Chapter Text
Lohen didn’t know when it started exactly.
He couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment he fell in love with Varka. The realization had come to him in one boring, ordinary day and he had known then that he was screwed, doomed to forever chase after something he, without a doubt, could never have.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew he couldn’t chase after Varka, would never be able to call the man his. He knew Varka wouldn’t want to be chained to someone like him, someone so broken, so weak.
Varka was… he was everything Lohen couldn’t be. He was an inspiration to the knights, so bright and so strong it seemed as if he had been favored by Lord Barbatos himself. Perhaps he was. In all honesty, if someone were to tell him Varka had been blessed by a god, Lohen might just believe it.
He was everything Lohen could have been, in another life where he never ended up in the hands of the fatui, where he wasn’t chasing after power the way he craved it now. Perhaps that was what made Varka different from him. The man seemed to have access to it in ways Lohen could only ever dream of.
Varka was the strongest person he had ever met, but also the warmest. He was the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. Lohen was his subordinate, one who barely listened to orders, at that. Varka was unreachable, like a light shining in the distance yet too far for Lohen to reach amidst the blizzard and the chilling cold that surrounded him constantly.
He stabbed his polearm into the last of the Wild Hunt underneath his boot, turning his eyes to scan for his troop. His gaze landed on Varka, a few meters behind him, already walking towards the injured and checking everyone’s condition. The man didn’t look behind, simply headed for the group of knights just a few feet in front of him.
Lohen sneered, stabbing his polearm more forcefully into the carcass of the already dead beast.
Of course, how typical. Varka would never look at him to check him for injuries, would he? He wouldn’t tend to him the way he would the other recruits because Lohen could handle himself, because he didn’t need the attention, because he could handle himself. But Lohen wanted it. He wanted for Varka to turn around, just once, so he could give him that annoyingly proud smile, or wink at him, or tell him he was proud or something. Anything.
Lohen would have been happy with a simple thumbs up. He yearned for it so badly it was killing him.
He turned his head in a hurry as his chest tightened and a cough racked his body. His grip on his polearm hardened, hands flying to his mouth to cover what he knew was about to come out. He hunched his back just slightly, not enough for people to worry, but enough for them to think he was checking something over. He didn’t need noisy knights running towards him.
His throat hurt, his body shook just slightly with his coughs until, eventually, he pulled his hand away to stare at the bloody mess and the petals that had gathered there.
He counted them, coming up with three. Three bloodied, white petals. Just a week ago it had been a single one. He clicked his tongue, hiding the petals in his sleeve.
Cecilias, again. It made him want to scream. Or to hunt another Wild Hunt anomaly so he could deal with it and get his mind away from this whole mess. What an ironic flower to cough up. One that only grew where harsh winds blew, as intangible as the “true heart of an unbound soul”, they said.
Right.
This true heart was killing him. Slowly, surely, it would consume all the free space in his lungs until he suffocated. And Varka would be none the wiser unless Lohen told him. Should he, though?
He turned back around, searching for the man with his eyes, finding him as easily as one who was searching for the sun when the clouds disappeared. He was laughing, that same booming laugh that could be heard a thousand miles away, that stretched his mouth so widely, wrinkled his eyes in such a way it made his whole face light up. The kind of laugh that was barely directed towards Lohen, that made his chest tighten with want every time he heard it.
Was it so wrong of him to desire something so desperately, something he knew he couldn’t have? Was it so wrong to fall in love with someone? Did it really warrant a death sentence? Lohen had always been the one upon which misfortune would fall, had always been unlucky in life. They had already been in Nod-Krai for a while and Lohen’s thirst for battle was as strong as ever… especially since this thrice damned disease appeared. He craved getting away from this all too consuming feeling that threatened to swallow him whole.
It was unbearable.
His stabbed the carcass one more time with more force than was warranted before stepping back and beginning his walk to the Keep where they established their base. Hopefully he would find some monsters to fight on the way so he could abate his frustration, satisfy his itching to let go, maybe get one or two injury scratches so he would see blood that wasn’t the one he was coughing.
He left Varka behind to deal with the knights. There weren’t any life-threatening injury, so Lohen had nothing to do there anymore. He could leave his troop behind, they would know what to do.
Varka glanced at him as he passed by and his eyebrows furrowed. Lohen waved goodbye and smirked, hurrying away as inconspicuously as he could manage so he could hide the fresh wave of coughs that shook his body. Well, it was nobody’s business but his. What did it matter if he was coughing up a few petals here and there? Nobody would care, anyway.
