Archive of Our Own

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Piles of documents lay stacked on his desk. All were divided between domestic and foreign matters, arranged from the most important to the least important. In front of him laid a torn envelope with a letter nestled within it, faint wax stains that had been transferred to it, and the handwriting was rather careless, suggesting the author had been in quite a hurry. 

“I hereby declare that Queen Jophiel, leader of Tricolour, was assassinated by Seraphim, lady of Tricolour and passed away at 2 p.m. this afternoon.” 

Spyder read the same sentence at least ten times, disbelieving the facts. Of course, he had already heard about the panic spreading on Pandora, only minutes before receiving the letter, but the reason for it all had been unknown to him until he read it. 

It was quite late at night, and the streetlights had been burning between alleyways of Westhelm for some time now. 

For several hours, he had been trying to sign several documents, gather facts. He even had prepared a few letters that he planned to send to senators and other heads of state in Tricolour, expressing his condolences and deepest sympathy, mentioning as well that the pact between them was still-existing and their readiness to support their nation in these difficult times that lay ahead. 

Admittedly, this week wasn't the most pleasant for Spyder. He spent almost every evening in his office, sitting at his desk until late. Twice he found himself with the sun already rising before he finished work. His eyes would squint shut, head would fall forward from exhaustion, and hands would tremble whenever he tried to write. 

To say that he was tired would be an understatement to what state he was truly in. 

Spyder told himself that soon, everything would go back to being all normal and calm, that this was just a slip up on Pandora, and there was nothing to stress about. Only a few more sleepless nights.

He sat at his desk, trying to concentrate as best as he could, scratching with a pen on a scrap of paper lying to his left. The words he read became jumbled, requiring twice as much time for a task he could do with his eyes closed.

Too many thoughts were racing through his mind, concerning the problems that had befallen their nation with Jophiel's death.

Their single most loyal and powerful ally from the other island had just lost their queen, who, on top of all this, was to marry Schpood, Emperor of Westhelm, in less than two days. This union was meant to strengthen the bonds between the two nations, ensuring that no betrayal would ever occur; it would make Westhelm officially invincible. 

And now—all of it was gone.

However, the thought of their wedding - although it was supposed to be solely political, in no way lined with love - had been swirling in his thoughts for too long, and not because Westhelm had lost an ally, but because of the very notion of Schpood's wedding.

Spyder felt a strangely hollow feeling in his chest at the thought of watching the emperor dressed in a suit, waiting for the bride at the altar. He couldn’t exactly tell why, what was the reason for this emptiness but it was making his head work overtime, giving him a headache.

A loud knock lasting no longer than a second jolted him from his tormenting thoughts, and then his office door burst open, the handle banging against the wall. 

Speaking of the devil– Schpood. 

Holding two glasses in one hand, and the bottle in the other, the door must have been opened with a kick then. Not very much surprised by that. 

“Spyderrr” Schpood extended these last letters looking all happy as he entered the room, catching his foot on the door and closing it with the same thud. ”Listenn~ We haven’t drank in such a long time together y’know?” 

Spyder only eyed him up and down, sighing, already knowing he won’t get rid of him as easily as he could wish.

Every other day he would agree on a glass or two and that would be it, he wasn’t a fan, definitely not the best drinker as alcohol usually twisted his throat. And this was enough to satisfy the emperor so he would soon leave to drink on his own. 

But today? Today was not the day, Spyder has been way too stressed and overstimulated already. It was actually surprising to see Schpood be in a good mood, considering the tragedy that happened on Island Two. 

“Not today Schpood.” Spyder said firmly and briefly, without extending his gaze on the man, he directed it back to the papers lying in front of him.

“Why's that?” The emperor asked, placing the glasses in front of him, already opening the bottle.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Spyder looked back at him, irritated “And don’t you open tha–”

Too late, he was already pouring himself, stopping only when the liquid reached the edges, somehow not spilling out. “Yes, I am”

Spyder sighed again, running hand over his face, trying absolute best to not yell at him.

He knew Schpood was, well– unstable, but to drink on the evening of his to be said deceased wife? 

“Jophiel, Schpood, Jophiel. Don’t you feel sad? This is not the time to be all jolly and other fucked up shit you want.”

“Who said I wasn’t sad? I’m coping, well, uhhh– differently”

There was no winning with this man– was there? 

Schpood finished pouring Spyder his glass (which was filled to be half-full), moved it towards him, pushing aside in doing so the papers and laying around pens and leaned over the desk, to see what the man was doing. 

“You’re still working?”

“What else would I be doing for fucks sake in my office if not working?”

“Oh- touchy.”

“I’m not– ? Listen, Schpood. Not the time, I mean it.” Spyder replied, pushing his glass away from him and looking at its contents. The rich, blood-red color and the smell of the alcohol hung relentlessly in the air. It was impossible to ignore. 

Schpood put down his glass as well, then turned and with a hard clattering sound began to pull the chair from the corner of the room up to the desk, sitting comfortably, he crossed his legs and lifted his glass again, proposing a toast. “For us”

Spyder was tired of his ass, but to not make things more tight between them, he grabbed the wine and lifted it slightly–just to give Schpood the satisfaction. 

And he thought that would be it.

Schpood would finish drinking and leave him, just like he really wanted the man to. 

But no, the emperor had other plans, and that was to shit talk on all the leaders he hated, commenting how they had no style, how their voice was annoying and everything that came on his tongue. 

Spyder was considering beating the shit out of him, he didn't even care that he would probably be immediately sentenced to execution for this...

But as he clenched his fists he came back to his senses. It was Schpood who he was thinking about, that sick man would probably enjoy it or sum. 

“What about Jophiel?”

“Hm?”

“You were supposed to marry her, weren’t you? Any sorrow? You lost a wife today” Spyder asked, if Schpood was so eager to run his mouth, he might as well get answers to those questions that wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Ah– well, I grieve her death deeply. We just lost an ally, an important one to add.” He swirled the wine in his glass, staring blankly at it. “But that whole marriage thing, you see, I was thinking of just ditching it”

“What?” The man almost shouted, calming himself just in time. What even is that answer?

“I barely knew that woman, it would drive me nuts to marry her”

“Oh you can’t be serious”

“I am! Spyder, imagine you're me - you're sitting comfortably in your chair when your most favorite consul bursts through the door screaming. “You’ve got a marriage proposal from Tricolour” or something along the lines. Ridiculous!”

Spyder smiles at that “your most favorite consul” ringed in his ears over and over. No matter how much he hated him, he never could truly be mad. Not when he calls him his favorite. 

“See? You also find that funny!”

Spyder could only wave his hand, shooshing the man away. He, again, distracted him from work, like always. What a pain in the ass. 

“I need to work, Schpood. Finish your drink and leave– please.”

The man stayed quiet for a few moments, glaring at Spyder hands as he tried to fill out some of the documents. He hummed and twirled in his chair, acting like a child bored out of his mind.

It was peaceful, for just a minute of course, but maybe that’s what he needed? Company while he can do his thing. 

“Is that so? Alright, give that”

“Huh?”

Schpood reached for the documents, grabbing them before Spyder could even interview and stop him. “Hey–”

“No, that paperwork is shit anyways. No use of you in that state” He said that with his unusual cocky tone, picking up the glass and drinking all that was left in one big swing, before staring down at Spyder who was leaning over the desk, hand still in the air trying to grab the papers. “Go to sleep”

And he left, not looking back. Surprisingly he left the bottle as well, which was not even empty yet. Now that baffled the consul but it made his heart warm. 

Spyder felt a weird tingling sensation in his throat, a brief soreness that vanished as quickly as it appeared. 

This was the way Schpood showed affection. How idiotic that might sound, it really was. 

So that would be the end of his work for today.

Alright.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

A scratchy feeling in his throat woke him. A dryness that refused to go away, despite swallowing. Spyder cautiously opened his eyes, waving his hand against the bedside shelf, searching for a glass of water. One sip, and the scratchiness was gone. I must have slept with my mouth open, fuck.

The bed felt incredibly comfortable and warm, he melted into it. 

Spyde finally felt truly rested, nothing hurt, and the pressure in his head he'd been feeling for the past few days had disappeared. Maybe he really needed that sleep. 

But the longer he laid there and dragged out the time to get out of bed, the more suspicious it all seemed. He had curtains in the room, but it seemed a bit too bright; the sun's rays were hitting him directly, not the walls or ceiling. The air also felt thicker and stuffier. What time was it?

He looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall in front of him. "Oh I am fucked."

Spyder had never gotten out of bed so quickly in his life, and as soon as he got to his feet, he was overcome with giddiness, having to hold on to the wall to keep from falling to the ground. Cold sweat broke out on his back.

How could he allow himself to do this? It would soon be noon, and he'd been sleeping soundly, as if there were no responsibilities in the world. 

He grabbed his clothes and started putting them on as quickly as possible, in the process he put both legs into the same leg, almost losing his balance and making way too much noise.

“Sir Spyder!” Someone had called from behind the door, knocking lightly a few times.

“Give me a second” He said, adjusting the belt to the hips.

“Sir, this is urgent– the emperor is calling you to his office”

Shit

Spyder stopped for a second, looking at the closed door. “Alright, thank you!” 

He was already sure what the reason for this call was, the only time was when Schpood told him to rest– he had abused it, although not on purpose, but from the other person's point of view it didn't look the most polite.

Tightening the harness around his shoulders and chest, Spyder quickly exited his room, at a light jog passing the corridors, slowing only down at the sight of guards standing by some individual rooms who, seeing him, saluted, saying "Glory to Westhelm", which he responded by doing the same.

Finally reaching the door leading to Schpood's office, Spyder paused for a moment, catching his breath, and then hesitantly knocked.

Of course, he got no answer; as always, but the habit remained.

He finally opened the door, but stress rushed through his entire body the exact second his feet stepped into the room.

Spyder was prepared to see Schpood perhaps standing by the window, watching the people passing by on the streets, or simply admiring the city, but to his surprise, the man was sprawled in his chair, feet up on the table, drinking tea.

Wait, Tea?

“Schpood, listen I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to slee–”

“Spyder!” He was cut off, Schpood's entire face lit up at the sight of his consul. The emperor posture seemed to have relaxed even more, even though he was now sitting straight up, taking his legs off the table. 

Surprised, Spyder slowly closed the door behind him, but didn’t take his hand off the handle. Something smelled foul there.

“Come here” The emperor pointed at the chair placed in front of the desk. “Sit”

“Schpood, what I wanted to say, I’m sor–”

“Spyder I don’t really care, chill out”

Finally the consul took his hand off the doorknob and went to the desk. He had just sat down and already tea was being poured for him too, into a rather elegant-looking cup, which, of course, had to be gold-plated. Everything in this nation had to be freaking gold-plated. The emperor liked to show off his wealth. 

Schpood for some reason was weirdly excited today. Being all smiley, drinking fucking tea–which he barely ever does, and just the overall atmosphere was uncanny. 

Spyder looked around the room, scanning as if searching for something. “Why did you call me?”

“Oh Spyder~ Today is a lovely day you see.” Schpood started, placing the cup and leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Remember that idiot who tried to steal our shit two days ago?”

That was enough to know the answer, Spyder actually felt a bit dumb that he asked the question, he had known Schpood for several years, it was obvious. 

“Well, they caught his ass.”

“I see”

“I see? Are you boring or something?” Schpood sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, now we’ve got a fucker to fight that idiot who demolished Remys restaurant, and you are coming with me”

Spyder fell silent for a moment, frowning. Well, that must have been a bit of a joke. 

Of course, he had no right to forbid the man from going; after all, fights in the colosseum was Schpood's favorite activity; if he could, he would never leave, spending entire days watching blood being spilled. 

But to drag Spyder along with him? He was very grateful for the rest and sleep, but work was calling him; he had letters to send, correspondence with Tricolour, probably preparing for the Blue Cross meeting that would surely be held in the near future to discuss Jophiel's death.

“Schpood I–”

“Again this nonsense” 

“-can’t, the paperwork is not finished, I’ve got shit ton of things I need to do, I can’t just push it to the side” Spyder says firmly, gesturing with open hand on some of the papers laying on the emperor desk. His throat started to feel dry again, stopping him for a second as he sipped on the still warm tea. If he wasn’t busy– of course, he would go with him. Seeing the emperor happy made him happy too.

