Archive of Our Own

The Torchbearer wasn’t a man of many words.

Clancy knew this very well, 

He couldn't recall the last time the two of them had a full on conversation with each other. One that didn't include Clancy anxiously rambling on and on, while The Torchbearer just sat there and hummed along.

Content to do just that. Nod and listen.

Instead of the few, strictly necessary words, some days were riddled with complicated glances and brisk sign language. It was mesmerizing at times. Watching Torch spill words unspoken with the flick of a wrist, the fast movement of his fingers.

Torch never liked to talk just to fill the silence.

Clancy knew this very well.

In a strange way, Clancy found it charming. 

Maybe it was the slight mystery brought by the minimal speech. 

Maybe it was the way Torch’s silent nature was the only kind of silence he could bask in, without finding himself spiraling into a rabbit hole of worries and dreadful thoughts.

Clancy failed to recognize exactly why.

There were times, the painful, panic induced moments of his life that left his mind running until it tripped on itself, where Torch would open up a little more. Where he would be there for Clancy. Usually, those were the moments where Torch spilled out a couple more words than what was normal for him.

Clancy felt… Terrible. He couldn't deny that. He knew The Torchbearer didn't like to run his mouth like Clancy did. He felt like he was forcing Torch to talk when he’d prefer not to. Clancy always felt like he didn’t deserve this sort of care, kindness.

Clancy felt bad for liking it, the reassuring, rough voice of his best friend comforting him through his panic. The greed consumed him to the bone, every. Single. Time.

Selfishly, he loved it a bit too much.

Just like Torch cared for him, a bit too much as well.

And this, might be the only time where he almost- Almost. found it aggravating.

The loud chirp of the dark summer night ringed in Clancy’s ears as he tried to keep a steady pace. The crickets are so loud tonight.

His fingers twitched uncomfortably as he and a small group of Banditos quickly made their way back to Trench after rescuing him from Dema once again. The fresh air of the night hit his face piercingly as he tried not to think about the time he’d spent stuck in a cell once again. He was finally out. He didn’t need to dwell on it. He was free now, right?

His body shuddered under his thick jacket, yellow tape freshly stuck to the shoulders. He hunched down, an attempt at making his slender frame smaller under the bulky fabric.

Clancy pulled the jacket closed flush with his hands, the zipper had been broken for as long as he can recall.

Why is it so cold out here? It's the middle of the summer.

Clancy looked down at his grimy hands.

He was still covered in that wretched black stain the Bishops, Nico, loved to brand him with. Didn't matter how dark it was into the night. If the soot was there, his skin would quiver under the temporary stain. Clancy didn’t need his eyes to sense its presence.

Usually, when Clancy had more pressing matters, like escaping captivity, or focusing on surviving another round of torture, he wouldn’t really be in the state of mind to care about the black pigment staining his digits.

But the second Clancy had a moment of silence within himself? An actual moment to just… breathe? Oh, it was over for him by then.

The black stain on his sunkissed skin, that small, dismal detail made it impossible to think about anything but all the heinous things he's been through. Again and again. A faith Clancy didn’t belong to, something he didn’t believe in.

It started slowly, his mind deteriorating on itself. Clancy was familiar with it, he could handle it, he told himself. 

That did nothing to deceit his brain. He’s weak. He always knows it’s just the beginning of it.

His neck felt weird. Like a million bugs crawling up his spine and biting down on his burning skin. His breath caught in his throat as he wrapped a hand around his neck, hoping the contact could ground him and stop some of the itching. Nobody noticed.

He needs a cleanse. Desperately.

They were almost back at camp. Clancy could handle it.

Lies.

Both his hands tightened, one on the brim of his old coat, the other dragging a slow scratch at his throat. Trying to ignore the ringing in his ears, Clancy tried to focus on the surrounding sounds of nature, the light rustling of the fire of the torches held up by the Banditos, the sound of the many, heavy boots hitting the ground steadily.

He hoped the dark night would shelter him of any nearby looks, but he knew, the soft light of the Bandito’s torches uncovered him from the somber blanket that was the night’s dimness.

He took a slow breath, which turned into a quiet, painful whine, and right next to him, he could feel The Torchbearer’s eyes on him as he exhaled loudly.

Clancy quickly let go of his neck, both hands back at keeping his jacket closed shut. Neither said anything. His chest burned with sudden shame.

Both knew what was coming as soon as they arrived back home.

The story always went the same way.

Every time, without a chance, Clancy would scramble away, his feline-like agility making it easy to disappear in a swift second, leaving everyone wondering where he could’ve possibly gone.

It was almost like tradition at this point. Something automatic in the panic of it all.

The only way Clancy knew how to.

After the long way from Dema to Trench, he can’t take it anymore, the itch of the rotten black he was marked with made its way up his spine, as the adrenalin from the escape keeps on pumping in his veins.

The routine is always the same.

He vanishes into the darkness, starting slowly, feeling the itch in his bones growing more unbearable by the second, he walks, trying to keep his composure. 

He tells himself he can do it, he tells himself he can keep calm this time. Every time he fails. every time he says it for the inevitable next time.

Picking up his pace as his breath starts to vanish, he ends up following the same drag path he’s dug in the dirt with his heavy boots for what seems like a million times before. 

He tricks himself into thinking this is the last. He knows it's far from it.

There’s a small pond near the Banditos camp (Or was it far? His mind is too scrambled to tell how long he's been running for.) and as he throws himself in, he forgets to discard any of his clothes in the process. There’s no time for that. He can’t possibly wait a second more.

He dunks himself completely underwater until his lungs scream for oxygen, and scrubs at his skin until his hands and neck are raw and smothered in bloody scratches. But the paint will be gone. And that's all that matters to him. The pain just comes with it. Like it’s an inevitable part of the process.

The only way Clancy knows how to.

At least that's how it's been, until a few months ago.

It was like usual. One of the many times Nico got his hands on Clancy after he managed to escape from his gray, stingy apartment back in Dema. A fresh new loop of events ready to unravel, identical to the last.

The Torchbearer had enough. So he decided to go find Clancy. He’d rather not think about it.

The hurt expression of the other when Clancy yelled at him to back off, to leave. It stung.

Clancy will never forget the feeling of disgust he felt for himself in that moment. Suddenly all his bottled up feelings crushed his chest and spilled out.

“DON'T LOOK AT ME!”

Filthy filthy filthy filt-

He could still see Torch’s heartbroken expression, burnt in his mind. He desperately wished to scrape his brain to an empty slate. Crack his skull in half and bleed out until he had no more desire for life left in his heart. To die in place, just to wake up in the same spot as he always did when he met his premature demise. Maybe this time will be the time where something’s different. Changing.

He wished to have no more thoughts, therefore, no more disappointments. But it's never going to be that easy. Clancy knows.

Torch made him promise he'd never hurt himself like that again.

Clancy knew he couldn’t swear on it. Yet in the moment, selfishly, he accepted.

He really would rather not think about it.

Suddenly, Torch’s warm hand made its way in his freezing one, their fingers interlocked together. Clancy's breath itched. He hadn’t even realized he started to let go of his jacket, his hands now too unsteady to keep a proper grip.

The sudden contact made him way more nervous than it should've. The short hair at the back of his head stood up as his stomach twisted into something dreadful, familiar.

Torch lightly squeezed their hands together reassuringly, almost in a protective manner.

Clancy, not being able to help himself, stole a quick glance at the man at his side. The silence kept stretching between them. Torch kept looking straight ahead like nothing happened.

As the warm light of the other’s torch guided them into the night, Clancy decided to focus on the rustling of the fire. He tried his best to tune out the chatter coming from behind him, the sound of Banditos speculating about the meaning behind their linked hands. 

Secretly he wondered too.

His hand twitched under Torch’s as he let out a sharp exhale. Instinctively, Torch pulled the other’s arm a bit closer towards himself. 

Clancy unconsciously followed the movement, taking a half step closer to the man right beside him. They almost bumped shoulders. Almost.

And so they kept on walking.