He did not find any monster to fight on his way back.
Later, at camp, Lohen sat in his tent, quietly gathering resources he might need the next few days while out in the wild. His throat itched, his lungs felt too small for him and breathing was getting harder with each passing day.
He had to get out. He had to take his distance, allow his treacherous heart to take a break. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for long if he stayed in close proximity to Varka, of that he was certain. He needed to track how much time he had left, the growth rate of those stupid flowers, and whether or not the distance would help him.
Maybe that was exactly what he needed, after all. To see less of the unattainable white light he was pathetically reaching for. Maybe being away would dim his affections for the man, maybe he would wake up to how utterly humiliating this was. Maybe he would realize how pathetic all of this was.
He scoffed, stuffing a dagger with too much force in his bag, accidently ripping the side of a supply pouch.
He cursed, getting it out of his bag, examining it. There were only bandages in this one. The cut wasn’t too large, they wouldn’t spill out. Satisfied, he made to put it back in place when the flap of his tent opened.
Instinctively, he threw a dagger at whoever was stupid enough to enter without warning him first. A much too familiar voice cursed and the root of his problems appeared, looking behind his shoulder where Lohen assumed the dagger must be lodged somewhere in the dirt.
He tensed instantly, searching quickly all around him with a sweep of the eyes for a hint of white petal and specks of blood. Upon seeing none, his shoulders relaxed just slightly, satisfied for now.
He felt the familiar prickling of new petals in the back of his mouth and kept it resolutely shut, breathing deeply through his noise, refusing to cough even a single one in Varka’s presence. Or anyone’s for that matter, but especially Varka’s.
Lohen, already so useless, would not show even a flicker of weakness.
Varka looked at him, having missed the quick search Lohen conducted. He ignored the man, continuing to stuff only the important resources in his bag. Overpacking would only hinder him, after all. He didn’t need much stuff, anyway.
Varka’s stare was heavy, persistent. Lohen was very acutely aware of the gaze following his every movement. He couldn’t help but wonder, then, what kind of expression he would see on the Grand Master’s face if he were to look up just now. It was weird, how much he wanted for those eyes to stay on him, to appraise him, how much he craved for that voice to whisper in his ear, how much he simply wanted the other man around.
How much Lohen wanted him to gravitate around him and do so in return.
And yet.
Lohen forced a snicker out, staring in amusement at Varka as he got up, ready to go.
“Are you going to stare at me for long, Grand Master?”
Please do, he didn’t say.
Move out of the way so I can get away from here, he almost did.
A cough made its way out despite how much he tried to reign it in. He covered it with a laugh.
Varka sighed, looking almost disappointed but not surprised. Something in Lohen’s chest ached. He hated it, how pathetic, how weak it made him feel.
He who thought he was finally strong enough to fight any foe, he who thought he had proven himself, that he was powerful, that he was the only one who could decide of his own fate, of what would happen to him. A ridiculous disease was getting the better of him, all because Lohen had been stupid enough to fall in love.
He put a hand on his hip, smirk widening with every new fracture in his too fragile heart. Oh, how pitiful.
“Where are you going?”
So that was it? Where are you going. As if he wasn’t used to his disappearances and spontaneous missions.
Lohen snickered again.
“Oh you know,” he drawled, getting another knife out and throwing it in the air before catching it, repeating the movement a few times. Varka’s eyes tracked it, cautious. “What I do best, fight a few monsters here and there.”
He stopped throwing the knife, catching it one final time. “Why d’you wanna know?”
Then, just before he could answer, he added; “Don’t tell me you’re worried?”
Varka’s gaze sharpened then, focusing fully on Lohen who found himself pinned under the intensity of it. He couldn’t tell exactly why Varka was looking at him like that, only that it sent a shiver running down his spine and threatened another coughing fit.
Lohen needed to get out of here and fast.
“The last time you went alone, you came back half-dead,” the man said, watching him carefully, as if anticipating Lohen’s reaction.
It made something unpleasant twist in his chest. The way Varka was cautious, the way he was looking at him as if Lohen couldn’t handle what he was trying to tell him.
This had been a one-time thing. Plus, Varka was exaggerating. Lohen hadn’t been that injured. Most of the blood hadn’t even been his own. He knew his own limits, damnit.
He pushed it all down, refusing to acknowledge the ugly emotion twisting in his gut.
“Aw, so you are worried!”
“Don’t give me that, Lohen,” was Varka’s exasperated reply.
Lohen would forever deny the chill that swept through his body when Varka pronounced his name in that deep voice of his.
