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There is no rush. What Ralsei thinks is that, in this context, there is no rush at all.
Yet, a frantic surge overpowers his anxiety-riddled mind; it spreads through his chest, ultimately tearing his breath apart. He feels crushed.
It could be two in the morning, four, or five: would the dawn even rise? Or is there room for the stars above Kris's house instead?
He overthinks; the greed of his thoughts swallows him whole. There is no way to prevent the catastrophe, but doing everything possible to try is the only option left. He must preserve the tiny glimmer of light he built during his days of adventure.
Ralsei is pale, sitting at the maple desk he decided to put in his room after his bed turned out to be extremely comfortable: he had never experienced the taste of sleep before, as Darkners have no need for it. However, the pressure from Kris and Susie regarding the matter had done a lot.
The desk is littered with papers, new spells, and even methods to inhibit his fire magic.
Ever since Flowery had put his tolerance to a severe test, it hadn't taken long for him to become filled with inhibitions and anxiety over what he might do during a moment of lost lucidity. Processing that he was feeling emotions is the hardest thing for him, spending his time wondering why he could feel such strong ones.
Tolerance would soon make space for fear, love, and even a rage that was difficult to control: a heavy blow for someone who thought of himself as carved from a rock of patience. He was terrified.
A terror making its way into his room, a very real possibility that something would soon turn against him. He was so obsessed with the well-being of others that he ended up hurting himself by feeling anger.
Ralsei's stream of consciousness is soon interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Heavy knocks on his door make him flinch.
"Susie, is that you?"
No answer. He relaxes his voice, then smiles.
"Susie? Look, if you want the cake, I put it in the fridge," he pauses, "I noticed it goes bad on the floor. Did you want a late-night snack?"
After the knocks, there is silence. He hears sighs; someone seems to have collapsed against the wood.
Raising an eyebrow, he steps away from the desk and walks swiftly toward the door: a strange worry begins to creep into his head, wondering who would make such noises at two in the morning.
The deep silence excludes the possibility of Susie, who at this point is comfortably sleeping in her bed.
Once his hand is on the doorknob, he accompanies the motion with two fingers, only to find…
“Kris???”
Kris is lying on the floor. Motionless. Their chest rises and falls far too irregularly. They groan softly in pain, their arm completely scraped up and tears on their face. Ralsei quickly kneels beside them, his mind cleared of every previous thought.
Kris is on the floor: right outside his room. Kris Dreemurr, his number one adventure partner, his right hand, the very person for whom he feels an intimately terrifying desire for closeness, is outside his room, seemingly unconscious and showing no sign of wanting help.
Ralsei swallows his saliva, briefly touches their chest, then places two fingers on their neck.
"Kris, please...", he utters with a broken voice, "what happened to you – Oh Kris – Oh dear lord..."
His heart starts beating fast; he can feel it in his chest. The panic over their lack of response keeps growing: "Answer me! What happened to you?"
Kris points at their SOUL, then raises an arm. They point a finger at the ceiling, an ironic, mocking smile creeping onto their face.
Ralsei starts breathing in and out heavily. "Kris, I've literally had enough, tell me what is going on!"
"An enemy."
"WHICH enemy, Kris?"
"I was trying to fight – doesn't matter – leave me here, take me to my room."
He has heard enough. He places a hand on Kris's head and slowly begins to whisper a healing prayer, hoping it will work.
Yet Kris has other ideas; a hand, at the limit of its strength in their pool of blood, rests on Ralsei's, clumsily trying to push him away and stop him. "Kris, you're not recovering – I – I don't know what to do – Kris, god, let me help you..."
"Leave me alone!" Kris spits out. They try to leverage themselves up with their arm but end up back on the floor, attempting to crawl toward their room. "I don't need your help, I don't even know why I came here..."
And something inside Ralsei snaps: the way Kris mockingly dismisses him, the way they categorically refuse to receive his help, pushes him to his limit. It can't be like this. They want to let themselves die right outside his room, leaving a mark of their death carved into his face.
The expression on his face changes; something dark overcomes him, something he has never learned to know in his entire existence.
Ralsei stands up, brushes off his robe, and adjusts his glasses. He looks down at Kris. "If you don't need my help, then get up. Go on, crawl to your room."
"What?"
"I told you. Crawl. To your room."
"I... okay. I don't need your help." Kris makes a move to shift, then spits out more blood. Another tear drags down their cheek. "I hate you."
Ralsei is silent, unblinking. He isn't frightened by such a statement; Kris's true side has surfaced. Without the angel, they are completely subordinated to their emotions.