Before Clancy realized, The Torchbearer’s torch was being discarded off to someone else, and something was said, but Clancy didn't quite catch it. The cheery chatter of the Banditos hit his ears.

They arrived at destination. Their hands still interlocked. Torch kept notice, Clancy’s brain wouldn’t let go of it either.

Everyone cheered enthusiastically at the successful mission, happy to have their comrade back, safe and sound.

Without a moment to waste, a couple of Banditos went to ignite the big campfire at the very center of the camp, wanting to celebrate. Some came to let him know that they were happy about his long awaited return. Clancy tried to give them his best smile.

Clancy rarely attended the makeshift celebrations the Banditos held for him. He didn't really believe he deserved to be celebrated. All he brought with him was trouble. Disturbance.

On the other hand, he didn’t wish to kill anyone's joy either, the Banditos never have it easy. They could throw their little party, they deserved a little break. He let them light the fire every time.

As for him, he always had something else on his mind. Another place to be at. Clancy started fidgeting with the very end of the stole attached to his wide pants, wrapping the fraying fabric around his fingers loosely, letting it shift between his grimy digits.

He needed to get out of here. 

Clancy's nervous stance didn’t go unnoticed, Torch’s full attention set on the other. Their hands still connected.

Clancy tried, “Hey Torch, I-” He went to unlink his and Torch’s hands with no avail. He tugged lightly, but The Torchbearer kept his hold steady.

In any other scenario, Clancy would hope for this to never end, finding Torch’s warm touch comforting, making his chest flutter with the kind of affection he would never allow himself to speak out in the open. His beating heart being the only one allowed to keep hold of such a secret.

Yet at this time, all Clancy wished for was to be as far away from Torch as possible.

With his mouth dry, he tried to swallow. Torch looked at him in his big, panicked eyes. “No, no. You're staying with me.”

“Wha-” Clancy’s chest tightened. 

He wasn’t expecting to hear Torch’s voice so suddenly, as today, The Torchbearer hadn’t done any sort of communication. Even when Clancy first saw Torch back in Dema, no words were spoken between them. Not even sign language.

His tone was low, his voice gravelly from not being used for what Clancy assumed was a long while. 

Did he not speak at all while I was away?

He cringed at his own brain for giving him such a self centered thought. Surely that couldn’t be the case, right?

The look in Torch’s eyes was serious, a hint of something pained, as if to say ”Please, don’t run away from me again.”

“Remember what you promised last time? I'm not letting you go.”

Suddenly something clicked. 

Their hands.

Of course Torch was holding onto him. He knew Clancy was going to run away if Torch didn't somehow have a physical hold on the other. Clancy was a fool for thinking their intertwined hands meant anything more than just that.

He felt offended by the way Torch seemingly had no trust in him. But deep down he knew The Torchbearer was right.

Clancy felt the rise of panic start to push down on his chest as he realized there was no way he could flee easily from this. “I-” His voice cracked and his cheeks grew warm with the red tinge of embarrassment. “I’m not a child, Torch!”

The Torchbearer tightened his grip on the other in protest. If you asked Clancy, he was being way too serious about this. Unreasonable even. 

Everything goes like everything always went. This was not the first time Clancy fell down this path, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. No matter how much Clancy liked to admit the opposite. No matter how much Torch liked to admit the opposite. 

Contrary to popular belief, his brain being sick was his own problem. His and his only.

But, on the other hand, Clancy felt bad for yelling at his best friend. Torch didn’t deserve this harshness. Torch was trying to help, and even if Clancy didn't want that, deep down he knew he needed it.

Before he could apologize, he felt the burning, stunned stare of a couple of nearby Banditos, whispering away at Clancy's small outburst.

Torch shot them a look back. Nothing threatening, just serious. The whispering ceased immediately. 

He looked back at Clancy with an unreadable expression, before heading toward the tent where they stored all their supplies, dragging him along without a word.

Their hands were still intertwined as Torch scooted the flap of the entrance to the side to make his way inside, Clancy having no choice but to follow.

Clancy waited as The Torchbearer rummaged around the fairly small tent for whatever he was looking for. The more Clancy had to wait, the more his legs felt like they were gonna give out under his own weight. He tried to remember how to breathe properly.

He didn’t really know how long he was left awkwardly standing there. Clancy’s eyes were having trouble focusing, making it hard to process his surroundings. He stared at the grass below his feet until his vision was surrounded by a dark vignette, his filthy limbs going numb. He was scared he might’ve fallen into the void of his mind if he waited a moment more.

The rattling of something wooden broke his moment of unreality.

When he turned back to the other man, The Torchbearer was holding an old wooden bucket with a clean piece of cloth hooked to the brim of it. Torch simply offered it for him to take. So that’s what Clancy did.

Torch signed awkwardly, as one of his hands was still connected to the other man. “Let’s go.”

Clancy frowned, suddenly disappointed by the lack of verbal communication, finding himself desperate to hear more of Torch’s voice. Selfish.

The previously discarded torch was retrieved back with a thankful nod at the kind Bandito who The Torchbearer handed it to beforehand, and before Clancy knew, they were off into the forest, the only thing guiding them being the familiar flame of said torch.

They just had started walking as Clancy's boots hit the familiar path of gravel under his own two feet, yet he felt like they’d already been walking for an infinite amount of time.

Clancy didn’t like this pace. Too slow. It gave him too much space to think. To notice things he intentionally didn't think about. He looked down at the gravel underneath his feet.

The drag path he personally dug into the grass, not consistently by any means, but the world seemed to remember every single time he was trapped and cursed. Every time they choked him until his lungs burned, and every time they broke his hands, broke his fingers one, by, one. In every timeline and universe, the world refused to forget.

Grass turns to dirt turns to gravel. 

Clancy has no idea when or how that happened. 

The gravel crunches underneath his heavy boots, and he keeps on walking anyway. 

“I'm sorry for yelling at you” he blurts out, before properly thinking it through. He still felt really bad about that.

Torch looks at him, head tilted slightly to the side. Still silent, Listening.

The soft wind blew across Clancy’s face and he tried not to grimace at how the cold air uncomfortably hit the healed scar on the bridge of his nose. It almost stung. “Earlier I mean. I’m-” He shivered.

“It’s okay, you’ve been through hell, it's not easy. I understand.” Torch's words were careful and slow, his rough voice cracking a little by the end. He looked heartbroken. Clancy didn’t answer.

God- he felt like such a burden. Probably because he was. He didn't deserve Torch’s mercy. Yet he was desperate for it.

After a moment, Clancy let out a small sound, a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “You know I can do this myself right?” Clancy’s always been too prideful for his own good. He could manage, right? Of course he could.

Torch simply shook his head and smiled, upside down, like Clancy just told a joke that wasn’t funny at all. He exhaled sharply.

Bullshit. What made Clancy think Torch would believe that? He didn’t even believe it himself.

“I’m not letting you.” Serious, steady.

I'm not letting you hurt yourself.

I'm not letting you scratch at your skin until it's raw.

The unspoken words hung in the air, and Clancy’s head felt heavy, his thoughts swishing slowly around his skull like thick molasses in an airtight jar.

He knew that if The Torchbearer magically decided to go back and leave Clancy to nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and the quiet nature around him, nothing would stop him from spiraling down his usual cycle of anxieties and intrusive thoughts. The panic inducing memories. The paranoia of being found and dragged back again behind the concrete city walls.

Someway, he wished for it to happen. The fear of it was comforting somehow, new situations feeding the anxiety set in the pit of his stomach instead.

He felt like a small kid, an anxious creature- a simple, small beast who would start to wail and sob at the immediate lack of the one thing they deemed safety. Something fragile like a piece of glass, overly emotional.

Something you could tear down with a single flick.

Maybe The Torchbearer was right. He can't be left alone.

Right now, the only thing keeping him from self destruction was listening to their steady steps and the quiet rattling of the wooden bucket he weakly grasped in hand.

To the warm hand holding onto his own. The simple presence of said safety.

Not like Clancy was ever going to admit that, not like he was going to rip his heart out of his chest and spill his guts all over the floor for Torch to see. Never.

