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There is a ritual Flins likes to do whenever Illuga comes to visit his lighthouse.
A jug of water and two glasses pre-filled, warm enough to soothe any chill he may have suffered through the cold travels. A bowl of warm soup with meat chunks and vegetables, and a thick creamy broth to strengthen his will; a side of soft and buttery bread. The very recipe Illuga had taught Flins one patrol night. Hearty, warm, fulfilling.
There is a knock on the door.
It takes minutes for Flins to compose himself. To calm the tremor in his hands as they held onto the edge of the table. To count each artificial breath if only to ground himself. He lets time pass by, for he has lots to spare. Closes his eyes as he takes one last deep inhale before masking on a practiced smile. “Come in.”
His young master enters in a familiar fashion. Messed up from head to toe, his hair a bird's nest. Clothes stained and a few bruises over the skin, nothing too major but worrisome. All that paired with a bright sunny smile of relief as he regards Flins, discreetly scanning him from head to toe for injuries - as if Flins was the one who tried the storm brewing above the waters that separate them.
He couldn't help but laugh fondly, reaching out to tame his wild hair and pick off the grass from the strands. “Good evening, young master. Today's boat ride must've been windy."
The captain laughs sheepishly, rubbing his nape as he lowered the bag of supplies by the foot of the table. It was obvious he didn't just take the boat ride straight to the Final Night Cemetery. "There was some wild hunt in Paha Isle so I went there first to assist the dispatched squad. Don't worry, these—" He spreads his arms out to show a few scratches over his coat. Nothing too severe, almost as if he had just: "Some of them were new to the formation, there had been a domino effect and we rolled down some grass. Other than that, no wounds whatsoever."
Flins relaxes, gently lifting Illuga's hand to inspect the small cut and kissing it. His lips grazing over the cold skin, warming it with his own. Touch gentle, but not lacking reserve. No. Not when his eyes were dark as he met Illuga's eyes once more. "Still, take care of yourself."
"I know, I know." Illuga assures.
And yet Flins could never forget—
He closes his eyes, swallowing down the bile that threatens to rise before Illuga could even see it. Not that it matters. Whether or not he vomited on the ground as he did countless times before, or if he ended up collapsed with a hand to his erratic chest as everything came crashing down. Not even if he burns this place ten fold, when he loses control of himself and his emotions, nothing would change.
Illuga would always remain smiling, remain happy, as he demanded: "Right, continue to story from last time! You left me on my toes, do you know how hard it was to sleep?"
If only his dear young master knew.
Still, still, ever so weak to his demands, unable to refuse a single one. He gives in, guiding his little bird, his precious light, his beloved sun, towards the cold bench as he begins to spin the tale Illuga has been awaiting to finish.
It is a story he has told countless times before: a tale of two star-crossed lovers who danced across the cosmos, arms tight around each other and refusing to let go. A love so pure and beautiful so many had scorned it. So death came to part the two, cursed to reunite in every lifetime only to be torn apart once more. In spite of it all they had persevered, even when the pain felt too much whenever they had to separate once more. Because they chose each other, for better or for worse. A bittersweet story that Illuga enjoyed hearing repetitively, no matter how many times he's heard it. Reacts the same every time too.
Flins listens, records every change in tone, every pause for breath; every sigh, every note, every chuckle. He stares, branding in his eyes every crease of his eyes, every lift of his mouth, the way his cheeks and ears blush red when he laughs or when he's flustered. Memorizing the downward slope of his eyes, his button nose and chapped lips. Senses heightened to detect his heartbeat…
Flins closes his eyes once more, pain settling in his chest as he feels the sun across the other islands begin to sink down the horizon. Practiced, Illuga gasps, fetching a charming little pocket watch Flins had gifted him during their courtship. Expression sheepish, embarrassed. "Oh, it's already so late. I promised the old man we'd have dinner together, Sorry Flins."
Why won't you stay a bit more? The storm has just abated.
"That is a kind offer, Sir Flins." Illuga replies into the silent space, and Flins feels his expression turn grim. "Besides, I promised the kids I'd play with them when I get back. And I'm not one to break promises."
Then indeed it's best you be in your way lest you gain their ire. Please do remind the Starshyna I have no need fore a furry companion. He has not been subtle inquiring if I'm interested in housing felines.
"Illuga." Flins begs, smile wrecked. "Stay with me."
For a moment he allows his selfish, non-existent heart to flutter and soften as Illuga chuckles. The sound harmonious as choir bells in a ceremony, as pleasant as the waves surrounding his home. Lets his mind cling to this moment - as he had done so many times before. He allows it and all of his lies before the truth comes back once more, unveiling itself as it had done multiple times before. Illuga's words unwavering - unchanging - and no matter how many times it has happened, the pain was still there. "Sure, I'll make sure to tell him. Ah, so that's why he's been visiting the shelter lately."
“Goodbye, Illuga.” Flins whispers. “... be careful on your way back.”
“Why the sudden sentimentality?” Illuga chuckles, leaning up to place his own kiss on the bridge of Flins' nose."
“I'll see you next week.”
The fae nods, leaning in to kiss Illuga, eyes fluttered shut in a tight, rattling squeeze.
And then he's gone. Walking away from Flins' outstretched hands.
Flins turns, takes a deep breath and lets it shake his lungs, pierce his chest. That familiar icy spear lodged deep, that rock in his throat that makes it hard to intake air. Fights back the burn behind his eyes, the hurt in his heart. He lets it all happen. But he refuses to take his eyes of his lover as he walks farther and farther away until he boards his boat and even after that. Until he could no longer see amidst the darkness, until Illuga's presence is so faint he can barely make form of it. He looks ahead, something he regretted not doing before. Eyes strained, trying to see beyond the thick darkness veiled upon the cemetery.
He stays, for a week in fact, unmoving. Once the day has arrived again, with creaking bones he turns back inside.
And begins to fill two cups of water.
Because there is a ritual Flins likes to do whenever Illuga comes to visit.
A jug of water and two glasses pre-filled, warm enough to soothe any chill he may have suffered through the cold travels. A bowl of warm soup with meat chunks and vegetables, and a thick creamy broth to strengthen his will; a side of soft and buttery bread. The very recipe Illuga had taught Flins one patrol night. Hearty, warm, fulfilling.
Just the way Illuga likes but never admitted to.
There is a knock.
He sighs, straightness himself up, and smiles: “Come in.”
And Illuga comes in.
And he'll repeat this cycle until he could finally meet his beloved nightingale again.
There is a local legend in Nod Krai no one dares to challenge. Who cries every time it storms and every time the seas rise. It cries loud enough for the entirety of Nod Krai to hear, for the storms itself could not counter its grieving song.
They say it protects a certain memory. And everyone who dares enter and thus ruin the illusion is met with a frightening warning that haunts them days on end.
But there is a weakness on a certain day of the weak… perhaps you'd get a chance yourself to see the golden light he protected and mourned for so long.