Archive of Our Own

As it turns out, telling Illuga of his feelings is going to be troublesome for Flins. And it's not because of his, ah, “problematic age gap,” as the younger Ratniki like to say.

“I'm sorry,” his young master says, swallowed by the low light of the bar. His eyes shine resolute. Apologetic. “but I'm not interested. Oh, and dating another Ratnik would complicate my life further, so it's definitely not your fault. You understand, I'm sure.”

Flins takes a long, deep drink of his Fire-water. Considers going over to Demyan and asking him to prepare ten more Fire-waters and a rosary, for good measure.

He's going to need all the prayers he can get, after all.

+🕯+

When he'd initially seen Illuga and the faceless Ratnik upon entering the Flagship, it wasn't a problem. If anything, it was good to see Illuga spending time with other people instead of holed away with his reports. 

Even if other people didn't include Flins.

…Which again, isn't a problem. He's allowed more than one friend. 

At some point, between the brawl of adventurers that inexplicably turned into a jovial sing-along, the other Ratnik had made a grave error. He'd taken the young master's hand in his own. Laughed too loudly, too closely in Illuga's space. Flins knows how Illuga feels about personal space. He should know, considering his claim to Illuga's space is very personal. To him, specifically.

It is perhaps because of this Ratnik meddling that the lights had begun to flicker, casting a great shadow over their table. Hm. Interesting how the Flagship seems to have lighting problems whenever someone leans too close to the Young Master's shoulder. The staff should really get that checked.

The Ratnik had squirmed when he'd started hearing whispers of decay and rot. Which isn't anything Flins would know about, of course. Just a highly educated guess, based on the facial expression he'd made. Unfortunately, Nikita seems to have a great eye for who to take on as a Lightkeeper, because the man persevered despite the issues. 

He'd leaned toward Illuga's mouth, getting closer, then–

 “What are you doing?”

Flins chest stopped feeling so tight. Finally. How absolutely annoying.

“S–sorry! I'm sorry, I thought you–I thought you were interested. In me.”

That was then. Flins, ever the appraiser of gems and gold, knew that this Ratnik had a good eye for treasure.

Which was initially a huge problem.

But now?

+🕯+

“Oh, Sir Flins!”

Now, his treasure gleams golden in front of his eyes only.

Flins slides out from the adjacent booth, grabbing his liquid courage and his lack of self-restraint to bring along to Illuga. When he sits down across from his shiny blue eyes, he feels as though he finally understands why humans partake in worship.

“Hello, Young Master. Quite the eventful night, hasn't it been?”

Based on the blush painting his face, Illuga knows he isn't talking about the brawl or the sing-along. “I was hoping you wouldn't have overheard that.” He punctuates his complaint with a sigh and a swig from his stein.

“It's only natural that someone such as yourself would attract attention at some point.”

Illuga clicks his tongue. His eyes are starting to look a little hazy. “Not that I'm not grateful, but I can barely focus on caring for myself. Imagine having another person to worry about constantly. I don't know if I could do it right now. Or ever.”

Now Flins knows for sure that his brain is full of mead, if his loose tongue is anything to go by. “Quite frankly, I'm shocked to hear you admit that you don't prioritize yourself more. What kind of introspection has this encounter inspired, and more importantly, will it lead to self-improvement?”

Flins is half convinced that if Illuga rolls his eyes any harder, they'll fall right out of his head. He'd gladly add them to his collection of gems.

“Hilarious, coming from you. Don't think I didn't notice the absurd amount of vegetables you still had left the last time I dropped off supplies. You're probably hiding scurvy from me, and I'll only know when your teeth fall out one day.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don't like the vegetables the Starshyna packs?”

Illuga takes a second to process that, and then balks a few seconds later. As if the revelation is on the level of losing half his squad. Flins finds that he can't hold back his grin.

“Wait,” Illuga slurs, pointing accusingly. “You're messing with me again.”

“I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to.”

“Yes you do, you… you…” Illuga scrunches his eyebrows together. Flins might actually die tonight. If he sees even one more cute expression, he might perish a horrible death. “Whatever. Point is, you have no room to talk.”

“And yet, you have no proof that I'm ill or otherwise fatigued.”

“While it's true that you haven't been to the infirmary in a while, that doesn't rule out that you can hide it better than anyone else can. I mean, you hid that curse from me easily,” Illuga throws his hands up, nearly knocking his drink over. “I was beside myself not knowing if you were okay. If you were my lover, I'd probably collapse, then kick your ass after I got up.”

It is very, very prudent that Flins keeps the fact that he'd enjoy that to himself. The ass-kicking part, not the collapse part. Important distinction. He's too busy being enamored by Illuga's hypotheticals anyway.

“If I was your lover, huh…”

Illuga squints at his drink. “This– this mead tastes like shit.” He proceeds to drain the rest of it, making a pinched expression when he sets it down.

Flins has half a mind to whisk him away to the lighthouse right then and there.

“Theoretically,” Flins purrs, leaning close, “what would one have to do to prove that he was good enough to be your lover?”

+🪶+

“What do you mean Flins has rejected the supplies for this month? And the foreseeable future as well?”

The only thing worse than a hangover, Illuga decides, is getting awful news when you've only just recovered. It genuinely would've been better for him if he'd been run over by one of their Moonwagons.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Nikita shrugs. “Did something happen last night?”

Illuga tenses. Then tries to think. Then fails because he has a migraine and his comrade's handsome smile makes him feel so stupid because that's all he can remember. It's time to swear off alcohol forever. It's time to swear off Flins forever, if he knows what's good for him.

“I'm gonna ask him myself. This is crazy. He's crazy.”

And Illuga, as usual, does not know what is good for him.

+🪶+

“Explain yourself.”

“And hello to you too, Young Master.”

As usual, Illuga finds Flins dutifully carrying out his two favorite hobbies: pissing Illuga off and ignoring the ever-growing pile of reports.

“You have–you have–”

Wait a minute.

The reports…

Illuga can't help but pause. He then goes straight for the desk, looking at the two piles closer. If memory serves, the “to do” pile is on the left, and the “done” pile is on the right. Illuga remembers this, because every time he walks in, he has to tell himself to look away from the left pile. If he focuses on it too long, the urge to drop the left stack of papers onto Flins's head makes his hands itch.

Today is a monumental moment. It should be canonized as a holiday in the Lightkeeper's calendars. Right next to the day that the organization was founded, they should mark today as the day that Flins has finished all of his reports on time with no goading from anyone.

“Has something caught your eye, Young Master?

He is so smug right now. He is so obnoxious. It looks really, really hot. It shouldn't, which makes Illuga mad.

“Or rather, has the lack of something caught your eye, perhaps?”

Illuga, with a multitude of feelings ranging from angry to turned on, takes a very long, very deep breath. Probably the deepest breath he's ever had to take, and he's literally had his lung punctured. “Not only have you rejected all of your rations, but your reports are completely done. What is going on here?”