The slow walk was quickly becoming unbearable, as he was more and more aware of the soot covering his fingertips and neck, an itch that, no matter how hard he tried to scratch, would never come off until he was fully cleaned. 

Usually he ran for the pond, a thing of panic and misty eyes. Something that left his ears ringing and the taste of blood in his mouth.

A wait that was so blurry and disorienting that felt almost instant. the tipping before the fall that was a full breakdown. Throwing himself in the pond, fully clothed, frantic and scared.

Clancy’s grip on the other’s hand involuntarily tightened. A bit too strong for comfort.

Torch glanced at Clancy. The question that came after was only natural. ”Feeling okay?”

Torch already knew the answer.

Clancy kept staring down at his shoes. refusing to look. too scared of a potential worried gaze. It was unnerving, the soft, worried tone Torch gave him. But he basked in the light that was The Torchbearer’s concerned voice, like a masochist attracted to sweet pain. He could always handle the sound, but never the view.

Clancy’s attempt at a laugh was so weak it was barely an exhale. “I- Yeah. It. It just itches a bit, you know how it is.” Lies. It burned so hot he felt like he was being set on fire. Feverish.

He wanted to rip his flesh apart with his bare hands. Torch looked at him, not unknowingly.

It was aggravating how Clancy couldn’t hide anything from him.

Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask-

Torch’s pace simply quickened. Still not quick enough.

Clancy quietly followed. One hand squeezing Torch’s own firmly, the other gripping onto the thin metal handle of the old bucket, his fingers wrapping all the way around, black nails digging into the skin of his palm.

Suddenly, the steep path came to an end. Clancy looked up and swallowed the lump in his throat.

They kept going. One step after the other, and his legs moved on their own, going wherever The Torchbearer brought him. It was somehow familiar, Clancy would follow the other man to the end of the world if Torch brought him to it.

And suddenly, they were right in front of the body of water.

The thick soles of his shoes hit the thin sand circling all the way around the small lake, he looked at the rippling water, listened to the slow rattling of it.

He’s been here a million times. This time it feels different. Someone else was with him. Someone safe. His safety.

The Torchbearer slowly let go of his hand. Clancy automatically copied the movement, steady and slow. It felt somewhat surgical. Like they’d been sewn together for the longest time, now carefully being ripped apart.

He was now free from the warmth of the other’s hand. Suddenly, the aching cold in his bones returned, turning him into a shivering mess.

He looked at it in horror, the dark paint smeared over the other’s palm and digits.

He felt the bitter taste of bile rise up his throat, as he couldn't bear to see the filthy, unholy mark left behind on the other’s hand. Torch was tainted, ruined. And it was all his fault. He was going to be sick.

Clancy looked at the other, wide eyed. A thing of horror, repent. His vision misty and wet as Torch looked back at him. I’m sorry.

Torch’s warm touch met his cheek, the thumb of his clean hand wiping away at an unspilled tear, soft skin. His torch now swapped in the hand that previously held onto Clancy.

Clancy gasped at the contact, it always felt like home.

“It’s okay. Don't worry, we're okay.” Clancy closed his eyes, trying to focus on the voice he loved so much to hear. He leaned into the other’s touch as Torch continued. ”We're going to wash it away now”

This kind of affection wasn’t unfamiliar between them, they’ve always been close, but Clancy’s heart will never stop skipping a beat at even the mere thought of Torch having his hands on him. Greedy. Selfish. 

He knew he could never get it. He would never allow himself that. 

The filthy cut of flesh that was his body, it didn’t deserve the angel that The Torchbearer was. The light of salvation.

Yet a selfish part of him, the slither of a conviction, hoped that they were cut from the same mold. Released into this cruel world just to gravitate towards each other, finding each other in every timeline and universe that will and has been.

All he could do was constantly, miserably bathe into his own repressed frustrations. Greed. Lust. Love. Thick as Honey and dark as Ink, the feeling like drowning in a pool filled to the brim with his own blistering hot blood. His heart the only allowed to know his secret.

“Can I have the bucket?” 

Torch’s tone was careful, like he was talking to a wild animal. Something scared, that would flee with the slightest movement. Clancy didn’t even notice when Torch’s hand slid off of his face, and he couldn’t help but struggle to hide his disappointment in the sudden loss of touch. So, so out of it. The world started to feel like a distant memory.

“Uh?”

Clancy lowered his gaze, following Torch’s own. He blinked a couple times, hoping his lashes could clear out the fog in his view.

Oh right. he completely forgot about the bucket.

Clancy simply nodded with a blank stare. Slowly, he handed the bucket over to the other man.

Torch smiled, a simple thank you. Clancy attempted a smile of his own. It came off a little awkward, all gritted teeth and tear stained eyes.

Torch didn't comment on that, and Clancy was grateful for the lack of an answer.

Their hands barely brushed as Torch took the offering. Clancy grimaced at the dark paint of his hands quickly leaving a small trail on the other’s digits again. He retrieved his hand back in a brisk movement, something quick and fidgety.

“Stay here, okay?” Quiet.

So that's what Clancy did. He stayed there. Knees weak and hands numb. Cold.

He turned back to the rippling water.

Clancy looked at the pond with the memory of all those times he ran and ran, arriving to the small body of water with no breath left in his lungs and tears clouding his vision.

He never stopped, never had time to look at how the moonlight hit the slow ripples of the clear water. In a way, it made his stomach churn, in another, he thought it was so, so beautiful.

His neck itched, his hands trembled. He couldn't wait anymore. He tried keeping it in as much as he could. The clear water in front of him suddenly reminding him why he was there at all. Urgency.

Every second that passed without him being able to scratch the paint off his body with his bare hands and sharp nails felt like he was being skinned alive. Nothing felt more painful than this.

With a quick step he splashed his foot down into the water, the dirt on his boots quickly turning into mud. He barely even felt his socks getting damp, too distracted by the overwhelming itch of his ink tainted limbs to-

“Hey! Where are you going-”

Clancy’s heavy boots were already halfway submerged in the cold water when he heard the distant call of the other man. He didn’t dare look back. His thoughts crumbling under the sound of the quiet water. The forest disappearing in the corner of his eye.

His ears were ringing, and he was starting to lose his grip, words slurring off of him. “I need… clean-” he admitted desperately to the water.

He didn't care, why would he care? Why would Torch care about any of this? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, only getting this stupid fucking paint off mattered- Thats what did.

It would all be over soon. He just needed a couple more steps before the water would get deep enough, a couple more steps until the bottom of the pond became unreachable by his own two feet, a couple more steps before he could drown himself in the steep water, putting an end to this miserable, sick feeling.

Let me in let meinletmeinle-

His mind screamed over and over, it was the only way he knew how. A constant. The correct way. His mind didn't care if it wasn't logical. It didn't care about strategy nor comfort.

His legs moved by themselves as they kept stepping forward, deciding to ignore The Torchbearer completely.

Maybe this was it. Maybe Torch will finally see how pathetic he is. Maybe this is the time he finally gives up on him for good. His stomach churned at the thought. He was dirty, filthy. He didn’t deserve salvation. Yet he dreamed of it every single living moment. Don’t let me be gone. Don't leave me alone-

Clancy felt his throat grow tight, the air kicked out of his lungs, his body preparing itself for what had come many times before. A wicked grin spread across his face. 

He will get his blessing, being free of all evil once more, and by spilling his blood in the crystal water under the weak moonlight, he will be holy again. 

God's most feared fallen angel. The only who manages to crawl his way out of hell every time, to fly all the way back to heaven with wings of fire, just to get smitten down an infinite amount of times more.

He will get his freedom back. Again, and again, and again.

Like it always went.

The static in his head was so loud that Clancy didn't notice Torch was calling for him until he felt warm hands settle gently on his waist from behind. The Torchbearer gave Clancy the gentlest pull, an invite for him to step back onto the sandy rim of the dry lake proximity. Clancy stopped descending, yet did not budge.

Torch called for him, one more time. 

“Nova, please-” Desperate.

A shiver ran down Clancy's spine at the name. His name.