“If I could, I would go”

“Well, I’m telling you that you can. I’m tired of you avoiding me, have a little fun, eh?”

Spyder fell silent.

Again, there's no way to win against this guy, let alone disagree with him or try to persuade him.

He bit his lip, already planning how to fit in all his plans to meet his deadline. 

It seems like tonight would be a night for work— to be honest what's the point of complaining? He'd gotten enough sleep last night, his energy should last a bit longer, and if he drank two cups of coffee, it would be definitely fine. He would surely finish everything in time. 

‧₊˚ ⋅

Spyder stood in front of the mirror, strapping the armor to his shoulders, making sure it fits.

On the chair behind him hung a red cape that Schpood had once given him—a mark of whose property consul he was. 

Sometimes he felt a bit foolish in it. It drew quite a bit of attention even from a distance; after all, only he and the emperor were allowed to wear it. However, this did not change the fact that Spyder felt equally proud of it.

Strapping the sword to his belt, he reached for the cloth and wrapped it around himself, securing it with a gold chain and pin so that it sat neatly and elegantly on the shoulders.

This whole situation was perhaps amusing to him; after all, they were going to watch two people—criminals, admittedly—fight to the death, with the last man standing declared the winner and released, additionally having to pay a modest sum, and that was it. 

Spyder wasn't a fan of this method of determining justice; it seemed too drastic, even idiotic in a way, and he preferred a classic courtroom verdict.

But there was no denying that this method, surprisingly, worked pretty well. People were afraid to commit crimes because they knew that one mistake and the penalty would be death. 

Schpood, perhaps unconsciously, proudly wore the title of "unstable", his crazy ideas somehow seemed to work.

Maybe underneath that nut, instead of a brain, really was a mastermind Spyder missed to notice after all those years. 

Okay, he's been trying to beautify himself for too long by now for some reason, enough. 

The armor beneath his feet made a rather loud clatter on the stone floor in front of the Citadel.

At the gate, Schpood seemed to be engaged in some heated conversation but it seemed more like a monologue with one of the guards, who, even from a distance, looked weary of the emperor's incessant snarl.

Since the emperor had already experienced three, fortunately unsuccessful, assassination attempts, Spyder was not surprised to find four guards around him, dressed in heavy, gold-plated armor, their hands resting on sword handles.

“Sorry for the wait” Spyder said, standing behind Schpood who didn't seem to notice him yet.

The man immediately looked over his shoulder, getting startled slightly by the sudden voice next to him. Eyeing Spyder up and down, Schpood couldn’t contain the remark- “You've dressed up as if you were the one fighting there, why the armor?”

Spyder only rolled his eyes on that and patted him on the shoulder, signaling that they better get going.

He could already see the looks the guards gave each other.

"It’s better to always be ready for the worst, you dream walkers."

At a leisurely pace, walking on the right side quite close to the emperor, they reached the colosseum, which Spyder admired immensely every time he had the opportunity to see this massive structure. Owo and the builders really out did themselves with it. 

The grand entrance, decorated with monuments of the emperor himself, columns every few steps that were made in the Corinthian order, the influence of Greek architecture sometimes liked to appear here and there, arcades in every recess in the wall and candles set in them, that never seemed to go out.

There was a sense of splendor that Westhelm made no secret of boasting about. 

Already in the corridors leading beneath the building, the shouts of the people resting on the benches surrounding the arena could be heard. They passed through a special passage, which was, of course, guarded, until they finally reached the imperial box. 

This place just screamed with opulence and comfort, offering the best views of the arena, designed specifically to meet Schpood's requirements– being draped with rich in color regal curtains, various sandstone decors and a console with carved laurel branches supporting the vaults. 

Spyder stopped in front of the entrance with the rest of the guards, holding the door for Schpood so he could gracefully enter and immediately greet everyone gathered without pausing. 

However, to his surprise, the man grabbed his arm and pulled him in, the door closed with a bang behind them.

Spyder stumbled in, the last thing he saw was the eyes of one of the guards who didn’t even try to hide his grin and "Have fun" look.

Coming to his senses, knowing that he would soon be in the sight of many people, Spyder pulled himself away from the emperor's grip and, straightening his posture, stood firmly behind him just as he walked to the railings. 

The people, as people do, burst into shouts and greetings at the sight of Schpood. They were all hungry for blood and justice meted out by the sword. 

After the usual greetings and a short speech, two men were led into the arena, dressed in armour to protect and carrying iron swords. 

Schpood sat down in his bisellium, making himself comfortable. 

Spyder on the other hand, stood where he stood. Usually, if he was in the imperial box, it was with other guards.

This was the first time he had been brought here alone, which left him to be utterly confused and left speechless. 

“Why are you standing?” Spyder looked over, Schpood was staring at him, raising one brow. “There is a seat for you”

That dryness again, this time resembling a slight burning sensation in the throat that occupied his mind.

Only after swallowing a few times did it calm down.

“Ah-, sorry, yes” He made his way to the chair placed at the right side of Schpood’s. It was comfortable, very much to add, but the feeling of uncertainty did not disappear.

“Loosen up Spyder, why so tense?” 

“Am I even allowed here?”

Schpood looked baffled to say the least, throwing his arms in the air, he shouted “No idiot, a ghost grabbed you and pulled you in. Of course you are allowed!”

Spyder didn't respond, taking quiet, deep breaths and relaxing in his seat as much as he could manage. 

It was obvious they were friends; they'd known each other since their teenage years and had been close until Schpood officially became emperor. 

For Spyder, this was a clear indication of the boundary between them. 

Yes, they were still close, especially since he had been appointed as a consul of Westhelm, being the emperor's right-hand man, sitting with him in the Citadel and living in the attached living quarters.

But he couldn't shake the professionalism that had been imposed and expected of them both. 

Schpood though seemed to disregard any unspoken rules. 

But it was a well known fact that Schpood could no longer have anyone close, except his marriage partner– of course, but in this case, there was none, so he had to present himself at all public gatherings as an individual. 

Spyder only accompanied him everywhere because he served as both his guard and his speaker.

That’s why it never brought unwanted attention to him.

People just accepted the fact that he was there and went with it.

And well, since he knew how to speak professionally (unlike Schpood sometimes..), and also he held back the emperor and his out of mind ideas, there was no problem for him to be there, at the man side. 

A prickling sensation was gnawing at his lungs, and on top of that, there was this void that he didn't know how to fully fill.

Pathetic. 

But there was nothing Spyder could do at that moment, and perhaps there was no point in dwelling on it either.

After all, he'd been dragged here to relax, spend time with Schpood, and witness justice being done.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The sun was beating down on Spyder neck. Schpood had sent him to buy him a few loaves of bread.

They had to be as fresh as possible, straight from the oven. That was quite a wish; in a city where people would throw themselves at each other for a slice since Westhelm was experiencing a slight period of drought, he expected such luxuries.

And well, Spyder got it, because he had gone through about five bakeries, looking for the one that happened to have them baked just moments before. Unfortunately, he had to wait even longer because when the owners saw him, they insisted on neatly wrapping the baked goods.

So now he walked at a brisk pace, praying the bread wouldn't lose its temperature before it reached Schpood's office.

Till now, apart from this occasional nagging feeling, there was nothing to disturb Spyder in his daily life. Whenever it was paperwork or sweeping up after another outburst of Schpood, who, with great fatigue and groaning, defended himself against his own impulsive decisions and a few deliberately spoken words directed at diplomats or heads of state.

But today? Heat exhaustion and the constantly worsening scratchy throat were causing him serious irritation.

He had already considered the possibility that the winds had carried some toxic gases or vapors from the volcano into the city, but at the same time, Spyder was the only one affected by this “problem”. 

He had spoken several times with Owo and the guards he had met, and none of them expressed any discomfort about the burning sensation in their throats or any heaviness in their lungs. 

Twice Spyder had even joked that maybe he should write a will just in case, because some unknown disease had gotten his ass.

But jokes aside, it was starting to be tiring. Every morning he woke up desperate and in need, searching for any water that could stand near his bed. It didn’t even matter if it was a few days old, anything just to soothe that vague suffering for a second was enough. 

Passing through the gates, barely holding the bread in one hand, he saluted the guards, the classic "Glory to Westhelm" was said, and Spyder was about to enter the building when a sweating and breathless Owo stopped him, grabbing his shoulder, both to keep the man in place and to stop himself from losing balance. 

“Dude, what happened?”

“Anote-... uh- another..assassination” He started, breathing heavily between words. “On Pandora”

Spyder could feel cold sweat forming on his neck down to his back. “Owo, get a grip, what?”

He swallowed loudly, blinking a few times before catching another breath. “Six leaders and diplomats– including Aperion’s President and– uh.. speaker of the Senate”

Fuck.

“When did you get the information? From who?”

“Like 4 minutes ago. Ish, he–.. he brought the letter but since you weren’t in the office, he gave it to me. It was during one of the meetings, they are saying Saparata did it. Oh just have it and read it yourself.” Owo pushed the letter into Spyder's free hand, finally letting go off his shoulder. 

Spyder focused all his thoughts for a moment only on the letter, which was obviously crumpled and traces of ink drops stood out against the white paper.

“Alright, thank you”

Without wasting any more seconds, he nodded to Owo and then, from a jog, which soon turned into a run, ran straight to Schpood's office.

What the fuck was going on on Pandora? 

Less than a week had passed, and another assasination struck the island's leaders.

It was as if all the nations there were slowly dying, or was this some kind of conspiracy? A plan to overthrow the ruling government? Will Yggdrasil also soon be affected by the spreading panic and perhaps death? 

"Don’t panic."

A large wooden door quickly appeared in front of him, and without bothering to knock, Spyder ran into the room, pushing it open with a shove of his arm.

Schpood jolted his head straight at him, clearly being taken out of his thoughts and strongly surprised by the sudden visit.

“Spyder–?”

“I’m so sorry, Schpood, fuck, 6 leaders assassinated on Pandora, just now”

The emperor stared at him speechless. His expression shifting from shock to uncertainty to anger and finally worry?

He started to nervously tap his finger on the desk, as Spyder came closer to him, placing down the letter. 

The consul had to take quick and deep breaths just to start making sense in what he wanted to say.

“Owo received the information 5 minutes ago”

Schpood reached for it and started to read:

“Today, at 1 p.m., during an emergency meeting led by the Mediator, sir Saparata, between the leaders and diplomats of Pandora's nations, an attack occurred, killing six out of ten participants: Korulein, TrockyKid, AlkalineAlke, Jagster, Mattsoot, and Phoenix. 

The cause was a dripstone dropped from the building's ceiling, which instantly killed the representatives, [...]”

Both of them remained silent for a few seconds, Schpood staring at the letter and Spyder at him. He didn’t know what exactly to say. That whole situation seemed almost absurd. 

“We need to urgently call for a Blue Cross meeting.” Spyder finally mumbled. 

Schpood didn’t answer, folding the corner of the letter, he hid it back in the envelope and placed it back down on his desk. 

"How on earth had the meeting place not been thoroughly checked?" These were among the main thoughts running through Spyder's mind.

So many heads of state, so many people holding nations in place, and such an oversight was allowed? Ridiculous. 

Schpood finally looked at him, his expression seemed to have calmed down a bit. He no longer looked pissed, nor was he clenching his fists or tapping his finger on the desk. The emperor looked almost bored?

“You’re still holding the bread, looking like some errand boy y’know?” He snorted, eyeing the man up and down.

What now.

“Schpood what the fuck do you mean by that.” Spyder couldn’t contain the anger anymore, this was definitely his breaking point, his blood boiled upon hearing that comment. “Are you out of your mind? Seriously? Joking right now, at this exact moment?”

He threw the bag with the bread at the emperor desk, which landed inches before the edge. Clenching his fist so hard, nails dug into skin, drawing blood. 

“Damn, struck a nerve?”

“You could be a bit more fucking serious.” Spyder slammed his hands on the desk, leaning over the emperor. He was so close to hitting him, it took all his remaining strength to restrain himself from doing so. 

