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Illuga doesn’t know what to do when that moment rolls around, where he realizes that his feelings towards the fae constantly lingering on his doorstep has developed from a slight fear to an investment in Flins’s… wellbeing? His actions? In some way, or some form, he’s lost his unease and has begun expecting Flins. Flins is watching, at all times, observing Illuga’s interactions with the rest of the Nightmare Orioles with a curiosity or amusement.
At first, Illuga had been not quite scared, but instead… nervous. He had shown up in Piramida City for a meeting, nodded along and shared their reports considering Kipumaki Cliff and whether or not the heart of the Wild Hunt was aggravated, and that was supposed to be it. It was an in-and-out situation, where Illuga would stop by his house afterward, sift through mail, and be out again, back to the front lines.
But pops had stopped him. The Starshyna Nikita had grabbed him before he could run off, asking to speak with him privately. He had been led into Nikita’s office, and felt his blood run cold when he saw none other than the fae he had encountered three months prior, and had unwittingly had a lax, and daresay, pleasant conversation with.
What a fool he was!
Imagine if he had taken up Flins’ offer to stay the night in his abode? If he had chosen to introduce himself immediately while there was a blizzard raging around him? He would have been lost to snow so easily!
“This is a newer recruit,” Nikita had told him. “He’s promising, and can clear out a room’s worth of abyssal creatures himself. I entrust him to you under good faith that he’ll help resolve the crisis, no?”
The fae was watching, then, as well. Observing every little action, the stiffness in Illuga’s limbs, the way it most probably looked like he was about to turn tale and run. But he did not, thank you very much.
"Captain," Flins had taken Illuga’s hands, lifting the captain’s knuckles up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against them, and Illuga could do nothing else but shiver at that everlasting hunger still present in the fae’s gaze. "I'm honored to be under your service."
Illuga had felt bile welling up in his throat then, willing this to just be a bad dream. But Nikita’s warm fingers were real, holding Illuga there, stopping him from bolting out the door, and Illuga had no choice but to swallow the growing panic in his throat.
"I am honored to have you," Illuga's throat was scratchy as he said it, a crack at the end of the sentence exposing how he felt, and Flins' grin had widened in delight.
And honored he is. He’s about to make Flins work his faery ass off. That is to say, the encounter still makes him shiver, thinking back to that cold day. Where the fae had held his face and smiled, saying that he will devour Illuga whole as soon as Illuga knows ‘worth.’
But how? Illuga desperately wants to ask the fae. How would you prove worth to me, when I've spent my whole life trying to convince others I'm worthy enough?
Instead, Illuga turned, and faced Flins with a defiance that he had no business having in the stupid situation he has gotten himself in. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” he hissed, “but this is no game.”
“Of course not, young master.” Flins had agreed, dutifully, easily.
“I mean it! We’re not in the Snezhnaya wilds anymore, we’re in Nod Krai. In a war, Sir Flins. I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but we have no time for any of your dilly dallying.”
“Do I look,” the fae looks serious, all of a sudden, and it startles Illuga somewhat. “Like I’m not taking this seriously?”
Flins takes a step closer, trapping Illuga in, and the young captain curses himself for letting himself get backed into a corner again. The fae’s eyes glow ominously, and Illuga can feel that unnerved feeling settle in his stomach again. “I meant it when I said I would help you find your worth, all to make you a more appetizing meal. If it is the front lines where you find your worth, then I shall participate. If it’s the people you are comrades with, I shall become one of them, and you will find worth in me, too.”
And that leads Illuga to now.
It's been three months since the fae has joined the Nightmare Orioles up at Cliffwatch Camp, a ‘competent newbie’ who old man Nikita had sent Illuga's way to hopefully win the everlasting fight against the Wild Hunt.
It's been six months since Illuga had first met the fae and stupidly handed over his own name on a silver platter. And yet nothing has physically changed about Illuga. No memories have been altered, no body horror has occurred, everything still feels fine.