No sooner do the words leave his mouth does the realization come that crashes into him like a sneaker wave: Flins is planning on leaving.

It only makes sense, doesn't it? Tying up loose ends, and whatnot. He's going to retire, and he's happy about it. He's going to leave the Lightkeepers, the late night fighting, the overwhelming scent of death that follows them all.

Of course he'd be happy. How long has he been going at this? He deserves a good life, away from the agonizing pressure, away from–

“Young Master?”

It's okay for him to go, Illuga decides. Even if they don't see each other anymore. It will all be worth it, for Flins to be able to settle down.

“Young Master, look at me.”

There will be no more Illuga and Flins. Like his parents, like his squadmates, all good things must go eventually. It is only natural.

“Illuga.”

Illuga lets out a sudden gasp, snapping out of… whatever that was just now. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Flins grips his arms. He forcibly places himself in Illuga's direct line of sight.

Those eyes… Illuga never understood the metaphors he'd read in cheesy lightnovels about eyes piercing straight through you until now. They're scrutinizing, in a kind way. Like Illuga is another one of his precious gems he hoards. Trapped in an orbit around Flins, Illuga has no choice but to calm down.

“There you are,” Flins breathes out, gaze softening. “Welcome back to Teyvat, sunshine.”

Illuga balks, not for the first time, not for the last, at the sincere fondness. Being around Flins makes him want a cigarette. But sometimes Flins is the cigarette. He even smells perpetually smokey, for some reason.

“I'm, uh, sorry about that. I just–” and here, he feels unfairly affronted, “Why didn't you tell me you were going to retire? Why'd I have to find out like this?”

Unbeknownst to Illuga, today is yet another national holiday. This day is henceforth the day that Flins has been rendered speechless for a significant amount of time.

“I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to, Young Master. Wherever did you get such an idea?”

It is the most sincere Illuga has ever heard him.

“You– you rejected supplies! And finished your reports!” Illuga breaks free of Flins's grip to flail. “What else am I supposed to believe?”

Flins continues doing a perfect impression of the statue of Solovei, standing completely still. Then, he bursts into laughter.

Illuga fails to find the humor in this, but he does admit that it's nice to see an expression of pure joy on his face, instead of his usual mildly pleasant grin. The last time he saw a display of pure happiness on Flins was when Illuga brought him a gem he'd gotten from a collector. They'd later found out it was actually a piece of very old hard candy. Illuga's wallet wept, but Flins had laughed like a child getting a present.

“Illuga, my–” Illuga can tell he tries to sober up quickly, sensing his growing confusion and displeasure, “My Young Master. It seems that there's been a great misunderstanding here.”

“Well clear it up already!” he whines, though he's loath to admit he does. It's unbecoming of a captain, after all.

“So impatient, it appears the Heavenly Principles didn't instill that virtue in you at birth.”

“I'm going to instill my polearm into your–”

“Do you remember the conversation we had last night?”

Illuga freezes. Tries desperately, for the hundredth time, to comb through the memories of last night. And once again, it's all just filled with Flins's stupid fucking grin.

“I can't say that I do. I may have, uh, partaken in a few too many.”

“I can't really blame you. Before I found you, the situation you were in was quite unpleasant.”

Something unpleasant? Okay, so it couldn't have been the fight. He knows that because of the… enlightening information he'd learned about himself upon seeing a smaller man pin down a taller man. He'd nearly revealed that information to the person he was with.

Wait.

“Yes, I remember now! Jovan, he–” Illuga shudders. “Well, he's a nice guy but definitely not for me.”

Flins nods, an indiscernible gleam in his eyes. “Right. Definitely not for you. Not even close.”

Uh? Okay. Not sure why Flins is suddenly being weird about it, but sure, what the hell.

“So, I gather that you found me afterwards. And then we started talking about that incident.”

Flins takes a small step closer. “That we did.”

Illuga is… very aware of their space. Or lack thereof. Probably too aware. Has Flins always had pointy teeth? That's not normal, right? And is it strange that it doesn't scare him, but more so makes him feel something else?

There is so much to unpack, but he doesn't have time for any of that.

“And… I probably started complaining about all the reasons I wouldn't be available to date, I'm thinking.”

Flins suddenly brings a hand to the side of his face. Cradles his cheek. “You've almost put the pieces together,” he breathes, making Illuga's own breath hitch. “I'll help you out with the last part: a little birdy confided in me what a suitable partner would look like for him.

Illuga feels his heart stutter. It'll probably stop entirely soon, if Flins says what he thinks he's about to say.

“Someone who can be independent, who can do work on-time and efficiently, who is helpful and reliable, who can make you smile.” Here, Flins pauses, then leans in impossibly close. “And most importantly, someone who challenges you sometimes.”

Flins parts his lips with his thumb. Illuga reprimands himself for not stopping him. But he's allured, watching Flins run his tongue over his lips.

Like a bird caught in a cat's paws, about to be devoured. Except, it's not scary at all. It's…

“It's not going to work.”

Illuga steps away and remembers how to breathe.

It fucking hurts, actually. It aches to have a dream right in front of you, only for it to be shattered by your hands. He would know. He's kind of proficient at waking up screaming from dreams that started out nice. 

But if he's to protect his peace, then he does what's necessary. Flins does not want him. He thinks he does, but he does not know what Illuga is. Or rather, what he isn't, and will never be.

“I must focus on being a captain. No matter how many boxes you– anyone ticks, it's moot if they're a Lightkeeper. Getting attached to one of our own, only for them to be ripped away…”

Slowly, Flins removes his hand. Illuga makes a valiant effort not chasing after the warmth. He has his own lantern, anyway. He doesn't need to worry about anyone else's warmth when his own does just fine.

“I see.”

The way Flins regards him isn't exactly cold, but there's significantly less mirth in his gaze than before. 

It's easier to tell himself that it's for the best, so he does. If he doesn't look at Flins directly, it's even easier. So he doesn't.

Until,

“Then perhaps retirement is the better option, after all.”

Illuga whips his head to Flins. “No! No, don't–”

“I only jest, dear Illuga.” 

Illuga is so relieved he can't find it in him to truly be upset. “Don't scare me like that.”

Flins merely smiles. “I suppose the only thing I can do is prove myself even more, then.”

“Yes, exactl– huh?”

After he'd poured his whole soul out, Flins hadn't caught a single drop. Great. What else is new with Mr. “Conveniently Ignorant When it Benefits Him” Flins.

“Anyway,” he breezes on, as if Illuga isn't about to get in his face and throttle him to Kipumaki, “the sun will be setting soon, yes? I believe it prudent for the Young Master to get home before the darkness falls.”

Illuga looks out the window into the pinks and oranges of the day's end. 

