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He was a flame, small and easily lost on the horizon.
Concern had drawn him there. Something dark hung in the air, and Flins sensed it the way a fisherman tasted a coming storm before it could brew. He'd known that Illuga was in the area, and though he knew the man to be plenty competent, it did not hurt for him to keep an eye on things just in case.
Illuga patrolled the area, but it seemed to Flins more that he was searching for something. He would pause after a few steps, kneeling down to get a closer look at the ground, or studying some of the flora of the area. Aedon sailed wide circles overhead. Perhaps they both felt the same encroachment that had brought Flins here.
If that was the case, then Flins did not like that Illuga had not brought the rest of his squad there.
The sky darkened; the sun, it seemed, dulled as if covered by a half-opaque blue veil. At last the anticipation bore its decayed fruit. From ground, from the air, they materialized with a rolling purple fog—the Wild Hunt.
Flins lost sight of Illuga except for the glowing nightingale that flew overhead. Then Aedon dove, and its golden glow illuminated its chosen master. Illuga had brandished his spear. Not an errant sound escaped his throat, facing the threat with stalwart focus.
Brave, reckless, fearful, or cowardly, Flins had seen the numerous ways that humans faced the Wild Hunt. It was not an absence of fear that he saw in Illuga's stance, but the resolution that had brought him into the Lightkeeper's in the first place.
He hoped that Illuga intended to fall back to his squad-mates so that they could face the threat together. It would be the intelligent course to take. However, Flins decided that he would not make him have to chose between the rational and reckless. Two blades were plenty to deal with these stragglers.
Like a lightning bolt crashing from the sky, Flins reached Illuga's side with his lantern in one hand and spear in the other. He caught the rending claws of one of the Hunt as it aimed to rake them across Illuga's back, diverting it with the staff of his weapon.
"Be careful, Young Master. You left your back exposed."
"Sir Flins?" Illuga balked, but, to his credit, he did not turn from the foe in front of him. He even spied an opening, stabbing forth between the ribs as one lifted its arms in poise to lunge at them, and returned the thing to dust.
"That is my name, indeed. However, I pray that you spare me any further questions until this more pressing matter has been dealt with."
They stood to cover each other's blind-spots, trusting one another to guard their back. Illuga held out his lantern and directed Aedon forth with its beam. Aglow with its own energy and the power from his Vision that Illuga infused it with, it shot forward, piercing the chest of one of the Hunt as Flins disintegrated another with a fury of electro called from his own blade.
One slipped past, with as unruly as lightning could be. Flins sidestepped away from its attack, but it caught his thigh on the downswing. He hissed, turning his spear onto it, sinking the point through its neck at the same moment that Aedon struck that very enemy. It, too, crumbled to nothing.
As suddenly as the horde had come on, it had dissipated. The fog thinned, then vanished into the air, not even bodies remained of the abyss-formed creatures. Flins lowered his spear, taking a moment of respite with the sharp awareness for any resurgence, in the case of a false retreat.
When the day remained as peaceful as it had ten minutes before, and he tasted no danger to the air, Flins stowed his weapon and turned.
Illuga was breathing hard, still clutching the handle of his spear. Aedon perched on his shoulder, and though its relaxation promised safety—if only for the precious minutes before the next attack of the Hunt—stress remained engraved upon Illuga's face. When he noticed Flins looking in his direction, he smoothed it over to near-nothingness, though for Flins it was not difficult to see the remnants of distress upon his features.
Flins did not remark upon it, allowing the young man that dignity of not having his human fragility exposed. Instead, he said, "Like the creep of a nighttime frost, how swiftly they melt before the peek of the sun. Well fought, Young Master."
"You as well, sir." But suspicion stole upon Illuga's expression. "But what are you doing here?"
"Oh dear, I did not realize your memory had gotten so poor." He laid his sympathies thick on his tongue. When confusion pushed out all else in Illuga's demeanor, Flins continued, "I was helping you fend off the Wild Hunt. We have just finished with an attack. Shall I escort you to a doctor to check for a concussion?"