Consequently, this means that it’s been three months since Illuga has had a moment of peace for himself. The fae is insistent on ‘finding’ what Illuga cherishes, which is a stupid notion, considering the fact that Illuga knows plenty about himself and what he likes. He knows that he wants to protect others from tragedy, and that he can't stand the thought of losing another comrade. He knows that he prefers warm food over cold, any day. He enjoys watching the sun rise to ensure the dawn bests the darkness at bay. He knows that he enjoys consuming kuuhvakhi infused creatures (though he's been cutting himself off more and more and the sight of Flins’ stare), and that he owes everything to the Lightkeepers.
But that's not what Flins wants to hear, apparently, despite nearly strangling every detail of the captain’s life either out of Illuga himself or through charming nearly everybody at Cliffwatch Camp. What, is it hobbies that Flins wants to know about?
And then Illuga pauses, because, does he have hobbies? When was the last time he had done something for pure enjoyment? Illuga ponders it briefly while cooking, his hands slowing for a second, before resuming at their usual pace to continue preparing tonight's vegetable soup.
He plays tabletop games with his colleagues, Illuga settles on. Because they asked, but it counts. He's cooking now, isn't he? He can mend clothes and sew, he can fight rather well…
“Young master Illuga,” comes a simperingly sweet voice. “Do you have a preference for food?”
Even now, while nothing is happening, the fae is watching. Flins has been sitting on a nearby bench while watching Illuga cook, preparing a stew for the Orioles, as if he’s never watched anything be prepared like this in his whole life.
The knife in Illuga’s hands still, and he glances up.
“No.” He answers simply. “At the end of the day, all that matters is that I get to share another meal with my squadron. That is enough for me.”
Despite Illuga's hesitance to cross the distance with Flins, it's come to the point where the responsibility as the squad leader of the Nightmare Orioles has taken over. Even as a ‘newbie’, in Nikita's own words, Illuga has been treating Kyryll with a reluctant amount of warmth and just the correct amount of caution, like one would do to a volatile piece of equipment.
“How boring,” Flins decides. Rude.
“It feels as if you have no personal preference for anything yourself, master Illuga,” The fae sighs, sounding truly stumped. “You truly have no cravings, whatsoever? No wants for anything?”
“You certainly act as if I have no wants for anything.” Illuga picks up a potato, and begins peeling it carefully. “This is simply untrue.”
“Preferences are different from what your heart desires most.”
Not fucking ominous at all, thanks.
How would you prove worth to me, when I've spent my whole life trying to convince others I'm worthy enough? Illuga wonders to himself once more idly. Morbid curiosity and fascination has long overtaken all sense of fear around Flins, and while he’s still cautious, it’s honestly rather… exciting? Or at least there’s some form of anticipation to try and predict what the fae will do next.
Perhaps being a squad leader was a terrible idea for him after all, and Nikita was right. Illuga sighs, looking around for stone bowls to start ladeling the broth in, it’s almost done, anyways.
“If it isn’t Captain Illuga, and Sir Flins!” Illuga turns, and sees other members of the Orioles’ approach– Bjorn, Valdis, and Vlaicu. The three young men have been with the Orioles for a while, and Illuga smiles upon seeing them. Bjorn grins, playfully shoving Flins’ shoulder. “Are you hogging the feast to yourself, Sir Flins? How uncomrade-like!”
Flins smiles, and politely dusts off the spot Bjorn just touched. “Heavens, I would never dream of it.”
Illuga isn’t even sure if Flins eats anyways. Regardless, it’s Illuga’s job to make sure nobody in his squad starves to death, so Illuga waves his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Bjorn, do you mind setting out the utensils? Valdis, the drinks… and Vlaicu, round everybody up for me, please.”
A resounding chorus of, ‘you got it, cap’, goes out, and the team hurries to fulfill their requests, most likely due to the rumbling in their stomachs. Food is often a great motivator, Illuga has found. His hand shakes slightly when he’s reminded that in Flins’ case, Illuga is the food as the motivator.
Even though he doesn’t need too, even though he doesn’t want too, even if Illuga is perfectly safe right where he is, surrounded by people piling in and taking their shares from the soup pot, he can’t help but wonder. How would it even happen?