"I hate you, Ralsei. I hate the way you always try to help me. Who the fuck are you? Tell me who the fuck you are! You're not my savior, you're my gravedigger, Ralsei! You know damn well what I do, you even act surprised when I show up hurt somewhere, don't you? As if you didn't know I was there: in the bunker. Doing everything to retrieve it because it's my fault, it's my fault she became like this." Kris's ragged shouts turn into whispers, sputters; amid their pain, their limbs contract. They have a few spasms, occasionally trying to crawl away from him.
"You're stupid," he say. After that, Kris loses the faculty of speech. He has already cast Pacify.
…
Ralsei finds himself with blood-stained hands. His breathing quickens again.
It was always my fault, wasn't it, Kris?
He takes them by the shoulders, leading them gently into their room.
He rests a hand on their forehead again, finally seeing the positive results he had hoped for in the agony of that moment. Kris's relaxed body is a brand-new discovery.
He whispers another prayer, and magically, all the blood from Kris and himself vanishes. Delicately, his finger traces every contour of Kris's sleeping face: the cheeks, the hair, and the chin. He notices the profound difference between the agony from a few minutes ago and the picturesque way Kris sleeps.
I shouldn't have shown up like that. I should have stayed silent and not expressed my emotions.
Even so, I prefer to be selfish. Isn't that right, Kris?
Ralsei smiles.
You see, maybe I thought the world was beautiful. That the Light World was. Maybe I was wrong, because there is something a Darkner can never have as much as a Lightner: circumstance. It must be really hard, right? The Light World isn't beautiful.
You grew up in the circumstances of a lonely person, and now you find yourself playing the villain.
He breathes in.
It's strange, Kris. My circumstances remain acting in a good manner, the very same that always betrays my expectations.
I need so much human closeness, so much understanding. I've always loved doing the right things, because doing the right things equals feeling less pain.
He lets out a sigh of relief. He hears the silence, Kris's faint breathing, and his own soul calming down. One sob after another, he begins to break down.
And if I suffer, then others shouldn't have to suffer. I don't want the people I selfishly care about to be hurt. Maybe I end up hurting them too when I bottle up too much.
His hands tremble, as does his body.
What would happen if I can't manage these powers? What would happen if I decided to play the villain? I don't want to, Kris, I just want to try breaking the rules.
If the Light World isn't that beautiful, what truly is for someone who stopped believing before anything could even happen?
No answer.
It's stupid, you couldn't know. You underestimate yourself too much.
Then, a grip on his robe, a red eye slightly open. They bring their hand onto Ralsei's. "U-uh? Do you want to hold my hand?"
A sleepy Kris answers him: "Maybe."
Ralsei straightens up, composing himself with the serious demeanor he had adopted half an hour earlier. He forces himself to be, for the first time, with someone he would have never forced himself to be with. At the same time, though, he closes his eyes and squeezes Kris's hand. A consciously present gesture, a demand for seriousness, but not a lack of forgiveness. "Welcome back, Kris. We need to talk."
Being like this destabilizes him. Ralsei doesn't know how to act aggressive.
The only things that come to his mind in that precise moment are about wanting to talk at all costs about how aggressive he was and how much he hadn't wanted to be. But above all, what had driven Kris to act that way.
Why they had come to do all this, despite him knowing it, yet wanting as much as possible to avoid showing awareness of it.
"Do we?"
He keeps pressing. "Kris, I don't want to touch on sore subjects, but – when you got hurt," he looks down, "you did it in a Dark World, didn't you?"
Kris straightens up, still holding Ralsei's hand in the process. "Yeah."
"And who opened that fountain?"
"I did."
"Are you collaborating with the Knight, Kris? Be honest with me."
"I am."
Ralsei had always known.
The hero described as a cage is the one who has always been controlled. Kris can do anything without their SOUL: including collaborating with the Knight.
He had tried so many times to discuss with Kris the hope that something could change, that by working together, something could be done. They had always nodded, but something had always corroded their personality, making them succumbs.
"I don't blame you for it."
"I know."
On the contrary, a strong sense of pleasure led the prince to reflect on the situation of pure honesty created between them, stripped of the most mismatched roles the prophecy could have given them.
No hero, no lonely prince in the darkness. Just one hand touching another with a shared sense of apprehension, a new way to process things.
Their eyes meet. "Your honesty... I think it's the most beautiful gift you could have given me tonight."
He remains still, his gaze fixed on Kris. They do the same. They smile at each other, genuinely this time, as the injured one gestures for him to get onto the bed with them.
"I'm sorry, Ralsei. I promise I'll stop."
"I know you will, and don't worry, because everyone can get angry."
Everyone can get angry, even a Darkner and a human who is far too sad.
Apparently, before tonight, that had never concretely crossed Ralsei's mind.