying to speak about this then?” 

Salvia walks in circles around the room of two paralleled doors, eyeing how well-put everything was with disbelief, as if both princes had arranged everything like a small nest. Old books, trinkets from Bandage palace, some others they didn't recognize, old and patched furniture, plants Vezalius had brought from his lounge a while ago. A sword in its carmine-painted leather scabbard and a bow hung side by side on the walls eaten away by roots. 

“No, I certainly don't want to hear any of your untrustworthy words. Neither of you two!” 

Vantacrow's jaw clenches as he peers at the intruder, and then risks a glance down to Vezalius. What he would give to be able to take him in his arms and bury them underground forever, or grow wings and take them away from that place, past the hills, past the mountains, where not a soul could see them again. 

“But proceed.” Salvia continues, turning to glance at Vezalius. 

“... Ah… Well.” Vezalius clears his throat, “We… After the disunion we… had a hard time accepting we couldn't be around each other anymore. So we… made a plan, of meeting here.” He makes a pause, letting out a shaky exhale. “It was supposed to be just once, but, we kept on visiting. It became so persistent that I started bringing some belongings to arrange here.” Vezalius swallows, biting his lower lip and avoiding meeting eyes with Salvia, “The rest is history.”

Salvia finally takes their perplexed gaze off the prince, taking in air through the nose and covering their mouth. “Lord… Lord, what have you gotten into. What were you thinking about? Were you even thinking?” Salvia grits their teeth. 

Vezalius's hands are shaking against his own legs, and Vantacrow doesn't hold back the impulse of getting on one knee next to him, taking his hand and rubbing small circles on his back. “Hey… Breathe, Zali.”

“Oh, for God's sake, will you stop that?” Salvia sighs indignantly at the sight while dismissively throwing a hand towards them. 

Something flares right up Vantacrow's stomach, “Stop what?”

“You think you have the right to feel offended by any reaction I could have?” Salvia’s first acknowledgement of Vantacrow since they arrived is a snap on him. “I hope you're not forgetting what you did.”

Vantacrow clenches his jaw, feeling his own throat start to tighten with rage. He turns his head to fix an acidic glare at them. 

“I hope you're not forgetting what I can do.” He murmurs as he tilts his head towards his discarded sword, making sure Vezalius doesn't perceive it. 

Salvia’s own glare falters in the spot, Vantacrow could almost see the fear travel through every part of their body as they languished and his words settle like a bad omen. 

“Vanta– Let's calm down.” Vezalius sighs, placing a hand on the blonde’s and standing up from his seat. 

His eyes keep drifting to the ceiling while his chest puffs with air, as if bracing himself and internally scrambling for his next words. “Salvia, listen to me, please. I don't know if you want to believe me, and I don't blame you one bit if you don't. But this is the truth.” Vantacrow rises from the ground, quietly standing behind Vezalius, scrutinizing the way he sways on his feet side to side, imperceptible, just like when they were kids. “Vanta and I…” He hesitates again, takes air in and finally looks at Salvia. “Vanta and I are together.” 

Those words come out with the same intensity they thumped Vantacrow's chest. 

Salvia’s face scrunches in much less indignation than Vantacrow had anticipated. Their lips part as they smiled, incredulously raising their arms to the sides.

“Please, you understand how it feels to have lost someone on the other side.” Vezalius interrupts before they could even want to refute. 

“Don't you dare–” Salvia’s expression sours, quickly scolding themselves back into their place. “Please, don't lump me in around those matters. Because I chose to listen to the authorities, for our own good.”

“Well, I did not, Salvia. I chose to listen to my heart, because it didn't do any good to me.”

Just as Salvia is about to utter something in response, they freeze in their tracks. Their pointy ears twitch for a moment, and before Vantacrow can start to wonder why, he perceives the faint ringing of a familiar tone above the tunnels. Salvia sighs, and Vezalius mirrors with a hum. 

“The six o'clock chimes. Let's… finish talking in the castle.” Salvia states, ambling towards the door they came from. They turn briefly, flickering a glance towards Vezalius, and then to Vantacrow. He does not miss the way their eyes twitched, the thinly veiled distrust evident in their expression. “Don't take long, majesty.”

Just when they step out of the space and the door closes is when Vezalius and Vantacrow exhale a breath they didn't know they were holding. The room is large enough to hoard platoons from two kingdoms and their artillery, but since Salvia entered, it seemed to shrink and steal the air from their mouths like they were stuck under tons of ocean-like pressure. 

“Vanta…” Vezalius whines, turning around to look at him and breaking into a sob. 

Before he can properly see his tears fall, Vantacrow immediately succours him, taking him in his arms and cradling his head from the nape against his shoulder.

“Shh, shh… It's okay, darling. It was scary.” He murmurs into his ear, resting his temple against his head and feeling how he trembled between hiccups. “I know… I know. It's okay, we're okay.”

Vantacrow is trembling from head to toe, his arms and legs are languid and overly strained as if he ran across the whole passage. The leftover scare also did a number on him, but the need to assuage his Vezalius weeping on his neck like that keeps him from showing it. 

“How could I be so stupid?” Vezalius shrieks into his neck, damping Vantacrow's shirt with his tears. 

Vantacrow sneaks an arm around Vezalius’s middle, pressing him tight against himself. “No no no no. Don't say that, Zali. Please. You were not.” 

“But I was! I–” His once silky and calm voice now breaks into strings of shaky whimpers, his hands clenched at the front of Vantacrow's shirt like the danger was still tormenting him in the room. “I was so careless! I wish I could have stayed longer–”

“Zali– Hey, Zali. Look at me.” Vantacrow pulls back slightly, grabbing Zali's face with both hands, “Look at me.” He insists, lettering out a heavy sigh once that pained honeyed pair fluttered towards his own. 

His hands cradle Vezalius’s soft face, reeling in the floral scent that trespassed Vantacrow's whole being like a gentle hug, rubbing his tear-damped crimson cheeks with his thumbs and watching his little trembling pout twitch between sobs. 

“My love,” Vantacrow whispers. “Breathe, deep. And listen to me.” He takes a deep inhale of his own, guiding Vezalius as he tugged the hair framing Vezalius’s face behind his ears. “Whatever happened it's not important anymore. It happened, we've been discovered, that can't be changed. We knew it would happen one day.”

“I just wasn't ready for it to be today.” Vezalius sobs, his face scrunches in a way that makes Vantacrow's heart shred with pain. He leans in, pressing kisses on Vezalius’s warm cheeks, drying and smooching the new tears away. Just as he tastes the salty tears of his lover, Vantacrow feels him soften in his arms, and pulls away once he stops sobbing. 

“I'd let you cry all your feelings out. But you have to go talk to them again soon. We have no idea what is going to happen, but we have to be sensible now, darling.” Vantacrow murmurs. 

Vezalius giggles in response, sobbing a few last time. “You say that now? I can't believe you threatened Salvia like that. Now I have to go do damage control.” He sighed what was heavy in his chest, attempting to dry his cheeks with his sleeve. But Vantacrow had kissed them all off. 

"You know I'm not above playing dirty, especially if it's for you." Vantacrow replies, completely serious. 

Vezalius gives a tiny scoff, looking up to cradle Vantacrow's face this time. “That's not going to be necessary, commander.” He mocks, “Despite everything, Salvia is a good one.”