“Uh, right. Yes.” Slowly, he backs toward the door. “Thank you–”

“Hold a moment, I've nearly forgotten something.”

Illuga doesn't even have time to be pissed that Flins has cut him off, because Flins quickly moves into the kitchen and opens his cabinets.

They're the fullest he's ever seen.

Flins plucks an apple from one of them, then moves to place it gently into Illuga's agape mouth.

“Take this for the road, won't you? I have plenty to share, after all.”

+🕯+

For the next few months, Flins is the most motivated he's been since the days when out-riching the richest was the name of the game.

He wouldn't necessarily call himself a slacker, though the tiny voice in his head that sounds a lot like a certain captain might disagree. But he isn't the most motivated, to put it kindly. So when he walks into Nikita's office one day requesting extra patrols, the man takes out a hidden pistol and points it at him, fully convinced that Flins is an imposter. He tries to clear up the misunderstanding by telling him it's for the Young Master's benefit. This results in Nikita keeping the gun pointed at him with the threat of discharge if Flins “ever breaks his heart.”

After he'd cleared the misunderstanding up (and reassured him he'd snuff his flame out for his son), he'd immediately gotten to work clearing out what the Young Master would crassly refer to as “shitloads” of them. Not that killing the Wild Hunt has ever been particularly hard anyway. He'd actually rather face several hoards alone than ever have to put on another pair of heels for faceless nobles.

(Though he knows he looks stunning in heels all the same. Maybe fighting in a pair of pumps would impress the Young Master. Or maybe he'd get a harsh scolding. Either option really gets him going).

He's so consistent with his work that people begin to talk. Whispers among the Ratniki, about a shadow that makes quick work of the other, more evil shadows. He's actively invited to more celebrations, which he of course goes to only if he can see Illuga. He so adores that bright red flush to his apple-round cheeks whenever he teases him.

The downside to this, of course, is that people want to start talking with him more often. He's very cordial and always willing to lend a helping hand, but there's a reason he doesn't want the extra attention. It has nothing to do with his identity being compromised.

“Have you by chance seen Illuga around?” he asks one day, after a particularly grueling patrol. While it's true that Rerir and Rotwang's defeats have made life more tolerable, there's always something insufferable on the horizon when it comes to living in Nod-Krai. And it's still a hundred times better than forcing a glamor on yourself for hours for the petty purpose of making your face look better than someone else's.

(Though again, Flins knows he looks great with his face done up. The only person who'd look even better is–)

“Ah, Young Master. There you are.”

Illuga looks up from the report he's scrutinizing over to stare at the group. Ah, he's so lovely when he's exasperated.

“Oh, Sir Flins!”

He's even lovelier when he smiles. Those ethereal eyes carved in ice and fire sparkle when they meet his own.

If Flins was a less ethical being, he'd pluck the eyes out of each and every one of the Lightkeepers surrounding them so no one could see this but him. But such is the price for taking a liking to humanity, he supposes.

Flins excuses himself from the group that's currently gathered, and with only a small degree of guilt, he thinks to himself,

Finally. 

Because lately, while Flins has been improving himself, Illuga has found the time to pull away. There's been a temporary spike in Wild Hunt sightings now that their leaders are gone, and this has led to agitation as the collective try to readjust to a new way of being. Mountains of intelligence have relocated into Illuga's hands, on top of the extra responsibilities as captain.

Illuga's dedication, as usual, enamors Flins. As the sun endures the darkness to bring upon the sky a new day, Illuga has taken his humble beginnings and shown everyone how he's become strong. Giving up is simply not an option with him, and that often means taking more, working harder, becoming the best leader he knows he can be.

It is incredible. It is inspirational.

It is also. Deeply, deeply irritating.

To watch someone with such a spacious heart fill it with everyone and everything. Then observe as exhaustion slowly takes the life from his eyes, because there is such a thing as getting too close to a flame, and his Young Master burns his wings every single time he flies.

How many times has Flins raced to the infirmary with the concept of death hot on his heels, until he opens the curtain and finds that Illuga has yet another saga etched permanently into his skin? 

There is being helpful, and there is being reckless. Illuga walks a fine line.

And the worst part. The absolute worst part is his selflessness makes Flins feel so very selfish.

Because he gives and gives and gives to other people, but when Flins steals him away just for himself, Illuga is still thinking about others. He talks about the meal prep. He frets about patrol routes. He wonders whether Rollon will vomit all night for the third time if he doesn't babysit him at the Flagship.

Flins, for once in his damned half a century life, wants only him. Not Illuga the captain. Not Illuga the injured. Just Illuga. 

“It's good that I've run into you, Young Master. May I take up some of your time? There's something I'd like to ask.”

Illuga tilts his head, like a little puppy. “Sure, I always have time for you, you know.”

While it is technically true that Illuga makes time to be with him, Flins is an inherently greedy being. Call him a tree, because his pining for Illuga's sole focus on him is evergreen.

“And I'm honored that you do,” he says, placing a hand over his fake heart. “So I'm here with the request to take up even more of your time. Specifically, in the next four days, when I believe we're both next free.”

“Are you asking to hang out?”

A less rational part of him implores Illuga to stop stalling his heart and call it a date. But his Young Master has already made his feelings on that matter very clear. Hence, why Flins is currently excelling at eliminating the darkness and upholding the ideal image of the perfect gentleman.

He's very patient when he has a point to prove. He has the advantage of hundreds of years of breaking through people's defenses. What Illuga doesn't know is that he's within his hungry maw, and once he clamps down, it's difficult to get him to let go.

“Yes. You've been rather busy lately, and aside from simply coming over to confirm I am still alive, I've hardly seen neither hide nor hair of my radiant moonfly.”

Illuga makes a face. “What kind of nickname was that?”

“Radiant beast?”

“Even worse. I don't think you could do that badly again if you tried.”

Flins hums, considering. “Radiant antler.”

“Aaand I was wrong.”

Illuga huffs a laugh, shaking his head fondly. “Sometimes I think you learn new words and phrases just to confuse me.”

Flins drinks in that boyish grin. He gets high on it like a drug. He keeps it in his fake heart, hoping it will turn it into a real one so that he may remove the organ from his chest and offer it back to Illuga.

“Maybe if you come to the lighthouse in four days, I can teach you even more.”

Illuga laughs again. “Alright, alright, I can see what you're trying to do.” He averts his eyes, looking guilty. “Unfortunately, I still have documents to look over.”

“No you don't. You don't have anything.”

“Wh–” Illuga stumbles, then looks irritated. “You are not about to gaslight me into slacking off. I have two more urgent reports to read, then I can come over. You can wait that long.”

“I advise that you give them to the Starshyna. Then you won't have anything. I am very solutions-oriented on top of being efficient and timely, Young Master. And did I already mention who's on the board this month for the most kills?”