He shrugged his shoulders, slung the bag over his back and made his way to the flap of the tent. He walked slowly but not overly so, waiting. He wasn’t sure for what, however. Maybe he was waiting for Varka to stop him, to grab him delicately as if he was something to be cherished and ask him to stay. Maybe he wanted for the Grand Master to offer to accompany him.
He almost scoffed at the idea. Yeah. As if. Varka had duties that came first. Although he hated paperwork, he would never abandon his knights to go on an impromptu adventure the way Lohen so often liked to do. What’s more, Varka would much less embark on such a trip with him of all people.
With some resentment, Lohen thinks that maybe he would have, had it been someone else. Diluc, for example. Or had it been one of the kids he cared for of as if they were his own.
But no, not Lohen. Never Lohen.
An ugly thought formed in his head, then, of Varka thinking he was childish, acting irresponsible. That a Vice Captain had no business acting the way he did. Barbatos knew just how many complains the man received on the daily about Lohen’s special training routines and his methods.
Or just his ‘eccentric’ personality, really.
So, it came as no surprise when Varka didn’t move, didn’t say anything else. Even as their shoulders lightly brushed when he passed by him, the man’s mouth stayed close. His head turned to follow him until he no longer could. Only then, when Lohen’s back was to him did he hear the shuffling of boots signaling that Varka had turned. His stare bore in his back, drilling a hole in his head.
Lohen swallowed forcefully, forcing the petals that were gathering in his throat and itching him to go back down. It didn’t work. They seemed to accumulate instead and he had to fight with everything he had to avoid from coughing.
It was night, surely no one would be able to see the white, incriminating evidence that something was wrong with him if he were to let go, right?
“Be careful,” he heard behind him, almost making him pause.
Lohen saluted, refusing to turn back. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t go back running to Varka’s side, begging for him to listen as he told him about his affliction, about the feelings eating him from the inside, slowly suffocating him until there would be nothing left of him, until the air would become impossible to draw, until he would have no choice but to either die a slow, agonizing death or chose treatment.
He didn’t turn back. He couldn’t say all of that. Varka didn’t deserve it.
“I expect you back in five days at the latest,” the man almost shouted when Lohen started disappearing in the night.
“Sure, old man!”
His voice came out rougher than he would have liked. He allowed the first cough to slip out when he rounded a corner, somewhere he knew he wouldn’t be stumbled upon, just outside Favonius Keep. It racked his body, shaking him all over under the force of it. He gasped, struggling to draw in air, a hand flying to his throat, eyes blown wide.
He leaned against a wall, bag falling on the ground, the daggers in it clattering against the rocks. He barely heard it amidst the ringing in his ears, the cutting sensation of petals fighting their way up his throat. He opened his mouth, prying two fingers in, reaching for the back to trigger his gagging reflex.
His vision blurred for a moment as dizziness made him sway. He lowered his head, getting down on his knees, the other hand resting on the hard, cold ground as he slumped over, his chest tightening with the lack of air. His stomach twisted, pulling tighter and tighter as cold sweat beads prickled down his neck, his spine, under his gloves. His jaw tightened under the effort of trying to get out something that stubbornly refused to move, lodged in the back of his throat and seeming determined to stay there.
Finally, finally, he gagged and his mouth watered, the taste of iron invading his senses, hot and strong as his body lurched forward. His airways cleared, a mixture of bile and blood falling on the ground, soaking beautiful yet deadly petals.
His chest heaved with the force of his coughs, breathing in hungrily and greedily as he allowed the space in his lungs unoccupied by roots to fill up with air he so desperately missed.
He stared, transfixed, at the seemingly innocent petals that were trying to suffocate him, counting them.
Five, there were five of them this time. Only this morning there had been three. He wondered, was this normal? Was the disease progressing too quickly or was the pace the same as other people experienced? He didn’t know, had never met anyone afflicted with it. Visiting a medic was entirely out of the equation.
He categorically refused. Be it someone he knew from the Knights of Favonius or a complete stranger, he wasn’t sure which one would be worse. He didn’t need to be treated like a damsel in distress, like some broken and fragile thing that could give in at any moment, keen over and simply… die.
The last time he had felt so powerless… the last time he had felt as if he was worthless, too weak to defend himself, too small in front of his foes…
No. No, he refused to think about this. Lohen had overcome it. He had become strong, had even went against his parents’ wishes for him to lead a quiet, safe life all so he could be able to defend himself if he were to encounter dangerous situations again.
He had proven himself already, he had joined the Knights of Favonius, damnit! He would not be treated as if he was just another patient, just another poor, unfortunate victim! No, he would not be made the victim of his own life ever again.