“Ah yeah? I still have to decide that.” 

“Have a little more faith in me, I can talk us out of this. Negotiation is my specialty, remember?” Vezalius’s voice is laced with a sweet bite that Vantacrow can't resist. 

He leans in, seemingly aiming for a kiss but backtracks to nuzzle the tip of his nose with Vezalius’s. He takes in his scent one more time, bracing himself to let him go after their mutual nightmare became a numbing reality. 

Vantacrow's hand cradles one side of Vezalius’s face, yet again rubbing small circles on his cheekbone. 

“It was a pretty short visit today.” Vantacrow murmurs as he bites his lower lip, he knew he sounded childish, but he had no concealments when it came to complaining about not spending nearly enough time with his lover. 

“It was. But I'll come back, and you better come back to me too.” Vezalius smiles, pressing a kiss to Vantacrow's eyebrow and sending a swarm of birds down his tummy. 

Vantacrow holds back a whine as Vezalius pulls away to finally step back, trying his hardest to take in a last breath of his presence. He watches Vezalius fix his hair as he steps to one of the small tables to pick up the basket he brought with himself. 

“This is what sent us to our end, by the way.” Vezalius sighs, placing it somewhere Vantacrow could see, “But I hope you get to enjoy them.”

“Is this… Oh, darling…” Vantacrow whispers in awe as he leans over to open the fabric of the basket. The sight of freshly made pastries knock air out of his lungs and fills his heart with even more fluttering wings. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Vezalius shrugged, biting his inner cheek as he looked down at the pastries. 

Vantacrow let out the small whine he was holding in order to not immediately pounce on Vezalius. 

“You're so… amazing my love but, I'm going to have to put all of these in my pockets or something. Can't arrive with a whole basket of delicacies from nowhere. Oh god, I hope those bastards don't sniff them.” Vantacrow groans as he throws his head back, another issue. 

Vezalius giggles again. “Well, bon appétit.” He croons with a little curtsy. “Keep an eye out for Tsuchi tomorrow or the day after tomorrow,” Vezalius opens the door and steps out, closing it behind himself. 

Vantacrow exhales all the pressure in his chest, feeling as empty as he always does whenever that raven-haired prince leaves their little meeting spot. Leaving Vantacrow with the heart in his throat and a sweet ache in the ribcage. 

The lines on his hands do not remember the number of fights in his life, nor his nose the amount of perfumes with which Vezalius returned to him. There was also no way of knowing how many swords he had broken over the years, nor how many kisses they shared in the privacy of the dirt beneath their kingdoms. Countless, like the times when he deified Vezalius for as long as he could remember. 

The gentle presence of that man permeates him even when he arrives in the hostile environment of his castle. As the voices of the squires were like drunken magpies reverberating through the dark walls as he passed them to reach his chambers, he still felt Vezalius around. 

***

Vezalius is blue when the moon hits his skin right, and its light bathes him from his favorite balcony. His eyes go over everything he could reach, counting the sleeping cherry blossoms lined up as he mindlessly chews on his lower lip. 

He thinks about Lia, he had just seen her in her bed, took her hand and whispered his prayers against her palm. But he already missed being by her side. Senseless and cruel mouths once told him that there was nothing to miss about her, since she has been asleep for so long that no memory of what she was like is left. But they weren't Vezalius, they didn't know what Vezalius knew, and they didn't know his sister like he did. There were oh so many things to love about her. 

He felt something go out inside his soul the day Lia fell ill and didn't wake up again. At his current age, he still tries to find ways to convince himself that one day she will open her eyes and his deep slumber will come to a sweet end. Not even the Naseem roots could help her —or at least make her wake up—, but he is certain very deep inside that she will wake up, one of these days. And she'll be the Princess she deserves to be. He feels it in his chest. 

A breeze sneaks between his locks while he picks his cup of tea from the thick marble railing. His lips press on the rim of the porcelain right before hearing footsteps from behind. 

“Majesty,” Salvia clears their throat, stepping into the balcony and stopping beside the prince. “You saw your sister.” 

Vezalius turns his body towards them with a small nod. “I did. Her cheeks… are recovering more color, don't you think?”

“I did notice a difference from the last time I visited her.” Salvia mumbles, eyeing the distant mist across the gardens. “But it isn't for her checkup that I'm here to talk.”

“I know.” The small hopeful smile faltered from Vezalius’s face as he placed his cup back on the marble. 

Silence reigns for a while, feeling like a little too long. Vezalius could see Salvia’s crossed arms from the corner of his eye, he simply peers meters down the balcony again. 

“Just spit it out, Salvia–”

“Are you even aware of the dangers of your actions? I certainly hope you are, Prince Vezalius.” Salvia's voice surprises Vezalius with a wobbly result rather than their prior rage. 

They glance at their surroundings, primarily behind them before leaning towards Vezalius, “What if it wasn't me the one who followed you there? What if it was one of your personal guards?” 

Vezalius swallows. He does not really have the energy to think about what ifs. Apart from being fruitless, the thought of an even worse reality than Salvia's reprimanding sent an unpleasant shiver down his chest. 

“I am now. And I'm glad it was you, Salvia.” Vezalius finally looks at them, meeting eyes with Salvia's dismayed expression. “You're one of the only people here that I can trust, and I know it was foolish to not have told you before, but the right opportunity never came.” 

“Now, that is a good lie.” Salvia shook their head in disbelief. “You know I was always there for you, to listen to you, that's my job.”

“I suppose we're both lying. I think it could have been catastrophic to have dumped this on you since you're… always mourning someone.” Vezalius whispered softly. 

He looks at Salvia's ears lower briefly, blinking away as they frowned slightly. 

“That does not matter. I'm only a councilor, my feelings don't matter. I should be able to be of use even under my own circumstances.” Salvia wraps their arms around themselves, Vezalius doesn't know whether it's because of the cold breezes or for comfort. 

“I don't like when members of my court talk about themselves like that.” Vezalius started, “You're a person, and before being a councilor you're a living being with feelings to be felt. It's a concept you have to grasp to apply it wisely on others.”

Vezalius steps closer, placing a hand on Salvia's arm. “The fact that I did not tell you about this whole situation is a hundred percent on me, and not on you. You have the right to mourn your family in peace.”

Pressing their lips on a thin line, Salvia nods shortly, avoiding looking at Vezalius’s face with their teary eyes. 

“Goodness, this is ridiculous.” Salvia sighs, “I'm supposed to be scolding you out of your shoes right now, not receiving a lecture.” Their lips wobble as they delicately dab on the corner of their eyes with their knuckle. 

Vezalius giggles, stepping back and taking his cup with a hand again. “We should focus on what's going to happen next, for the better. But, Salvia…” Vezalius looks at them, pleading gently. “Can you keep this a secret?”

Salvia remained in silence, their expression unreadable under the mystical night. 

Vezalius continues, “I know it's not correct to ask for you to keep the truth from the King, but I have an idea. Vanta and I, have an idea. It… Could be the end to this nonsensical separation.”

Something in Salvia’s gaze shifts, like a lake of turbulent waters breaking in light. They blink repeatedly, leaning in forward again. 

“Prince Vezalius…” 

“Could be.” Vezalius remarks, “We need to choose our steps correctly, and with time.”

Vezalius rests his chin in his palms, eyeing the moon, counting craters and sighing. Salvia doesn't say anything for a while, they seem oddly quiet and still, fidgeting with their nails next to the prince. 