“Oh my gods, I can't believe you're doing this right now,” Illuga mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Flins, for the love of the Archons, I am not giving my father more work.”

Flins, the solutions-oriented man he is, pulls out the best one from his arsenal:

“Please, Master Illuga,” he begs, widening his eyes and channeling the poor crying seals he's seen in pictures from Fontaine.

Admittedly, Flins throws in another dirty tactic for good measure: grabbing both of Illuga's hands and pulling them flush to his chest. They're very warm. And very small. Extremely grabbable. 

Flins files that information carefully for later. Likely for the next 200 years at least. Though he's confident he won't have to wait that long for Illuga to reciprocate. He has been proving his worth, after all. All that's left is a little… motivational boost, so to speak.

“Fine, fine! Just put that sad kitten face away, please!”

Flins does. He doesn't hide the smug upturn of his lips. “Thank you, Young Master. I look forward to seeing you very soon.”

And for the finishing touch: he pulls one of Illuga's hands to his mouth and places a light kiss to the fabric of his glove.

“You! Ugh, you're impossible.”

And yet, Illuga can't quite keep the smile off his face as he declares it.

+🪶+

Illuga smells the fish before he makes landfall.

It seems as though Flins has been anticipating this day more than he realized if he's already preparing lunch. Looking back, Illuga being bogged down by work has made him a less than stellar conversation partner as of late. It's no wonder Flins has put in the extra effort. Illuga does feel a little bad, even if he can't help the amount of work he gets.

It was interesting, though, seeing his dad immediately volunteer to take his work when he mentioned going to see Flins. Not just some of it, but all the rest.

It was then absolutely fucking mortifying when his father proceeded to tell him to use protection.

Use protection!

Where the hell did he get that idea?

Illuga groans at the memory as he ties his boat to the pier. He then stretches, hoping he can redirect the nervous energy he's carried with him this whole time.

It's a little unfortunate, to be honest. First, he willingly takes on more work, then he loses sleep over rejecting the man he sees in his dreams. Who willingly tells him he loves him, presses a kiss to his lips, then further down until–

Until Illuga wakes up and remembers he still has another report about crabs and goats to read over.

Illuga might be a masochist. That's something he thinks about every time he enjoys having Flins's polearm pressed against his jaw after a good spar. But taking on this absurd amount of work is far from pleasurable. But it's also the only thing that distracts him from his problem. 

“Young Master, I'm pleased you could meet me today.”

His problem, currently standing in front of him at a sleek six feet tall, has been worse than it's ever been.

Illuga is not stupid. He knows staying away would probably be a better way to live his life. Especially because every time Illuga is content with his inner circle, someone is turned into ashes. First, it was his parents. Then Olsson. Then Bjorn. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, Flins disappears into the mist as well. No matter how cunning they are, every living thing is bound to turn into a eulogy one day.

He's beyond tired of his most cherished people slipping away before the graying of their hair. Healthy distance will suffice. It has to. After this visit to the lighthouse, he will start the process of creating distance.

“Hello, Sir Flins.”

When Illuga eventually slips into the Abyss, it will be Flins against the backdrop of the misty island that tattoos itself into his eyelids for the last time.

It is not something he can deny anymore. He will try anyway, because giving up means allowing himself to be content.

“I hope the trek over was smooth. I know it's quite a distance over to my humble abode.”

“It's really no big deal,” Illuga says, walking over to the fish roasting. “This smells delicious. It has more herbs than usual.”

“Ah, caught your nose, did it? I've been experimenting lately. I hope the results will satisfy you.”

Flins hasn't changed anything about his voice, yet Illuga detects a hidden lilt somewhere. He can't explain it, it just comes with having a bullshit meter that one develops when having a friend like Flins.

After Flins takes the fish off the grill, he leads Illuga to the lighthouse. When Illuga opens the door, he nearly slams it back shut.

The atmosphere inside is a far cry from the usual unnerving calm. Well, it's actually still a little strange with the piles of bones sitting in the shadows, but other than the jarring reminders of the futility of life, it's… nice.

There is a singular long, white candle that adorns the table, the flame swaying from the breeze outside. Underneath the candle is a white, ornate tablecloth that probably has a hundred stories stitched into the frayed and yellowed edges. At each end of the table, there are two plates lined with gold that match the shiny cutlery. 

Probably the most damning sight of all is the radio currently sitting in the living room. It tenderly radiates a calm string and piano harmony. Illuga thinks of his parents. Nameless and faceless as they are, the one thing he remembers in their home was music. It was just like this.

It's perfect.

Which is precisely why Illuga is more pissed off than he has been in years.

“Flins.” Illuga turns slowly to him. He is calm. “What the fuck is going on here.”

Of course, Flins takes his gritted teeth and barely concealed ire in stride. “Why, whatever could you be referring to, Young Master?”

Alright, that's it. Illuga is going to sic Aedon on him in approximately five seconds. 

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” he hisses, jabbing an accusatory finger into Flins's…

Wait a damn minute.

“Since when have you started wearing a suit vest?”

He couldn't tell what exactly was off about him before because it was dark, but now that he can see, he wishes he was blind.

Is this what insanity feels like? Is he about to slip into psychosis looking at Flins's shapely but slightly malnourished pectorals? Perhaps he finally understands those mad scholars in Sumeru that the Traveler had mentioned before.

He wants to punch him. He wants to make out with him. He wants to go into that lighthouse, tangle with Flins in the sheets, then set it on fire the next morning.

Why is Flins doing all this. Not just the impromptu date, but everything over the past few months! What is so special about–about someone like him? He can and will die young, he's almost sure of it. Flins needs to find someone else to treat with this level of reverence, because Illuga might not be around long enough to appreciate the effort.

Nevermind the fact that the thought of someone else partaking in this atmosphere makes him clench his jaw. He needs to bite something. Flins's chest happens to catch his eye again.

Wait, no. Stop, Illuga. Focus.

At this point, Illuga's looking at throwing himself into the ocean. Maybe if he's really lucky, a Fatui agent will mistake him for a shark and take a hammer to him.

“I see that you're enjoying the surprise I prepared for you.” Flins takes hold of Illuga's wrist and slowly lowers it down, but doesn't let go. He smiles serenely, as he usually does, and pulls Illuga close, as he usually does.

“Let's go inside, shall we?”

Illuga swallows roughly. When looking into those golden eyes, there's ever only one response. 

“Okay.”

+🪶+

“Ah, it seems I've left you on yet another cliffhanger,” Flins says in the least sorry tone he can muster. “Guess you'll have to come back next time to hear the rest.”

Dinner was a shockingly calm affair. Other than the part where Flins offered to feed him a piece of tart and stuck his fingers way too far into Illuga's mouth for his comfort. That aside, it felt normal. The familiarity warmed Illuga. It was a balm between fighting the Wild Hunt and the seasonal depression.