Schpood's eyes widened as he stared at his face, leaning back in his chair. “Sorry” A barely audible apology, but Spyder caught it.

“You better be”

“I need some time, leave– please.”

That was all the emperor could manage. A feeble, whispered apology and an order to leave his office. 

Annoying, so fucking annoying. 

Spyder didn’t even think twice before turning his back and leaving, smashing the door behind him. 

And just when he stopped right outside of the office, tightness appeared in his throat, as if someone wrapped a rope around it. Fuck.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder was languishing at his desk again, unable to even sit upright, leaning on his hand, eyes barely open even though it was the middle of the day, as he switched between documents that were rambling about Saparata run from his trial to analyze reports on the wheat harvest. It didn't look good at all. 

Of course, they had supplies, enough to last them for the next few months, but if there were a serious problem, it wouldn't hurt to contact one of the nations in Yggdrasil, or, worst-case scenario, Pandora. For them, the problems associated with the lack of food were almost impossible, given the perfect weather and fertile soil. That was something to be envied. 

The dry season that hit the Westhelm region was making its presence felt, despite everything. Many of the fields were withering, the sun was in the sky for most of the day, clouds were rare at the moment and rain? It wasn't worth mentioning.

Their water supply was dwindling, and it was decided that what remained would be used to transform it into drinkable water for the people of the nation. 

They faced increased expenses related to transporting water from Nevermore and Elysium. 

These were bleak times, especially considering that, due to the assassinations on Pandora, the market could soon plummet, and prices for everything would skyrocket. 

He'd cross out single words on copies of documents, scribble notes that didn't really make any sense. Words were jumbled, and he had to repeat himself in what he wrote. Two days had passed since the last tragedy, and so his conversation—though it might be more accurately to call it a crash out—with Schpood. 

Spyder didn't hide it; it had seriously pissed him off then, because what kind of comment was that? Maybe not even what kind of comment, but at what time Schpood had decided to say it. 

He knew the man- joking when he shouldn't have, but he never did, especially around him, when it was clear Spyder was seriously upset or nervous.

That's why it bothered him so terribly. 

This didn't mean they ignored each other, it was just that when they did see each other, it was a slight nod and nothing more.

Spyder wasn't going to do anything about it, he hadn't made a mistake; he just had to endure until Schpood got his shit together and did something.

At the Blue Cross meeting held yesterday, he had to speak for him.

It wasn't that it was out of the ordinary– Schpood had given up after the first time attending it.

But this time, the emperor had been specifically asked to appear. And what a surprise it was to everyone present there, when Spyder sat down again in the seat reserved for Westhelm. 

Of course, despite a few grimaces, the conversations flowed as usual, smoothly and without issue. Fortunately, the whole island of Yggdrasil clearly stated that conflict was least necessary at this moment and that it was better to avoid shouting. 

He didn't have the strength to try to convince the man to show up - when they passed each other in the corridor, Schpood just told him that there was a meeting and someone had to go there - Spyder nodded and that was it.

It might have looked like a childish argument from the outside, but Spyder didn't care. He insisted that Schpood had to apologize. Despite the burning sensation in his throat and the moments when he felt like something was choking him, he didn't budge.

Something was telling him that his “illness” might somehow be connected to Schpood, but the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. 

And to make matters worse, everyone was in deep mourning.

Not because of the deaths of the people on island number 2, but because of Owo's death.

The boy had been murdered in the early hours of this morning.

Spyder head couldn't keep up with it all. Westhelm had lost its consul for internal affairs, and he had lost a very dear friend.

These last two weeks had been hell on earth; not only had he been struck down by this damn illness, but his world was crumbling to add.

He was utterly fed up with it all.

It was as if the universe was taking revenge on him— but for what? 

Schpood might already be looking for a replacement for Owo, and maybe for him too.

Perhaps he had truly made a grave mistake by yelling at the emperor. In that moment, he had forgotten the boundary that separated them, that they were no longer just friends. 

One should not shout at the emperor, and under the influence of emotion he was fighting with himself to avoid lunging at him.

Today they didn't speak at all, not even when the boy's mutilated body was brought in.

Their eyes met only once, and nothing more. 

‧₊˚ ⋅

The ceremony was short but sufficient.

Owo certainly wouldn't have wanted people to linger at his grave.

A dignified farewell, flowers thrown on the grave, buried with the coffin and that was it.

Yet Spyder couldn’t get himself to leave, even when everyone else did.

He couldn't believe that the tombstone he was looking at had his friend's name written on it. They had just talked the day before yesterday.

And now what? What was this supposed to be, what a curse. 

Spyder hands trembled as he clenched his fists. Nails pressed against the still-unhealed wounds. He felt more drops of blood trickle down the skin, stopping at the knuckles until the first drops fell to the ground beneath his feet. 

Today, Schpood spoke to him for the first time.

The emperor simply put his arm around his shoulders, squeezed, and whispered, "He's definitely in a better place than this hell" or something like that.

It had already slipped his mind. 

As he looked at the grave one last time, the lump in his throat forced him to cough.

Dry, scratchy, and short. It was awful. The heaviness in his chest worsened as well. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder considered buying concealer to cover the dark circles under his eyes.

They were becoming too pronounced, approaching a dark purple mingling with yellow. 

He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd slept well. His rest consisted of short naps he accidentally took while working at his desk, waking up with his face on papers and sometimes an ink-stained cheek. 

Spyder couldn't concentrate, often staring blankly at one point until he realized it and returned to work.

A dry cough occasionally unsettled him. 

Until, suddenly, he remembered the bottle of wine Schpood had left behind long ago, when, he now recalled, he'd had his last good, deep sleep. 

Spyder looked under the desk and there it was, in the corner stood a glass bottle, just under half full.

He didn't know why he hadn't thrown it out yet—but now it didn't matter. 

Spyder impulsively grabbed it and without pouring it into the glass, drank the entire contents in one gulp.

The liquid barely made it down his esophagus, backing up twice, but once he'd finished, a feeling of relief automatically coursed through his entire body. 

The lump in his throat had calmed, not disappeared, but diminished considerably.

Yet despite how happy he was about it, a nervousness lurked beneath it all. Because the only thing that seemed to help him was alcohol, which he greatly detested.

But what could he do? 

Desperate times demand desperate solutions. 

The shock his body felt woke him up enough to allow for several minutes of solid work before the fatigue returned and the sinking feeling made him think of Schpood again. 

It was all so stupid. He couldn’t even get properly drunk to forget about it all ‘couse his strong head had forbidden him from doing so.

Annoying. 

And like a blessing mixed with a curse, the knock on the door woke him once more. It was quiet, and whoever was behind it had no intention of speaking or entering.

“Come in” Spyder mumbled, the hoarseness in his voice clearly heard as he quickly placed back the bottle under the desk. 

The door opened slowly.

Schpood.

He stood there, holding the doorknob and staring straight at him. Spyder widened his eyes, it felt almost unreal, having to blink a few times just to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination– and unfortunely, it wasn’t.

The man walked into the office, looking around closed the door behind him just as calmly. 

Spyder didn't know what to say, much less what to do.

They hadn't had a proper conversation in days, let alone be in the same room together with no one else.

“Schpood” He uttered, rising from his chair slightly. 

The emperor looked back at him, before coming up to the desk. 

Shit it was so awkward. 

He started to trace his fingers along the unorganized documents, reading the titles and contents. “You’re still working?”

“Someone have to do it” 

“You are barely holding your shit together though?” Schpood remarked, not looking at him as he started to read a report about Saparata running from his trial and the Commonwealth failing in catching him. 

That took Spyder out by surprise.

Yes, he felt like shit and his eyebags were pretty bad, but besides that? -He thought he looked neat and hid it all well.

“Where did that conclusion came from?” 

“Let’s be serious, you are asking me that as if I didn’t know you for years”

Schpood dropped the reading and looked at him, staring deep into his eyes.

Frustration.

That was what Spyder saw in the man.

“When was the last time you slept? Like actually–slept”

Spyder fell quiet. He felt embarrassed to admit it, but honestly, he couldn't lie to his face either. “Maybe like, two weeks ago”

Silence. 

“Mhm” Schpood finally hummed. He glanced around one last time before scratching his brow. “Alright, come here”

He raised his eyelid and Spyder knew that he had to do what the emperor asked him to. 

So, pushing the chair all the way back, he walked around the desk and stood opposite of Schpood. The emperor was only slightly taller than him, in fact, the difference was almost imperceptible but Spyder always noticed it. 

The man held his breath for a moment, taking in every detail of Spyder's face, drawing most attention to his eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

Then, as if deciding something, he grabbed his arm.

“You’re coming with me”

“What?” Spyder could only utter as Schpood pulled him, dragging him out of the office. “Fuck Schpood, what are you doing?”

At first, he protested, trying to stop by bracing his feet on the floor, but after several failed attempts and a clear message from Schpood that he had no intention of stopping, he allowed himself to be dragged. 

Spyder honestly thought the man would lead him to his bedroom, but he didn't. They passed his door.

So where?

After a few more steps, the realization of which route they were taking baffled him.

The Emperor's chamber. 

Fuck what?

Thank Ish-ness, there were no fucking guards anywhere.

He'd be officially screwed with the amount of rumors that would have been spread about them. 

Schpood opened the door and ushered him in.

Spyder had been in this room once, and only once, and that was when the Citadel and all its connected buildings were officially declared complete. Schpood then showed him his chamber, boasting that he had designed the interior himself, repeating at least four times to the man for him to notice the obviously gilded pillars and the cross vaults he had requested for the ceiling.

It didn’t change much, only now the curtains being in the color of deep red rather than orange, honestly it fits better.

A bed in the middle, two sofas on either side, carpets, huge windows and some other decorations, both large and small, floating around. 

“Schpood, mind explaining to me what the hell is this supposed to mean?”

“I’m tired, so no. The bed is yours” Schpood let go of him, walking over to the hangers that stood in the corner next to the mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Schpood removed the epaulette from his shoulders and began to loosen the strings connected to his tunic at the neck so he could take it off easier. 

Spyder, upon realizing what the emperor was doing, turned his gaze in the opposite direction, turning his back at him.

Why was he like that? So carefree. 

“Are you sure? I’m all fine with sleeping on the couch y’know?” He shouted, not sure if he could already turn around or not, it was better to not test his luck. 

“Yes. And quit asking questions” Schpood shot back, his voice being surprisingly close, Spyder looked over his shoulder only to meet the man standing right beside him, shirtless.

“Holy shit”

“What?”

“Nothing, nevermind” 

‧₊˚ ⋅

Everything seemed downright strange to Spyder. 

Less than a few minutes ago, he'd been sitting at his desk, pondering everything that had happened so far.

His thoughts wouldn't let him focus on anything for long; he'd jumped from one topic to another, and eventually, for some reason, his thoughts would return to Schpood. 

Just a few minutes ago, he'd been sure he'd completely screwed himself. 

And now? 

He was lying in bed next to him- not by his own will; the man had practically dragged him here. 

They were supposed to sleep separately.

Schpood had said he'd sleep on the couch—but somehow that didn't work out, because after 20 minutes, he started complaining that the couches were only good for throwing out, that they were too hard, that this and that. 

Then he got up, placed a long pillow between them, and fell asleep.

And surprisingly, it happened quite quickly, because he only grumbled for a few seconds, and that was all there was to it. 

Spyder chest tightened; he was truly convinced there would be no hope between them, and yet, everything returned to the way it had been.

Everything seemed natural, the short sentences they exchanged, the way Schpood treated him. 

Of course, they had never slept in the same bed before, it was a decision Spyder couldn't understand, but at the same time, it didn't bother him.

Schpood's quiet, calm breathing was soothing.

It didn't seem so lonely and cold.

Even his body seemed to allow him to sleep too.

‧₊˚ ⋅

Spyder didn't know what time it was, but it was definitely late at night.

He couldn't catch his breath, choking on his own saliva.

Throat burned as if he'd swallowed an unfinished cigarette butt, the pain spreading deep into his lungs.

He arched forward until he finally sat up in bed, an untimely chill suddenly surged into his abdomen, followed by a sharp pain that ripped through his chest.

Spyder gripped the sheets with one hand and covered his mouth with the other to muffle the coming in coughs.