A laugh built up slowly, growing stronger and stronger until it spilled out of his mouth, mad cackling filling the air. He raised a hand to his face, hiding his eyes in an attempt to erase the pathetic sight under him. That’s what he was, wasn’t it? Utterly miserable and pitiful. What a state he had been reduced to, all because he had had the nerve to feel something that was as far from indifference as could be towards his superior.
He shook his head, willing these thoughts away. He got back up on shaky knees, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back again. He needed to fight monsters, needed to exteriorize. Nothing would satisfy him like a battle with some strong opponent and he found himself craving it, if only to blow off some steam, to get his mind off of the flowers steadily growing in his lungs, faster than he would like.
He huffed out a laugh, wiping the blood slipping from the corner of his mouth. It smeared the fingers of his gloves, bright against the blue, unmistakable in its color. One of the downsides of choosing lighter colors in his uniform, he supposed. It didn’t matter; he could pass it off as monster blood if asked.
Lohen glanced up briefly at the moon illuminating the path ahead, thankful for the coverage the night provided. He materialized his spear, steadied his grip on his bag and made his way downwards, further and further away from Favonius Keep, from the boring meetings about safety protocols and do’s and don’ts. Away from the stuffing atmosphere and encompassing dread, away from stupid Varka and the cecilia petals he threw away on the daily.
Well, actually, those would keep following him. Their origin, however, would be away. It was just like people said, after all. Out of sight, out of mind.
Now, he only had to hope that would work. If not, he would have to resort to plan B: desensitization therapy, as Sucrose called it. Something in his gut told him it wouldn’t be quite as simple as getting rid of an allergy but he hushed it down and pushed it away as soon as it surfaced, refusing to entertain the thought. If the time came for plan B to need to come into action, he would deal with it then, the same way he always did. That is, with sheer spite and refusal to admit defeat.
His first victims came in the form of wild monsters similar to those he usually encountered in Mondstadt. Hilichurls scattered here and there were a common occurrence to him, albeit a boring one. With a gleeful smirk that promised pain, he rushed forward, spear at the ready, knife hiding in his left hand, covered from view by his cloak. Not that hilichurls would be able to tell, mindless beasts as they were, but one could never be too careful.
Ice flew about amidst shouts and his own loud, unrestrained laugher.
“Bring it on!” he laughed, thrusting his spear forwards before swinging it to the side.
One hilichurl met the end of it and went flying straight into another, knocking them both out. He ducked as a shooter aimed at him, the arrow imbued with pyro lodging itself into the mask of the hilichurl he had just hit. The ice melted instantly and it emitted another cry of pain before slumping over completely, dead.
His heart beat wildly as he spun around, throwing a knife at the hilichurl getting ready to shoot him again. It dropped down with a shout, not before managing to lightly graze his cheek. He barely felt the sting, laugher bubbling out of his throat, cryo gathering at the tip of his polearm as he struck the last of them, the ice so cold it almost burned his hand through the layers of his glove. The hilichurl laid in a pool of its own blood, splashing some of it on the front of his boots.
Silence fell over the camp again. He analyzed the offending garments with disinterest, wondering how hard it would be to clean if he left the task for later. He shrugged before raising his head, looking ahead and scanning the environment in search of the slightest noise that would betray his next victim.
Hilichurls were fun but they barely posed a challenge. They ignited his thrill for battle except they barely put up a fight, quick to fall down and be slayed. The thrill barely lasted and now his heart was starting to calm down, adrenaline slowly leaving his body.
The ache in his chest made itself known again now that the adrenaline was dying down, that his mind had nothing else to fixate on except the constant tightness in his lungs and his increasing difficulty to breath. He grit his teeth, clutching his hands over the fabric covering the area. He flicked his polearm, sending some of the blood on it splattering a few feet away. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough! He needed more! A better opponent!
He took a few steps forwards, scanning the horizon more carefully, more attentively. Then he heard it, a Frostnight Scion. He didn’t know which one it was yet, but he hoped it would prove to be a worthier challenge than those hilichurls.
Without a second glance at the carnage he had just created, he rushed towards the source of the sound, wind in his face and blood pumping loudly in his ears. It was exhilarating, the way his whole body vibrated whenever he fought, his polearm moving as an extension of his arm. He attacked the creature, dodged when it tried to get a hit on him, missed another one that got him in the arm.