For a minute, Illuga's bemusement reigned. Then, understanding at last his answer and how it evaded his question, exasperation won out. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "My head is fine; that's not what I meant. As far as I've been made aware, you aren't meant to be stationed in this area. This isn't Piramida, either, so why are you here?"
"I did not take you for someone so territorial, Young Master," Flins said in a light tone. "If I had known that my help would be so unwelcome, I suppose I would have reconsidered jumping to your aid."
"It's not about being 'territorial', and you know it. Obviously I appreciate your help, I'm just wondering what business could have brought you out in the middle of nowhere just for you to happen to be there at this precise time."
"Fate sure does have a funny habit of moving pieces to their proper positions at the opportune moment, don't you think?" Flins was prepared to leave his answer at that, but he thought something in Illuga's brain might burst. "Fortuitously, I did just so happen to be in the area. Is it that difficult to believe I would take a stroll? It's a nice day, and the scenery is excellent."
"It would have been more believable for you to tell me that you had been visiting my old pops and just happened out this way," Illuga said with a thin film of sarcasm laying over his voice. He shook his head. "Never mind. I don't think I'll get a straight answer out of you and I'm tired from the fighting just now—I have no clue how you aren't breathing even a little hard right now."
"Oh, believe me, I well exerted myself. I just happen to have excellent breath control."
Illuga made a noise like he didn't quite believe him, but didn't challenge him on it. "Regardless of why you're here, thank you. I didn't think that I would get into a fight and I thought I could cover more ground by myself."
"It's always an honor to fight alongside you, Young Master." Flins rested a hand over his chest and made to bow deferentially. But as he moved, the fabric of his clothes dragged across the wound he had nearly forgotten about. He winced, taken by surprise by the burn.
Right away, Illuga noticed his reaction. "You're hurt." Not a question.
The reminder had his thigh throbbing. Flins suppressed any further reaction to it, but it was too late. "Just a scratch," he said, without checking it.
Illuga took him by his elbow. "Come on. I made camp not far away; I'll patch you up."
"There's really no need for this. I'm fine, I assure you," he said, but Illuga's grip on his arm was strong.
It would not have been hard for Flins to break from the hold. The stubborn intentions more than the strength of the grip, however, had him allowing himself to be led along. Each step drove fire through his thigh. After they'd gone some feet, Flins laid a hand on Illuga's shoulder, allowing him to burden some of the weight.
If he were a pettier person, Flins would probably insist that Illuga carry him. And Illuga would, too, he thought, whether through genuine concern or simply in meeting his impudence without shame. And as they walked, Flins had a mind to test it out.
Something held him back, however, a strange flutter in his stomach. He could not ascertain why, aside from some unseen danger to his person tucked in the pockets of Illuga's coat. It did not match with his assessment of Illuga's character that he should wish Flins harm, however. Flins watched Illuga's face for a while as they walked, trying to discern from where such a feeling stemmed.
After a while, Illuga noticed his gaze. Flins observed this though the other's eyes darted in the opposite direction; his shoulders were still with awareness of being watched. Then, when the pressure of a gaze became too much, Illuga finally returned it with an uncertain look.
"What is it? Have I got something on my face?"
Flins' response came delayed. He was still trying to decide whether Illuga had ill intent toward him, after all, though his instincts all pointed towards 'no'. "Have you even considered hurting a comrade? Strangling them, perhaps, or poisoning their food?"
"What?" Illuga's shock was genuine; his expression twisted as if Flins had said something utterly audacious. "Is that a serious question? Of course not."
Flins returned his look with a smile. "I am inclined to think not as well. You have never seemed the type to me."
Though it would hardly be the first time a human revealed a duplicitous nature. He hoped that was not the case here. Something about the idea of Illuga proving malicious left a particularly odious taste in his mouth.
By the time they reached the small camp Illuga had made, Flins has dispensed with the notion. Thinking of being betrayed by Illuga in particular filled him with dread, but when he thought of how he truly felt, he simply could not—or would not—allow it to shake his trust in Illuga. No, the feeling stemmed from a different source. He might even know what it was, but he quickly shut down that road before he could reach its end.