He felt his blood pressure spike, a shiver course through his body. Trying with all his might to suppress the cough that was building up and getting stuck in his mouth.

Spyder desperately searched through the room for water or anything he could drink, but none of that was in his vision.

His hands slowly began to shake from the amount of force and pressure he was applying to hold himself in place.

Spyder tried to swallow whatever was causing the feeling, but nothing helped.

Everytime he tried to close his eyes, he felt incredibly nauseous. 

It felt like someone was holding a lighter in his throat and burning every muscle that was inside, slowly moving, pulling closer and further the fire so it can burn more or less, motions so precise it felt like whatever was making him feel it was doing it on purpose to deepen the pain. 

Unable to bear it any longer, he dragged himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

He grabbed a pillow and pressed it to his face; it muffled the sounds more than his hand.

“Spyder?”

The man entire body froze; the shock that coursed through him seemed to satisfy whatever terrible pain he was experiencing though.

The pressure in his chest dissipated, he let out a few ragged coughs, and then it stopped.

Everything stopped.

Schpood sat up in bed, Spyder felt the man gaze on his back. “What’s up with you?”

“Season thing” Spyder whispered, squeezing his eyes shut briefly just to concentrate “Sorry that I woke you up”

“Shit doesn’t sound like seasonal”

Swallowing one last time, he pulled his head away from the pillow and laid it behind him. “I’ll get going, sorry again”

Schpood grabbed his hand; his palms were terribly warm, reflecting quite intensely against Spyder's rather cool body temperature.

The emperor tightened the grip around his wrist and dragged him back to his bed. 

“No, no, you’re staying”

Spyder felt his entire body freeze.

The sudden touch sent shivers down his spine, but it also instantly soothed the panic he felt.

Schpood pulled him back to the bed, placing an arm across his chest.

And for a moment, Spyder wished the pillow between them wasn’t there.

‧₊˚ ⋅

Their closeness last night made Spyder be completely out of touch with reality today.

He woke up earlier. To his surprise, Schpood's arm was still around him, so it was quite the challenge to slip under it without waking up the man.

He did manage to do that at some point and without wasting time, he ran for his life back to his own bedroom. 

While getting himself ready for the day, sitting in front of the mirror, out of curiosity, Spyder opened his mouth.

Just to see how severe the redness might have looked like in his throat from the constant coughing and burning sensation.

He never bothered to really check before.

It almost looked like roots? 

Tiny, slightly pink with a hint of purple, emerging from the esophagus and curling around the uvula and tonsils. 

It made Spyder nauseous, he closed his mouth and decided that whatever he had just seen was nothing more than irritated veins.

Nothing to be worried about.

Yeah.

He really needed to get some fresh air, perhaps walk around the city and clear his mind.

The thought that maybe the volcano really had blown some fumes or gasses into the city didn’t matter to him anymore. 

The weather was surprisingly beautiful today, the sun wasn’t a pain in the ass, some clouds appeared here and there.

It was nice. 

Shouts from the market could be heard in the distance. Spyder stopped for a second to read a poster stuck to one of the many poles. 

Unusederas and his band were probably hanging up posters everywhere they could, announcing their upcoming concerts.

They boasted with a large text that they had a new song and anyone who didn't come to listen to it would be a fool. 

Westhelm could confidently boast; not every nation had a well-known singer who could entertain an audience in the time they were all living.

The shows were supposed to start in six days and last for about a week. 

Maybe he should go with Schpood? He loved their music; after all, the first song was written in his honor, so how could it be otherwise?

But then again, wouldn’t that be weird? To just ask the emperor “Hey they’re having a concert, let’s go together, eh?” 

No– no way in hell he was going to ask him that. 

He passed the colosseum, once again hanging his eye on it for a second, and then arrived at the docs. Not many boats floated, maybe three or four but for sure two of them were abandoned with how much rust was hiding in them. In the end, when the water is boiling hot, who wants to swim? 

In the distance Spyder spotted two guards chatting while sitting by one of the restaurants.

He knew them well, they were almost always patrolling the grand entrance to the Citadel and they also accompanied him and Schpood while they were going to watch the fight.

It must have been their free day. 

And so, Spyder decided to come up to them and say hi, maybe join the conversation, shit talk on someone?

In the past few weeks he hardly ever talked with anyone who wasn’t Schpood, in some way it was getting lonely– perhaps this was also the reason for his shitty mood. 

They hadn't noticed him yet, they had their back turned to him and just many people were around them so when Spyder greeted them from behind, they didn't pay any attention to him.

He was about to tap them on the shoulder and laugh that what, they didn't recognize his voice anymore?  “To be honest, him possibly becoming a heir apparent is not some big news”

Spyder stopped himself.

What?

The other guy stretched in his seat, leaning back. “That’s what I’m saying? With the way he is dragged to every single thing Schpood should attend– it’s obvious”

“I’m just waiting for them to finally declare Spyder and continue with their day, seriously”

He backed off slightly before turning around and speed walking the other way.

The fuck did he just hear?

Him?

As the heir apparent?

For THE Westhelm throne?

They can’t be talking seriously. 

Only when a cough stopped him in his tracks did he realize he might have been walking a little too fast, as he was out of breath.

Spyder had to hold on to the wall for a moment to keep from being completely bent forward.

He must have misheard.

Of course he had.

Because how could they be taking—him into consideration? 

He was a passing plaything in all this, an errand boy.

They kept him in his job as a consul solely because he agreed to everything, was systematic, and “eager” to participate at Blue Cross meetings instead of Schpood, this was where his purpose begins and ends. 

Another cough slipped from his throat, leaving behind a weirdly metallic like taste.

He covered his mouth to shush the noise as he already felt people staring and started walking back to the Citadel. 

Looks like the walk didn't last long..

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder found himself, again, slouching over papers, this time some trades that Schpood didn’t really check through and signed.

How was that guy even allowed to be an emperor? 

And speak of the devil– Schpood lounged in the chair in front of his desk.

His head rested on one armrest and his feet on the other, reading a book, though knowing him, Spyder was sure the man was just pretending to look busy and that his presence there had some "sensible" purpose. 

It’s not like he cared, he didn’t mind his presence that much.

It was even comforting to not be sitting in complete silence.

But the problem was that Schpood, even though acting like he was all polite, was every few seconds snickering at something under his nose, sighing loudly and everything else he could think of. 

If this had happened every now and then, Spyder probably wouldn't have paid any attention to it at all.

But how long could he endure it?

It was really starting to irritate him.

The breaking point was when after Schpood stopped slurping on the wine, he placed the glass back incredibly loudly at the desk. 

“Can you stop?”

“Stop.. what?”

Spyder stopped writing and raised his head up, trying to sound as calm as it was humanly possible for him “The thing that you are doing?”

Schpood frowned and looked at him appraisingly.

“You are being a pain in the ass, I’m trying to fix your mistakes here” Spyder pointed with his eyes at the pile of papers next to him.

Schpood twisted in his seat, placing the open book at his chest. “Well– I didn’t ask you to do voluntary work”

Spyder slammed the pen down. “What is your problem?”

Schpood straightened, stretching his arms up.  “What? I’m lonely, can’t I spend some time with you?”

“Lonely– you?”

“Well, ever since Owo kicked the bucket, y’know–”

“Don’t bring him up just to joke around”

Schpood smacked his lips, tilting his head to the side. “Who pissed in your wine?”

Spyder groaned, the lump in his throat making itself present again and the coughs attack were slowly creeping in on him. “No one”

He got up from his seat and started to walk to the door.

Better not to make yourself look like a fool in front of him.

“Where are you going?”

Spyder didn’t answer, just opened the door and closed right behind. 

The breathing was starting to get more and more difficult again.

He leaned on the wall wanting to wait it out. But that awful taste..  It was insufferable. 

A violent cough tore Spyder’s throat, it was sudden and burning. 

Spyder pushed himself away and sped his pace, until another series of coughs started to boil inside him.

Fuck someone might hear him.

He started to run.

Passing a few corridors, passing a guard who at his sight immediately saluted but was left speechless once realizing that the man just ignored him.

“Fuckfuckfuckfu–”

His legs finally gave up under him. 

Spyder fell with a hard thud, knees hitting the ground, shock shooting up to his spine. 

The breath was knocked out of him. 

He bent forward, hand clutching his shirt. 

A series of intense and aggressive coughs searing his throat. 

It almost felt like being choked up. Lungs were constricting, and access to breathing was cut off as he started to gag. 

Spyder immediately covered his mouth. 

Something warm, disgustingly thick and sticky. 

He looked at his hand. It was covered in blood, which slowly ran down his palm, dripping silently to the ground.

Tap, tap.

It was mixed with blood clots and something resembling roots and veins. 

And in the very center, 

a singular red petal. 

“What the fuck..”

He didn't even want to think anymore that he might have imagined it, or that it was just some stupid coincidence. 

Suddenly, everything made sense in one moment, that this sickness he'd been telling himself was caused by something in the volcano, all those coughs, sleepless nights, that heavy feeling he got whenever he was with Schpood. 

That fucking Hanahaki disease. 

His hands began to tremble, heavy panting came next.

His whole vision became unstable.

Another wave of coughs.

They burst through his throat, leaving an awful taste on his tongue. 

This time he didn’t make it in time to cover his mouth. Blood spilled on the floor, clots meddling with roots, droplets reaching the wall. 

It was disturbing, making him nauseous. 

Spyder was so close to vomiting just from the sole look of what had come out of him.

No more petals though.

Only that one, to spit in his face.

To laugh at his foolish feelings.

To remind him who he truly was. 

An absolute nothing in Schpood’s life. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

What last time worked to soothe the burning sensation in his throat? Alcohol. And where could he find it? At a bar.

So that was where Spyder seated himself.

It was barely eight in the morning but he didn’t care. 

Two days had passed since he first coughed up a petal.

He'd secretly hoped it would subside, but it didn't.

It was as if the disease was waiting for permission to run its course. Because now, going anywhere without a tissue in his pocket was impossible.

He'd coughed up about 15 petals by now– yes, Spyder counted.

And each time, tons of drops of blood accompanied them. Swallowing had become torture for him, so he spat out saliva whenever he could. 

Nights, when he tried with all his might to sleep, just to stop himself from thinking about it all, didn't allow him to rest.

Insomnia gripped him.

And if he managed to do so, even for a moment, terrible dreams would wake him up, panting, sweaty, and, to top it all off, crying.

Pathetic.

Spyder wasn't a drinker. He always said alcohol wasn't good for him, its bitter taste lingering even after swallowing, and then the hangover that would kill him. 

Absolutely not.

He only drank when Schpood insisted, but it was always one glass, or when he was feeling generous and in a good mood, he'd ask for another.

But to reach for it himself? Never. 

Well, that was it, because at that moment, he was the only one in the entire bar.

Leaning over the cheapest vodka the owner could offer him. 

Something was stopping him from simply grabbing the glass and gulping it down in one go.

Perhaps fear.

Spyder didn't know what he was feeling anymore.

It had to take a whole fucking disease and litteral flowers growing in his lungs for him to realize he was in love with Schpood.

Annoying, so fucking annoying.

He thought he might be able to distance himself from the man.

That it wouldn't make the symptoms so severe, but to be fair, Schpood wouldn't leave his side even for a second if he could.

The only time Spyder didn't have to feel sorry for himself because Schpood was somewhere nearby was at night, or when someone summoned him.

After their last “argument”, it wasn’t the most pleasant idea for Schpood to offer a clear and concise apology, and so he tried to make up for it by doing what he knew the best– tormenting Spyder even more, sniping at him every now and then and commenting on everything the consul did but refusing to leave his side. 

Well, not the smartest way to apologize, but Spyder knew his emperor well enough to accept it through gritted teeth, though he once again refrained from simply punching the man in the face.

Alright, just thinking about it all made Spyder be more confident- and so he grabbed the glass and gulped the vodka down in one swing.

Holy fuck. Disgusting. 

“How the fuck do people drink this for enjoyment?” He mumbled, wiping the corner of his mouth. 