He barely felt the pain. In fact, it helped to ground him, to take his mind off of the death sentence hanging above his head. Anything to take away from the pain in his lungs, anything to make it feel insignificant, to mask it, to smother it and quash it until it became so insignificant it disappeared on its own.
All because of a man who barely paid attention to him and saw him as little more than a subordinate. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t quite mentor and student either. Not with the way Lohen constantly challenged him, not with the way Varka always, always saw him coming.
He gave one last, strong kick with his polearm and the beast fell to the ground. He panted, gritting his teeth, massaging his hurt arm. The sting that came was welcomed.
Five days later, he returned to Favonius Keep before Varka could get it in his head to send a search party or, Barbatos forbid, come looking for him himself. Not that he would. He was way too busy to preoccupy himself with where Lohen had disappeared to again. Really, it wasn’t a new thing and the Grand Master had never scrutinized him that much for it either. All in all, it was a strange occurrence, one he didn’t know what to feel about. However, it definitely served to make him uneasy.
Sitting a bit farther away from his knights, watching the fire dance under the moonlight, Varka took a sip of his own, non-alcoholic drink and sighed. For the millionth time that night, he cast a glance at the entrance of Favonius Keep, watching for familiar mint hair and mesmerizing, glowing eyes.
Still nothing.
Varka was used to the disappearances, to the occasional scratches and injuries that would litter his body after a particularly long ‘investigation mission’, as Lohen would call it, but last time had been something different.
He had found the rascal near Favonius Keep with dirt all over his face, hair matted with blood that also clung to his clothes in varying shades, indicating some fresher injuries. His spear had looked as if it had taken a dump into a river painted red and Lohen himself had been all smiley, swinging an arm in his direction as soon as he saw him.
Varka remembered very well the way his heart had plummeted to the ground, the way his eyes had immediately jumped to the limp Lohen was trying to hide as he had forced himself to get away from the rocks he had been leaning on for support, despite knowing it wouldn’t work on Varka. Oh, yes, he remembered the fear that had threatened to consume him as he had rushed forward, gripping the shoulders of the other man so tightly he was surprised Lohen hadn’t winced, eyes dancing all over him to check for the full extent of his injuries. He hadn’t been able to tell whether the blood was Lohen’s or not, all coated in it as he had been.
Without thinking much about it, Varka had lifted him up, carrying him over to the medic’s tent. Lohen had yelped, clinging onto him tightly, polearm disappearing back into his vision in an instant. Those brilliant eyes had looked at him with such open vulnerability and surprise that, had Varka not been so concerned with getting him treated, he would have rested his hand on the man’s cheek, admiring the expression that had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, to his utter dismay.
It wasn’t his place, however, to take care of Lohen like this and he knew it. Instead, he focused on the wild beating of his heart, on the half-hearted attempts the smaller knight made of getting away and forcing Varka to put him down.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Lohen had shouted.
Barely a few knights had been scattered here and there, on patrol. The few they had encountered had stopped dead in their track, staring at them with befuddlement. Neither he nor Lohen had cared. Before he knew it, they had reached the medic’s tent, Varka rushing inside and setting Lohen down as gently as he could.
That stupid, reckless man had tried to get up almost immediately, except Varka had placed firmly his hands on both his shoulders, preventing him from doing so. As Lohen grumbled, he had barked orders at the nearest knight to search for a healer
When said knight had ran away, Varka had turned his attention back on the man still trying to get away.
“Where are you injured?” he had demanded, reaching for some gauze to start cleaning and dressing his wounds, using his other hand to try and remove the completely ruined cape.
Lohen had tried his best to pry his hands away but Varka had persisted, searching for the first wound, the first scratch he could find. The other had had the audacity to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he had grumbled, brows furrowed in concentration, panic receding.
If he had the energy to laugh like a maniac and attempt to get away so fervently, he wasn’t as beaten up and injured as Varka had originally assumed.
“So straightforward, Grand Master, undressing me before our first date.”
His brain had short-circuited, then. Admittedly, it had not been his proudest moment. He had choked, taken by surprise, and promptly had a coughing fit. Lohen, the bastard, had sat there staring, satisfied, smirk pulling his cheeks upwards.
“That’s—no, I…,” he had stammered, feeling the heat in his cheeks and hoping against hope Lohen couldn’t see it in the dark. “I wouldn’t want to—”
Force you, rush you, was what he had wanted to say. Lohen’s smirk had dropped so abruptly, then, he almost pleaded for the other knight to put it back. Instead, hurt shone in his eyes so brightly it physically pained Varka to see it.
