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It’s so silly now that Flins’ biggest fear with having affection for a mortal is that he’d have to witness Varka grow old, time eating him up without mercy. It haunts him in his sleepless nights, as he stares at the other’s face for a little too long in between their conversations – mapping out each and every detail he could catch.
How stupid he is to think that old age would be the thing that separates them, when Varka’s recklessness is the thing that he failed to consider. Recklessness and freedom comes hand in hand, it is because he is as free as the wind that he is reckless with his life and Flins laughs bitterly to himself.
The news comes to him through the Traveler, who looks as ready as they are to drown in guilt. Threat fled from overthrowing Mondstadt and Flins thought all is well when the Andrius matter was declared as solved, but it seems like he failed to consider one possibility.
As the Knight of Boreas, of course Varka was the front in line to solve the problem. The very core of this was tied to him and somehow it slipped his mind momentarily that things can go wrong. Other than the meeting at Favonius’ camp before they separated, there hadn’t been an instance where Flins had gone and talked to him.
What were his last words to him?
“Calm down and explain slowly, Traveler.” He urges, panic simmering under his skin.
And explained they did after a few minutes to collect themselves. A mere mortal carrying the soul of a god – it gets more ridiculous the more Flins let the words settle in. Ridiculous.
He inquired nothing further as the Traveller reached the end of his retelling, the rest of the group in Nod Krai around them fell into oppressed silence too. Then he walks off without another word, dismissing himself from the crowd and feeling the weight of several pairs of eyes trailing after him but no one tries to follow him.
It’s for the better, Flins wishes to be alone at the moment anyway.
“What is it you wish for in your life?” He asked as he twirls around the blond hair in his fingers, brushing it away from the other’s forehead.
Sky blue eyes looked up at him from where he’s laying flat on the bed. Flins was on his side, head propped by one of his arms. It’s warm, as it always is after their act of intimacy but as a being that is basically fire in a lantern, he barely minded.
“Wish?” Varka hums thoughtfully. “A lot, I guess. I wanted to watch the youth back in Mondstadt grow up, guide them in their swordsmanship or whatever else I can help with. I wish to taste our Dandelion Wine in Cat’s Tail even though we brought some here from home; it tastes different, you should really test it out for yourself!”
Flins made a sound of acknowledgement. He continues to mindlessly comb blond hair as he listens, enjoying the domesticity. “Anything else?”
“If I list it all out here, it will be all about Mondstadt. It might be tiresome to hear,” The knight huffs sheepishly before he turns to lie on his side too, facing Flins as their chest touches. “Other than that, I guess it would be … to get closer to you.”
“Are we not as close as two men can be?”
Nuzzling closer and making home in Flins’ neck, Varka lets out a gentle laugh. “That’s correct, but I truly wish to be in love with you deeper. Closer, fonder, anything else you’re willing to give to me.”
He’s sure Varka could feel the way his heart thumped loudly in his chest at the admission. Flins may carry and express himself easily towards anyone with a lending ear but as genuine as he recites them, those could be fleeting teasing that was only thrown out to make the other party flustered. Varka’s words were also alike in terms of being passed of mindless and carefree but it is moments like these, private and quiet where only truth shows itself.
“Attachement for a fae is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. A mortal and an immortal, we would only hurt each other.” Flins whispers into the night.
Varka is quiet as he pulls his head back from the crook of Flins’ neck, eyes assessing his moonlight ones. It’s rare to see the other this serious, this focused on something that doesn't work and it unnerves him as much as it delights him to have the attention all to himself.
“It’s alright. When the time comes, it’ll come.” Varka thumbs the high of his cheek gently. “We have years until then, why worry about it now when we have so much time to spend together. I’m not planning on dying this early on in my life,”
“Early? Aren’t you old by human standards, Mr. Varka?” Flins lets out an amused huff, teasing.
“Says who? Mid-thirties and I’ve never felt younger!”
They laugh in unison as they tangle their legs together, the blanket half way off the bed but it’s okay. They have enough body heat to keep each other warm if the night gets colder but by the way the Knight had slipped his hand further down the fae’s back, he doesn’t think they need to worry about it any time soon.
Apparently he had not anticipated his return after he conjured up the plan with how to deal with Andrius and Roland. It was apparent when it was found that Varka had finished up all of his work back in Favonius’s camp in Nod Krai prior to launching the mission, which was unlike him and that made it more felt. For someone who dreads doing paperwork, it feels like a stab in the heart that he finished it all so that he wouldn’t burden others in his absence.
A strained laugh escaped him. He could feel concerned about the Favonius Knights around him, those that had stayed behind to guard the camp and he feels oddly out of place suddenly. He frequents the camp, mostly to meet with Varka before they head to the tavern or elsewhere in the little spare time they have and he had already familiarized himself with most of the knights here but yet.
The world suddenly feels a little too cold and barren without the comforting figure of their captain. Flins is going to be sick.
“Sir Flins ..?” There’s a quiet voice approaching him and the Ratnik straightens up, adapting a poker face as he turns around.