Flins’ jaw would unhinge, maybe, and Illuga would stare into the maw of the beast unblinkingly. The fae would tug the fabric of Illuga’s jacket aside to bite down into bare skin. His jaw clamping down tighter and tighter, making Illuga hiss in pain as the flesh severs from the rest of the body and is swallowed into Flins’ mouth. He’d be devoured, piece by piece, until Illuga is able to rest and drift away into the sweet oblivion that is death, unworried by the Abyss. He’d be able to join his memories from his formative years, from when he was a child, from before Nikita was his dad, and join his biological parents.
Or would the fae’s flames that Illuga has so seldomly seen ignite, burning him to a crisp in one quick flashfire that would leave a searing pain dancing all over his skin as he departs into the afterlife? Illuga doesn’t know the answer.
There’s a sudden shove at Illuga’s shoulder, and he blinks, remembering where he is, and oh right. It’s dinnertime, and he should be eating. He laughs absentmindedly to a joke he didn’t quite hear, lifting the spoon to his mouth and eating the meal he oh-so delicately prepared. It’s his specialty, it’s supposed to be his specialty, and yet it tastes like sawdust in his mouth.
“Ah…” Illuga mumbles, before raising his voice. “I’m sorry, everyone, I think I ruined the soup somehow.”
Vlaicu looks over, humming. “Tastes as good as ever. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Does it? It doesn’t taste like anything much, and Illuga thinks with a grumble that he would have been better off serving cold vegetables in water to his squad instead of this garbage. Illuga surveys the faces that are sitting with them that night, taking a headcount to see who’s there and see who’s missing, and pauses when his gaze lands on the fae. His hands are empty, and instead Flins is gazing off towards Kipumaki Cliff’s core, the abyssal energy that’s overwhelming to be around, that burns to look at too hard.
“Sir Flins,” the captain calls, and Flins looks up from his spot where he’s sitting all daintily on the bench, despite his stature. Illuga stands, pouring another bowl of soup before walking over and placing the broth into the fae’s hands. The ratnik’s trying to smile, although it’s shaky at best, grasping Flins’ fingers in his own and wrapping them carefully around the warm stone, ensuring the fae is holding it firmly before letting go carefully. “Listen, even if you don’t need to eat… you need to maintain appearances.”
Flins blinks. “You’re quite beautiful, Master Illuga.”
This bitch. “Oh, haha.”
Illuga rolls his eyes, before turning his attention to a young woman who’s in a heated discussion with one of the medics, rushing to mediate. Out of the corner of his eye, Illuga can see Flins observe the soup in his hands like it’s a rare specimen to take apart and study, before the fae makes an effort to take a sip, trying not to grimace as it enters his mouth. After a brief pause, Flins dumps it into his lantern, and Illuga tries not to wince. It was that bad, huh?
The first to notice the fae’s empty bowl and the speed at which it lost its contents is Bjorn, and he laughs jovially. “Captain Illuga’s cooking is simply the best, isn’t it? It reminds me of my mother’s cooking, haha.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Illuga replies, waving the praise off. “It’s just experience and recipe tweaking.”
Bjorn guffaws, before smiling widely. “To our captain Illuga, for keeping us well fed!”
There’s a cheer to that, and Illuga can feel his face burn red as the ratniki around him grab their drinks to wave them in the air.
“To our captain Illuga, for guiding us through the dark!”
And then Flins stands, raising his cup. He smiles, staring Illuga in the eyes. “To our captain Illuga, for devoting his heart and soul to the Orioles.”
As their fellow lightkeepers cheer in agreement, Illuga feels like he’s about to vomit from the sudden attention.
What is he doing? Illuga can’t help but wonder as another smile finds its way onto his face as he offers a polite thank you. Flins has obviously realized something from how quiet he’s been, and when has Illuga begun relying on Flins to show up? When did he start wondering what it would be like to die at the fae’s hands? He’s a captain, with people to care for, and he can’t just die on them.
But Flins is one of those people now, and Illuga feels so, so sick.
There’s no getting rid of this problem, this undeniable care that has wormed it’s way into his chest for Flins, and Illuga does what he does best. He excuses himself from the table and performs a strategic retreat.
Behind his mug, Flins smiles at him right before he goes, and Illuga feels even worse than before.