“I still have a few doubts, if you don't mind, majesty.” Salvia says, leaning over the cold railing with their hands clasped at their front. “How did you… know you had to reunite down in the trenches?”

“We used messenger birds the first couple of years, then we made a small schedule to meet every few days.” 

“That system seemed to work out for you both marvelously.” Salvia quips, “Um... How is he?”

Vezalius takes a sip of his tea, letting the faint warmth of it travel down his throat as he looks at the moon behind the misty strokes in the sky again, infatuated by it. 

He knows that Salvia now sees his little smile form, and he doesn't care how he looks at the moment. Vezalius is blue under the moonlight, and pink when his memory hits his heart just right. 

“You have no idea.”

*** 

During the morning, Vezalius takes one of his usual baths while reading his letters. His body submerged in the white water, his skin is almost impossible to differentiate from it as they matched tones almost comically. The smell of vanilla and eucalyptus infused into his whole body as he shuffled through the opened invitations. 

He wonders if Vantacrow would enjoy this scent for a brief while, if the sweetness of the vanilla and the herbal tinge of the twigs would delight his nose as much as the other fragrances he whiffed from his skin. His toes wriggle under the water. There was not much eventuating in the region lately, not much that interested his kingdom. 

Vezalius put the letters aside and got up from the bathtub to get dressed. 

White flared pants clung to his legs and hips while a tunic of a shy blue sheltered him above. Around his middle, a navy blue corset accentuated his already cinched waist. He passes a hand on it, feeling the velvety texture of it as well as he admires the floral details embroidered with gold. Sheer hand and skill. Vezalius can't imagine being able to put a fair price on such a handcrafted beauty. 

Before he gets too distracted with the appliqué detailing on the front panel and buttons along the side boning channels, Vezalius snaps out of his awe and takes the last piece of his attire. He drapes the short bolero on his shoulders, it's an open shrug with a high collar and buttons on the shoulders and the same color as the corset. 

He sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror, he thinks he looks ridiculous with it, but it was a gift from his parents. And he does not want to offend the will of the artisans that put all their souls into it. 

His busy mind starts to wonder if Vantacrow would like it. He had never gotten to see Vezalius in formal attire in a long time. At that, crimson visits his cheeks. 

His parents returned thirty minutes later, the three reunited around Lia’s bedding, and went to have lunch to converse about the King’s new resolutions. Vezalius did not talk much about what happened in their absence, simply letting them chat his ears away until the afternoon came. 

Vezalius enters his room, changing his clothes and washing his face. Then searches for Tsuchi. He caresses its plumage with the back of his fingers as he admires it. So many years of company and it is still the happiest and most loyal pet. 

He writes a short letter with ink on a paper, folding it neatly and shoving it into an envelope with his scent sprayed on. After sending Tsuchi off, he gazes at the moon for a few moments, knowing Vantacrow would be staring at the same one as well. 

***

They were thirteen and Vantacrow had become considerably good at archery and at every body-to-body combat at the training courses the Bringer and Bandage kingdoms had forged together. Vezalius had managed to convince his parents to enroll him into said classes instead of the extra superior levels of alchemy courses. It was the uniforms that pissed Vantacrow off. A dorky button down robe and a blazer with pants with a lame fit. But Vezalius made it look fancy, as he did with everything.

Vezalius had always opted for shorts and his wrists were always well-putted but with gold wristbands that were borderline against the dress code. If he heard the word ‘Discipline’ one more time he was going to roll on the floor in a tantrum. 

At lunch, Vezalius silently ate his stuffed bread, but he passed a note across the table to Vantacrow. In his neat handwriting, it read: Want to skip with me? 

Vantacrow raised an eyebrow at him, briefly wondering if Vezalius was trying to set him up. But the thought of Vezalius already trying to break the rules during training excited Vantacrow. He scribbled: Hells yes! and eagerly passed it back.

The secret smile Vezalius gave made his heart flutter. It had been doing that a lot in Vezalius’s presence recently.

Vantacrow wanted to ignore it. And he did. He never planned to act on it. For as brave and rash as he could be, he wasn’t going to dare mess up his relationship with his best friend. But Vantacrow knew what it meant. He knew he was just like those other girls and damsels who giggled and batted their eyelashes at Vezalius in hopes he’d notice them.

Unlike them, he knew Vezalius through and through. He was more than familiar with the coolest and the most annoying things about him. Vantacrow wasn’t going to give that up for a little crush.

They ended up sneaking around through a secret passage that Vezalius somehow knew about—he refused to elaborate, instead shushing Vantacrow when he started questioning him too loudly. Vezalius led them under one of the cherry blossoms, way back past the awnings. The fragrant smell made Vantacrow smile. Vezalius sighed and sat on one of the overgrown roots bulging from the ground. Even with all the intricate finery, the boy wore an expression that bordered on being downright sullen.

“What’s got you so stressed?” Vantacrow poked fun, grinning as he leaned against the tree.

“It’s going to sound dumb…”

“You’ve said dumber things, I’m sure.”

“…The kid who sits in front of me in alchemy… He smells so bad that I can’t do it today. He smells like a sweaty bison and then he’s always squirming and stretching. Just spreading the funk. My stomach is already turning at the thought,” Vezalius said with a grimace.

Vantacrow blinked at him and then burst out into laughter. Vezalius looked alarmed, even though there was absolutely no way anyone would hear them. Vantacrow covered his mouth, laughing until tears came to his eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he could barely get out. “It’s just your face. You–you look so anguished.”

“Because I am! Vanta, you don’t understand. I can’t even pay attention, I'm trying so hard not to gag,” Vezalius said.

Vantacrow laughed again. “I can’t believe you. Smarty-pants Vezalius, skipping because he can’t handle some stinky.”

“That’s not a casual stinky. Hey, I deal with you all the time.”

Vantacrow gaped at him. Vezalius broke out into a smile of his own, waiting for Vantacrow to pounce in offense. And Vantacrow did, lunging at him with his arms open, crushing him into a hug that Vezalius protested against with a disgruntled noise. Then Vezalius laughed, resting his head against his shoulder.

“So I stink?” Vantacrow said, leaning his weight into Vezalius. 

“Yeah,” Vezalius said, still laughing, holding Vantacrow by his waist. “Really bad.”

“I hope you’re getting suffocated by my stench.”

“I don’t know…might have to try a little harder,” he said. “The robe’s material is a little thick.”

Vantacrow's chest tightened with warmth and affection and a strong sense of I need this forever. He happily took the bait and hugged him tighter, grinning when Vezalius practically giggled. Vantacrow wanted to kiss him. He wanted so badly to kiss him that he pulled away from the hug before he did something stupid, holding his hands instead. 

But it was worse when he got a clear view of Vezalius’s face.

He was smiling, a big, bright smile that seemed to only be reserved for Vantacrow. His face was a little red. His robe was a little crooked. A strand of hair had escaped from its neatly brushed shape.

Vantacrow had thought he liked girls. And he did. But none of his crushes had ever made him feel like this. None of his previous bouts of infatuation ever felt like it could kill him from how much it meant to him.

Vantacrow loved Vezalius. Vantacrow was in love with Vezalius. 

“You know… I've been… Doing horribly in my classes, not only because of that kid.” Vezalius huffed, looking away in… embarrassment? 