“Normally you pair it with something sweet. The depressed and desperate ones just raw dog it” the bartender replied, staring at him intensely. Spyder wasn't surprised, though; it's not an everyday sight that one of  the most important people in the nation is sitting in your bar at 8am, stupidly trying his hardest to get drunk on the cheapest shit you can offer.

“Well, I’m the second type today, pour another.”

Only on maybe the fifth time did it pass through his throat without a major gag or grimace.

He wasn't going to count that one though.

Anything, seriously anything to quiet his thoughts and soothe the burning in his throat and it was fine. 

But after a while, he'd grown tired of vodka itself.

That bitter, stinging, even slightly vinegary aftertaste didn't satisfy him. 

Did it work? Yes, it was certainly the best of all the alcohols he'd ever tried to satisfy his needs. 

But amidst all this suffering, the desire for a little pleasure wasn't terrible.

And so he asked for some late harvest or just riesling wine. 

The bartender, though sceptical, poured him a glass. 

Reaching for it, he tried to say “Thank you” but it sounded more like a whisper.

“Tough times?”

Spyder swirled the wine, staring blankly into it. “You could say so”

He didn’t really know how long he had his ass sat in this place.

His head was starting to spin, and he had to lean on his hand to keep from falling headfirst on the bar.

At least he wasn’t alone here anymore.

Two guys came in maybe like an hour after him, and till this moment were sitting somewhere in the corner and drunk chatting about nonsense. 

Everything around him became muffled.

The lights were for some reason surprisingly bright.

The glass was wobbly.

Spyder couldn’t concentrate much on anything.

"Heir Apparent" kept pounding in his head and wouldn't go away.

In one movement he grabbed the glass and swallowed its contents.  “Ah fuck this all.”

‧₊˚ ⋅

It was incredibly soft and comfortable. His body molded perfectly to whatever he was lying on.

That was until someone poured icy water directly onto Spyder face. The shock woke him up and shook him until he sat up bending forward.

Spyder began to wipe the droplets off his face with his sleeve “Good fucking morning?”

“It’s 2pm.” Oh Fuck it was Schpood.

He looked up and there he was. Holding up the glass and staring at him.

“See, I thought I knew you– but you always manage to surprise me. Getting drunk out of your head? Really?”

Spyder’s head started to spin like crazy. “Uh–”

“The guards had to drag you back, y’know? Hilarious” the corners of the emperor mouth started to twitch, definitely trying to supress laughter.

“I can imagine that..” Spyder felt incredibly embarrassed. “So– how did I get here?” He was back in Schpood’s chamber, laying on his bed.

“Well, we got a notice that some drunk bastard was asleep in the bar and.. it was you. So they picked your ass up and dragged it back to me. In short of course,  because if you want me to tell you what you were doi–”

“Don’t, spare me.” Oh my Ish.. He couldn't have made a bigger fool of himself, could he?

Schpood put the glass on the shelf and smacked his lips,  “So– explain?”

Quick, think of a lie. “Needed a break”

“You, a break? Want me to believe that?” Shit.

“I’m not some robot you know?”

Schpood crossed his arms, nodding. “Mm, yeah I tend to forget about that”

“Just– uh, sorry.” Spyder ran a hand over his face and slid from the bed onto his feet. “For the trouble I mean.”

“Oh yeah, yeah” Schpood didn’t drop his eyes from him, following him right to the door. “In your place, I would recommend staying”

“I’ll be perfectly fine– thank you, your eminence, for the worry” Spyder left, hearing only Schpood starting to rage “Don’t you “eminence” me!” before he fully closed the door. 

What a disgrace. He just lost his perfectly built image in the eyes of many people, in the eyes of Schpood. 

He definitely won't be returning to that bar. 

Honestly, he didn't even want to think about what Schpood meant when he wanted to add about his “doings” whilst they tried to drag him back. 

A few sharp coughs tore his throat again.

He managed to cover his mouth in time just to stop the blood from spilling anywhere and the two perfectly intact reddish petals in the middle of his palm.

“That would make it 17.”

‧₊˚ ⋅

The thing was, Spyder was seriously sure of himself that nothing worse could come his way today. 

He got absolutely drunk at the bar, passed out, had to be dragged back by the guards to Schpood, and woke up in his bed– once again. 

Nothing more should happen. 

That was until the hangover got to him. 

And it was awful. 

Not the smartest idea to drink on an empty stomach, is it?

His body didn’t have anything to throw up with other than the vodka and wine he drank in countless quantities. 

Spyder was slouching over the toilet, throwing up everything that was inside him.

It felt like it was twisting his insides; stomach felt like it was about to melt, the esophagus was turning upside down, constricting in every single spot. 

Hot, bloody vomit rushed to his throat with a spasm of agony.

The acid was spewing out, irritating and burning everything on its way out, sending a cold shiver through him. 

For a moment Spyder couldn't catch his breath.

The metallic taste of blood mixed with floral, bitter-like sensation of petals that drowned in the incompletely digested remnants of the alcohol wouldn’t leave his mouth, lingering on the tongue and around the tonsils.

His back was drenched, the tips of his hair that met the neck were turning into a darker shade of silky blonde due to sweat. 

Spyder grasped around anything just to wipe the last bits of vomit from his mouth as soon as he stopped throwing out.

Trying to swallow was a torture and a blessing.

Having to taste it all again but at the same time it somehow soothed all the pain. 

The sight before him reminded him of a cursed warm and mushy bouquet, one that seemed to have been burnt, stepped on and drowned in bloody liquid.

Spyder propped his head on his hand, panting heavily.

If it was only the alcohol, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad.

But the vomit tore the roots and destroyed the petals, dragging them along. 

He felt disgusting and laughable. 

"So pathetic... look at you, and you seriously think anything he could love you?"

No matter what crisis he was in, the tormenting, mocking voices refused to leave him. 

Mocking his condition, his naivety that his feelings would be reciprocated.

That because of his idiotic crush, he was now kneeling, flushing out everything that had accumulated so far, revealing to him the true agony.

It flew through his mind that what if this disease had never afflicted him? 

But he still would have fallen in love with Schpood.

If there was a glimmer of tiny hope then, perhaps on one of those evenings when the man was once again sitting in his armchair drinking, Spyder would join him and when the alcohol would give him courage, he would whisper that he loved him. 

And if Schpood hadn't reciprocated, he would have blamed it on the alcohol, that it was all just a stupid joke, and that would have been the end of it.

Annoying…

Yes, it was obvious to Spyder that in such moment, the sensible thing would be to confess how he felt towards him. 

But when the knowledge that if the feeling wasn't reciprocated meant certain death, all that common sense vanished, and any thoughts were replaced by fear. 

He hadn't pledged loyalty to Westhelm and its emperor to die for some stupid love. 

At that moment, Spyder decided that if he was certain this miserable fate would soon befall him, he would want to choose the way his life ends. 

And that was to die fighting, for the nation, for the emperor.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Schpood has asked him to accompany him to the band’s concert. Saying that they don’t do much together, getting all tangled up in work all the time. And that he misses their friendly out-goings.

Spyder doesn’t miss that “friendly” part. Actually paying the most attention to it from everything other the man had said to him.

Such a contrast to what he wished for them to be...

Of course– he agreed.

Anything is better than nothing. And it was still nice to think that Schpood valued him, caring for their friendship. 

Schpood asked him to drop the armor, to wear something casual, nice, but to keep the red cloth on. Spyder wasn’t a fan of this idea, but to somewhat feel the win, he still insisted on carrying the sword. 

Always better to be to some point ready– right? 

So there he was, this time, waiting for Schpood by the main gate with two guards.

To his absolute luck, they happen to be as well the ones that talked about him being the heir apparent.. 

Spyder didn’t know whenever to start conversations or perhaps better to not.

Either way, it was awkward. 

“...so, date?” 

Spyder jerked his head up, looking baffled at the guard. “Wh-.. What?” 

“You two?” One of the guards asked, eyeing him up and down.

“What? No– heck no. Of course not.”

“You sure? Asking you to dress nicely, going to the band’s concert– together.. I mean, you can see how it looks, right?” He tilted his head, looking at Spyder and then side-eyeing the other guard.

Spyder felt heat creeping up at his neck, thank fucking goodness for the cloth that covered it. “You are milking it.” 

“Mhm, sure”

“He’s just dragging me anywhere at this point, it’s nothing out of the ordinary”

“Spyder..”

“Seriously, drop it”

“...All right, as you wish”

He really didn't need those words, that false hope.

It was the last thing he would ask for at that moment. 

Schpood appeared shortly after, casually marching towards them. 

He was dressed quite classically: a tight black shirt, black trousers, girdled in his distinctive red robe, and golden armor and pendants adorning his shoulders. A laurel wreath neatly sitting on top of his head. 

“How the tables have turned? Now waiting for me, haha!” He laughed it out, squezzing Spyder’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s go"

‧₊˚ ⋅

As always, their concert was full of life and shouting.

People were singing along with the singer.

Beer was flowing among everyone.

Schpood and Spyder were in the space designated for the emperor, slightly separated from the crowd and above it, to ensure safety and comfort at the event.

Of course, Spyder had brief moments of panic when Schpood leaned too far over the railings two or three times, making him believe the man was about to fall over. He had to either hold him or pull him back.

Finally, the emperor calmed down, and Spyder could breathe a sigh of peace. Peace about Schpood's safety, because when it came to his inner peace, it was worse than ever. 

Spyder couldn't concentrate on the concert at all; he was dizzy by the suppressed coughs that unfortunately managed to slip in every now and then and the taste of petals permeating along with blood under his tongue.

Having to excuse himself once, just to not accidently cough up any of it.

It didn’t even surprise him when Schpood looked at him weirdly twice, he was acting like a freak after all.

But when he suddenly felt leaning in Schpood right beside him, his mouth dangerously close to his ear, Spyder almost died.

“After the concert, I want an honest explanation from you, about what is going on, the coughs and shit.”

Well, Spyder froze on the spot.. 

The warmth escaping from his neck, left by the emperor's breath, was the only proof that this wasn't a dream.

Oh fuck…

‧₊˚ ⋅

They were the first to leave, a few minutes ahead of the crowd. 

They walked silently between the buildings as they were finally approaching the Citadel. 

Spyder secretly hoped that perhaps the man had forgotten what he had asked him during the concert. He decided that if the man did, he would pretend to forget as well. 

Well, that is, until Schpood stopped.

“You two, leave us alone for a second.”

The guards stopped a few steps behind them.

A bit unsure of what to do, it seemed rather irresponsible and dangerous to leave the emperor alone without protection, especially since the sun was already setting, the alleys were becoming increasingly dark, and the lamps had not yet had time to light up.

“But sir–”

“I have to discuss an important matter with our consul, it’ll be short. Now leave.”

When the emperor gives you an order, there is no room for oohs and aahs, you obey like a good dog and do it. 

So, with a moment of pause, both of them walked around and marched towards the main gate, leaving Spyder alone with Schpood. 

Schpood turned to him, perhaps with a slightly bored expression. But after a second, he stared at him rather intensely, giving the impression of being irritated.

Spyder didn’t know where to start, what lie to tell the man.

It was insufferable.

“Of course, you’re staying silent.” Schpood ran a hand through his hair, before fixing the cloth that was slightly falling from his shoulder. “You are acting like I’m blind, Spyder.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, the constant coughing, you having some fucking attack in the middle of the night?”

Spyder stopped for a moment.

He was a bit taken aback by the fact that Schpood was paying any deeper attention to all this.

Spyder bit the inside of his cheek. “Some fumes from the volcano I guess” he said absently, almost like a whisper.

“Fumes?” the emperor snorted, blinking twice at the man.

Spyder threw a hand in the air, trying to make it look like he didn’t care that much about what his answer was. “Well– yeah? Seriously Schpood, nothing serious. I catched a flu or some shit and that’s it”

Schpood's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then he chuckled to himself again. 

“You are so fucking unbelievable”

“Excuse me?” Spyder’s tone walked the line somewhere between incredulity and slight irritation. 

“How is your sleep?”

The irritation weared off almost instantly, getting it overthrown by surprise. “Light, not much too” Spyder said, unsure of even his own answer.

“Why so?”

“Tons of work.”