Whatever it was, he did not need to pursue it. The important part was that there was nothing to fear from Illuga—there couldn't be. He'd seen firsthand just how bright and forthright Illuga was. Flins valued him, as a person, a companion, a colleague.
Illuga directed him over to a place he could sit and told him to remove his coat.
"Without even buying me dinner first. Why, Young Master…" It wasn't a problem to obey, but for some reason Flins was feeling skittish.
"Stop. Don't call me that. Not here, ok?"
Flins quietly observed Illuga's face, how his eyes shifted to each side yet did not meet him and the wrinkling between his brows that spoke of the importance of this to him.
Names, titles, and the shifting of formalities, all held enough significance to shake the world's foundations. Flins' chest was thick with it as he drew breath to speak. Something like intimacy buzzed at the back of his mind.
"If that is your wish. Illuga." He'd said the name plenty of times before. He said it sometimes, though rarely, to Illuga himself. Yearning welled up in his throat. It was like the smallest morsel that reminded a starving man of the feelings he'd grown numb to. "You must drop the 'sir', however, otherwise it's hardly fair."
His own reactions were tightly controlled. Yet in Illuga's face he saw a mirror of his heart. The young man's gaze was soft behind its insistence, pupils dilated with his interest as his eyes did not stay long from Flins' person, if they flickered away at all.
"Alright. Flins," Illuga said, testing out the name in his mouth. His lips shaped around the sound so carefully that Flins felt a spark of heat watching them. Then Illuga looked uncertain—shy. "Or… should I say Kyryll?"
Flins pressed a hand over his mouth. He couldn't help it, all self-control flew out the window, blinking rapidly as the heat shot up from his stomach to climb to the tips of his ears. Oh the sound of Illuga's voice curling around his name was too much for him to bear. And worse, knowing how on-display his reaction was for Illuga intensified Flins' own feelings over it.
"Let's go with Flins," he said, muffled by the hand that he did not yet dare to remove. If Illuga spent the evening calling him Kyryll, he feared that he might pounce on the poor guy.
And what an interesting sensation that fear was. Long-rusted gears within him finally creaking to life; he could not help but think of Illuga the unfortunate subject of them.
"Ok. Alright." Flins thought that Illuga might say his name again, and that it would be his undoing. Fortunately, he disappeared into his tent, presumably to fetch his first aid supplies.
As he fetched that, Flins did as he asked, shrugging off his coat and folding it carefully before setting it aside. It had been long enough since he'd gone without it that the removal of the layer felt like losing a second skin. So when Illuga emerged, kit in hand, Flins felt uncomfortably exposed, like Illuga's eyes stroked his body as his gaze swept over him.
Flins leaned back onto his hands, pressing their heels down hard to ground himself. That way he did not squirm when Illuga's eyes reached the tear of fabric at his thigh, and what seemed like blood staining the fraying edges where the creature's claws caught him.
Illuga didn't flinch at it. Nothing in his face gave away how bad he thought the wound is, an admirable steeling of will. When treating someone else, any poor reaction would feed into the panic of the injured and only serve to worsen their situation.
Without much else to do and Illuga barely reacting when he spoke, Flins contented himself with simply observing him. The dutiful expression was endearing, though it sparked a hint of mischief within him to cause it to crumble. Their surroundings seemed to gradually ebb away. It seemed as if Flins stood at a precipice, watching him, being drawn forth unknowingly—faster and stronger the more he leaned in.
His body seemed to move entirely on his own. Illuga had barely patched the gauze over his wound when Flins reached out and held his face.
Pressing his palms against Illuga's cheeks, a strange feeling draped over him, a compulsion to hold and pull the young man closer. He forgot to breathe, so intensely did his gaze sweep over Illuga's face. The compression between his hands gave him a slight pucker around his mouth that parted his lips just a hair. And the thoughtful furrow of Illuga's brow had vanished, a softer look melting across his expression. His lashes hung heavy, his sharp gaze disappearing for a moment as if behind a curtain, returning to Flins' gaze half-lidded.
The flutter of breath that filtered between Illuga's lips seemed to vanish. Anticipation hung in the air between them, gripping Flins by the throat.