“Wait… Really? Why?”

“Because I don't stay long enough to practice, to come here.” Vezalius reluctantly admitted, “I overheard my parents, they're going to put me away from coming to the training for a few weeks. I have to accommodate my joust sessions anyways.”

“What?! That's stupid! They can't fucking do that!” Vantacrow's expression soured, his hands tightened on Vezalius’s a little too hard. 

“They can, Vanta. There's nothing I can do but… Get better.” He sighed, but a little smile graced his lips again. “We've been preparing for this, though.”

“Huh?”

“Our birds! Vanta, come on.”

“Oh yes!” Vantacrow beamed. “Do you think Tsuchi still remembers the shortcut, though?”

“Tsuchi is a smart dove, and so is Kurococco.” Vezalius smiled. 

The next few days, Vantacrow waited at his window at night, sulking and pouting for having wasted one more day without Vezalius, when he could have bragged about his new moves, or taught his best friend his technique. His pout always faded away at the small, familiar chirp coming closer with flapping under the indigo night. 

Vezalius’s dove landed against the window frame, with a small knot in magenta rope around its neck that held a letter at the side. “Tsuchi… You made it, smart bird.” Would Vantacrow whisper, taking the note from the dove. He was so incredibly baffled and glad that they managed to train their birds young to take secret paths to visit each other's windows. A small little trick they learned from a boring romance book, yet effective in real life. 

Kurococco was smart enough to know which path to take to avoid being seen by Vezalius’s squires, and Tsuchi was cunning enough to camouflage among the trees and fly high, high up Vantacrow's window. Both would be greatly rewarded with treats later, of course. 

He would send Tsuchi back home and would lie down in his bed afterwards, reading the words that Vezalius wrote just for him telling him about his day. And early the next morning, he'd send his crow, hoping for all the existent gods that Kurococco would remember the path to Vezalius’s window. Both birds always did. 

***

Truth is we are both blemished. And we just can't escape each other. There's always something about you I don't know, like the dark side of the moon. Once revealed I'm sure I won't forget it. 

How many blows have you endured that should've been hugs?

And how many hugs have you given that could've been blows?

My dear friend, we can neither choose this love nor let it fall.

–V.B

***

Salvia paces in their chambers back and forth, anxiously biting their fingers. After taking a couple of breaths, they leave their room into the dark corridor barefoot, trying not to be heard even by the maidens. 

A note in hand and hope is all they have with themselves, strolling outside and looking for the shed where the animals slept. 

As they enter, they get greeted with the intimidating sound of a few animals waking up, the bloodhounds yawn, some of the cats meow just to go back to sleep immediately. It doesn't take long for Salvia to find the little corner where the messenger birds slept. 

Blindly they take one of the crows who couldn't make it to the Bringer realm before the separation. It still looks healthy despite the years. 

Foolishly they attach the note they wrote around the crow’s ankle, they walk to the front of the castle and send it into the air, watching it fly away with their hope. 

***

“Why are you looking so down all of a sudden?” Luca kicks Vantacrow's leg from where he sits. 

Vantacrow blinks twice, coming out of his zoned out state. 

“Was I ever up?” He replies, not giving a glance to Luca. 

“Well that's the problem.” The other retorts, “What's wrong? Is the wine too sweet? Are the women too pretty?” He quips with that goofy voice he makes, tipsy out of his ass. 

Vantacrow can't hold back his humorless scoff. Right. He does admit how he could be looking borderline crestfallen as he watches the bonfire in front of him sparking and flaming. He has never felt at ease in the kingdom’s splurge parties, not since he was a kid, try as he might. 

When he was a child, at least Vezalius was around these parties, and they could both sneak out from the sight and slurred speech of their drunken fathers, and go to the kitchen to choke on the blackberry pastries his mother made, and then they would go outside to play around the small pond in the garden. 

Now everything seemed like a senseless, noisy, almost animalistic bustle of sin. Each squire celebrated shamelessly around him like they've gotten barbarian achievements, and it started to itch Vantacrow past what he could endure for the day. 

Vantacrow let out a heavy exhale, finishing his wine with a swing and standing up from his seat. 

“I'm going to sleep.”

“No! Nononono comeonnnn. Night's still young.” Luca whines, too weak to grab Vantacrow by the uniform with enough force to pull him back down. 

“Well I am getting old, grandpa needs his sleep right now.” Vantacrow pats Luca's shoulder twice as he waddles past the clump of sleeping drunken men. 

“Goodnightvanta.” Luca slurs as his head hangs from the chair. 

Vantacrow waves him off without looking back. Luca watches him disappear into the stairs, sighing to himself. 

Silence settles in for a moment, and the gruff and equally drunken voice from another barbarian sneaks from the left side. “That guy is not in his right tracks.”

Luca swings his head towards him. “Whut?”

Datura takes a swing from their liquor and lifts their foot to rest the heel against the border of the bonfire, sighing deeply. 

“That guy, you know, the King's oh so perfect son.” He's slacking.” He mouths like a bite. “I used to admire him, you know? When he wasn't a mopping slotch.” 

Luca frowns, shifting in his chair slowly to sit with his torso straightened. He eyes the bonfire crackling, “What the hell are you talking about?” and raises a glare to Datura. 

“Oh, my bad.” They crackle, “I'm just being realistic,” They lean in, “What? Don't tell me you didn't notice all his escapes when he is supposed to be toughening the platoons. He simply steps off the training, or drops the hunting off saying he needs to handle some matters. Yet we never see the fruits of it. We could have taken the Bandage Kingdom at this rate. Although, you can't even expect him to be able to train us if he doesn't even train himself. Weak fustilarian–”

“Your loose mouth didn't get you in enough trouble already?” Luca snaps, sounding surprisingly sober despite his state. 

Datura’s pointy ears twitch, their annoyance clear as their mouth clasps shut.

Luca continues with a squint of his eyes. “You're too much talk and little action. Do you think… you're in a position to question your commander's actions when your performance is that abysmal? How many mammals have you hunted this month, Datura?” 

Their pale hand tightens around the neck of the bottle as they grit their teeth. Trying to play their visible seething off, Datura laughs. 

“You don't have to get defensive on his behalf, I'm only a concerned member worrying about the prince's irresponsibility upon our mighty army.” They lean back on the chair, finishing what's left in the bottle. 

Luca's eyebrows twitch. “Well as the concerned member that you are, you should be monitoring the front of the castle tonight. Remember? Jealousy is gonna get you killed. Get your ass up and go be of use instead of whining behind the prince's back.” 

Datura starts coughing, covering their mouth with a fist before struggling to peer at Luca. 

“What? Bu–But I'm intoxicated! How am I supposed to perform correctly–”

“Maybe you should start being more responsible, pawn.” Luca clears his throat and spits on the ground between Datura's feet. “Ugh. This wine is terrible anyways.” He snaps his tongue against his palate twice before leaning back, letting his head dangle back from the headrest. 

Datura stands up and almost stumbles over their own feet while doing so. They throw their bottle somewhere on the ground, hearing the clattering as it breaks and steps out of the dying feast. 

Their footsteps scraped against the granite, clumsy and weak as Datura continued to murmur drunken nonsensical insults. The crickets buzzed in their ears when they reached the front of the castle and got into position with a spear as support. 

They could barely keep themselves on their feet for an hour, most of it half asleep while standing, until a blood-curling shriek scares their heart out of its ribcage. 

