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The light footsteps followed with clattering of metal chains coming suddenly from his window late at night used to unnerve him before he became the Starshyna. Now it only brings slight irritation and a new wave of headache for Nikita.
“It’s rare for you to come visit unprompted.”
The Starshyna puts down the newest records of the Wild Hunt movement he is trying to analyze. Olav has been asking for reinforcement and he needs to figure out if he can redirect some manpowers from other areas. He looks up to meet a somber pair of pupilless yellow eyes.
“Why? Do I need a reason to visit my good friend?”
“Of course not. But even with official invites you rarely come. What brings you here, Flins?”
Flins doesn’t answer. He silently drags a chair across the room to sit sprawling beside Nikita.
Nikita lifts an eyebrow. “Even for the Azure Flame, it seems there are things troubling his mind. Perhaps this trouble is related to Illuga?”
He almost misses how Flins’ body freezes just for a fraction. But it seems he is right on the money.
“No wonder Illuga insisted on taking all the jobs to the Kipumaki Cliff. When he returns, he mopes around or holes himself in his room. Usually he would readily take the supply run to your place.”
“Young Master is… well, I presume?”
“Fine from the outside, but I can see that he is hiding something. Now pray tell, what the hell happened between the two of you?”
“Two weeks ago when he last came to the lighthouse… he confessed to me.”
“Ah, he has always been weirdly partial to you. And?”
“My good Starshyna, do you not see the problem? He is still young. He has a bright future ahead. Being with me is not the best choice for the Young Master.”
“What exactly is the issue here?”
Flins straightens himself in his seat. The fae puts his hand in front of his chest. His tone turns serious. “Lord Nikita, in all Nod-Krai, you have known me the longest and I have never hidden anything from you. Let me tell you about a pair of lovers from the old court, a fae who loves his human too much—”
“Save your story for someone else, please.” He doesn’t have time for this. A mountain of documents are waiting for him to go through them. Nikita rubs his temple. “Flins, do you like him back or not?”
The other man looks almost offended. When he speaks, his voice turns strange—Nikita recognizes it oftentime when Flins can’t quite hold back his fae nature behind a human-shaped veil. “Of course, I do. How can I not when he touches right to the heart of my flame. No one has ever bothered to care for me this deeply before. His soul shines so bright that there’s nothing I want to do more but to pluck it away and keep it hidden inside my lantern forever.”
“Then what is the problem?”
Flins falls into silence, before he speaks slowly. “My good friend, you’ll allow your only son to be with a wicked creature who will steal him away?”
He is being dramatic. Nikita doesn’t like it when people are being unnecessarily dramatic. But what can he say, when their own Torchforger was quite the emotional man—asking the Tsaritsa for an autonomous land, building Elysium dreamed by a dead friend, then defending the dream for hundreds of years.
Being dramatic runs alongside being a Lightkeeper, indeed. And Flins even has a medal to prove him being better at this job than Nikita.
The Starshyna clicks his tongue. “Not a creature. It’s you, Flins. You are a Ratnik.”
“Despite me being far, far older than you? Despite me not being one of your kind?” He asks softly.
“Ugh, just cut your bullshit. Do you like him back or not?”
He hears Flins sigh. After years of socializing among humans, he seems to mimic the gesture so perfectly even though he doesn’t breathe like they do. It’s one of the things Nikita finds fascinating in the fae; how despite not being one of them, he tries so hard to blend with Nikita’s brethrens. Not that Nikita minds—he never did, because time and again proves that Flins have and will always be a Lightkeeper like them.
He answers carefully. “I do… I really do.”
“Well, I’m glad that this matter is resolved.”
“My good Starshyna, are you not worried that I will do him wrong?”
Nikita rolls his eyes. Dear Torchforger, this takes more time than he expected and he needs to go back to his work.
“Of course I hate that it’s you. I also wished for him to marry a nice girl, settle down somewhere and have a good family.” He turns to look straight at the fae, speaking more softly. “But Flins… I know for a fact he looks the happiest when he takes a boat and rows to that dreary place of yours to bring supplies that you don't need at all.”
For once, Flins doesn't have a retort. Moments of Flins being rendered speechless can be counted in fingers during the years of Nikita befriending the legendary lantern fae, so he catalogues this moment carefully. He watches as the corners of Flins’ lips twitch, as the other man tries to hold back a smile. And then fails, as a giddy smile blooms in the pale face. Flins’ mouth is hidden behind the high collar of his dark overcoat, but the way his pair of yellow eyes soften is unmistakable.
“Oh.“ Softly, endearingly.
“Yeah. Now you better pull yourself together and apologize to my son.”
“Is the Young Master perchance home right now?”
“No.” Nikita shakes his head. “He just took a mission again to Kipumaki Cliff. He won't be back for another five days.”
Flins stands up abruptly, his metal chair creaks loudly in the small office.
Nikita frowns. “No, Flins. You are not going there right now.”
“But—”
“Sit down.” Nikita shoves a quill and some papers to the other Ratnik. He smirks. “You have five overdue reports. I’ve been waiting for those.”
Flins crumple back to his seat. But he actually picks the quill and starts to write, displeasure clear in his face.
The Starshyna scoffs. “Honestly, what were you thinking of, trying to distract me with talks of your love life. Do your reports like a good Ratnik. You don't want to shame Illuga now, do you?”
“Yes, Starshyna.”