The only time Clancy heard Torch utter that word was when he said it first, finding the courage one random late night, revealing to Torch the name he had chosen for himself. For Dema he was just a code, a string of numbers everyone obliged to and stood by. But Clancy was a Bandito now. He didn't have to be just a number anymore. He didn't want to.

“Nova” Torch said it slowly, feeling how the name fit floating freely in the air. 

Clancy’s breath itched. Torch remained silent after, signing the rest of his thoughts with quick gestures. 

“I like it. It suits you.”

Suddenly, Clancy was hyper aware of his surroundings. Every little sound and color came into view, every sensation became so much clearer. Almost overwhelmingly so.

He heard the low sound of the wind hitting the tall trees, the foliage almost rhythmical in their constant show of dancing. Greens and browns, even in the dark, seemed so bright now.

He felt the pull of his tight shirt on his torso, his coat hanging heavy on his shoulders as his skin felt slick with sweat underneath it.

The gentle, rippling water hitting high, almost up to his knee, drenching his bright red tights to a dull maroon color. The bottom of his pants turned as black as the night itself.  His heavy boots even heavier than before. He shivered at the feeling. Cold.

Yet the scorching touch of Torch’s hands on him turned the pungent chill into a fiery, grounding warmth.

The itching in his hands and neck grew until it burned, hot and bright and impossible to ignore. He got so close. His hands twitched for what felt like the thousandth time that night. Let me go.

“Clancy?”

No no no-

I wanna hear it again- let me hear it again-

Clancy snapped back, Torch letting go of him like he was suddenly boiling hot. Clancy felt boiling hot.

They simply looked at each other, now face to face. Both stunned. A hint of desperation in Clancy's eye.

Boring into Torch’s stare, in a flash, Clancy's mind gave him a vile visual. He realized he'd give anything, anything to hear The Torchbearer say his name one more time.

Clancy would let The Torchbearer tear him apart, pry his ribcage open and rip his beating heart right out of his chest if it meant he could hear Torch say his name one last time. Accidentally spilling that secret he so carefully cherished, he'd surrender to his own affections.

The thought felt raw, gruesome, and somewhat… Lewd. Vulnerable. A little too real.

Yet Clancy couldn’t stop thinking. As he stared into the small lake, his mind ran as he clearly saw the image of The Torchbearer’s hand in his hair, pushing his head under the chilling water, chanting Clancy’s name until it lost its meaning. Choked sounds of water filled lungs, the only sound Torch would get in return.

Clancy bit his lip at the twisted thought. Sick- Sick in the head he was. His cheeks felt warm against the soft night breeze.

“Sorry.” That was all he could muster. Mortified at his own mind, as if Torch could hear his rambling monologue and feel the warmth in Clancy's guts reach the temperature of the sun. 

Clancy was sure he looked as red as one could be right now. Thank god for the dark night shade.

“Hey, there is nothing to be sorry about, it's okay. You’re okay”

But there was so much Clancy desperately needed to plead mercy to.

Deep down he knew the sins he committed were too vile to be let into heaven again without another fall. So he'll crawl, claw at the way to bliss one more time, even if this means getting smitten down deeper than he's ever been. 

He knows that's not what Torch meant with that last statement, yet he couldn't help but think about the bigger picture in his own mind.

“Come on, let’s get out, the water is cold.” And the water was cold, but all Clancy could feel was the warmth of someone who’d done something shameful, wrong.

Torch gently took both Clancy's hands in his and intertwined them with his own once more, guiding Clancy out of the pond, slowly tracking backwards.

He was so close. So close to freedom. 

He was already halfway drenched. Why. Why won’t you let me in, Torch?

Clancy knew the answer.

Once their feet stood on soft grass, Torch gently let go of Clancy, the latter trying hard to ignore how even more wretched color smudged off on his best friend’s hands. Tainted.

“I noticed the water gets really steep, I was scared you were going to hurt y-” He hesitated. ”Get hurt…” 

Clancy blinked at him. The Torchbearer blinked back. Something unreadable behind his dark, beautiful eyes. “Sorry for shoving you.”

Ignoring the unnecessary apology, Clancy looked down at their feet and frowned. He stared at the glistening leather that was the material of his best friend’s shoes and frowned.. “Your shoes are wet.” A simple statement.

Torch could only smile if only a little weak, “So are yours.” And looking at how Clancy's pants were soaked up until above his knees now, the previous observation was a bit of a lot of an understatement.

Clancy grimaced as another weak “Sorry” escaped his scarred lip.

Torch shook his head, dismissing the apology, “Sit down, I’ll be back.”

Clancy obliged with no question, happy to at least give his wobbly knees some rest. He had no clue how he managed to stand up straight until now. He discarded his dark coat in the grass right next to him with no regard, the fabric suddenly rubbing at his skin the wrong way.

Clancy sat in the soft grass in front of Torch. His hands in his lap, clutching at his pants, his knuckles turning white under the smudged layer of dark paint. He looked at Torch as he stepped off to fetch the bucket left sitting in the grass not far away from where Clancy was instructed to sit, focusing really hard on not to scratch himself like a wild animal.

He noticed how the torch previously held in hand was now shoved into the dirt not far from where he sat in the green grass, emitting a low, warm light. Torch must've set it down when he was too busy spiraling and staring into the bottom of the small body of water.

The Torchbearer picked up the bucket up from the spot where it was previously discarded to, and If we’re being honest, Clancy didn't even register when the other dropped it aside, deeming stopping Clancy from throwing himself in the water much more important than whatever he was doing with the tool.

He submerged it into a spot that allowed, filling it to the brim before taking a couple steps back into the grass. Clancy sat, watching paralyzed, like moving an inch would trigger his flight, getting up and throwing himself in the pond in the process.

Torch put the full bucket down, a little water spilling to the sides and onto the grass, The towel submerged in the clear contents of it. Torch sat right next to it, right in front of Clancy.

The Torchbearer’s gaze lingered on him, burning a hole into his chest, and Clancy felt the world starting to slip away once more. His skin burned to an unreachable degree.

Clancy interrupted before Torch could say anything more. “Please…” Clancy pleaded, rushed. He blinked away at the tears, looking at The Torchbearer with a desperate gaze, begging him with his eyes. “I can’t take it anymore.”

His eyes watery, hands shaking. “Take it off.”

Torch looked at him, serious. “Alright. I got you.”

Torch began quickly rolling up the long sleeves of Clancy’s tight shirt with a bit of struggle, “Is this okay? I hope it doesn’t feel too tight.” 

Clancy shook his head, the rolled up sleeves tightening against his biceps. They’re probably going to leave a mark in the long run, not that Clancy exactly cared now.

“No- Its okay, now please. Please clean it off now” He whispered desperately.

The Torchbearer gently took one of Clancy's hands in his, and Clancy noticed how Torch must've cleaned off his own hands in the water before he sat down. Hands cleaned just to get tainted again, stained by something filthy and unholy.

So far, Clancy somehow failed to notice the strange nature of the dark soot on his skin. 

In a way, it seemed almost impossible for him to smudge it on himself or anything he touched, making it nearly impossible to clean off without his hands and neck feeling sore and going bloody. Yet as soon as Torch’s warm skin came in contact with it-

He quietly listened to the sound of the water droplets dripping down back into the bucket as Torch twisted the cloth in his hands.

Clancy closed his eyes.

Filthy. you’re filthy, Clancy.

He was fighting so hard not to cry. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry” He choked out. Quiet. He wasn’t even sure who it was directed to or what he was sorry for exactly. Torch didn't even do anything yet.

Clancy felt the soft towel run over his fingers, gentle. Too much so. He sighed, and it turned into a sob.

Clancy’s eyes remained closed. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the man in front of him, and the other just let him weep. He couldn't stand it, the disgusted look Torch would grant him after giving his stained limbs a proper look. The scrunched expression of someone who just saw something gross, something blasphemous, unholy. Because no matter how much both wanted to twist the truth, Clancy was, and always will be, something cursed.