After dinner, they'd migrated to the lumpy couch that Illuga has been offering to replace for months. Flins, stubborn as he is, insists it has “character.” The only character it gives is when it makes Illuga act like an asshole because his back hurts when he sits for too long. Flins always offers a back massage, but something tells Illuga that it will devolve into a full body massage. Illuga, naturally, will be too weak to stop it. He's rarely strong enough to best Flins in anything. 

“I should hang you from a cliff, Sir Flins who doesn't finish his stories.”

Flins puts a hand to his heart as if he's been maimed. “Oh, my dearest Young Master, threatening violence against an innocent man?”

Faster than Illuga can blink, Flins slumps down on top of him. He's a heavy bastard. There are a ridiculous amount of chains and buckles currently digging into him. And he's… cold. Like a corpse. What the fuck.

“Get off of me, you big–”

“And now,” Flins continues, sinking down into his shoulder further, “I'm being called names. How tragic. How pitiful. Where has my nice Illuga gone?”

Illuga hates that he's fighting a smile. It feels too much like he's fighting for his life. Hanging out with Flins is always a battle of some kind. He's exhausting.

And yet,

“You are way too old to be doing this.” Illuga ungracefully rolls Flins into his lap. The shitty, smug beanstalk simply smiles like he's won a contest Illuga wasn't aware he was participating in. “What would the other Ratnik think if they saw you like this?”

“I can't say I care what they think.” Horrifyingly, Flins reaches up to pinch Illuga's nose. “I'm far too old to care anymore.”

And there he goes again, that infuriating man. Always hinting, never saying anything directly.

“Why can't you ever finish what you start?” Illuga groans, smacking his hand away from his second pinching attempt. 

“Oh but Young Master,” Flins suddenly props himself on his elbows. He's way too close. 

“Wh–”

“What do you think I've been trying to do this entire time?”

The space between them is swallowed in a chasm of tension. Illuga can feel his lips on his own. They're cold, too. What the fuck. His heart feels like it's about to burst into fireworks. 

The music from the radio fades into white noise as Illuga stands on the cliff of something and nothing.

He's ashamed to admit that he memorizes the curve of Flins's lips, the way his steady breath almost feels like nothing at all. He's supposed to be distancing himself. But how do you distance yourself from an alluring flame? Whose heat draws you in when the icy tendrils of indifference keep your thoughts captive?

Somehow, with the strength of the Seven themselves, Illuga does not bridge the gap. He leans back, away from salvation.  

“Thank you for dinner, Flins.” He swallows, exhaling a shaky breath. “It was very nice. I had a good time.”

Each pulse of his frantic heart sounds an awful lot like “I love you.”

Flins regards him with a look he really can't decipher, and he considers himself a bit of an expert at Flinsisms. Whatever it is, Illuga feels like he's failed at something.

“Is that all you wish to say to me?”

Illuga's breath hitches. “Yes.”

Flins smiles. “You're a poor liar, Young Master.”

Illuga knows he is. It's pretty difficult to deny when cracks in the foundation start to make the building crumble.

+🪶+

The bravest thing Illuga has ever done involves no achievement against the Wild Hunt. It isn't even the time he challenged Varka to a duel while they were both hammered that ended with him somehow being squished between his massive thighs.

The bravest thing Illuga's ever done is making a run for it knowing that Ineffa is a killer robot Aino built to systematically hunt things down.

Now in his defense, had the other Ratniki not used up all the available excuses, the whole situation could've ended peacefully. But if there's one thing every Lightkeeper should strive to be, it's resourceful. You have to take the opportunity when you see it, no matter the cost.

So when Ineffa had turned her back to fight Aino over a Krumkake that Illuga had slipped into her view earlier, he seized the opportunity. He'd quietly crept to the front, then bolted as soon as the door opened.

Now, the wind whips his hair in a frenzy as he takes a sharp turn towards the cliffside that leads to an area where Aino's giant, creepy duck robot is kept. He's banking on the fact that Ineffa will check the cave next to the workshop first, giving him enough time to run back to Nasha Town. 

Unfortunately, Ineffa rounds the corner and spots him immediately. Of course she does. Big killer robot with heat-seeking missiles blasts five-foot-three squad captain to bits is looking like a likely headline now.

Unless…

Oh his father is going to be so mad at him for this.

Illuga, instead of diverting his path towards a safer route, runs even faster towards the cliffside.

“Sorry Aedon!” he calls, wincing as he throws his beloved bird at Ineffa. He'll be okay, but he will demand extra geo fragments later as compensation.

While Ineffa deals with Aedon, Illuga gets closer to the edge. Seconds away from where the land meets sky, Illuga prepares his glider. With little time left, he leaps.

And he prays. 

“Oh dear, it seems my prayers have been answered.”

Wait. Did the Archons just skip over his prayers and give them to someone else? 

He doesn't have time to ponder the implications of the favoritism, for he lands not on the ground, but in a pair of sturdy arms. When he looks at who caught him, his heart drops straight into his ass.

“Sir Flins! What are you even doing here?”

“Why, looking for you, of course,” Flins replies with a smile, adjusting his grip. “Seems as though the Archons heard me.”

“Why were you looking for m- shit, shut up!” Illuga hisses, holding both hands over Flins's mouth. 

Seconds later, the metallic thumps of Ineffa's joints get dangerously close to the cliff's edge. Flins, sensing the imminent danger, pushes them into the hanging foliage. The leaves act as a curtain, obscuring both of them just enough to avoid detection.

Illuga stays frozen solid until the clinks of the metal retreat, releasing a shaky breath when he can't hear them anymore.

It's only then that he realizes he's still in danger: Flins, narrowing his eyes at him, looking like a hunter.

Oh no.

Now he's leaning forward, way too far forward. He leans so close that the backs of Illuga's hands now touch his own face. Sweat begins to bead on Illuga's forehead, the anticipation just about kills him.

He feels Flins lips on the inside of his hand, tender and wanting. Illuga's heart rockets upwards. Flins then sticks his tongue out, caressing the little space between his fingers.

Illuga gives a shriek, then takes his hands off his mouth.

“You are so gross!” he yells, his face heating up.

“What, I can't partake in a little taste? Is it a crime for a man to wonder what his beloved companion tastes like?” he asks as if that's a normal fucking question and not an insane thing that Illuga should put him in a straight jacket for.

Yet, he can't deny that his face was not the only thing that had heated up at the action. Oh gods, Flins is turning him into a freak. Soon he'll be collecting bones and talking to ghosts, too. 

“A-anyway,” he continues, “you still haven't told me why you were looking for me.”

“Oh, that, yes,” he says, finally setting him down. “The Starshyna is actually the one who requested I seek you out. He wishes to speak with you about a mission he's planning to send you, me, and Rollon on.”

Illuga stares blankly.

“What do you mean I actually had an excuse to leave this time?”

+🕯+

Inevitably, all things that come up must come down.