The familiar scream of a crow arriving at the courier silo a few meters away. Their eyes stare at the blurry indigo sky as they spot one of the winged voids make an arrival. Maybe his drunken state takes him to waddle towards the bird standing in one of the stands, but before they know it they're already in front of it. He could see that he had a note on his neck, and he took it.

They opened the note and read it, something that was not their job but they still did it. The hairs on the back of their neck stood up, their jaw tightened, and the holding hand crumpled the paper in anger. 

They began to laugh almost psychotically. The guards around who were asleep did not hear him, or pretended not to hear him. Those standing ignored him. ‘The bastard is probably drunk again.’

Datura's laugh ceased once they managed to wheeze from lack of air. They pressed a hand against their own face, still giggling under their breath. 

“... My sibling would like to see me.” They mumbled in a high pitched voice laced with poison, just for themselves to hear. 

Their hands fell to the side of each hip as they looked up at the sky. The brandy stopped making itself felt in their system. More sober than ever, they disappeared into the castle, knowing with certainty whom to look for. 

***

The building feels colder the higher one goes, and by now, he already feels the need to put on his cloak. Vantacrow enters his room and locks the door, undresses, and tips over on his bed.

He thinks that he should take a bath after the day he had —which was not very tight but the heat was unbearable— and the sole thought of getting up to do it makes him whine. 

A flapping and tapping against his window makes him raise his head and force him to stand. He could recognize those little sounds even in his death. 

Little sounds that meant so much to him, because they were a product of Vezalius’s call, Vezalius wanted to see him, maybe Vezalius sent poems to him. 

When he reaches the window he opens it and a sigh of relief that he has been holding all day comes from his chest. 

“Tsuchi. Oh thank God.” 

Vantacrow gently takes the dove and tucks it a little deeper into the cornice. A small note hangs around his neck as expected, and he takes it to open it immediately. 

“Dear Vanta:

My father is back today, and we need to have a conversation about his ideals, 

Vantacrow can almost hear Vezalius narrating this note with faked eloquence. 

… it would be a pleasure if you could attend and be my acquaintance. Tomorrow after seven o'clock at night, you know where.

Always yours, 

V.B

Pd; Make sure to be well fed and hydrated. No particular reason. 

Vantacrow feels a shiver dizzying his head and senses as he reads the last line. He gasps as he looks around, bewildered and unable to stay undaunted against Vezalius’s nonchalant rogueness. 

“Shit.” He hisses, trying to get back to his senses. 

When he glances down, Tsuchi is a little too still, its head twitches around, clearly eyeing Vantacrow, and he feels as if the animal can tell why his face is red. 

“What? Hey, you go back to your home.” Vantacrow shakes his head, taking the dove with the same gentleness he welcomed it in and let it stand on his index finger. 

He stretched his arm out the window, and watched the Tsuchi take off gracefully. As he closes the window, he thinks it's one of those curious cases in which pets were similar to their owners, with the difference that he could testify that Vezalius had the beauty of a thousand swans, and the sweetness of a dove. 

He is going to think about Vezalius all night, it wasn't like he didn't do it every night, but he was going to think about Vezalius while smelling that letter with which he mercifully left his aroma of the day. 

He thinks about his lover in a thousand and one ways when he lies down, and presses the note against his chest. No doubt he could survive with only scented paper and ink lettered from his hand, but he didn't know what god to thank for being able to see him. 

For being loved and being able to love him, even if it is every few days. 

Yet he can feel his well formed forbearance crumbling to greediness. He always considered himself different from how they tried to raise him, but Vezalius ignited a primal craving he hadn't realized he harbored.

Vantacrow's only wish now is to be able to love Vezalius loudly, without having to hide any longer. 

And he plans to change their reality soon. 

***

“What’s your preferred first date?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

They were fifteen and Vantacrow had quit his archery training and was now learning martial arts for fun. His excuse was that it was becoming too much strain on his body and he didn’t care to win. The true reason he never planned to tell anyone was that it was taking up too much of his time; there was a point where he could hardly hang out with Vezalius.

They were in Vezalius’s bed. It was a massive king-sized bed with a canopy and dark blue bedding. Vantacrow didn’t know why he needed all that, but he never complained when it was time to stay at Vezalius’s house. He was lying horizontally across Vezalius’s bed while Vezalius rested against the pillow with a book on his chest.

Vantacrow played with his toes. Vezalius only kicked him away twice.

“Oh, come on, tell me,” Vantacrow pressured. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it at least once.”

“Some of us have more important thoughts,” Vezalius said, not glancing up from his novel.

“Yesterday you asked me if clouds move.”

Vezalius kicked him. “I zoned out for a moment, okay!”

Vantacrow snickered. “Tell me your ideal date.”

“Why? Are you going to make it happen for me?”

“I can pull some strings.”

Vantacrow didn’t miss the way Vezalius’s eyes slightly widened. Vezalius kicked at his hand again, grumbling, “Fool.”

“Your fool. Now tell me.”

Vezalius groaned and threw his head back against the pillow. Vantacrow tried not to let his mind start wandering in places it didn’t need to.

“I really haven’t thought of it, but if I had to pick something then maybe…” He trailed off, thinking. “Maybe a swim with pretty scenery and then a picnic wherever we end up. Somewhere with lots of trees. Maybe a river. Watch the sunset. Sounds nice.”

Vantacrow could easily picture himself doing that with Vezalius at the river that crossed near his castle. So vividly in fact it already felt like a memory. “Good luck getting any girl to do that with you. She’ll think you’re trying to murder her.”

Vezalius huffed, practically humorless. That reaction didn’t shock Vantacrow, but he wasn’t going to provoke Vezalius into admitting something he didn’t want to. Even if Vezalius wasn't interested in girls, there was no way he’d settle for Vantacrow.

“Right,” Vezalius said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take you on a swim.”

“You’ll turn it into a race.”

“For sure I will!”

Vezalius smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

All those training sessions they went on, running around Vantacrow's castle to practice aim and slashes, but they had never gotten around to going on a proper swim.

***

The sun slips behind the earth and hides sheepishly, just in time for the one reason Vantacrow had woken up for. The highlight of his day is when the moon takes the place of the sun and he can love his prince in the dark. 

The walk to the meeting point is more rushed than usual, Vantacrow's eager steps stir up the earth under his shoes, and almost misses the faint screech of the fireflies as they dance in the air. 

Even they seemed to be excited, almost cheering Vantacrow on his stroll. Yeah right, bugs can't do that. Or maybe they can hear how concerningly fast his heart is pumping. 

He reaches the door and swallows a couple of times. He raises his fist as if he is going to knock on the door, lowers it again, wipes himself on his lip. Shit. What was wrong with him today? Just get in!

And so he does, he didn't realize how but he knew that Vezalius was already inside —Vantacrow was used to wait for Vezalius at least thirty minutes, he didn't mind, it gave him time to gather himself— but now Vezalius was the first to arrive. And he's standing in front of one of the darkwood desks, he brought with him an arrangement of cherry blossoms, his hands look delicate and soft, his hair is pulled back in a little ponytail and he's wearing a white robes with some lace details that look gorgeous on him, and oh– Vezalius greeted him five seconds ago. 

“He– Hello.” Vantacrow manages to squeak out, closing the door behind himself with his own weight.