He couldn’t help but let the warm tears travel his tired features, uselessly falling down onto his lap. At that moment, Clancy wished to be better. He wished to be stronger. 

Every single press of the fabric felt strange, maybe because he'd never been cleaned by someone else before, maybe because the gentle touch felt unfamiliar, somewhat wrong.

The tears kept flowing down, Clancy basking in the only silence he could feel safe in. Somewhat comforting.

Clancy focused on the gentle movement of the cloth on his skin, Torch’s digits holding onto the back of his hand, keeping it in place as he cleaned his palm with the utmost care. It tickled, but he didn't have it in him to smile at the sensation.

With his eyes closed, he was now hyperaware of every single movement, sound, breath the two of them could’ve possibly made, and for the first time today, he felt like he could breathe.

Inhale.

Clancy listened to the neverending pond’s wretched call for him,

The faint rustling of the trees, 

The beautiful singing of the crickets.

Exhale.

The faint brushing of his and Torch’s knees, 

The sound of the cloth cleaning him being dumped back in the bucket, drop, rinse, twist.

The way the other carefully cleaned each and every one of Clancy’s digits, one by one.

Inhale.

The beating of his own heart, rushing, 

Of his blood, overflowing the pool of his body, running to every inch of his skin, 

Pink, beautiful skin, reddened by feeling. Something secret, always unspoken, never aloud.

Exhale.

A quick glance stolen by the other, 

Another little secret never caught, Clancy’s eyelids blessing him with ignorance,

Shielding him from the truth, the one he knew he could never hold in his hands.

He reluctantly opened his eyes. He kept his gaze onto Torch’s lap, where their hands laid.

Torch was completely focused on carefully washing away the last of the paint on his hands. their knees resting against each other. Clancy’s breath itched.

Did Torch move? When did they get this close?

Torch dropped the towel in the bucket and held Clancy's hands in front of him to inspect, showing the uncovered, tan skin to him. 

He smiled, although weakly. “There you go.” His voice was small, almost shy. Sad.

Clancy looked down at his own shaky hands, gently laid on top of Torch’s.

They were clean.

Not red and raw and clean.

Just… Clean.

A part of Clancy wanted to scrub them down until the skin caved in. Until the warm tint of his skin became unrecognizable under the rich, deep red of his own blood.

Like the pain came with it. Like the pain of it was necessary. The suffering, the only thing demonstrating he was free from the Bishop's mark. Cleansed.

But the itch of his hands was gone. The soot dissolved off his skin completely.

And for once, he didn’t have to suffer through it.

He got his cleanse- and although it was not yet over, he’d get his freedom back. It felt real.

He hadn’t realized how crazy he must seem, looking down at his own two unscathed hands in awe, like it was something he’d never seen before.

Clean.

Torch’s voice broke the thin silence.

“See? You did it. No need to scrub so hard.” Gentle. Clancy’s eyes snapped up. His eyes dark with worry. No disgust.

He began to gently rub Clancy's palms with his thumbs in an attempt at reassurance, Torch’s calloused fingers felt warm and rough against his cold skin. Clancy didn’t know if Torch was trying to comfort him or himself.

He looked… heartbroken. Like the thought of Clancy hurting himself was enough to split his heart in two. And it was enough. Clancy knew it was enough.

Clancy’s stomach churned, he felt ashamed.

It hit him then, it was strange, really. If asked, every single Bandito would tell you Torch is one of the most stoic people they know. Not necessarily in a bad way- But a serious guy nonetheless.

If you asked Clancy? Oh, Clancy's answer would be completely opposite.

The Torchbearer was completely different in moments like this. It made being vulnerable somewhat bearable. Somewhat safe.

He turned so sweet, so considerate. The kind of friend that, even when he said nothing, noticed everything.

He knew. Every time Clancy came back from his little pond ritual, drenched head to toe like a wet cat, eyes unfocused, dragging himself back to their tent- Even if Clancy was too out of his mind to see it, he knew. 

He knew The Torchbearer was looking at him, following his every movement, like he was something wounded, something he personally failed to save from another round of beating down.

Torch was the kind of friend who felt powerless, the kind of friend who was forced to watch you suffer while you destroyed yourself, always wishing they could do more. 

Always wishing they could fix it. Silently desperate.

It made Clancy sick. The way the other cared so deeply. It was exasperating.

Yet Torch cared. And he persisted. Befriending him time and time again, through all the lifetimes and universes they spent, and will spend, bound together. Always finding each other.

Because they’re cut from the same mold. So different yet the same. Inseparable.

Torch will watch him fall, every time, to the hands of evil. All Clancy did was break Torch’s heart. All Torch did was break his own again.

Still, they pushed through it. Like no other option was inked in the stars.

It made Clancy sick.

He wasn’t like this with any of the other Banditos.

He couldn't help but feel a little special.

“Clancy?”

“Uh- What?” The sound of his own ragged voice startled him. Fuck- Was he staring?

Clancy noticed a lack of warm contact on his own skin, Torch’s hands off of him now, one gesturing vaguely around his own neck. “Can I?”

Clancy let a second pass him by, as he failed to realize that they weren’t done. His neck was still filthy with dark ink as he tried to swallow down his own insecurities.

Suddenly, Clancy felt very exposed. He never let anyone willingly touch his neck. Bad memories were stored in that vulnerable part of his body. Torch knew. They both knew, but it had to happen at some point, right? He couldn’t keep ignoring it forever. Clancy wished he could keep ignoring it forever.

He tried to think what it would be like, to feel the warm hands of Torch on him, instead of the cold, dead touch of Nico.

Clancy shivered at the thought. 

He couldn’t hide it, he was scared- Fuck was he scared- But underneath the terrifying feeling of dread, something more, something else lingered. 

What if it felt different? Would his head really register everything the same? Probably. Probably not. He didn’t know.

His mouth ran dry. After a moment he nodded, slow.

Torch lent him the softest of smiles, something so small you could miss it in a heartbeat.

Clancy’s now pristine hands pawed uselessly at his drying pants, clutching at the fabric nervously.

“You’re okay. I believe in you.” Clancy melted at the familiar sound of Torch’s jagged voice, a little gravelly, as he’s not used to talking this much.

Clancy's breath hitched as Torch's hand hooked onto his shoulder, his thumb gently slotting on top of the dimple of his collarbone. Clancy was perplexed, he didn’t know if to be grateful for the thin fabric of his compression shirt playing as a barrier between skin, or if he wanted it gone completely.

“Your shirt collar is a bit high. Can I…” Clancy’s eyes were fixated on the other, wide and wild. Torch looked back, chewing at his lip with sharp teeth. He continued. ”Just a little.”

Slowly, Clancy nodded again, looking away. Now that he felt somewhat calmer, this felt way too intimate. Even for them. He was a little impressed, he never thought he’d see the day.

With a careful motion, Torch grabbed the pull tab on Clancy's top, careful not to touch the tainted skin of his neck. Clancy felt the stare at his throat, saw that… Something in Torch’s eye as Clancy swallowed, the other’s stare fixated on his Adam's apple. It was terrifying.

Torch pulled down on the tab in one smooth move, the little metal tag now sitting the smallest distance under his collarbone. Just enough to see the end of the dark ink and the start of the clean skin. Some twisted part of Clancy begged for him to keep pulling and pulling, until the zipper came to an end, the only thing left on him being his best friend’s adoring gaze. 

The thought made him uncomfortable with multiple reasons for why.

A cold shiver ran down his spine as The Torchbearer’s hand accidentally brushed his neck. Clancy froze in place. Too much. He felt the hitch in his breath turn into a choked sound.

Memories of sharp claws tightening around his neck flooded his vision, the softest of brushes turning into violent grasps. He felt the wind getting knocked out of him. He couldn't breathe.

He wished he could stop himself, his eyes from getting misty and his vision going blurry once more. He wishes he could just go back to how it always was, water in his lungs and blood on his skin. It hurt. But it was easy. Easier than this. 

But he knew there was no turning back from it now.