Sure, the mission starts out great, but like all missions, there's always a chance for failure.

No use in stewing in regrets, but there are probably other things Flins could've done better. For example, delivering a flying kick by spinning around his polearm was likely unnecessary, even if it did make Illuga gawk in awe.

Seeing his open-mouthed reverence was a fitting beginning to his end, for he has long known Illuga could tell him to jump and the only things he'd ask are “how high?” and “will the Young Master reward me with a kiss if I do a back flip?”

Had Flins been paying attention, he'd have seen the sudden rift open up behind him. The monsters that had poured out aggressively would've been gone in a blink.

But as they say, looking too long into the sun will blind you eventually.

So Flins is grabbed, and he's tossed into the air like a ragdoll, then slammed into the ground. Had he any ribs, he's sure they'd be in a dire state. As a matter of fact, he imagines all of his bones would be rendered useless.

Funny enough, his first thought is of the dirt staining his cheek. His core tremors in an erratic rhythm, but the dirt is what he chooses to focus on. It is disgusting. He isn't used to being on the ground like this. The hands begin to claw at his skin, trying to get to his essence. He notices his body grow very, very hot.

Danger, danger the lantern pulses at his side. The red glow reminds him of Illuga's petrified eyes.

What upsets him the most isn't the pain to his facsimile organs. It's the look on Illuga's face, then the scream that tears its way from his throat and creates a cacophony in the pink sky.

He has seen the end, therefore he is not afraid. But leaving Illuga alone with his endless grief terrifies him like nothing else.

So he makes a gamble.

He's very good at gambling. Mostly on account of him being able to cheat and manipulate, but that's between him and the false sky. 

The bet goes as follows:

The Wild Hunt currently surround him, but Illuga and Rollon are quickly closing in. In approximately three seconds, they will be too close, and they will understand more about him than he intends to reveal.

So right now, while they're still gathering their courage and weapons, he takes the opportunity.

Kyryll, the Azure Flame, makes his grand return to the world in a wall of blue. He sends the tortured screeches of the monsters into the scorched earth. It takes but a moment for the crackle of burning flesh to evaporate into nothing, as if the monsters had never existed in the first place. There isn't even a smell left behind, other than ash and smoke.

It is not grandiose, nor is it spectacular. It is isolating. He cannot see Illuga. He can barely keep his eyes open, and he cannot imagine the expression he's making right now. It's so, so lonely, being the one behind the flames. 

Flins almost laughs. What a silly thing, to be so concerned with what face your beloved is making as your life flickers in and out. 

How very human of him.

+🪶+

The worst part about being right is that more often than not, it doesn't make you feel vindicated.

When Illuga found out he'd been right, he'd emptied his entire stomach contents into the bushes outside.

Flins hadn't been moving.

He'd seen a flash of… something, and then it was only Flins. Lifeless. But also warm? Burning, even. It was all so confusing, Illuga didn't have time to focus on rationalizing. He just knew that Flins was there, he wasn't smiling or being insufferable, he wasn't being at all.

Illuga hardly remembers scooping him up, calling his name, choking the tears back, because he's a captain, and Flins needed him. 

And Illuga needed Flins.

So he ran with Rollon, hoisting Flins between them. Not for the first or last time, Illuga wishes Flins wasn't so damn lanky. He always uses it to his advantage to tower over Illuga, and Illuga knows he'd never hurt him but he's still intimidating when he really wants to be.

Ironically, the most scared Illuga's ever been of Flins was when he was unresponsive.

They'd made it to the medical tent just in time, where Illuga passed Flins to more capable hands and tried to swallow the sob lodged in his throat as he explained the situation. When they came back out with grim expressions less than an hour later, Illuga's suspicions had been confirmed.

He'd been right, all along.

He knew that getting attached to someone and having them ripped away would tear his mind asunder. His patchwork of emotions, all unraveled like a seamstress angrily taking a seam ripper to a beloved piece she'd spent days on. Or in Illuga's case, years.

His hands clench. His mouth yearns for a cigarette. A habit he gave up years ago, because Flins told him he wasn't allowed to leave him early. A small, sick part of Illuga thinks that if Flins doesn't make it, he might take it back up again. Flins would hate him for that. 

Illuga exhales a bitter laugh.

He really does deserve someone better. Yet Illuga is too selfish to tell him to look elsewhere. He won't commit to anything with Flins, but he doesn't want him to look anywhere except his way.

Maybe, there's a scared little six year old that just lost everything waiting for someone to tell him that it's okay to be frightened. Fighting against the darkness is a noble cause, but what is every victory worth if it doesn't allow him to let other people in? If he could just get over himself, stop being so–

“Illuga?”

Illuga blinks. Then does a doubletake. Linnea? When did she–

Oh. He blinks again. The sun is rising. He's been sitting outside the tent all night.

“Er, yes?”

“Flins is awake. He's asking for you.”

+🕯+

Upon waking, Flins's first thought is “my wife will be quite cross with me.”

He then fully comes back to himself, remembers he isn't married, and is sad for an entirely different reason. His second thought is, “I hope his bleak worldview about his loved ones dying early that seems to be proven comically often doesn't prevent him from becoming my wife.”

Flins, already having sailed the S.S. Passive Suicide vessel, knows the waters well. For a being with a long life, it's shocking how boring living through major historical events can get. Oh, the Heavenly Principles have wrought chaos unto Teyvat? Just another Tuesday in the long, long line of Tuesdays, really.

But for a human, life is so fragile. For Illuga, doubly so. He doesn't get hundreds of years to ruminate. He hardly gets weeks, let alone days considering his cute little habit of throwing himself onto death’s silver platter more often than necessary.

Perhaps it was cruel to goad him into romance now, when all he can concentrate on is making it to the next day. Perhaps, Flins needs to reevaluate his own desires, loathe as he is to do that. What's another hundred years without the sunshine, anyway? He already has plenty of experience with the darkness.

Flins curses in a tongue he has long had no need for. Fuck his stupid fae life.

“Woah, that's some rough language if I've ever heard it!”

The tent rustles, and Flins heres a small and muffled “ya-ho?” from behind the tarp. Then it rustles even harder, and he can't help but smile as he hears his own curse echoed back.

“The entrance flap is on the other side, Miss Linnea.”

The rustling stops. Then slowly starts again, on the other side this time. There's another beat of silence, then Lumi bursts into the room, Linnea panicking after her.

“Lumi! Don't make so much noise! There are other people…” she glances around the completely empty tent, then shuts her mouth.

“Quite the entrance, Miss Linnea, Miss Lumi.” Flins smiles at both of them, and finds it fascinating how Linnea has surpassed her previous shade of red and moved onto a new shade altogether. “Fortunately, I was the only one injured this time around.”

Linnea huffs, shaking her head. “You say ‘fortunately,’ but I think Illuga would have to disagree. He's been so distraught that he didn't even notice me going in here! You really did a number on him!”