“‘Hello’? What am I, your counselor?” The other prince put down the small halo of flowers he prepared. He turns his body towards Vantacrow and crosses his arm, looking not nearly pissed enough. 

“Yeash– I just… Sorry. I'm a bit um, distracted.” Vantacrow smiles unconsciously, taking off his heavy and dark cape while eyeing anywhere else but Vezalius. 

Vezalius’s perfectly manicured eyebrows knit in confusion, suspiciously eyeing Vantacrow. 

“Is that so? Come here.”

“No, you come here.” Vantacrow takes a step closer. 

“No, you come here.” Vezalius cracks a little smile and a step forward. 

“No, you come here.” Vantacrow finally reaches him. His hands pull Vezalius by the elbows, eliciting those beautiful giggles out of him when he takes him in his arms and starts pressing kisses along Vezalius’s jaw. 

Being enveloped by Vezalius’s presence once again is enough to dope Vantacrow, the days and hours of waiting suddenly worth it, the aftermath of the daily bad times now unimportant. He can feel the souring wrath leave his soul as Vezalius hugs him back, delicately like he always does. Those warm hands press into his back, his nose nuzzles on his neck, and make Vantacrow sigh. 

Vezalius’s hands move to gently grip Vantacrow's jaw, trying to stop his barrage of kisses.

“Stop right there.” Vezalius holds him by the jaw with one hand, frowning up at him. “You and I have business pending before… anything else.”

Vantacrow holds back a stuck whine in his throat, because he knows well it's better to obey Vezalius’s orders than try to fight back. 

“Nobody followed you this time, right? I swear I will use my sword.” Vantacrow mumbles, muffled by Vezalius’s fingers squeezing his cheeks together. 

Vezalius sets him free, smirking. “No need for that.”

Vezalius pulls him by the hand and both sit down at the desk. He takes one of the cherry blossoms and plays with it between his fingers as he begins to speak. 

“My father is thinking about ending the tension between our kingdom and yours…” Vezalius takes a breath in, turning to look at Vantacrow. “With a war.”

Vantacrow's breath hitches in his throat, tension lowers from his forearms and itches his fingers, but he lets Vezalius speak. 

“He's becoming more power-hungry, we don't need it, but he wants more. He wants more territory, he wants your resources, the same nonsense, same shit from over a decade ago.” Vezalius’s free hand clenches, and Vantacrow feels like taking it in his once again. 

“I want this to end, Vanta.” 

“What…?”

“What.”

“Wha–What do you mean?” Vantacrow stammers between a nervous laugh. 

“I don't want us to hide anymore. I don't want to have to hide how much I love you anymore, it's killing me, Vanta. And I know it kills you too.”

Vantacrow feels his brain going haywire and his blood pressure doing all kinds of summersaults. Air comes out of his nose with a smile, a pant, a little laugh as he looks around. 

“I… I thought you wanted us to end for a second.” He admits. 

Vantacrow takes Vezalius’s hands before he could even try to whack him for thinking something so stupid. He takes them to his lips, kissing his knuckles in a gentle trail. Vantacrow wraps his hands around his wrists before placing a last kiss, right on the flower Vezalius held, mimicking the tenderness he had with his skin. 

“There is nothing I want more than to get back all of what we lost because of our fathers's stupid ego.” He mumbled against Vezalius’s limp fingers, looking up at his attentive eyes. 

“I'm tired too. I've had enough of living in fear, Zali 

It is killing us both, it kills me that I can't ever see you under the sun, that I can't see you under the moonlight.” His thumbs draw small circles on the back of Vezalius’s hands, feeling the cartilage underneath. 

“It kills me that I wasn't there to wipe your tears off whenever you cried, that I wasn't there to accompany you when Lia got sick. It was all so fucking unfair…” Vantacrow's voice begins to falter, and he can't stop his tears when they fall heavy. 

Vezalius’s lower lip quivers and immediately rises from his chair to sit on Vantacrow's legs. Both feet dangle from the same side, his arms enveloping everything they can take from Vantacrow. 

Vantacrow sobs into his shoulder, and he does it so silently, unable to wail or whine from having to cry himself to sleep in complete secrecy every night. He limits himself to shake between inhales, and maybe every one and then a small broken weep comes out. 

Vezalius lulls him so gently, every part of Vezalius was so gentle that Vantacrow wanted to scream and explode into a thousand pieces. Vezalius’s hand on the back of Vantacrow’s neck caresses the hair gently, he hears Vezalius sobbing softly too but at this moment, he just wants to be comforted by his one and only love. He rocks them in place for a while, soon appeasing them. 

“Shit.” Vantacrow pulls away slowly, still sobbing his tears away. “Oh I'm a fucking mess.” He laughs, his nose blocked and red at the tip. 

Vezalius uses an interspersing of his own sleeves and short kisses to dry Vantacrow's tears, and laughs when he strokes his hair. 

“I cried on your hair. I'm sorry.” He smiles, ruffling the top of his head. 

If it were up to him he would like Vezalius to cry over him for the rest of his life, preferably from happiness, but regardless, to be the recipient of his tears. He would adore collecting them like diamonds, Vezalius being his own saint. 

Vantacrow's hands circle around Vezalius’s middle a little tighter, dipping his head to nuzzle his cheek against his chest, right over his heart. 

Taking in the freshest inhale of air he's taken in his whole life, Vantacrow speaks.

“I live because I love you.” 

He slides his hands up and down into Vezalius’s back and sides, feeling the steady thump of his heart against his head. Vezalius is on his lap, but it feels too far, and yet he's closer than his own jugular vein. 

“I love you too, Vanta.” 

And that's everything that matters to Vantacrow. That's all he ever wants to hear. 

Their faces are so close that the only natural option is to kiss Vezalius. The pink in Vezalius’s irises get lost in Vantacrow's eyes, memorizing him. It's so easy, so incredibly hard to not place a chaste peck on his lips. And with how saccharine the moment is, he knows Vezalius will reciprocate. 

Their lips slot together right away, without haste or sudden movement. For that moment it is all that exists, the soft tingle on the lips, the beating hearts and the small pool forming in Vantacrow's stomach,and then the kiss ends as quickly as it started. 

The prince keeps on passing his hands around, sending them on a little travel across the planes of Vezalius’s figure, tracing a map on it until his palms grazed his hips. His hand wraps around Vezalius’s pocket, feeling something inside. Tries to make shape of it with his touch, shifting his face away from his chest. 

He finally manages to understand what he's touching. A small bottle. 

“What's this? Did you bring me something to drink or–”

His fingers stick the neck of the bottle out of the pocket, Vezalius is silent. A smile spreads his lips when Vantacrow looks up at him after realizing its content. 

***

There is no indication that time passes except for their breaths, it was always so easy for them to lose track of it. No sky nor clocks underground. 

They lie down on the improvised bed they arranged, made with several leather tapestries and silk sheets. Vezalius lowers himself on top of Vantacrow, bracing his weight on his forearms as he leans close. Vantacrow gently cups his face, thumb stroking his bottom lip in an absent, soothing gesture. He gives a soft laugh at Vezalius’s exhausted-bleary expression.  

“You look so pretty.” Vantacrow mouths. 

Vantacrow feels Vezalius’s soft breath against his lips, and the tips of his raven hair falling on his face. Heat and tingling that made him want to live forever. 