“Ah– yes, ” The man waved around his hand, almost like it was nodding “I’ll divide it, actually I was supposed to do that earlier, sorry”

“There’s no need for tha–”

“Rest in my chamber for a while too”

Schpood said it so casually, Spyder genuinely thought he was joking.

But no, that man was dead serious.

Actually paying not that much attention to him as well, he was fixating his vision on still fixing the cloth that draped him.

“Sorry, what?”

“You won’t cooperate otherwise, so take it as an order from your dear emperor”

Spyder's breath caught in his lungs for a moment, thoughts swirling in his head.

He couldn't comprehend what had just happened, fully grasp Schpood's words.

Sleeping in his chamber?

Dividing the work among others?

It was idiotic, even irrational.

“Schpood–”

“I’m not listening to you nonsense, I’m tired, let’s head back”

So that would be it from their weird conversation. 

Of course Spyder wanted to lash out on him, for daring to split his work among others, what if they messed it up?

Spyder very much appreciated and loved having control over things. 

And that whole thing, with him sleeping in his chamber.

What was that supposed to be?

So idiotic, so not well thought out at all, so..

Heat gathered at the tips of Spyder ears as he once again felt his throat burning..

Oh he was such a fool. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder accompanied a meeting Schpood was having with several diplomats and officials from nearby nations.

The usual discussions were taking place, concerning pacts, tax agreements, and CommonWealth being lately a pain in the ass. 

He finally forced the man to at least appear more interested, especially since the panic that was spreading around the islands continued, seemingly neither increasing nor decreasing. 

Consequently, the number of meetings Schpood had to initiate, convene, and attend- increased. 

They were all sitting at the table, Schpood, of course, in the armchair he was unaccustomed to, Spyder next to him.

The rest of the people present were on the other side.

Fortunately, things went smoothly without any major arguments or misunderstandings.

When matters moved beyond their island, Spyder would enter the conversation and take full initiative, but when matters remained within the confines of Yggdrasil, he would only speak up at Schpood's request.

His thoughts often drifted off though, sometimes staring at Schpood's hands, focusing all his attention on all the tiny scars, veins, and knuckles, sometimes on how the sun reflecting off the goblet in front of the man cast a golden glow on his face. 

Thankfully, Spyder quickly was able to catch himself, and before anyone could notice it, would return his gaze to the gathered guests or some trifle in the room. 

The conversations were interrupted by a knock coming from behind the door.

Schpood shot a glance at Spyder, who without questions, immediately excusing himself, got up and walked briefly towards the door. 

Not to his complete satisfaction, the conversations in the room stopped, it became incredibly quiet, Schpood tried to answer something but no one paid him any attention.

He opened the door, only to be met with one of their secretaries, who looked perhaps too alarmed. “Sir– I apologize for the disturbance, it’s urgent.” 

Spyder nodded. “What is it?”

“Saparata. He’s with the Covenant Leader, Turntapp. They requested to speak with the emperor. Right now”

He had to blink several times for the words to sink in. 

Saparata? 

The same Saparata who was currently the most wanted man between the two islands for the suspected murder of six state leaders and diplomats, and the same one who had escaped his own trial a few days ago? 

No, it had to be some misunderstanding, it wasn't sensible. And with the leader of the Convenat, too.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“They are waiting downstairs”

“..Any army with them?”

“No– just them two”

Spyder heard a chair being pushed back somewhere behind, and then Schpood appeared beside him, clutching his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“Saparata asks for you, he’s downstairs.” Spyder answered, his voice low and gravely.

“Fuck off, what?”

“Sir, they are saying it’s urgent” the secretary said.

“Oh–... Yes, tell them I’m coming.”

The secretary rushed off immediately, leaving only the receding sounds of shoes tapping on the floor as they ran.

Spyder froze, unable to register fully the just given information. 

“I have to excuse us for a second, it won’t take long” Schpood said, looking back at the table and the still so seating incredibly confused guests, before walking out the door.

Spyder following shortly after. 

“This is surreal” The consul mumbled, trying to catch up with the emperor's steps. 

They headed for the spot where the boy was waiting for them. To their surprise, he was indeed there, visible from afar, his white robes contrasting with the rest of the room.

And behind him, Turntapp.

The Covenant leader truly stood to his given descriptions. Standing erect, his expression unreadable—serious, perhaps indifferent, and certainly not the most pleasant. 

As soon as Saparata saw them, his whole body seemed to come alive, though the uncertainty written all over him was all too obvious. 

“Hello... the Covenant leader has brought me. Can we– can we have a meeting?” The boy said, his voice was soft but measured, like he was trying his absolute best to not stutter or mix up words. 

Spyder eyed Schpood, who seemed to be very much unsure and sceptical of this entire thing too.

“I’m not going to lie Saps, I don’t– you coming to me asking for a meeting, after what happened last time. Even if it wasn’t to do with you–”

“Listen, I just wanna talk–”

“..What, about what?”

“-At least explain, ‘cause I’m innocent.”

Schpood stopped for a second, he seemed hesitant to Spyder.

And as his eyes met his, Spyder shook his head lightly.

Silent prompt. Wanting to bark out critical thinking to him... 

His hand already finding its way to rest on the hilt of the sword.

“Saps, I’m sorry, no.” Schpood said, looking back at the boy, whose entire face seemed to lose bits of color. 

“..I understand.”

Saparata remained in his spot for a moment, his gaze drifting directly to Spyder's, sending a slight chill down the consul spine. 

The boy immediately bowed after, apologized for the inconvenience, and left the building.

Turntapp simply glanced at everyone present and nodded, then set off after Saparata, leaving everyone behind without another word.

When they both left, a strange silence fell over everyone gathered. As if they all needed to quickly organize their thoughts and analyze the entire thing. 

“I’m sorry, what just happened? What did they think– that you will accept him?” Spyder said in disbelief and  a little bit of irony. 

“I actually thought of doing that.”

“What? Schpood that would be ridiculous”

“Well– I thought about it until I looked at you. Then I decided we are smarter than that” He chuckled, glancing once more at the door through which their unexpected guests had just left, and then started walking back towards the meeting hall.

Spyder was baffled, running quickly to catch up with the emperor. “Well, what if you didn’t? What if they wanted to attack us?”

“Spyder, it’s not a secret– that my opinion on Turntapp is hollow, but that man is not stupid. They wouldn’t attack while their leader stands in front of me without protection.” He laughed it off, shooting him a “Chill out” look.

Spyder refrained himself from asking further questions. Maybe there was no point in that. Schpood seemed confident enough in himself and his answers.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder found himself, crouching, again. Just this time in the Blue Cross building.

He knelt with his hand against the wall, trying with all his might to regulate his breathing, to control the blood pressure and heart rate.

But nothing worked.

The armor he wore also didn’t help, weighing down his chest and arms, causing them to sag from lack of strength.

It was while they were discussing matters concerning Infernus that Spyder felt a tightness in his lungs, a scratching and itching that gave him no peace.

It was making it almost impossible for him to fully express himself. 

And then he knew that sooner or later he would cough up this devilishness.

So, choosing the moment when he decided that a few minutes of absence would not be a problem, he excused himself, stood up and quickly left.

It was getting worse every single day, hour by hour he could feel the rots slowly spreading from his lungs up to his throat and who knows where else.

It was suffocating, breathing becoming more insufferable, hoarseness in his tone and thick saliva building up.

The amount of petals he was coughing up everyday couldn’t be counted on his fingers, the metallic taste of blood seemed to be just never leaving.

Some of them also for some reason absolutely loved the idea of sticking up to his palate or teeth, which he had to peel off, making this whole thing even more disgusting.

Spyder was already pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket for the fourth time, just to stain it with blood and the disgusting scent of flowers he was already growing impossibly tired of.

And when no one was looking, he threw out it to get rid of any evidence of his illness as quickly as possible.

Spyder was unimaginably fed up with this life.

And it was at moments like these that the thought of surgery increasingly crossed his mind. 

He quickly dismissed it, of course; Spyder had dedicated his entire life to serving someone, and when that someone turned out to be Schpood, life, too, took on more meaning. 

So, no matter how he felt, losing the one thing that had guided him through life was an unthinkable option.

Yet, there it was.

Lingering, tempting.

Spyder was getting disgusted with himself for even allowing such thoughts to appear. 

Just when he wanted to get up, get a grip, footsteps slowly emerged from the muffled talks in the background.

Growing louder and louder.

“Spyder, there you are” Cass said, her eyes immediately locking on his slouched figure and her voice quieted down instantly. 

Few coughs slipped in, he quickly covered his mouth.

Blood was leaking through the handkerchief between his fingers. 

“Sorry, I was about to go back” Spyder said as his voice made a muffled squeak. 

She stopped for a second, staring at him and then at his hand. “Don’t tell me–”

“Let’s head back, yes, let’s go–” Spyder interrupted her, stress already flashing over his entire body. 

Cass was at his side in one step, her eyes trembling.

Spyder was stunned, and panic robbed him of his words as the woman grabbed his hand, forcing him to reveal the tissue, soaked in the blood that had permeated the petals and it. 

Spyder swallowed, eyes widening as he looked between her and his hand.

How... how so fast? 

Without another word, Cass took his hand in hers and embraced him. Resting her hand on his back, she placed her head on his shoulder.

What? How did she know?

His hand froze in midair, entire body stiffening as if turned to stone.

Cass embraced him, hugging him with all her strength but not too tight as well.

Spyder stared straight ahead until his eyes finally dropped to the strands of hair that lingered on the side of his vision. 

His body suddenly lost control, his knees seemed to weaken, hand lost its strength and settled on the woman's back, buring his head in her shoulder.

“I’m so incredibly sorry, that it happened to you. I really am.” She whispered. 

Yes it was certain, that Cass knew what this disease really was. 

Annoying.

Fucking annoying.

She pulled herself slightly from him, just enough to see Spyder’s face.

What he saw in her eyes, he didn't know if he should even try to describe.

Sadness, panic, disbelief, pity. No, those words didn't fit what he saw there. 

“Really, I don’t want to pry. But if I were you– I would have told him.”

“It’s quite obvious.” She quickly added, noticing his surprise. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise”

Wiping his eye, where a tear had gathered at some point, she smiled gently.

“Let’s go back, before they start to talk about us”

She patted his shoulder, then turned, heading back to the conference room. 

Spyder stayed where he was.

Clutching the handkerchief in his hand, digging his nails into his skin. 

Why? 

Why did a woman, who had only seen them together three times, immediately knew.

And Schpood couldn't? 

"Because you don't mean nothing to him."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

From the moment Schpood ordered Spyder to sleep with him, the man had been counting down the days, giving the whole situation a maximum of three until the Emperor finally ordered him to give up this circus performance and return to his own bed. 

He waited for his laughter, in between which he would tell him it was all a big joke, that he was bored and was just passing the time. 

But this joke, which Spyder was so convinced of, had already lasted a week and a half. 

And no laughter so far.

Schpood hadn't given him any sign that anything was wrong, that he'd changed his mind about the whole thing. 

Such thoughts made Spyder have trouble sleeping. This whole illness didn't bother him as much as these damn loud, torturing thoughts.

Alternating between wanting to sink into the ground, both because of the depressing ones and the ones who keep telling him something might still work out between them.

"It's all so fucking embarrassing." he thought.

But beyond all this, it still amazes Spyder, incredibly, that the emperor trusts him above all else. 

Allowing himself to be vulnerable and asleep next to him.

Spyder had never been able to understand Schpood, neither his thoughts nor his whole person.

Moreover, the emperor seemed more rested and alert than he had been in some time.

The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have disappeared, though a faint mark remained, of course, but they were no longer as intense.

Spyder could only see them when he lay next to the man, examining every detail of his face as he slept peacefully.

So many times he had to stop himself from touching him, from running his hand through his hair, brushing a strand that had fallen onto his face behind his ear.

It became more and more impossible with each passing moment. 

So Spyder decided that no matter what happened, he would keep his hands to himself and make sure he lay with his back to him.

But life couldn't be that beautiful.

Because while he refused and forbade himself everything in reality, his dreams, as if in punishment, chastised him. 

He began having nightmares where they were both sitting with their legs dangling over the water in the harbor, Schpood's head resting on his shoulder.