He let the tears flow, looking away from the other, but he didn’t utter a word in complaint. Torch hesitated as he kept his hands to himself, knowing this was a very difficult moment for his dear friend. Patience. Clancy loved and hated this about Torch. Patience. Clancy’s mind decided to remind him then, again. You don't deserve it. You don’t deserve him. 

“It's okay, I'm here.” That single, simple statement rang in Clancy’s ears like a bell, reassuring him that, in Trench, everything was different. It was nothing like Dema.

No tall, impossible to cross city walls in sight.

No bishops, No Nico.

And most importantly, no imprisonment. No torture.

But unfortunately, Clancy's brain seemed to forget that.

His mind lovingly connecting and replacing any touch with the harsh feeling of two hands around his throat, squeezing until he could barely focus his vision anymore, no matter how gentle said touch was in reality. He was a fool for believing he would be strong enough to swallow all of it down and act like nothing happened at all.

But this was Torch, and this was Trench.

Torch would never hurt him. Clancy knew that. Safety. To Clancy, Trench meant not only life, but also freedom.

Tonight was so cold, but as he looked at his best friend’s worried gaze, gently lit by the light of the torch shoved and left to the ground previously, Clancy’s tears kept falling silently, his mind stilling with the burning feeling of a simple, terrifying question.

What if he actually let himself have it for once? His freedom?

He always fought so hard for it, yet it seemed like he never let himself have it.

“Hey.” Torch began, a shy hand now resting on the other’s knee, “I’m here.”

With hesitation,The Torchbearer brought his hand back up to where it previously sat, gently rubbing his thumb across Clancy’s collarbone, looking at his paint covered neck with complicated feeling hidden in his eye. His brow furrowed, the shine in his stare more preeminent than before. 

Torch looked like he was about to cry as well. “They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re going to be okay.” He whispered slowly. Like he believed it. 

It was a statement bitter with the thought of the other getting hurt. So gentle, reassuring at the same time. A promise.

Yet they both knew, the words were as sweet as nothing, no matter how hard both tried to make the promise true. They were born to struggle and die by the hands of heartbreak. There’s no way out for them. Not in this universe, not in any other.

Yet Clancy let himself believe, just this once- That everything was going to be okay.

Clancy looked back at Torch’s dark, warm eyes, and just like that, he slowly let the uncomfortable tension of his shoulders drop.

He pushed out a long breath. You can do it Clancy. It’s just Torch.

A beautiful angel, the warm feeling of safety in the middle of the void that was the dark path to freedom, the guiding light in his life.

He swallowed. 

Yeah. Just Torch.

He tilted his head, exposing the side of his neck to Torch, granting easier access for the cleaning process. His eyes fixated off to the side, vision still foggy with more scared tears.

When he saw Torch nod in the corner of his eye, he nodded back. The Torchbearer retrieved the cloth from the bucket, twist.

He let his eyes fall shut once more, as Torch began to gently pat down his neck with the damp cloth. Clancy's breath itched as he felt the cold water run down and dampen his shirt. He gasped involuntarily. Bad memories resurfacing inevitably.

Torch stopped immediately, suddenly alarmed. “Are you- Is this okay? Does it hurt?”

Clancy responded quickly, eyes shut as tight as he could manage. “No- I mean- I- yes- I’m okay…” He choked out, “It doesn’t hurt.” His voice uneven.

“Okay.” Torch breathed, still worried.

The Torchbearer continued working, even gentler, and the other didn't think it could be possible. Clancy’s body couldn't help but wince at the slow movements of the cloth on his skin. If Torch kept this slow, calm pace, it would take them all night for Clancy to get completely clean. Yet Clancy knew, if the other went a little rougher, even the slightest bit- Clancy would crumble. He was already struggling to keep himself together now if he was being completely honest with himself.

He opened his eyes, and glanced at the dimly lit pond off to the side. 

He stared into the water, his mind chanting over and over as he scratched his dull fingernails onto the wide legs of his pants.

Drown me drown me drown me drown me-

Once more, Clancy was dumbfounded by his best friend’s patience with him. Looking for a distraction, the tears slowed down as he let his head fall back completely, looking at the beautiful sky above, Torch now carefully passing the towel across his jawline.

The sky wasn’t clear, but the clouds weren’t packed enough to cover the beautiful night sight completely. He began to count the stars he managed to see one by one, coming up with new constellations as he went. Clancy felt like he never had the time to do such mundane things. He'd like to do mundane things with Torch, he thought, bashful and simple.

And time was indeed one of the many slippery things he could not manage to keep between his hands, his skin a sieve, the time like thin sand, escaping every pore of his very being, every moment feeling like the last, every breath ragged and quick like the world might end before the air reached his lungs.

Endlessly surviving, yet never living.

A displeased click of the tongue was the first thing Clancy heard as his best friend broke the calm silence between them. “Can I- I’m sorry, I can’t see where the black ends all around.” 

Clancy’s head snapped back, full attention to Torch. Dimly lit, Clancy could see some color dusted on the other’s cheeks, the darkness of the night failing to deceive his vision. With a splash, the cloth was discarded away again, and The Torchbearer’s hands were now off of Clancy's frame once more. Were his hands shaking?

Clancy’s eyes went wide. “Can I pull the zipper down?” Torch’s gravelly voice cracked at the very end, his seemingly collected act crumbling under Clancy’s wild stare.

Clancy wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep boiling inside the pot of blood that were all his unspoken frustrations, thick, red honey spilling at the seams. His heart beating painfully against his ribcage.

“Please.” Clancy spat out, too fast and without a thought. A greedy, helpless cry. It was almost a whine, and Torch caught onto it, that pained, utter desperation.

Clancy sounded like a hopeless sinner pleading mercy, pleading for God to forgive him.

Clancy should’ve known better than to trust himself, should’ve known better than to have held onto the other’s hand earlier that night. He wondered what it would take, what he’d have to say for Torch to pull the zipper all the way down until it unclicked from itself. 

He didn’t dare to ask, He didn’t dare to look. He was terrified by the thought that the weak whine he let out just now might’ve been enough already.

The harsh sound of his compression top getting unzipped hit his ears. His eyes shut tight as it stopped right in the middle of his chest. 

Thank God. Thank God Torch had more self control than he did. But Clancy couldn’t deny the sickly, selfish part of himself from being disappointed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Torch was disappointed too. Don’t think about it, you whore.

They both let out a heavy breath. The tension in the air thickened, making itself impossible to ignore. They looked each other in the eye with a strained stare and pained expressions. They both knew they were on thin ice. They both knew they couldn’t have each other this way. Not now, not ever. It would hurt too much. The heartbreak too great to bear when the hands of time would inevitably stop ticking, pulling themselves back, bending the universe in reverse with them.

Clancy couldn’t do that to Torch. but God the longing in the other's eyes was just as desperate as the one behind his own.

Torch slid his hands down both Clancy's shoulders, peeling off the thin shirt along with them. Clancy shivered as the cold night air hit his boiling skin, dampened by sweat and smeared with ink. His socks were still drenched. Clancy had to remind himself how to breathe. 

He attempted to reassure himself. This was fine. Truthfully, his usual attire didn’t leave much to the imagination anyway, he always preferred tight clothing, the pressure somewhat soothing.

So why was Torch staring at him like that? 

“Stop that.” The words hurt to say, but that’s the only thing that could be said.

Torch's eyes still lingered on his chest, not listening. His bottom lip trapped between his sharp teeth.

Clancy admitted to himself that, If he could, he'd let the other look at him like that every day. All day, every single waking moment. And as The Torchbearer’s sight was fixed on Clancy like this, everywhere, anywhere, Clancy’d let him roam his body like it was his own home, he'd let Torch scrape his teeth against his skin and his nails across his back and-

“But you're pretty.” A weak, quiet excuse. Sinful almost. “I want to see you.”

Clancy's eyes opened wide, and his skin went pale as he refused to look at the other in the eye. Oh. Ohhhh, fuck no- He couldn't look at the other. He didn’t dare. He can't look. He won't. He knew what would happen if he looked. The most chilling shiver ran through his spine as his breath fell short, this is exactly what he was scared about.