“You're all sweaty.” Vezalius mumbles, his bare tummy pressing against Vantacrow's as he rests his whole weight on him. 

That provokes a hearty laugh out of Vantacrow. His hands hold his nape and pull him down slowly. Their kiss is all enthusiasm, warm and a little sloppy from grinning too much mid-motion. Vantacrow sneaks his arms around Vezalius’s waist and he shifts them around, without ever stopping kissing him. Over a decade and kissing Vezalius still makes his stomach flip and his spine light up. 

Their lips part with a soft snap and Vantacrow stands up. Before Vezalius can complain, Vantacrow is already back on top of him as he placed something next to them. 

Vezalius devotes himself to admire the view that remained for him; Vantacrow on top of him, tenderly placing cherry blossoms between his strands of hair splayed on the bed. 

Now that the mind was free from steam and pleasant but numbing buzzing, he explains the remains of his plans to him. 

“You didn't understand anything I said, did you?” Vezalius cuts himself from his speech all smug and knowing. 

“Of course I did, darling.” Vantacrow hums, nonchalantly kissing each flower with devoted softness before placing them in his hair. “Something about trade offers, proper name, proper place.”

Vezalius's cheeks begin to hurt from how much he's smiling, and he can't stop. His heart was so full of Vantacrow that it overflowed through giggles. 

“We should have a proper political conversation tomorrow. There's no use now.” Vezalius closes his eyes, letting himself relax. 

Vantacrow hums in agreement, leaning down to start a peck trail on Vezalius’s temple. Vezalius stops him, more so because he wants to initiate one of his own.

Just then Vezalius cups Vantacrow's face. 

“One day– Soon, I'll take you on a date under my cherry blossoms.” 

“Would you?” Vantacrow whispers.

“Yes. Once all this nonsense is over. We will have a nice picnic under them, and we'll bring Tsuchi and Kurococco with us.”

“Well, I'll ask you to marry me under the cherry blossoms.” 

Vezalius’s eyes snap open, pouting at Vantacrow. “You– Vanta you ruined the potential surprise…”

“No I didn't. We're gonna have dates under them every day, you wouldn't know which day I'm planning to do it.” Vantacrow laughs. 

He reaches for a loose piece of string used for the small bouquets Vezalius arranged, twirling it before grabbing Vezalius’s hand. 

Vantacrow feels it with his fingers, Vezalius’s palm is warm and sweaty, joints limp by all the times they tightened around Vantacrow's limbs. 

Vezalius stares at his doings with his hand, letting him as his gaze flickers towards Vantacrow's flushed face. One, two loops around his ring finger. The thread feels rough against his skin, but Vantacrow's fingerpads are soft on his knuckle. 

“This thread is not even from my belongings, but–” Vantacrow exhales with a smile, feeling silly. “My words are mine, and I give them to you along with my heart.”

Vezalius peers down at his finger, at the promise of eternal love wrapped around it, and a scorching wave of affection pools inside him. 

And even after all these years, past an entire decade into their lives, Vantacrow is still so easy to love.

Vezalius has never been more grateful to be alive.

***

‘Dear Datura;

I'm aware it's been years since we last spoke, and I'm sorry. Dad and mom passed away a while ago, our sister has suffered the same end. 

Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but there's a chance we can meet again. A realliance is coming. I would like to see you. Please, let's meet in the trenches the day after tomorrow early morning. We need to make peace. 

With love: 

Salvia.’

***

Light blue and yellow fell on the cold morning. The pastures are still empty and the staff is beginning to open their eyes for another working day. Salvia however is already on their way in a fasted pace to the entrance of the trenches. 

They had not stumbled on Vezalius since last night, but in the morning they saw his silhouette asleep in bed. At least that seemed to be assured. So almost trotting they hurried to the meeting point before his presence in the castle was needed. 

Panting and trembling from the legs, their face twitched as anxiety could be seen. Swallowing something down their throat, they opened the door when they arrived without knocking or waiting. 

They froze in place upon entering, holding the door open all the way when their face lost what little color it had left. 

Prince Vezalius and Prince Vantacrow are inside. 

Standing at the desk, Vezalius dresses in a tailored fit reserved only for occasions of matter. Vantacrow turns his head from the map they scrutinize, glaring at Salvia with confusion. 

“Prince Vezalius…” Salvia gasps shakily, almost stumbling back in their feet. 

“... Salvia?”

“You shouldn't be here.” Vantacrow interrupts sternly, still hunching over the table. 

“No…” Salvia begins to breathe faster, their hand tightens against the doorknob. “You shouldn't be here. You two– Out…” They mumble wobbly. 

Now it's Vezalius’s turn to frown. 

“What?”

“Out!” Salvia yells, their face now escalated to a red and their eyes pooled with tears of panic. “Out! Price Vezalius you need to get out of here now!”

A stunning blow makes the hearts of the three stop for a second. The door bursts open with a collective kick. 

Five squires enter like a swarm and aim at them with five identical crossbows. 

The one who guides them flinches, their sharp eyes like shards atrophy in bewilderment. And a hoarse laugh leaves their throat. 

“Oh huh huh I knew something was wrong with you, traitorous bastard!” They spit before lowering their hands just slightly to let himself be seen. 

Vantacrow had already taken steps back, protecting Vezalius with one arm. 

“What the fuck is this?... What is this?”

He recognizes the uniforms of his own kingdom and his gaze shakes in fright as if he is not believing what is happening in front of him. 

“Salvia?” Vezalius turns his head behind himself, eying Salvia horrified as his hands shake. 

Salvia swallows repeatedly, not even knowing what to do with themselves as they grab the prince's wrists. “Vez–Vezalius… Stay back!”

Vantacrow manages to take a hold of his sword, thanking internally that it is always attached to his hip. 

“N–None of you move!” The squires rise their crossbows higher, each one pointing at a different part of the two princes and Salvia. 

“Datura stop! What are you doing?!” Salvia cries out, leaping forward in a fit of desperation. 

“I knew I couldn't trust you. This was a trap all the goddamn time.” Datura snarls, his arms tremble with pure and raw anger cut with underlying pain. 

Salvia’s face twitches, undaunted by being now the main target. “No! That's not–”

“You– You snitched on us?” Vezalius’s voice shakes behind Salvia, sounding so incredibly hurt that Salvia can't bring themselves to glance back. 

“N–No! I swear I– That's not what I wanted to do!”

In a moment of rage, Datura lounges forward too, lifting his leg and giving Salvia a severe kick right to the stomach. 

They stumble back against Vezalius with a choked groan and they both fall to the ground. 

Datura gave himself away in that move unwittingly or not. Vantacrow draws his sword out, swiftly slashing a red line across Datura's torso. 

They collapse instantly against the squires behind making them trip too. 

Vantacrow prepares himself for another movement when he catches a familiar golden head peeking out from behind them approaching quickly. 

Luca jumps on them from behind, lounging a sword right over them. 

Two of them manage to escape and scatter into the room. Luca’s sword opened the leg of one and slit Datura's throat. 

“Zali get out of here! Now!” Vantacrow hollers as he tilts his head behind. 

***

Vezalius sits up. An arrow flies by, just a heartbeat slower than it should. Panic covers his eyes with a veil, but even so, he sees a man aim another at his face.

He doesn't know how, but he's quick enough to avoid it: another arrow passed by him, brushing his hair like a lover's breath.