And they sat there, not talking or anything.

They were together.

And that was enough.

It always made Spyder wake up, breathing deeply, as if someone had just stopped choking him. 

So now, perhaps it was three in the morning, wrapping his hands around his body, he stared ahead.

At the table, at the glass of water on it, shimmering in the reflection of the soft lamps illuminating the area outside. 

How many more nights like this would he be able to experience?

Live through?

Before death scrambled him apart..

“Mmm…”

Spyder turned around, trying to make out Schpood’s face in the darkness. The man turned in his sleep, mumbling something. Until he gasped for air, sitting up straight. 

“Schpood–?”

The man began clutching his shirt around the chest, staring blankly ahead of himself before finally turning his head towards Spyder and loosening at the sight of the man next to him.

Spyder sat as well and placed his hand onto his shoulder as if to make sure the emperor didn’t run off somewhere. 

“Dreamt of the bloody CommonWealth, don’t worry” He cracked a laugh, eyes melting into his bright smile. 

Spyder stared, perhaps a moment too long than he should have, then nodded and went back to lying down, before he could do anything irresponsible.

Schpood, on the other hand, remained where he was, and it bothered Spyder that he could feel the man's gaze on his back.

It seemed to pierce his entire being. 

Finally, with a slow movement, Schpood lowered himself into a lying position, but as he stirred gently, Spyder felt a mass of warmth suddenly envelop his entire body, and finally a touch. 

Gentle, tentative, and hot. 

A hand wrapping around his waist, resting on his body.

Warm breath on the back of his neck, intensifying and softening every few seconds.

“Don’t leave me..” careless whisper Schpood mumbled. 

His whole nervous system went into panic mode.

But Spyder didn’t move, he didn’t want to. 

…?

Two men.

Sitting together.

Shared laughs.

Shared breathes.

Head resting on shoulder. 

Stupid nicknames. 

Stupid jokes.

“Seriously, stop, this is too corny” One chuckled, as the other had just called him sweetheart. 

“What? Can’t I call you that?”

“You’re acting like we are some love birds– it’s stupid”

Raising of head and shared look.

Look that lasted perhaps too long.

Hand reaching his chest, laying him under the other’s weight. 

“Would it hurt, if we were?” The man asked, looking down at the other.

Heat reaching one's cheeks.

“No…”

An uncertain look in the eyes.

One lowered his head, the other tilted it to the side slightly.

Lips lingering above the other.

Warm breath meeting the skin.

“Can I?”

A nod.

A closing of distance.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

He had been tapping his pen on the desk for several minutes, striking a rhythm that had just occurred to him.

Spyder was transfixed by the text of the documents, the first page of paper, a text he felt he could recite but also forget instantly.

His other hand lay beside a stack of folders, scratching the skin around his fingernail, feeling a burning, uncomfortable sensation that began to shoot through him in tiny waves of pain.

The pressure he felt on his feet from the shoes he had worn all day was slowly starting to annoy him.

His shirt felt terribly rough today, suddenly for some reason he felt every thread, every tiny detail that touched his skin.

Around his waist, he still felt the same thing, a hand that embraced him so gently, as if afraid to hurt him.

Fingers that rested on his skin, molding themselves to every muscle as if they already knew their way around.

The comforting sensation that seemed to ease any pain he ever felt. 

A slight pull to close the distance that had settled between them, the pillow that separated them suddenly lost all meaning.

The breath that–...

Spyder stopped his thoughts from wandering too far, as a shiver ran down his neck to his spine. 

He was unable to explain what had happened.

Oh course, Schpood was always fond of physical touch.

Always managing to find a moment to place a hand on his shoulder, to stand closely to him.

But what was that?

It was like this all day. Schpood seemed as if nothing had happened to him, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Spyder, on the other hand, couldn't look him straight in the eye.

What did he expect?

How was he supposed to behave when flowers were growing in his lungs, slowly cutting off his access to life, all because of the man and his actions?

“Spyder, focus.”

His gaze returned to the document before him, a report, to be more specific. 

Concerning Knight_Arcturus.

The empty eyes from the man's photo pierced Spyder's face.

He took a quick sip of the wine next to him to clear his head quickly. 

Archie... he would have considered a hardworking and respectable guy back then. He was good at his job, never complained, and even had a sense of humor. 

It was all good until he disappeared, and the news of him only brought them information that he was involved in the failed assassination attempt on Schpood that had taken place a good few months ago. 

To think, a man involved in something like that walked among them for a good two months after it, until word spread throughout Westhelm that another search had been initiated in connection with that assassination, when not enough things had matched together. 

Word reached them that he had been sighted on Pandora, wandering between nations, perhaps seeking a place to live or work, but because he carried no documents, few were interested.

Then his photo reached the newspapers on both islands, and his image was left to rot. 

The problem, however, was that no one had been able to locate him for the past three weeks, and he had quite a powerful knowledge about survival, after all he had once served in the army.

The guy was dangerous.

He was last seen in the CommonWealth area.

That fucking CommonWealth.

The mere mention of that nation was enough for Spyder blood to immediately begin to boil.

If they could, they would send the army and carry out executions on Arcturus and on this hell on earth without hesitation.

And Schpood had been tempted by that many times.

In these matters, Spyder had had to intervene too many times, holding back troops already preparing to move, sending last-minute letters announcing the withdrawal of the action.

Despite the great willingness of everyone gathered in Westhelm, such an attack would definitely result in a war beyond their nation's capabilities.

Without a good justification—and at this point, they had none beyond the anger boiling within them—attacking them would result in the merging of all Pandora's military avenues, and perhaps even the nations of Yggdrasil, who out of panic and their own small armies, would join the Commonwealth, just to not place themselves on a silver platter. 

Unfortunately, they had to admit that they were far richer than Westhelm; the wealth they had accumulated exceeded everything on their island combined.

Their only advantage was the netherite in the volcano, but with the lack of clean access to diamonds and Queen Cynikka's reluctant consent to mining this material, its use was nothing.

So, at this point, the whole situation seemed a bit hopeless.

This, of course, made Spyder very nervous, because after a moment, he realized that the pen he was holding seemed to be slightly bent from the pressure he was applying to it.

Everything these past few weeks had been a blur.

This damn disease was making everything worse.

Spyder was practically racing against time, because he honestly didn't know how much time he actually had left to live. 

He was losing track of time, his concentration was abysmal, and his focus was, to put it mildly, bordering on impossible.

He often found himself skipping meals due to lack of appetite or because most of the things he ate, ended up becoming an awful slouching over the toilet and vomiting mixed with blood and petals. 

Spyder had grown accustomed to the never-ending burning and scratching sensation in his throat, but when he'd suddenly be seized by coughing fits, and his lungs felt like they were collapsing, all Spyder could think about was for it to either finally stop or for the disease to pity him and let him die. 

Of course, after Schpood kept his promises and divided his work among several other people who, thankfully, had a more or less grasp of the matter, and Spyder didn't have to correct them, his whole job seemed a lot easier.

At least he wasn't falling asleep at his desk anymore or sitting until the sun rose outside the window.

But that didn't leave him free from the stress he felt every day.

He was growing weak.

Spyder knew this perfectly well, and he was slowly getting used to the thought, even though it was depressing. 

Perhaps he wasn't worried about his own condition, but rather that when it came to Schpood's safety, during every official encounter with the crowd, Spyder always, always stood beside him, providing the first line of defense.

So as his body rusted and withered, there was a greater chance that his movements might also be imprecise, and Schpood might suffer the consequences of it, or perhaps die.

It was driving him insane. 

And thank Ish he stopped himself. Before more tormenting thoughts creeped on his set of mind.

There was work to do, not a moment of feeling sorry for your own fucking self. 

Spyder stood up, holding on to the table for a moment as darkness and dizziness occupied his mind, and stepped towards the window to open a crack and try to regulate his breathing with fresh air.

The sun was still on the horizon, warming the city streets and leaving a golden glow in its path. The water shimmered in the rays, waves forming one calm rhythm gently lapping against the docs.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

A few days passed, and Saparata returned to Westhelm once more at Schpood's request, when the latter sat down with Spyder to discuss all the possible outcomes.

It might have been idiotic, but the more time they spent on it, the more sensible it seemed to at least listen to him, to give him a chance and to add to it all– it was the absolute perfect bait to anger CommonWealth.

And when the boy arrived, it was as if a new door had opened, and the decision they made was the right one.

Word spread as if instantly that the boy who was most wanted was residing in the most powerful nation in Yggdrasil.

And as planned, word of this also reached CommonWealth. 

Initiating a meeting with all the leaders of Yggdrasil, in a separate part of the island covered in icy snow, in an open clearing, with no sign that any human had ever settled there, Saparata's innocence was proclaimed, and the nations united against the Commonwealth, siding with the boy.

Westhelm was assured of support for the cause they cared about most at that moment.

During a meeting in Elysium, where Saparata addressed the people of that nation, asking them to reconsider joining and supporting the military, Spyder informed Schpood of the people's envy, resulting in a perhaps ill-considered and rather hasty decision.

Westhelm's troops led by Skipolo, a trusted military leader, were sent to the Commonwealth with the task of bringing back Arcturus, another way to anger and bait the nation they hated so much.

Knight_Arcturus was, despite all this, nowhere to be found.

But the message was sent clear– Westhelm was not backing off.

Less than a few hours had passed since the gendarmes had returned to Westhelm when a military group led by Zekor entered their territory, asking for a sudden meeting at this very moment with the emperor and Saparata.

Schpood was more than surprised, but to not raise suspicion remained calm and agreed. 

“I propose a trade.” The man started once they all gathered in Schpood’s office. Tension rising every given second. “You give me Saparata and the CommonWealth gives you Knight_Arcturus.”

A moment of silence.

“Arty for Saps..” Schpood murmured, sitting by his desk, watching over the entire troop. “I mean– where would this happen?”

Spyder stood nervously next to the emperor, his hand gripping the blade strapped to his hip.

Their goal in all of this was to provoke the CommonWealth into making rash moves and attempting to attack or preemptively take some aggressive action against them.

Not some ridiculous and idiotic plan in which they try to convince them that they suddenly knew where Arcturus was and wanted to trade him for Saparata.

“You can let us take Saparata now, and then we can kill Arcturus for you.”

“No, no, don't kill him.” Schpood said immediately, taken back by the offer. “He needs to fight in the colosseum.

Zekor burst out laughing, smiling stupidly. “Alright, we can make that work as well.”

The emperor watched carefully, examining Zekor's facial expression and body language. 

“Wait– so you’re saying, you know where he is?” Schpood smiled, leaning back in his chair.

Zekor fell silent, clenching his fist as one of his guards, in the corner of the eye, began to lightly shake his head. “I–”

“It’s interesting because SitzKrieg said he didn’t” There it is, he had him.

“Okay.. Look, he comes back every now and then. We’ll find him.”

“Really, is that so?” Schpood looked at the man standing before him like he was the biggest idiot and loser to ever walk the face of the earth. He fought to keep from bursting out laughing in his face.

“Why would I lie?”

“So you’ll find him for me..”

Saparata joined the conversation, standing in the corner of the room. “Schpood, don’t do this.”

“Look, Schpood– I have to be honest. I’m shocked that you are defending this criminal.” Zekor cut him, pointing his hand towards the boy. “Either you accept this deal right now, or I tell everyone from back home that you’re harboring Saparata. They’ll all declare war on you. And this will be the end of Westhelm.”

Schpood straightened slightly, his gaze jumping from one to another, until his eyes met Spyder’s. His entire face lightened as he grinned. 

“So, just to make the terms of this deal very clear, because I want to be accurate.” He got up from his seat, hand tracing across the desk, he walked over to the window, looking out at the city stretching out behind it. 

“You expect me to give up an innocent man, in exchange for a terrorist?” Schpood glanced at the man over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side. “Is that really your offer?”

“He’s not innocent” Zekor stuttered slightly, quickly coming back to his senses.

Spyder had never seen Schpood so relaxed, so confident, in his life. And it gave him an incredible amount of confidence that things were going according to the man's unspoken plan. No one in the room dared to speak up, to interrupt the circus that the CommonWealth troop and its leader was ineptly playing. 

