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Changeling.
It was a word that made people step back. A word that turned whispers into fear.
Something that could be anyone. Your neighbor. Your sibling. Your lover.
A face stolen. A voice copied. DNA replicated down to the last detail.
Doppelgangers, they said..though that word didn’t quite capture the dread. Because a doppelganger didn’t just look like you.
A changeling could replace you. Most people lived with that fear tucked behind their ribs.
Cloud… didn’t.
Maybe it was because he actually had his head in the clouds, drifting far above everything grounded and real, or maybe he just chose not to see the world in that way. Either way, he never looked at changelings with fear.
He found comfort in one.
Venison had never tried to hide what he was. Not the shifting nature of his body, not the scars that mapped his skin, and certainly not the damage. If anything, he made sure people saw it. The violence, the disfigurement, the cost of surviving, it was all there… worn openly, as if hiding it would somehow make it worse.
It didn’t make people accept him, not really, but it made them hesitate a little less.
Being a changeling was only part of it.
Venison was also a Wilt, a Bloom twisted by sorrow and despair, something unstable, something dangerous. Wilts had nearly halved the population a decade ago, and people hadn’t forgotten. They weren’t supposed to last long.
Venison knew that better than anyone.
So he did what he could to seem normal, he got a job. A job killing Wilts.
The supply closet at Flower Street Blooming Company had been generously rebranded as a “meeting room.” It barely fit two chairs.
That’s where he met Cloud.
A cloud nymph, visibly overwhelmed, trying, and failing, to hide it.
Venison didn’t say anything at first. He just reached out and pulled him close. Cloud didn’t resist.
That was the beginning. The rest..how they fell in love, was a story for another time.
Fey Realm. The night after Yule.
The changeling district glowed.
Boats drifted along the canals, strung with lights and candy-cane striped sails. Sailors wore long red caps tipped with white fluff. Trees shimmered in red, green, and white like living ornaments.
It was loud. Bright. Alive. Cloud stayed inside, Wrapped in a snowflake-patterned blanket. A mug of hot chocolate warmed his hands, he sat beside Dola, Venisons Niece, on the couch watching a Christmas movie.
He didn’t feel like going out. Not tonight.
Venison, however, was at the bar.
Eggnog night.
Which meant Ven was already several drinks past his limit, and Vance had stopped pretending to keep count. The bartenders weren’t any better.
By the time Venison stumbled outside, the cold biting at his face, he was dangerously close to blackout.
He fumbled with his phone.
“I want my babyyyy…” he mumbled, barely aware of how slurred he sounded.
The call connected.
“Clouuddyyy??”
“Venny? Hey—are you okay?”
“I- hic love you… so much. Nobody even compares… I think I’m drunk and I… I can’t stop thinking about you…”
Cloud sat up straighter.
“I can come get you.”
“Don’t tell Dola, but I fucking hate Dola. She’s always ‘take your medicine’ and I don’t wanna take my medicine—”
Dola, from the couch, burst into laughter.
“Oh, he’s gone gone,” she said. “You’re fine. He does this every year. He must really love you if he isn’t cussing you out.”
Cloud didn’t laugh.
“I’m going to get him.”
The bar was only four doors down. Cloud made it there in under a minute. Inside, Vance had Venison slumped at a table with a glass of water, pouting like a scolded child.
“He’s done,” Vance said simply. “Take him home.”
Before Cloud could respond, a drunk voice cut through the room.
“Ohhh, look who it is- hic fancy prince’s keeper.”
The room quieted.
“Why’s princey get to live, huh? Everybody else dies in the Wilton, but he’s been dragging himself along, weak, and useless.” the man slurred, and pointed to Cloud. “We’re starving out here, and he’s playing royalty with a Wilt—”
“That’s enough.”
The interruption was sharp. Final.
“We don’t turn on our own, we protect our weak. We don’t cull them.” someone else said. “And we can’t just assume everything is out to get us.”
Venison, face still pressed to the table, lifted one hand and flipped them all off.