Clancy raised his hands up to his exposed skin, covering himself, bashful and tempted. “I- No. Stop.” Clancy shook his head violently. “You- You can't say that!” He felt blistering hot with a tinge of something shameful, something he knew he wanted to be made real, something he couldn’t have.

“I want to see you.” Torch repeated. Not lustful, no, but teasing, with a hint of something loving.

Clancy felt like he was going to cry again. He was so close. He could say it back. He could say it back and everything would fall into place. He could be selfish and he could have this- That’s all it took. He could have this, just for a little while. He really could.

My light. My beautiful angel. We could belong.

“I hate you.” Clancy spat instead. The words were empty, a harsh lie so abysmal it sounded ridiculous. Something fake, something bad and rotten and impossible. 

The single second of silence that followed was excruciating, the other’s expression falling flat.

Torch laughed.

He laughed and laughed until he couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

Shocked and confused, Clancy finally gave in, and looked. Clancy never heard him laugh this hard before.

Torch's laughter was loud and bright, like music to Clancy’s ears. He noticed the little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, squinting so hard, they looked closed shut. A single happy tear fell down his cheek, and Torch covered his face with a hand. Clancy could still see his sharp teeth and his big smile from underneath his palm.

Clancy stared in awe, red in the face. He might have just found his new favourite sound in the whole wide world. This was bad, so bad.

He buried that little piece of information deep inside his heart, and he knew he would inevitably stress about it sometime later in the night, set in bed and ready to sleep, his mind involuntarily replaying the beautiful melody of Torch’s laugh over and over instead of actually resting. Fuck.

“Okay, okay-” Between dying laughter, Torch waved his free hand uselessly in front of himself, the other slowly sliding down his face, brushing away the few stray tears.

“Let’s- just.. Let’s just keep going. ” He smiled, and it was the widest smile Clancy had ever seen on The Torchbearer. Torch retrieved the discarded towel, rinse and twist. 

He simply waited for Clancy’s permission to continue cleaning him like nothing happened.

What the fuck was that. 

Clancy felt hot and red and confused, but somewhat relieved at the same time.

He let his shoulders drop, arms falling to his sides. He couldn’t feel his bones. Oh my God what the fuck was that.

Clancy smiled weakly, “Sure-” He sounded stunned, incredulous. His lip twisting into a half smirk, his brain still trying to process what had just happened.

Torch slid a hand back on Clancy, and this time, not on his shoulder, not on his collarbone, but higher. It gently cupped his face, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Clancy fought back the sound in his throat. It was so sweet it felt sickening.

He desperately wanted those hands to go back lower and lower some more, under his clothes, sticking to his own skin. “Stop that.” He reminded himself.

He let Torch clean him, both completely silent in the middle of the calm forest. Clancy blinked and blinked again, trying to figure out what the hell was happening in his life right at that moment. He felt like he was having a fever dream, he felt like he was also just having a plain fever. 

He tried to relax against the warm, way too warm touch. Home.

Torch gave his collarbone one final wipe and Clancy shivered at the feeling. “I’m done with the front.” Said so simply. “Can you turn around for me?” Like nothing was wrong with this.

No hesitation. “Yes.” Clancy blurted out, Anything to not look at you right now, he thought. Anything to not see that smile again, and hear that laugh crush my skull until I get the worst migraine I’ll ever have.

Anything to not fall further.

He shifted awkwardly in the grass, turning around, and The Torchbearer gave him a small “Thank you” in return.

Clancy rolled his tight shoulders once and then twice with a sharp pop, and if Torch’s eyes lingered just a bit too long on the way the other’s back flexed at the movement, Clancy couldn’t know.

The Torchbearer continued to clean his tan skin.

The affections in Clancy's mind began walking, picking up speed slowly, as they started running, spilling out of his ears and nose. The other’s laughter replayed in his mind like a broken record. Not looking at Torch only seemed to make it even worse, and the sudden shyness burned at his red skin.

With a sharp breath he muttered, “Can you say it again?” 

He needed something, anything to keep him sane. He knew this wouldn’t bring him any good whatsoever. Comfort me. Make me feel like everything is okay. Make me feel like we are something. More than just two characters in this fucked up story.

Clancy could hear The Torchbearer shift. He let out a questioning hum. 

Clancy kept his eyes planted to the grass below him. He really hoped Torch wouldn't have him say it, it was embarrassing how much such a simple thing did it for Clancy honestly.

He could have perfectly let it go. He knew Torch wouldn't have pushed any further, yet, with his chest tight in shame, he selfishly gave in. “My name? I want to hear you say it again. Please.”

Torch's tone wasn't surprised, not one bit. Clancy never dreamed of asking such a greedy, intimate thing, yet it was like Torch had been somewhat waiting for the question to happen. Inevitable.

“Alright. I can do that…” He began, no questions asked in return. “Nova.”

Clancy hummed. “Mh…” Content, with a hint of something more.

The feeling of the cloth pressing on his neck almost fading in the background as his skin felt cooler by the second. He sighed. It felt like getting cured from the worst, hottest fever you'd ever experienced. He forgot how soothing the cold feeling of a proper cleanse felt on his skin. Again- When was the last time he had a bath?

It was certainly different from his previous attempts at scratching his skin clean off. This was softer, a different chill, missing that wet, ice hot cold the pain on his skin radiated. Now, he felt cooled, pleasantly so. Clean in a real, literal sense.

“Artemiy.”

Clancy wasn't sure what to make of that. It was barely a whisper.

“Artemiy?” he offered, reflecting the sound perfectly, like a mirror does when presented with an image. 

Content, Torch hummed in response, repeating the name. “Artemiy. That’s my name.”

Clancy’s eyes grew wide, and he felt a blush creep up at the back of his neck. That's Torch’s name. Holy shit- Torch had just told Clancy his name.

He'd never been able to figure it out, never been told. When Clancy first got recruited by the banditos many, many cycles ago, he tried asking The Torchbearer himself. 

All he got back was a simple and silent “Torch is fine.” 

Some variation of the same answer was received from the rest of the Banditos. Some even admitted to him that they had no clue what The Torchbearer's name was. Most weren’t even sure if he had a proper name to him at all. Clancy just came to the conclusion that Torch’s name must've been just that, his title, the one who bears the light.

“Figured it wouldn’t be fair for me to know your name while you don't know mine. Now you know.”

“Artemiy…” Clancy repeated once more, almost in awe, like it was something unreal. The name left his lip perfectly, like it was tailored specifically for him to say. “Like the moon?”

Torch's voice wavered. “Like the moon, yeah.”

For the first time tonight, Clancy felt his usual humor snap back to him, somewhat lighter. Maybe it was simply the fact that he wasn't directly facing the other right now. “You don’t look like an Artemiy”

Torch’s tone was soaked with false defensiveness. “Oh, do I now?” He joked.

“Yeah you look like… I don’t know, you look like your name would be… Josh, or something like that” Clancy pushed, amused.

The Torchbearer pretended to be offended, and even if Clancy couldn't see it, he could hear the smile in the other’s voice when he next spoke “Josh? really?”

“Yes!”

“Wow. You're so mean to me.“

Clancy chuckled, and just for a moment, he felt like he could forget every single one of his worries. He looked up at the sky, at the big beautiful full moon that decorated it, along with millions of stars, and he couldn't help but think that in some way, Torch was the Moon to his Sun.

And he wanted to tell Torch, Clancy was so angry and mean, while The Torchbearer was calm and gentle. Patient.

Clancy burned until it twisted into something frigid and hurtful, but The Torchbearer saw right through it, cherishing the beautiful, warm light of the Sun.

Sometimes it seemed almost like both their worlds revolved around this concept. Torch would never give up on the other, because giving up meant letting the sun die in the lonesome place that was the eternal abyss of the galaxy above. And what would he do? What would Torch do if the world came to a halt? With no more sunny days and warmth and brightness? What would he do with no more hope and light to reflect, to give him hope that everything will be okay in the end? 

The world was harsh out in Trench, but he still had that, hope.