He had opened his mouth to say something, fix the mess he hadn’t even known he’d gotten himself in, when Lohen’s eyes had widened and he’d grabbed his throat in pain. Cough after cough, something had seemed to be lodged in his throat and refused to get out.
“Lohen!”
His only answer had been even more coughs, the man’s lips slowly turning blue from lack of air. Varka’s heart had beat faster, thumping loudly against his ribcage. He had dropped everything, positioning himself behind his knight, grabbing him by the middle and pressing, forcing whatever was stuck to get out.
A few torturous seconds had passed like this, Lohen’s coughs not abating and Varka using more force. Sweat had built up on his forehead, eyes going desperately over the flap of the tent in the hopes it would open to reveal someone more qualified than him to help a suffocating Lohen. For a moment, Varka had really thought this had been it, until Lohen had violently gagged before taking in a greedy amount of air.
Varka had sagged away in relief, his eyes never leaving the back of his knight, eyeing its rise and fall.
“You good?” he had asked, concern dripping into his voice, gently laying a hand on Lohen’s shoulder.
(He never noticed the single, lonely white petal that the knight had clutched in his hand, staring at it with unmasked horror. No, all he saw was the way Lohen had turned towards him, understanding slowly morphing into his features before it was replaced by grim acceptance.)
The flap of the tent had opened before Lohen could give him a reply and their conversation had ended there. Fortunately, he had barely been injured but Varka had still prohibited him from going out alone for the next few weeks that came. Of course, Lohen had hated every second of it and, as soon as he could, had strayed away from the group he was supposed to be with. Every time Varka would hear of it, he’d sigh exasperatedly and accept that, no matter how much he may want it, Lohen would never listen to an order.
Varka was afraid of it, that recklessness. He knew Lohen was capable. Extremely capable, in fact. So much so that he could go out alone, promise to come back with loot ordinary adventures would need a whole team to gain access to and actually do so.
Even so, Varka feared that, one day, it would all come catching up to him. To both of them.
And now, with Lohen gone and no sign of him coming back, he was terrified the moment had finally come.
He shook his head, berating himself. Someone as strong, as stubborn as him wouldn’t go down that easily, especially not without a good fight. A few monsters here and there wouldn’t be enough to snuff the wild flame that was Lohen.
He took another sip of his drink, swirling the liquid lazily with a faraway look in his eyes. He sighed again before yawning.
Movement from the corner of his eyes made him sit up straighter, previous fatigue entirely forgotten as he zeroed on the figure slowly making its way into Favonius Keep.
Varka set his drink down, getting up and making his way towards the figure, ready to summon his weapon at any moment. Behind him, his knights were still happily singing their nation’s anthem, unaware of the new presence.
The closer he got, the more the silhouette became familiar until, eventually, recognition dawned on him.
“Lohen!” he called out, shoulders sagging in relief when the figure turned towards him.
The knight stopped, one hand resting lazily on his hip. “If it isn’t the Grand Master! Why, I thought you’d be busy drinking!”
Varka chuckled, ignoring the bait. “Not today, I’m afraid. Someone’s got to stand guard, after a—”
His voice abruptly died in his throat as he got close enough to get a good look at Lohen. It was hard to tell in the dark but, up close like this, the dark spots coloring Lohen’s uniform and the stench were both unmistakable. Hair in disarray, cape slightly singed, boots splattered with the liquid. He looked like a mess.
“What happened to you?!” Varka asked in alarm.
Lohen made a show of looking down at himself, acting all clueless. Varka shook his head in disbelief, eyes going over the other’s body to catalogue the injuries he could see. It gave him a sense of déjà-vu, that night replaying again in front of him. Except this time, Lohen seemed to still be able to stand up on his own.
“Relax,” Lohen said in that relaxed, nonchalant tone of his. “It’s not even mine!”
Varka didn’t know how this was supposed to make him feel better, exactly. It didn’t. Not in the slightest. He grabbed Lohen’s arm, dragging him to the medic’s tent as the other stumbled, not expecting it.
“Oh, for the love of—, not again!” Lohen grumbled. Varka expertly ignored him, gritting his teeth.
He hated it. Hated how little Lohen took care of himself, hated how reckless he was, how he downplayed his injuries, pretended as if everything was okay when he clearly looking anything but.
It made anger curl up in his chest, boiling hot, ready to spill out. He contained it, forced it down, refused to spew it all out. Lohen would only shut him away, become even more insufferable than he was reckless. He would become difficult, would purposefully make Varka’s attempt at helping him and caring for him as difficult as possible.
Most of all, Varka would hate himself for it.
Lohen seemed to be having none of it.