“If shit- hic goes down… I’ll handle it…”
Cloud didn’t dignify any of it with a response. He just pulled Venison to his feet.
“Come on. We’re leaving.”
Ven’s older sister, Varknox handed Cloud a drink on the way out. “You’re gonna need it, honey.” She told him.
Back at the palace, everything felt quieter, softer. Cloud eased Venison into bed and made sure he was turned onto his side before pulling the blankets up around him.
“You’re okay,” he murmured gently. “Just sleep.”
Venison mumbled something incoherent before settling, his breathing evening out. Cloud lingered for a while, sitting at the edge of the bed with the drink Varknox had handed him, listening, watching, making sure nothing seemed wrong. Only when he was certain did he finally lie down beside him, wrapping his arms around him from behind and holding him close, effectively spooning him.
Morning came gently.
The light was pale and cold, filtering through the windows in a way that made everything feel still and new. Venison was already awake, sitting by the tree with two cups of coffee, turning slightly at the sound of Cloud stirring.
“Come here,” he said softly. He had changed into his matching soft pajamas with Cloud too.
The presents were arranged neatly, each labeled in braille, waiting.
Cloud sat beside him, warmth lingering in the quiet as they began to open them one by one. The room slowly filled with noise as the rest of the household joined in..Dola’s excitement, Nathan’s, (Venisons nephews boyfriend who loved toys) delighted rambling as he tore into toy after toy, Evan’s (Venisons older nephew) distracted indifference as he took a phone call.
Cloud took his time.
Each gift felt thoughtful, intentional, like Venison had paid attention to things Cloud hadn’t even realized he’d mentioned. A necklace with the sign for I love you. New sensory headphones, because his old ones were too small. Earrings.
When they reached the last box, they hesitated. Venison insisted Clouds be last. Cloud insisted Venisons. They came to a decision.
Then opened them together.
Rings.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that.
“…We both—” Venison started.
Cloud didn’t let him finish.
“Yes,” he said, immediate and certain, emotion catching quietly in his voice as he cut Venison off.
The kiss that followed was soft but steady, something that felt inevitable rather than surprising, like it had always been leading to this. Dola immediately ran to call her mom. “They PROPOSED to EACH OTHER! At the same time! And they both didn’t-“ She walked out of earshot.
Later, the house filled with noise.
Family. Laughter. Chaos.
Kids, Venisons other neices and nephews, dragged them into games, Barbies, doctor, anything they could invent.
Venison was glad that playing doctor was something the kids saw as good. As helping people. Even though it was a foreign concept to him.
Venison let them examine his heart monitor, his scars, his hands.
They weren’t afraid. They were curious. Excited. It did something to him…something quiet and fragile. It made him feel good about himself for once.
One of the kids started singing.
“Cloud and Venison sitting in a tree—”
“Oh no,” Venison muttered, covering his face with his hands.
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
He laughed, shooing them toward the kitchen.
“Go on. Desserts ready.”
Later, when the sugar and excitement had worn into something softer, Venison leaned into Cloud’s side, glass of wine in hand.
“Love you,” he murmured.
“I know,” Cloud replied, just as soft.
There was a pause, heavier than the others.
“You wouldn’t be mad if I told you something?”
Cloud hesitated, just slightly. “No promises.”
Venison swirled his drink for a long moment before speaking again.
“I had kids. Before you.”
Cloud went still.
“They were why I learned ASL. Why I understand you when you fingerspell against my hand.” His voice faltered, just barely. “There was an attack… on our schools.”
The words came slower now, more deliberate.
“They bombed us. Enough to bring the buildings down.”
Cloud’s chest tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Seven hundred dead,” Venison said quietly. “Children. Teachers.”
Silence stretched between them.
“They didn’t make it out.”
That was all. No dramatics, no breaking down, just the truth, laid bare. Venison set his glass aside and wrapped his arms around Cloud, holding on tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Cloud held him back just as firmly.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Venison pulled away after a moment, turning towards the door.
“…Let’s just get cookies.”