The emperor shook his head, grinning like a little child. “Alright.” In one graceful movement, he approached Zekor, standing literally inches from the man. He held his breath for a moment, gazing intently into his eyes, causing Zekor to take an uncertain step back with one leg, his hand trembling.

“Get out– now.”

Zekor remained silent for a few moments, startled clearly despite his best attempts of hiding it. Soon he started to retreat, his hand was already levitating over the sword but he didn't dare to rest his hand on it or tighten his grip.

He left, his people following after him shortly after.

They fled, like cowards. 

Now it was sure– that war was on a thin line. 

Everyone remained silent, guards eyeing each other in the corner, Saparata sighing relief. 

Schpood on the other hand, stood in place smiling, that cocky expression in tact. “What a bunch of buffons”

Spyder swallowed, a burning sensation in his throat that reminded him of an unburnt butt of a cigarette. Lingering painfully, bitter taste of petals under his tongue  At that moment, they made a mockery of the Commonwealth, stripping them of the pride and pomp they always flaunted at meetings. 

Yet, was that really enough? 

And then an idea sowed its seed in his mind.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Spyder sat in the chair in front of his desk.

Wine in one hand, papers in the other.

His grip tightened, bending the pages, creasing them under his fingers.

Today he didn't feel like a consul, but like a loser who had blended into the crowd at the Westhelm office.

His head fell onto his shoulder, eyes frozen in place, slowly burning with tears that filled the corners.

The entire office looked like one giant dump, torn documents strewn across the floor, spilled ink seeping into the wooden cracks in the desk.

A pen with a hardened nib that had been left open laying on one of the papers.

Two bottles resting at his feet. 

Spyder tried to blink, but didn't even have the strength.

His head felt like it was about to explode, brain about to spill out.

A throbbing pain permeated his entire body, taunting thoughts, hands trembling.

Why couldn't he come up with any other idea? Why? Why did this one seem the most sensible and wisest to him?

Whywasitallsofuckingstupi–

Coughs tore the man throat, making him double over, wriggling in his chair like a whining dog, wine spilling as his hand lost its strength, glass shattering on the floor and cutting his feet. 

He felt his throat melting, scratching until blood clenching fully grown flowers left him panting and crying.

Blood spilled onto his hands, legs, the ground beneath him.

Flowers whose scent made him want to vomit, petals twisting with roots, blood-red carnations in full bloom.

During the day breathing became a repulsive chore for Spyder , standing straight was impossible, he was always hunched forward, needing to hold on to something every now and then.

It would be disgusting and repulsive to be found sprawled on the ground in a pond full of his own blood, mouth full of the last blooming flowers.

For Schpood, whose information would reach him immediately, or perhaps even worse, he would be the one to find him

It was such a damn terrifying thought, twisting him inside.

He probably wouldn't even understand- after all, this disease was little known, most people thought it was some kind of fairy tale told to children to scare them.

No real medicine or cure Spyder could accept.

No one knew how to heal it, remove the roots or pluck the flowers.

Perhaps someone across the sea could be found, but what was the likelihood that such a person even existed?

Spyder laid on the ground, under the desk. 

Hugging his slowly rotting body.

He didn't want to die so much.

So, so, so much.

And for the first time, Spyder considered confessing. 

Because the chance of it being real seemed so genuine…

“But what was the point?” a mocking voice spoke to him. “The decision was made last night, to give Westhelm reason for life in exchange for your own”

Why when love finally seemed to be reasonable and real, was forcing him to give it up?

“Loyalty matters more than your own life.” it spoke again, laughing.

“Love was the curse all along.”

“Love was the sin.”

“Let me choose one last time, let me choose how I die.” Spyder whispered, sounding more like a meaningless gibberish as he started to choke up on his own blood. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Schpood paced the room.

At the table sat a group of Yggdrasil diplomats, his own secretaries, Skipolo, nervously reviewing reports, and Spyder, who sat with clenched fists, leaning over the table next to the emperor's empty seat.

The guards stood erect at the door, despite their armor, their stress was visible.

Everyone was pondering how to stop the madness that had befallen on them.

An uneasy silence enveloped, as if waiting for the bells to toll.

Is it about to strike? Reporting war, or will the Commonwealth keep them in suspense?

Schpood occasionally looked out the windows, sighing loudly, cursing under his breath. 

That same morning, he received a letter inviting him to a meeting at CommonWealth. 

What a piece of shit, a vile lie wrapped like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

What did they think he was? An idiot? Pathetic. 

Spyder scratched the already bloodied cuticles around his nails, swallowing the thought of death.

He needed just a few more seconds, the last moments he could savor.

The sight of everyone gathered, the sight of Schpood.

He didn't sleep all night.

He laid transfixed, staring at the ceiling, Schpood nestled against him, a hand wrapped around his chest.

His breathing was calm and warm against Spyder’s neck. 

Tonight, the pillow separating them fell to the ground.

He didn't know when it had become the norm for him and Schpood to sleep so close. 

At first, it was just a hand lying beside him or resting lightly against his body.

Later, it was a squeezing embrace, entangling them both in a hug.

Tonight the pillow fell, and Spyder wanted to cry out everything he had inside, tonight was the night he so desperately wanted distance between them two. 

Schpood’s touch made him want to back off, to fuck this whole fucking plan, to stay in his embrace and never leave.

Life has gained a sense of humor. Truly it did.

Once again he had to do something that would make life easier for all of them, but also harder.

They'd probably have to find a replacement for him.

It wasn't that he felt superior, but it was a fact that few people walked the Westhelm roads who were so resourceful, obedient, and trustworthy.

Without him at the office, everyone who worked there would surely have a hard time taking over all his duties.

He felt pathetic.

But it's logical... He was the closest to the emperor, so only he could have gone to this meeting instead. It would have seemed the least suspicious.

So it would be logical as well for him to go and try to negotiate, and it would also be logical that if they kill him, Westhelm would have a legitimate reason to attack that damned nation.

The decision was sealed for good. 

Spyder rose from his seat, the chair squeaking back.

Everyone present immediately paid their attention to him, their heads instinctively turning.

Schpood stopped dead in his tracks, looking at him over his shoulder from the window.

“Let them kill me, for then Westhelm will have the very right to attack” He spoke quickly without much thought, full of conviction in his voice.

Someone spat out the wine they were swallowing, someone else coughed, covering their mouth with their sleeve.

Everyone stared at him as if he had just begun to glow. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Spyder saw Schpood's figure, frozen. 

The worst part was the look he gave him.

Full of disbelief, as if he were waiting for Spyder to laugh and say it was just a joke.

But the longer he waited, the more he realized that this wasn't what he was so sure of. 

“Spyder, what are you saying?”

“I’ll come to them with the initiative of negotiating, if they kill me, Westhelm can attack without any of the nations batting an eye” He finally looked at the man, despite the shame and fear that pierced him. “I thought about this– a lot, and it’s the best option. I’m fine with it, I’m ready to do whatever it takes for Westhelm not to fall”

One of the diplomats finally regained his ability to speak. "While this is an incredibly stupid and courageous decision, I unfortunately agree. Spyder is the second most important person in this nation, his death will certainly generate publicity and be the perfect excuse for an attack." 

Of course, Spyder agreed with that. But it sounded downright funny that someone also believed that he was worth nothing more than a sacrificial lamb.

“Let me go, today, while the sun is still up.”

Schpood nervously glanced around the room, making sure everyone was really looking at him—unfortunately, they were. 

They were waiting for his decision.

For the first time the emperor seemed nervous, filled with incomprehension and uncertainty.

He walked up to Spyder and grabbed his hand, started pulling him along, apologizing to those present as they exited the room.

Closing the door behind him, he looked around to make sure no one was around, then, grabbing Spyder stiffly by both arms, the man stared into his eyes, searching for any answers. 

"What are you thinking? Putting your life on the line just like that?" Schpood yelped, too fast and too loud. 

“Schpood, I was seriously thinking about it a lot, for the past few days I was trying to come up with a proper solution. This is genius, and I’m ready. I’ve never been more sure in my life. That’s my purpose– to serve Westhelm and to serve you”

Schpood grip suddenly loosened, he was just touching him with his fingertips, as if he still didn't want to let go but wasn't forcing him to.

Spyder had never seen so many questions and disbelief in anyone's eyes.

So much anger and sadness.

Schpood looked like a completely different person, someone Spyder had never seen before in his entire life.

And despite the despair clogging his throat, the blood he could only taste in his mouth, Spyder smiled. The sweetest, most love-filled smile he could ever do.

“Are.. are you really sure–?”

“Yes.”

Schpood dropped his hands from Spyder’s body, leaving them hanging lifelessly beside him.

“You are a hero, Spyder.”

“Glory to Westhelm.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Twenty seconds, nineteen seconds, eighteen seconds, seventeen, sixteen… 

He could already feel and hear the arrows being slowly loaded.

fifteen, fourteen,

Blades slowly pulled from their shells.

thirteen, twelve,

Spyder knew the very moment he stepped into the Acrypolis. 

eleven, ten, nine,

That he won't get out of here alive.

eight, seven, six,

Waiting, for paralyzing pain to strike him, for that agonizing pain that had been going through him for the past few weeks.

five, four,

For the flowers that were piercing his throat, his train of thought, his last vestiges of strength, for it all to finally end. 

three, two, one...

“They need to learn, farewell, Spyder”

And there it was, an arrow piercing his rib, then another lodged in his shoulder and stomach.

Pain instantly shot through his entire body, suffocating him with every ounce of strength. 

He fell to his knees, then miraculously caught himself with his hands before his head hit the floor. 

He felt the cold metal tip of the arrow lodge between his bones, preventing him from taking a breath. 

Breath that became shallow and rapid. 

Blood rushed through him, until he finally collapsed. 

Feeling everything in his body panic, his head as if it were about to explode. 

Until he heard footsteps.

The person crouched in front of his face.

Laughing.

Then kicked him with all their might in the arm from which the second arrow was sticking out, driving the blade even deeper.

A few more mocking laughs, until finally they all left.

He feels nauseous, toxic taste of the vomit penetrating his mouth, until it all spilled out, mixed with blood and fully grown flowers.

They tore through his throat, reaching his mouth. 

Spyder twisted, his spine taking on an abnormal shape, he felt his ribs slowly bending, the flowers pushing against his insides and bones. 

The arrows pressed against his muscles and tendons, he felt his veins entangle between the blade and the roots. 

Endless discomfort.

Deepening with each passing second, hands, slimy hands, demanding obedience, wrapping around his neck, tightening with every labored breath. 

Fighting his mouth, he tries to bite, but they don't respond, crawling in, touching his tongue, counting individual teeth, dragging their thumbs across the roof of his mouth, relentless, disgusting hands. 

Fingers scratching his esophagus, pulling at the tissues and muscles beneath their nails, his induced terrible coughs and choking, and they, with that vibration, laugh, never stopping. 

Reaching his thyroid, pressing his fingers into it like some kind of foam, flesh leaking out under the pressure and constriction, until finally bursting and splintering. 

The first murder.

Fingers creeping along his ribs, feeling their rough, hard texture, the material that tickled them. 

They found his lungs, rising and falling. 

Those fingers… fingers that treated those shallow, desperate breaths like a trampoline. 

Second murder.

He begged them to stop, his heart, the most important vessel of his beaten and abused body. 

Was this what those hands were looking for? 

To pierce, to dig, to scratch? 

First, one finger, 

forcing itself through the tube connecting his heart to other organs with great difficulty,

then a second,

and a third, 

squeezing through, choking his breath, robbed him of his permission to scream and shriek. 

Third murder.

They had long since drowned out his permission to his own body,

long since he had lost his life.

Hands that were the disease, 

fingers that were the roots.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

To rot, to rise by your side,

to be drunk once again on your gaze, voice,

to rebirth love and to fall into it once more,

to die and to be remembered as who I am, 

who I was,

you are reflected in my eyes more often,

your hands are intertwined with mine,

you soothe me to rest,

you drown me in your warmth and touch,

you are my answer,

my way of life,

together we will forget what is tainted, what is unsaid,

eventually, we will be buried in dirt, 

for I have loved you,

for I still love you, 

for the red carnation awaits us.