Flins feels his smile immediately drop. “He's… here?”

Linnea nods vigorously, wings flapping erratically. “Yeah! Looked like he didn't sleep at all! He's really… attached to you, you know.”

Linnea looks behind her, as if Illuga himself will burst in and scold her for revealing something embarrassing.

Flins only laughs hollowly. “Hence why I am in the predicament I am now. The Young Master fears the one he grows attached to will be taken away any day. I attempted to prove my reliability, and now even I am part of his never-ending nightmare.

Flins pauses for a moment. There's something that's been nagging at him quite a bit lately.

“To be entirely honest, I don't think proving that I can be the ideal man will be truly enough to fix his heart. There is something deeper that I feel I'm missing.”

“Well, can't you just–I don't know, ask him?”

Flins laughs again. “And receive the same insincere answer he gives everyone else? He doesn't think his troubles are worth anyone else's trouble.”

“But!” Linnea bristles, prompting Lumi to take several hops away from whatever the hell her companion is doing. “You can't give up. You should tell him that attachments are what make everything worth it, no matter how small. It's a scary world, but having someone with you to navigate through it makes it better! You know?”

Lumi “ya-hos” her agreement. 

Frankly, Flins isn't sure Linnea's simple-minded approach is going to work. If there was such an easy solution, they'd have been kissing years ago. Illuga has too many other hang-ups that go deeper, farther than he can reach. It's what happens when you believe you've cheated death one, two, ten too many times. At certain points, Flins is almost certain of one thing:

“He's already preparing for his own eventual–” He cuts himself off, swallowing the thought deep into the recesses of the embers and charcoal that make up his being.

Admittedly, it's a thought that's wormed its way into his head before. He usually tries to remove it. It makes him absolutely sick with worry. But it's also a truth of this world, no matter how inconvenient. The sky is fake, the sheep are plants, and Illuga is sailing the same path Flins has already been down long ago.

He must put a stop to this before the dirt welcomes someone else into its permanent comfort.

“Please tell him I need to speak with him.”

Linnea, though visibly confused, brightens. “Okay! But uh, I need to take your vitals before that! Miss Lauma didn't know how to do that, so I've been hired!”

Flins raises a brow. “And do you know how to do that?”

Linnea sheepishly shrugs. “Uh. Better than a human does! A-anyway, the faster we get this done the faster you can be in love! So sit still!”

+🪶+

When Illuga walks in, his stomach churns again.

Alive, but exhausted, Flins sits a picture of beauty, in a sort of emaciated way.

Emotions war within him, but ultimately what comes out of his mouth is… well, nothing. He has no idea what to say. His throat is raw. He wishes he could remember what it was like before he met Flins. Before the late night walks on the beach, and the running off to skip class, and the comfort found in his arms after a punishing battle.

“It's good to see you again, Young Mast–”

“Why me?”

He almost slaps a hand over his mouth. Of all the things to say, it had to be the stupidly vulnerable one. The one sumpter beast in the room he hoped would stay unaddressed until his final breath. 

Flins freezes. Illuga can count on one hand how many times Flins has been caught off-guard. His hesitancy gives way to a languid smile that betrays nothing of how he's feeling.

“My, no queries as to my wellbeing? We're just getting straight to business?”

And now Illuga is convinced he's losing it. Because surely, he didn't just detect a hint of nervousness in his voice just now, right? It must've been his imagination. World-weary, congenial Flins does not get nervous. 

“I already talked to Linnea about your wellbeing. She assured me you were okay.” There's a meaningful pause. Then, “You've wanted to talk about it too, didn't you? About… about us?”

Illuga whispers that last word as if he's afraid. Like if he says it loud enough, it'll summon two wedding bands and tailored suits.

“Perceptive as always, Young Master. Come and sit. We have much to discuss,” he says, like it's some business meeting and not the precipice of something terrifying. It's funny how Illuga is more comfortable with brushing close to death than he is about brushing up against someone else. It's so funny it makes him want to vomit.

Flins painstakingly moves over. Little hisses of pain leave his mouth, leaving Illuga's hands feeling clammy. It's been bad, but never this bad. Would he really have been satisfied if Flins had left and he'd never revealed the truth to him? 

The gaping hole in his heart is a bit too Flins-shaped for him to confidently answer in the affirmative.

“You're… sure it's fine if I sit here?” Illuga hesitates as he reaches his side. “You won't suddenly bleed everywhere if I accidentally move too much, will you?”

Flins huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “The scenarios you come up with should be studied for science. I assure you, I am most okay with sharing my space.”

“Well excuse me for being concerned after seeing a giant hole in your abdomen after the rocks that were embedded all fell out,” Illuga grumbles, sitting a good foot away just to be sure.

Flins frowns. “My apologies, Young Master. That must've been difficult to see.”

“It's fine, it's part of the job.” 

“Even still, it affects you all the same, does it not? It's why you cannot allow yourself a little happiness in this unforgiving world.”

Illuga freezes. Oh, so they're talking about… this aspect of him. Okay. This is fine. Just have to pretend to not be passively suicidal for a few minutes.

“How do you do it? How do you– what makes you want me, when–” Here, he's very, very careful, “when the Wild Hunt will likely guarantee an early death? Doesn't it all seem pointless, in the grand scheme of things?”

Flins only chuckles in that mysterious way of his. There are secrets yet unspoken hidden on his tongue, Illuga knows it.

“Would that not mean that everything as we know it is ultimately pointless? All living beings must die, as you're well aware. Does that mean we shouldn't enjoy every day as we see fit?

Here, Flins pauses very deliberately. Illuga's heart pounds so hard that Aedon rustles in his lantern, sensing his distress.

Something is about to happen.

“I have a feeling,” Flins continues, eyes flashing in the lowlight, “that you already know that very well, Young Master.”

Oh.

So that's what this was actually about all along.

Too little too late did Illuga notice that he was actually in the center of a trap. He should've known, seeing as Flins reads others like they're merely children's books. 

“My intuition tells me that something else plagues you.”

The worst part about being right, as Illuga knows very well, is that there's no vindication.

Flins doesn't look smug. He only looks concerned. Maybe a little melancholy, too. All this interrogation is for Illuga's sake, yet Illuga cannot give him the bravery that Flins has repeatedly lauded him for. 

He knows Flins believes in him. Has for years now. He's done everything to prove himself worthy, he's exceeded his expectations. There's no more need to hold himself back, if Flins believes everything will work out.

Illuga wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. Flins's eyes flick to his arms when he crosses them.

The caged bird gives his wings a flap–

“You're right. I wasn't being honest with you.”

–And flies freely.

Flins moves closer. “In what way?” 

The delicate syllables in his voice caress his ears. He wants to cry. He thinks he stopped being able to after his parents were taken from him. 