When the urge to press his mouth to Illuga's struck him, realization ripped through him. Panic jolted jolted through his chest, gooseflesh prickling along his arms though he hardly ever truly felt the cold. It suddenly felt as if he had thrust his hands into a burning stove.
With deliberate slowness, Flins withdrew his touch. The gnawing hunger inside him did not abate; regret stung him instead.
"Why, Master Illuga, you look as if you think me poised to devour you." Flins meant his tone to sound congenial. Yet despite his centuries of practice with iron control of both voice and demeanor, the words sounded wooden from his mouth.
Illuga's eyes fluttered open. Disappointment to awareness to hurt flickered across his face in such rapid succession that Flins could barely keep up even through his close observation.
"Didn't I tell you to just use my name?" Illuga struggled mightily to hide his injured feelings, but it was an effort made in vain.
"Ah, yes. That you did." Again, he meant his voice to sound a certain way. It should imply that he had simply forgotten, or he'd slipped into old habits. But again, it came out all wrong. Or maybe it only seemed that it did because he knew that Illuga could read into the words so easily as he scanned the pages of a book, though he might not have enough context to truly understand the meaning.
Flins was beginning to see just how truly dangerous he'd allowed this dynamic between them to become.
Illuga frowned. He grabbed Flins' hands, pulling them into the space between them as his eyes thrust straight into Flins' soul. His gaze was so insistent that it held Flins transfixed; he could not look away.
"Flins," he said, with an uncharacteristic edge to his voice. "I may be misreading things between us, but I don't think that I am. Are you not attracted to me?"
The boldness behind Illuga's tone nearly made Flins burst into laughter. He caught the urge between his teeth; he did not find it funny, necessarily, so he did not want to create a misunderstanding of mockery in response to Illuga's earnestness. It merely caught him by surprise.
Humans so often danced around their feelings, and said a million things that disguised, then hinted, at what they mean. It was a game played by fae, too, one which Flins was well-adept in. Illuga did so, too, with the politeness he couched his curiosity in. So Flins could understand just how serious it was when Illuga dispensed with it entirely.
And Flins felt stripped bare by it.
"I do not know what to say," he said with carefully measured words.
Illuga's gaze allowed him no leeway. "The truth, I hope."
Flins spoke like a man possessed, because the words were too imprudent for him to allow slip past his lips, "Then the truth is that I am far more attracted to you than is wise."
"Because of your situation?" Illuga asked, and Flins had to laugh.
"Yes. You could say that." It was a reason that hardly gave away anything at all. However, each day it seemed Illuga came closer to the truth, no matter how little Flins gave him to go on. The wise course would be to avoid him entirely if he really wanted it kept a secret.
Yet it was like a slow-moving chase. Illuga would step forward and try to back him into a corner as Flins smoothly extricated himself from each trap laid. One day Illuga would surely uncover it all, and Flins looked forward to it as much as he dreaded the end of their game.
Illuga pressed Flins' hand to his cheek. His eyes were like spotlights cast directly onto his soul. Flins felt the warmth of his life beneath his smooth skin; his eyes flicked to one of the scars that marked it.
"I'm not asking for you to love me. You are one of my own, like any other Lightkeeper," Illuga said, but the smolder of his gaze was certainly unlike any that he directed at the rest of their comrades. He caught Flin's other wrist and pulled him closer. "I find you attractive as well—that's all enough with me."
Helpless, Flins sighed. He wrapped his arm around Illuga's waist and reeled back, pulling him into his lap at the same time as Flins met his lips.
"I fear you misunderstand, Illuga," he said when they parted.
Breathless, Illuga blinked. "Huh?"
Flins shook his head. "Enough talking now," he said, and kissed him again, so that Illuga's mouth was kept busy with something other than asking questions.
How amusing, how heart-wrenching, that is was a 'lacking' that Illuga suspected of him, rather than an overflow that might last Flins centuries to Illuga's not-even one. That would be yet another aspect of this game, a notion that Flins intended to disabuse him of sooner rather than later.
He did look forward to seeing how flustered Illuga could get when he realized he'd been wrong on that front.