Without the Sun? Hope? He wasn’t so sure he could go on.

Clancy knew that, partly, this was only because of who he was. Clancy. A title. The one exception, the one with power, a power the Banditos could use to their advantage to finally break away at the curse that sent this world spiraling down to a looping nightmare, that made them lose so many people to a corrupt religion.

But behind The Torchbearer’s eyes, Clancy knew something hid, a bit different than just roles and titles. Than saviour complexes and heroes and clans.

Maybe deep down, stripped to the core, they were each other’s hope, beyond everything they pretended to hide themselves behind.

Nova and Artemiy. Just two people, two best friends. Complete with each other and broken when apart.

And some nights, as they lay in bed, in the same tent, the same cot, with the same old excuse of “it’s cold, stay close.” Clancy's mind ran restless, his hands quivering with the want to reach out, to touch. To tell.

What are you thinking? What are you dreaming of? Are you dreaming of us? Of me? 

What are we? What am I to you? Am I just a piece of the big, terrifying puzzle that is this wretched revolution?

Because you aren't to me. 

And I know I’m horrible, and I don't deserve you. But would you love me still? Even if the world wasn’t ending? 

I hope the next me is someone worth fighting for.

“I like it, Artemiy.” Clancy said, simply. And in a world that felt dark and heavy, the name spilling out his lip sounded so bright.

Torch smiled, All sharp teeth and soft joy. “Well, thank you, Nova.”

The silence that followed was comfortable and easy. Safe, hopeful. Maybe there is hope for me. For us.

With one final swipe, the cloth was off and away from Clancy’s neck, only leaving behind the ghost of what was once a gentle touch. “There you go.” Clancy heard the other whisper behind his shoulders.

Hope and slight disbelief was painted in Clancy’s voice. “Done?” He asked while turning around frantically, now facing Torch. Their eyes met and both found fondness in each other’s glances.

Torch’s eyes drifted lower from Clancy’s face, stopping at the middle of his clean chest, and there it was, that terrifying stare he could not bear to look back into. It lasted just a moment, and if Clancy blinked he was sure he would’ve missed it.

“Not yet.” The Torchbearer said simply, grabbing the tab of the other’s zipper and pulling it up effortlessly, closing up the other's compression top, and Clancy hummed at the pressure coming back, gently pressing on his skin. 

His sleeves were next, Torch gently untucking them neatly, loosening the grip on Clancy’s arms. Okay, maybe this shirt was a little too tight for this, as he now felt the weird sensation of blood circulating back into his digits. He wiggled his fingers around in an attempt to soothe the uncomfortable tickle under his skin, and if it was working, he wasn’t too sure.

And finally, while Clancy was still distracted by the awareness of his own blood flowing back into his hands, Torch picked a daisy off the ground, a small, fragile thing.

He tucked it behind Clancy’s ear with a quick, but considerate motion, and Clancy simply looked at the other, a little surprised, not expecting such a sweet and silly gesture.

Torch’s hand gently brushed against Clancy's neck and shoulder just for a second and Clancy felt a shiver run down his spine. Don’t shy away. Please…

Torch smiled fondly at Clancy, the latter's heart skipping a beat. His worries were forgotten completely, this moment just for them two.

“There you go” The Torchbearer repeated again, his voice felt impossibly quiet, barely a whisper. Something meant for them and them only “Now we're done.”

Clancy could only look back. His skin felt scorching hot, and something inside him turned. 

He was free. 

The tears picked back up, and it felt like the thousandth time tonight, but Clancy's lips turned into a smile this time. There was no room to be miserable, the feeling of dread now replaced by the lightness of hope and safety. An impossible promise.

“You.. I- God- You’re such a sap, you know that?” There was no snap in it. He hid his face in hands as he laughed, feeling embarrassed, like a little kid.

Torch chuckled, “Only for you.” The fondness in his tone, his look, were so intense, it made Clancy’s chest hurt. His insides churned at the implications of that simple statement.

I love you i love you i love you-

Red in the face, he choked on his own laughter as he couldn't stop crying. “Yeah! Because- If the Banditos knew how much of a sap you are, your whole-” He gestured around weakly in the air between them “-Fearless, stoic leader act would crumble!”

Torch crossed his arms on his torso, desperately trying to seem offended, and failing miserably as a smirk made its way on his face. “Hey!” 

Clancy smirked back, amusement printed on his tired features. His crooked teeth showing. 

He poked Torch in the shoulder playfully. “It’s true!” And it was.

“It's true.” Torch repeated with a proper smile. There was no denying such a thing.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Clancy desperately wanted to let the other know how much he meant to him. His heart warm and filled with adoration. He was completely infatuated.

I want to crawl under your skin and play your insides like I play my instruments. I want to sing a song to your heart, something only you and I will be able to hear. 

You can have all of me and all I've ever known. Take my heart, take my lungs. Anything for you, you just need to ask for it.

I would kill for you. I would live for you.

“Torch- I-”

Tap.

Clancy, immediately getting distracted, instinctively put a hand out, looking up for just a moment, and The Torchbearer shot a glance at him, slightly confused.

“Is it raining? I think I just felt a raindrop.” Clancy wiped at his cheek, where a raindrop had definitely just met his skin.

A thunder rumbled in the distance, and they both jumped.

Torch chuckled lightly. “Well, there’s your answer.”

Clancy felt a second drop, and a third. He looked back up, like the sky itself had a different, less wet answer for him.

The Torchbearer started getting up, holding out a hand for Clancy to take once he was on his own two feet. “Come on, we better get back before it starts getting worse.”  

Torch extended his arm out for Clancy to take, and the latter didn’t waste a second to clasp their hands together.

Before they knew it, the rain started to pour and pour, so they ran their way back, hand in hand, laughing in the dark as they got drenched by the storm.

Clancy couldn't stop himself from thinking of the ironic parallel of events happening in that very moment. 

Once, he couldn't stand the feeling of his lungs giving out as he ran to the wretched place that was the morbidly beautiful pond in the woods. He hated the walk of shame he had to endure every time after his skin got worse with good intentions, drenched and alone.

Somehow this felt different. It was different. As they both clung to each side of Clancy's big jacket on top of their heads as best as they could, (Which did nothing to shield them from the heavy rain) He felt like one of the many weights on his shoulders was lifted. Like the world couldn’t reach him. Like for a second it let him forget all he’s ever lived. All the timelines he suffered and the ones he's yet to suffer through.

And Clancy was alright with that.

By the time they were back to camp, everyone was already secluded away in their tents, and the bonfire was extinguished by the harsh weather. 

they scurried their way into their tent, kicking off their muddy boots. They dried themselves off as best as they could before throwing themselves on their cot, taking cover under whatever discarded blanket they could find.

They were still smiling wide as their bodies interlinked, smelling like rain and dirt, holding each other as close as they could, almost as the concept of Torch and Clancy, Nova and Artemiy vanished, becoming something new, two turning one.

He let himself breathe as his and Torch’s foreheads rested together, both closing their eyes. They’ve never been this close before, but Clancy didn’t feel embarrassed, no. A deep blush crept up his spine as Torch’s hand lightly ran down his side, stopping to rest on his waist, but he was at peace. Safe.

He would worry about this tomorrow. Now all he wanted to do was exist, actually live for once in his life.

Torch was the first to give in.

He raised his arm, just enough for his hand to poke out from underneath the thin blanket and signed. Thumb, pinky and pointer finger up, while his middle and ring finger pressed down onto his palm. Clancy was very familiar with that one.

“I love you” The Torchbearer mouthed silently.

He raised his middle finger and twisted it with his pointer. Pinky and thumb still sticking out.

“I really do.”

Torch’s glance was fond with a sweetness his heart tailored for his best friend and his best friend only. The one he’d never dream of leaving behind. 

Clancy felt adored, and the grip on that secret he held so tight to his chest loosened just a little bit.

It was not the first time Torch signed those three words to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. Same way around. Clancy wondered if they’d ever be brave enough to say them aloud one day. But that felt too real, felt too much like another kind of love.

Clancy signed back.

“I love you too.”