“When I said I wanted someone who I didn't have to worry about, that part wasn't entirely a lie. But I'm a hypocrite.

Flins moves his hand a little closer. A small, stupid, childlike part of Illuga wishes he'd cross the distance. 

“After Bjorn passed, I… went to a very bad place. I just– started looking at the graves at the cemetery. Every time I paid my respects, I would imagine my own, fresh and ready to go. I keep thinking about it, even now. Most people are scared, but I'm not. The idea of never having to witness and process loss is too appealing.”

Though his truth is muddled by him talking in circles, Illuga knows Flins has received it loud and clear by the way he presses even closer. He wraps a lithe arm around Illuga's waist, tucking him close to his chest. It's everything he's ever dared to dream of, and he can't even be happy about it. He's still thinking about that grave. It might be the only time he will ever be comfortable in his own skin. 

“You don't want to worry about anyone, because you are bogged down with your own mortality.”

Illuga nods. “Yeah. You always make the worst things sound so poetic,” he laughs despite himself.

“I'm simply giving the conversation the care it needs.” 

Illuga thinks he feels the ghost of a smile, but perhaps it was simply his imagination. What's not his imagination is Flins shifting him further into his lap, turning to face him. The crescents of his eyes encourage Illuga to speak more of his truth.

“Uh, anyway, that's only part of it,” he continues, looking at Flins's delicate lashes. “I just don't know if I'm capable of getting attached to anyone, no matter how dependable they are. Lightkeeper or not. If I lose anyone else in my life, I'm afraid–I can't handle it. I won't handle it. Every time I lose someone, I just–I just wanna follow them. That's something I'm not proud of, but I don't know how to change.”

Flins brings Illuga flush to his chest, closing what little space remains between. Permeates it, really. He's close like he won't let Illuga forget what it means to be wanted and cared for. Desired.

Flins takes his other hand and places it on Illuga's head, running a hand through his hair. All is silent save for the chirping of birds as a new day approaches.

“Do you remember the stories I've told you about the noble of the Belyi Tsar's court who spent his days in opulence?” Flins almost whispers.

“Yes.”

“After the court disbanded, and even a little before then, the noble felt much like a ship with no map. Hardly even a sail. 

Ah, another one of his stories that's really a lesson. And this one feels particularly pointed. Like there's an even more hidden message.

“The place where the noble made landfall was what is now the Final Night Cemetery. What a fitting place to no longer exist, he thought. Where I can put to rest my worries and leave them for the ghosts to puzzle over.

Illuga glances up into Flins's endless eyes. He's curious to know if the occasional sorrow that stains the yellow escapes without Flins realizing it does.

“So, he did. Under the rocks and soil, he made himself a permanent home among the carved stones. It was the happiest he'd been in over a century.”

“He… doesn't sound like he was happy.”

Flins looks at him with muted mirth. “You're getting too good at guessing what the point is. Perhaps you can guess what the ending will be, as well.”

“And give you yet another excuse to shirk on telling the ending of the story?” Illuga punctuates with a snort. “I think not. Besides, what other ending is there? The noble is gone.”

“Oh, but Master Illuga,” Flins rumbles, “I never said the noble was human, did I?”

“W-well… How was I supposed to know? So if he's not human, then he probably finds a reason to keep going.”

“That he does. Despite the dirt being a temporary comfort, real purpose is found in the real world. Fighting against the darkness gives him a lot of incentive. Every day is challenging, but he meets people, and lets them go, knowing that their memories will spur him to make a better world for others. And then–”

And then…

“–he meets the sun itself.”

Flins pulls away to cup his cheek.

“And he learns that the sun is awfully pretty up close–”

Then leans forward again. Their breaths mingle.

“–And is prone to pouring out its rays for the benefit of humanity, at risk of burning itself out. Even still, it rises each day, finding that the people need the light in order to thrive. The noble loves the sun, for it loves unconditionally, fiercely, without any reservations. Where the noble was from, this was never the case. It's only through the sun that the noble learns what true compassion for humanity is. So the noble says–”

With a smile, Flins puts his lips to Illuga's ear to whisper,

“My, who would've ever guessed that the star had such gorgeous blue pools with red rings sitting in the center?”

Illuga, like the sun Flins describes, burns.

“I'm– I'm incredibly grateful that the noble gave life a second chance. For his sake, I'll be the light that continues to give him somewhere warm to return to. And even if it's hard, I want to start trying to preserve happy moments instead of clinging to nightmares.”

Watching the shadows recede as the morning fully breaches the horizon, Illuga understands that nothing between them will ever be the same.

If Flins can find a reason to keep going, the least Illuga can do is learn what his reason is, too. And he has a pretty good idea of where to start.

“The Young Master will do well to remember that the light cannot burn forever.” Flins brings his lips to his forehead, and places a tender promise right there. “I will gladly be the moon that takes the sky captive so that the sun may set.”

Illuga closes his eyes, and he's six years old, trembling beneath his mother. When he opens them, he's twenty-six, his heart is full, and he's in love.

“I–I,” his voice cracks. “Thank you. I love you.”

Flins coos, wiping the moisture from under his eyes. He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his beauty mark. Reverently. He's invented a new religion, and to be pious is to shower Illuga with affection.

“And I, you. For as far as life takes us and beyond. Even if it's grueling, and we feel like we cannot take another step forward, I won't let you chisel your name into a stone monument until it's properly time.”

Inside the four white walls, the sun and the moon finally, finally meet.

Illuga surges forward, capturing their lips together in a proper kiss. It's not desperate, but there's a small amount of urgency as they move against each other. Flins turns Illuga to fully face him, cupping the curve of his ass. Illuga jolts, and moves his hands to Flins's broad back. He's excited to learn about the other places Flins will let him touch. They have quite a lot to learn about one another, and both have always been particularly hands-on about techniques. And speaking of learning new things…

“We're going to have to discuss that thing you said earlier, about the noble and living for a century,” Illuga says, suddenly breaking away, breathing heavy. “You're going to elaborate on that.”

Flins only smiles languidly. “Or, I can take you to bed right now.”

Illuga groans loudly against his stupid, sturdy chest. “I changed my mind, I hate you.”

Flins laughs brightly, wasting little time bringing Illuga back toward him and placing his lips on his again. And again. And again, letting his tongue press desperately into Illuga's mouth. With how intensely Flins presses his body against him, Illuga almost wants to ask when the last time Flins had been this comfortable with another person. Hopefully it hadn't taken that long. Being trapped in the cold darkness for over a century sounds terribly lonely.

“Thank you for allowing me to bask in the sun, even if just for a moment.”

Illuga smiles, knowing he will give him a lifetime of warmth to look forward to.

“After we get back to your lighthouse, you'll take me to bed, and then you'll tell me everything about who you are.”

“...Ah. So this is what it feels like to get a sunburn.”