“Let me go! I said it’s not even mine!”
He wrenched his arm away from Varka’s grip, stumbling slightly in the process. Varka threw out his arms, ready to catch him if he were to fall but Lohen steadied himself before he could, glaring at him.
“I don’t need to see the medic, I’m fine,” he said between clenched teeth.
Varka narrowed his eyes. “Your clothes are torn. Here,” he said while pointing at Lohen’s left leg for evidence. “Don’t tell me you’re not at all injured.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he rolled his eyes, his left hand flying over the tear Varka just pointed out, as if hiding it would be enough. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
Varka squared his shoulders, lips pressed tightly.
Lohen almost took a step back, ready to run just so he could avoid yet another scolding. He knew that look, be it from Varka or Adorno. Both of them loved to give it to him whenever he did something they classified as stupid. He hated it with a passion. It made him feel as if he was still a child, someone they had to look after when he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
“Where are you hurt?”
Lohen’s heart skipped a beat. Archons, did Varka even realize what he was doing to him? Not for the first time, he found himself incredibly thankful for the cover the night provided.
Although evidently not enough to hide blood, he thought sourly.
A prickling made itself known at the back of his throat and he almost cursed, refrained only by the fact that Varka would definitely, one hundred percent hear it and it would cement his belief that something was wrong. He wasn’t even injured! Much. Most of the blood wasn’t his and he had only suffered minor scratches. Truly, nothing new. That’s why he couldn’t fathom why it bothered Varka so damn much.
“It’s nothing, Varka,” he insisted, irritation seeping into his voice. “I can take care of myself, you know?”
Except Varka, stubborn fool that he was, shook his head and took a step forward. Lohen had to fight the urge to take one backward, the prickle in his throat getting more and more itchy, more and more intense. He exhaled deeply, mind racing through different scenarios to end this discussion as quickly as possible so he could cough in peace. Clearly, the distance had, once again, been for naught. Every fucking time he so much as laid his eyes upon Varka, those stupid flowers needed to make themselves known.
“And it is my duty as Grand Master to make sure none of my knights die. You might not be bleeding out but you’re still hurt, aren’t you?”
Varka crossed his arms, staring him down, eyes determined. Lohen held his gaze for a few short seconds, clenching his fists. Varka’s eyes shined beautifully, light and clear, even in the dark. It made something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Lohen loved staring into these eyes, loved to see the emotions constantly swirling in them. It was a fascinating sight, one he never got tired of.
Tonight, he saw determination, worry and a hint of irritation.
Worry. For him, or for the knight he would lose if something happened to Lohen? Worry about all the paperwork he’d have to do in order to find a replacement, maybe. It hurt.
He felt the first petals emerging, ready to rip their way out of his throat, scratching it and leaving it all bloody as they usually did.
Lohen was the first to break eye contact, turning his gaze to the fire still burning a little bit further away, behind Varka.
Move, move! was the thought that repeated in his mind. He didn’t have much time anymore. If he didn’t move now, Varka would see. He would see, and Lohen would rather die than chain Varka down with him.
So, mercifully, his body obeyed him. He sidestepped Varka, heading towards the medic’s tent. He needed to hurry. The prickling was becoming unbearable. He knew, without a doubt, that any moment now he wouldn’t be able to contain them and the lone cecilia petals would come spilling out, bringing with them the taste of loneliness and death.
“Wait!”
Varka reached out, held onto his arm, stopping him from going further. Lohen grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, his back turned towards the man. He couldn’t even open his mouth, damnit! A new coughing wave hit him and a hand flew towards his mouth to abate it, to forcibly restrain it. He swallowed harshly, iron mixing with his saliva in a way he found repulsing but got used to. The petals refused to go down.
“Lohen, what’s going on? Tell me,” Varka said, almost pleadingly, voice so soft and so gentle it hurt.
Why? he wanted to ask. Why do you care so much? Why won’t you let me go, you stupid idiot?
Like a dam that burst, the first cough made its way out of his mouth, spilling past his hand, and Lohen found himself unable to prevent it. As the pain hit him all at once, he knelt down, his knees touching the dark stone, his other arm still held up by Varka.
Varka, who shouted his name in alarm. Varka who knelt down beside him, a hand on his back.
“Hey, hey, what’s happening?!”
Lohen squeezed his eyes shut, keeping his hand firmly against his mouth. With his now free arm, he futilely pushed Varka away. The man held his ground, gripping into Lohen’s hand, bringing it close to his chest. He patted his back, trying to help him with his coughing. Lohen struggled weakly against his hold before realizing it would be pointless.