In front of him is one of the Favonius Knights, hands holding out an enveloped letter. He looks down at it before up again to meet the other’s eyes in silent question.
“Ah, well. We found this amongst the paperwork on Captain Varka’s desk, I figured it would be best if you look at it.”
Reaching out for the envelope, Flins turns it around and finds his name written at the bottom corner. The urge to ignite this paper in flames was strong, there’s anger surging up in him at the audacity. He calms the storm as quickly as it comes, it does no good to scare off an innocent knight.
“Thank you.”
The letter feels heavy where it sits on the inside pocket of his coat. He itches to know what’s written and wishes to never open it at the same time, feeling as complicated as the feeling that's been bubbling in him ever since he received the news. He is mad, he’s crestfallen – he’s every emotion boiled into one, he faults Varka then he faults no one … it’s weird.
With an empty mind, he hadn’t realized that he'd already reached his lighthouse. The ghosts that always chattered around seemed to quiet now, with only the sound of the breeze remaining and he would find it unsettling if he knew how.
Ascending upwards onto the highest peak of the lighthouse, he settles against the railing that overlooks the water and lets his hair ride the wind as he reaches for the letter. He doesn’t want to open it – he has an inkling that the moment he does, it's a point of no return and Varka’s end would feel more real.
He takes out the paper out of its envelope, simply holding it as he considers. Flins was unsure how long the time passed before he glanced down at the letter and watched as it danced with the wind, spacing out until he accidentally catched a word from it. It was the wind that revealed the writing in them and he could both laugh and cry at the nuance of it all.
Committing, he fully unfolds the paper and begins to read.
My Dearest, Kyryll.
As I am writing this, I am still residing at the camp in Nod Krai. The distance between us is merely a couple of minutes away but in a few days, it will stretch out to weeks as we are preparing to head back home to Mondstadt.
I have always longed for the south, where freedom sings its tune and dandelions spread to the sky but now as I’m only a few days away from returning, I find myself hesitating. Is this the selfishness of always wanting to be in your vicinity? I guess so.
Anyway, I’m writing this with a purpose. As a knight, I thought being a coward is the least of my virtue but here I am inquiring about this through a letter instead of meeting you face to face. We talked in length a few moons ago about wishes and there was one that I hadn’t told you about, one of the most important wishes I have for myself – or should I say for us.
Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, what do you think of marriage? A union that would tie us closer than we are now. I had borrowed some books from Nasha Town and the Frostmoon Scions that had any information about marriage for your kind; and while there were some, all of them were confusing. I’ve read about how some of faes mate for life while others have multiple partners, and about the heartbreak they felt once their beloved passed away and wouldn’t search for another after.
While I am planning to live for as long as mortals could, on the chance that something did happen, I wouldn't want to chain you to me in ways that you couldn’t find happiness after me. So perhaps marriage won’t be such a good idea … but I would like your thoughts on this first and foremost.
So, what do you think? I am in agreement to whatever you have in mind, even if it won’t be marriage that bound us together, our love is enough. I hope you won't feel burdened by my words.
I will end this letter here. I hope to exchange letters with you frequently, my light.
Yours,
Varka.
P.S. Head over to meet Tarno of the Voynich Guild over at the Souvenir Shop for a gift I had made for you. It wasn’t prepared in time for me to give it to you in person, forgive me for troubling you.
Flins was nearly out of breath the second he reached the souvenir shop in Nasha Town. He’s unsure how debauched he looked but Tarno looked almost spooked momentarily before sliding over a box towards him silently, smiling. He was waved off and his heart beat loudly as he refused to look nor open the box right then and there, something in his gut telling him that he needed to be alone. Lest he worry a stranger that’s walking around town.
He doesn’t form any thoughts or rhyme on his walk back. He couldn’t – he shouldn’t, despite the way his heart is screaming at him at this moment. Flins doesn’t ascend up the lighthouse this time, simply settling by the spot he often stays to fish and sits down on the rocks. He takes a breath before he flips the lid open, slowly as he’s afraid whatever’s inside would jump him.
It didn’t. Instead, the pain in his chest blossomed harder and before he could catch himself, tears started spilling down his cheeks. There’s a wrenching sob that escapes him that sounds foreign to his own ears, everything that he’s been holding back from the time he received the news until now came crashing down like a broken vase.
His heart hurts. It’s burning, unlike the way he usually feels. This is not the heat of his flames, this is unprecedented and utterly raw pain. He can’t breathe, why would he breathe when it is not Varka’s scent he’s inhaling anymore? How could he live when his heart is elsewhere, without him?
Inside the box was a brooch, the biggest gem of it is shaped like a full moon and in the same shade as his eyes. Attached to it at the bottom is a wolf, howling towards the moon with blue jewels as its eyes. It’s intricate, precious and Flins clutched it to his chest like a lifeline.
Under the night’s light, his sobs don't cease. He simply couldn’t find the means to, for now he is lesser than a being – lost and lonely.
God, he’s so lonely.