He had never been so fast. 

Then Vezalius stumbles again, pushed by the force of the blow, the surprise of a heart-rending pain and the lacerating numbness of his chest. 

He tries to touch it. The blood on his hand is hot on his icy skin. 

Vezalius thinks he screamed. 

The enemy's faces blur and he collapses. Blood runs down his fingers and also on the ground.

The crowd disperses and he sees a man running towards him. 

He identifies him. It's easy with those hips protruding like the ledge of a temple and the frown of his stern face. He does not once look at the men around him. He runs like there's no one else around. 

He comes to succour him. 

‘It's Vanta.’ 

Vezalius pants between breathy gasps that sounded like wounds as they opened. The

memories echo within him as the unbridled pulse hammer his temples.

The tip of the arrow plunges him into a painful fire so great that he stops breathing while an agonizing burn consumes his entire chest.

His head falls back and he hits the ground. 

His last image is of Vantacrow leaning over him, his mouth moving, saying something but Vezalius no longer understood him.

Perhaps he felt those hands grasping him, but his nerves were dimming to a numb nothing. 

‘Vantacrow’, is his last thought.

***

Under dim and warm lights, In a quiet and serene room, a delicate hand twitches. Long black eyelashes move while heavy eyelids flutter open. 

Lips sealed for a million years finally part, and take air in to fill her lungs, returning it outside gently. 

Her irises roll slowly, trying to take in the surroundings as if it were the first time. The queen prepares a bowl of water in one corner, silently soaking a rag inside. 

“Mom…?” 

It didn't feel like she had spoken, it was like someone else's voice yet it came out of her own throat. The queen froze in place, snapped around and her face lost all color, regaining it with a scream. 

The woman ran towards the bedding, taking her hands, without measuring her strength or her loudness. She kissed her on the cheeks desperately. 

“Lia! Lia my sweetheart! Oh my goodness.” The queen started crying, a smile stretching her lips, and Lia only stared at the faint wrinkles on her mother's face. 

Lia tries to sit up with her mother's help, then she watches her go at the door, yelling through the hallway and calling her father. It felt like waking up in someone else's body. And yet, intrinsically hers. 

In a few moments there's already a group of people in the room surrounding her, she does not recognize some, others she recognizes have already changed by time. 

As their mom and dad surround her with a hug, they keep on kissing her cheeks and nuzzling her with a familiar tenderness. 

And then, she dares to speak again. 

“My brother? Where is Zali?”

***

Vantacrow plops down on the body and runs out of breath when he understands everything. He utters a heart-rending scream, and another, and another. 

He tugs his own hair and pulls it out by the handful.

Golden strands fall on the bloody corpse.

"Zali," he says. "Zali, Zali." He repeats it over and over again until the word is just a sound. 

Luca kneels down and urges him to get up. Vantacrow is overcome with fierce anger at hearing that and is about to kill him, but for that he should leave Vezalius and he can't. 

He holds him so tightly that Vezalius can almost feel his heartbeat, like the flapping of a butterfly's wings. It is an echo, the last shred of his spirit still attached to his body. An ordeal.

Vantacrow sobs. He cradles Vezalius, he does nothing or pronounces any word other than his name. Vezalius looks at his face as if he saw him through the water, like a fish observing the sun.

He sheds a waterfall of tears, but Vezalius can't wipe them away.

This is his element now: the half-life of an unburied spirit.

***

“I'm not strong enough to go on living with this reality.”

The last thing on Vantacrow's mind is numb memories of taking a dagger and aiming it to his throat, Luca kicking his hand and preventing him from pressing it against his jugular. 

There are bodies on the ground in an endless bloodbath. Those who used to stand with crossbows are now a blotch of immobile red. 

Luca blabbers something about them having to desert before more of the enemy's squires come, he takes him by the clothes and throws him on his horse. Vezalius' blood is still on his body and on his skin, his face is laced with it. He feels empty not having him in his arms, but he sees Luca drape his body on the horse as well. And they part. 

“You're telling me I have to live on anyway? 

You're horrible.”

Everything fades away, his ears don't hear, his skin doesn't feel and his nose doesn't get the metallic scent any longer. His eyes are the last thing to stop working, catching the light through Vezalius's body. 

And then there's nothing. 

There was something there, but now here, nothing. 

***

Lifting his eyelids feels like letting acid into his eyeballs. Before his body can wake up, Vantacrow flinches, triggering everywhere that hurts in his body. 

It takes him a few seconds to assimilate his surroundings between groans and his ragged panting. The back of his head hurts like hell, like the muscle had been torn apart and put back together. 

He looks around the blurred white room, unable to move his arms, lift himself without getting stinging pain or doing anything else than mumbling. 

“Za–Zali… Zali! No…” He whines, feeling the same throbbing in his throat, tears pickling at his eyes. 

“Shh. Vanta… You're okay.”

Vanta doesn't instantly snap his head towards his left side just because the pain doesn't allow him, but his eyes shake in the direction of Vezalius’s voice. Vantacrow sees him lying there in the hospital bed, with a tired smile, an intravenous and just as beat. 

He's here. 

He feels his throat thicken and his stomach effervesce with a newfound feeling. His lower lip quivers as he tries to form a new sentence. 

“What? Had a nightmare?” Vezalius gives him an all-knowing smile, “Let me call the nurse now that you're awake.” He clears his throat, slowly reaching for the button at the edge of his bed. 

“Y–You're alive…” Vantacrow musters wobbly, “Zali you're alive. You're here…”

“Yes I am, and you're here too.” He giggles weakly. “You've slept for too long.”

“How long have you been awake for?” Vantacrow finally lowers his head back on the pillow, feeling his own breathing start to ease down, limbs still languid. 

Vezalius hums, swallowing and closing his eyes. “Probably twenty minutes before you woke up. The nurse said you were in your zen state.” 

The door opens and Vantacrow just follows Vezalius’s eyes on the nurse. He can't stop looking at him for anything right now, the images of him falling on the ground still haunt him, even when his beloved is in front of him. 

“Finally awake, hm? Time to check you up.” The nurse croons, Vantacrow hears her tinkling with something next to him. He doesn't care what. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Vezalius smiles, blinking slowly. 

Vantacrow mirrors. “Why? Can't I look at the love of my life?”

He could tell the flicker of confusion that is making its home in that honeyed pair of Vezalius’s eyes. Vezalius scoffs. 

Why did that take him so aback? 

“What?” Vezalius is still giggling, clutching at his stomach. 

“What.” 

Once Vezalius catches the humorless state from Vantacrow's reply, he stops giggling. And just stares at him, brows knitting together in bewilderment. 

“Why are you calling me that?”

“What– What are you talking about? What do you mean why?” 

Vantacrow's heart rate monitor starts beeping slightly faster, and the nurse says something, but Vantacrow can't make it up. 

“I thought they didn't sedate you.” Vezalius says. And the statement makes something flare inside Vantacrow. 

“No– I'm not?! I'm lucid. Are you?” He desperately replies. “You– You don't remember?”

“Remember what?” 

The most enigmatic pair of purple collided with the sweetest pair of honey, mimicking each other's frown. 

Vantacrow's previous evaporated panic settles back down on him in an instant. 

From having the only thing he wanted for a moment, went to have nothing. He never did. 

The pink in Vezalius’s irises didn't recognize him anymore.