He angled his body away, instead, his back facing Varka once more. He noted his body shaking, the lack of air becoming more and more urgent, both his lungs and his throat stinging so much it felt like hundred of tiny needles pierced him at once.
Then, finally, mercifully, the first petal came out. Then the second, and the third. The fourth. The fifth.
He stared at them, his hand shaking. Still five, at least.
“Hey! You hearing me?”
Lohen startled, closing his fist immediately.
Right, Varka. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten Varka was there, still?
Some cruel part of his brain supplied him with the answer: even though Varka was the reason Lohen was in this situation to begin with, he still felt safe around him. Protected, cared for in the way Varka cared about the people around him.
But this was it. Nothing more. In Varka’s eyes, he and Lohen were coworkers. Right. That was it. Coworkers.
“Stop screaming in my ears, Varka,” he muttered, voice shakier than he’d like. He moved his hand towards his coat, storing the petals there. Those were no one’s business but his.
“Lohen, look at me.”
The command, firm and absolute, made him turn his head around. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he found Varka’s eyes, shining with concern.
I don’t deserve that concern, Varka. Don’t look at me like this…
“What was this?” he asked gently, still clutching his hand with his own and moving the one that was on his back. It hovered in the air between them as the silence stretched.
What do you want from me? Why are you so concerned about me? Why are you handling me as if I might break at any moment?
So many questions, so many thoughts he wanted to voice. And yet… Lohen knew he had no right to.
“I caught a cold, don’t worry too much.”
His answer was weak. He knew it. Varka knew it, too. Still, the Grand Master only furrowed his brows, searching his face for an answer Lohen wouldn’t give him. Not now, not even in his death bed. No, Lohen would die with this secret rather than burden someone as admirable as Varka with it.
The man sighed heavily. “Fine, if that’s the case…”
Before Lohen could say anything, Varka let go of him. Just as he thought he would finally be left alone, the Grand Master settled one hand behind his back again and the other underneath his legs. He grunted slightly as he rose, lifting Lohen with him who yelped, clutching onto Varka’s neck.
“Again?!” he shouted, hitting him in the chest once he was certain he wouldn’t fall. “Put me down!”
Thump, thump.
“Clearly, I can’t trust you to take care of your own health,” he had the audacity to announce.
“Varka!”
The man looked down at him, raising an eyebrow in question, smirk tugging at his lips. Lohen’s eyes widened and he lowered his own head, feeling the tips of his ears color in red, his heart beating faster.
Thump, thump.
In contrast, Varka’s was calming, thumping rhythmically against Lohen’s ear. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Lohen would need to find a replacement, someone who would be able to take on the role of Vice Captain. He wouldn’t survive very long, he knew it. And this… this was wrong. Indulging, carrying conversations as if nothing was happening, as if his death couldn’t happen at any moment.
Still… being held so gently, so securely… it felt nice. Varka was warm, just as Lohen had expected he’d be. He allowed himself to relax in his arms tightly holding onto him, his head resting against the man’s shoulder. He kept his head lowered, knowing that looking up would trigger yet another coughing fit.
If Varka was looking at him again, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Like this, there was no way he would be able to hide the petals. Like this, even for just a moment, Lohen could pretend he was loved. He could pretend Varka was aware of what was happening to him, that Varka returned his feelings.
It was dangerous to think like this. Extremely dangerous, even.
Varka tightened his arms around him and Lohen sighed contently. This was nice. Being held in Varka’s arms as if he mattered, as if the man was scared to lose him. Even with the tightening in his chest, even with the sore throat, even with the threat of death looming over him, Lohen was content.
He really did need to find a replacement. The fifth company should have someone to be their Vice Captain. Adorno would give his title to Theodore, and he would go without leaving any gap to fill. His demise, though inevitable as it was, shouldn’t affect anyone but him.
Lohen was irrevocably, undeniably screwed.
However, like this, for just a moment, the world felt right and he could delude himself into thinking he was right where he should be.
Had he looked up, he would have seen the way Varka was fondly gazing down at him, although concern was written all over his face. Concern, affection, and trouble. He would have known Varka was suspicious, that he knew something was wrong but wanted to wait for him to be comfortable enough to tell him.
Thump, thump.
Lohen relaxed even more, his eyes slowly slipping shut. He tried to fight the sleepiness but his attempts ended up pointless. As he fell into slumber, soothed by the rhythmic heartbeat against his ear, he also missed the way Varka leaned his head down, gently placing a kiss on the top of his head.
“Rest well, Lohen.”