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Not many can boast that they have received the Twelve’s blessing of their eternal bonding in person. Even fewer can say that what wore them down on their bonding day was not the gauntlet of godly battles they partook in prior, but the bureaucracy and ceremony of it all. Laku Viator alongside his newlywed groom can both do the former. Laku alone can do the latter, as only he needs to deflate on the bench outside the chapel after it is all said and done.
“How quaint,” drawls Zenos, tilting his head as he joins him. “The Warrior of Light, conqueror of gods, brought low by—what was it? Signatures? Flower arrangements? Had I known paperwork was your true weakness, I’d have surrendered the Empire’s archives to you ages ago.”
“And I’ve surrendered that title ages ago, so drop it,” Laku snorts, headbutting his shoulder. Only ’husband’ out of his impressive accolades matters right now. His forehead stays right there, leaning against him to leech his strength. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which of them is the void-tainted one. “I just got bored. Were you not bored?”
Zenos’s eyes gleam as he resists the urge to press into that touch, to provoke that familiar spark of battle in response—but no, this is a different kind of thrill. One that years into this coexistence, he has slowly learned to savor. “Bored?” he scoffs, though his fingers curl idly around the hilt of his blade; not to draw, but out of habit. “Watching you fumble with ink and parchment was unexpectedly diverting. Though I confess, this—” he tilts his head at their proximity now, “—is far better. Did you ever imagine our union would involve so little bloodshed?”
“I didn’t even get to charge at you at the altar,” Laku bemoans. “We’ll have to do this again. Properly. I’m glad all my friends weren’t around for this embarrassing version of it.”
“I shall join you in mourning the… exploding barrels, was it?” Zenos casts a sidelong glance over him. It lingers over the ring hanging from his ear. How amusing that within that crystal lies the memory of his proposal, during which he expressed similar sentiments. So easily listless, his wonderful husband. And so relatable. “This subdued appreciation has its own merits, I suppose,” he still muses. “A warrior is a warrior even when his blade is sheathed.”
“I guess,” Laku says dismissively, though he very much agrees. While away the quiet hours… as spouses. Laku had written and rewritten his vows, lost sleep over them even. From the script’s early stages, he considered this echo of Zenos’s sentiment one of his cleverer lines. One half of him is glad he didn’t get to say it yet, and would have been mortified to recite his still-unfinished rambles. The other… well, it dreads revealing his heart in front of friends and family, even if in the distant future (if it ever comes). He should have enjoyed this private affair to the fullest while he had it—boredom included.
He falls into pensive silence as he listens to the rustling leaves in the wind. The Elementals here in the Shroud seem to approve of their union, too. There hasn’t been a single branch in the face like he got in his early moons in Eorzea, at least. Strange to think that all of this could be gone soon; the Solstice draws near, though he knows not when. That more than emotion spurred this elopement.
Against all preconceived notions of their uselessness, he’d hoped the Twelve had answers. That they, in Hydaelyn’s absence, could tell him this was all some part of a bigger plan. Even better if they could have slowed, even stopped it… but divinities grew weaker both in his belief and in reality. All they could do was wish them luck and grant them the spells they were after. He hopes Deryk isn’t expecting an invite to eternal bonding two for that sorry performance.
Zenos watches that thoughtful pursing of his lips, the one that always precedes one of his less-than-brilliant ideas or another wild impulse. For all his bravado, Laku falls so quiet when he thinks, like a crackling fire doused, waiting for the moment someone would fan its flames again. And oh, is Zenos ever his dutiful hearth-keeper. He must ensure that head isn't running into another cycle of self-pity.
He nudges him gently with his elbow, an unspoken command in a language only they speak. Stop thinking. You worry overmuch. His hand comes to rest on his knee, heavy and grounding.
Laku jolts minutely under that touch as the spell breaks. Then he quirks his lip in a slight smile, grateful, sheepish and fond. “What?” he asks, knowing full well what.
And Zenos knows he knows, for he only returns the smile and doesn’t press on it. “Do you plan to test my patience by brooding with the trees all evening?” he whispers instead, lifting the floppy ear with his hand. As their rings brush against each other, they emit a faint light that casts a shadow on his smirk. “I thought we had a wedding night to look forward to.”
Tingles travel up Laku’s spine; if any lingering introspection remains, that thoroughly shakes it off. “Perv,” he accuses, like deviant ideas aren’t already replacing his worries in his river of mind, but shifts closer rather than recoils. He doesn’t have to look at his husband to know he’s grinning like a predator. One well-fed and toying with his prey for now.
His predator may as well chase him, then, just like old times. No better way to test the functionality they went through all this trouble for than to teleport away and see if his ring will let him follow.