Chapter Text
The room is hectic, crowded and bustling.
Veyl Suilven stands alone- just like always.
“I don’t even know why I’m here…” Veyl mutters to himself, knowing he’s not really talking solely to himself. -Not when he still has An0n strapped to his back despite his costume.
It’s not his usual ‘costume’- not the one they made fun of him for- It’s just a blood red cloak and a basket hung around his arm.
It’s all he could really manage and think to wear to this ‘party’.
A party which he still isn’t sure he was technically invited to.
As he looks around from his spot against the wall, Veyl sees Shira and Aurion across the room.
They look to be talking, Shira’s hand on Aurion’s arm as she laughs, a drink in her hand.
They look like they’re- at least- having fun.
Shira is dressed like a pirate, an eyepatch and everything, meanwhile Aurion is dressed in a star-covered robe, trying on the garb of a wizard.
He watches them for a while, tracking their lips, their actions, until the pit in his stomach grows too large for him to ignore, a longing to have what they have, to be who they are.
Yeah…Fun. Veyl thinks bitterly as he lifts his own flagon of drink to his lips and sips, his sour mood preventing him from wincing at the taste of the liquid.
Risking pushing away from the wall, Veyl moves to the next room, no change in the obnoxiously loud and invasive volume of the people and party around him as he does so.
He’s used to weaving around people- avoiding them- being ignored by them- so he finds it easy to move to where the food is kept, grabbing a piece of bread and dunking it in oil before taking a bite.
There are many here who he would not consider friends but since the alcohol is flowing, they don’t pay him any mind as he stares at them, naturally dark eyes boring into them.
He supposes that’s an advantage. If he was his brother they’d be watching him warily. As it is, they just think he’s a gnat and choose to ignore him, hoping he’ll fly away.
Always one to disappoint, he doesn’t, continuing to eat bread at the food table for many minutes more.
This is meant to be a Soul Searcher party- a way to celebrate the end of the long year- but it just turns into an opportunity to drink and talk. Both of those things Veyl is not overly fond of.
He’s also not very fond of his blood red cape, the colour making him stand out amongst the blacks and greys and browns of the others around him.
Just one more reason I guess.
They’re supposed to be dressed-up, like him, but most Soul Searchers haven’t even bothered.
At least that’s where they are different. Veyl thinks, finally moving away from the food as he enters another room, watchful and trusty eyes catching on Jethro who is dressed like a ghost.
He hides a smile, amused that the man’s still wearing the sheet over his head. It was Shira’s suggestion but they all played their part in talking him into it. -Veyl specifically remembers noting how Jethro has the chains, he might as well make use of them.
Jethro can’t see him and Veyl would prefer to keep it that way as he dodges to the left, darting around before the half-orc can spot him. He is aware his red cape trails behind him as he goes, tucking the basket against his chest.
The hood is up, as it has been since he entered, though he knows it does nothing. He had hoped to hide his face but he knows they all know it’s him. -He’s the only one here who doesn’t fit, skin prickling with each new person he counts in his head, keeping up a tally that tightens the screws in his lungs.
“Veyl?” Cairn’s voice shouts as Veyl once again spins on his heel, not needing to see his brother to know he’s near. (His booming voice warned him of that much.)
The eldest brother is not in the mood to talk to his younger brother- because he hasn’t been his little brother for over a decade now.- So he does the cowardly thing and flees.
A shoulder strikes him as his feet fall a little faster than necessary until he ducks into a closet, seeing that as the only reliable escape option.
It’s filled with a mop and a bucket and now an out-of-place Veyl but it’s quiet and dark. (And that’s all he needs as for some reason he can’t catch his breath and return to apathy.)
Veyl closes his eyes as he sinks to the floor, finally pulling the hood down as he tries to figure this whole thing out.
He’s been feeling anxious for a few days now, keeping his head afloat purely by sheer strength so this social event that he was forced into- though well-meaning on Shira’s behalf- is not the best situation he could find himself in.
Still…Veyl has to admit he did say yes. He did want to come.
Despite him understanding he’ll always be different, he still can’t help but wish deep down that he could fit-in.
It’s moments like this where Veyl aches for what the druids of the Moongrove have: The ability to change shape.
If Veyl could change his shape he’d shrink down to the size of a fly and flee this place, able to escape the party and the people and his brother.
But then again…he wouldn’t want to leave if he was like the druids of the Moongrove, because then he’d actually belong somewhere.
Lifting his hands to his head as he tucks it low, his fingers find purchase on his hair, pulling.
I feel so alone.
I am here.
You are not alone.
That’s not as much of a comfort as An0n thinks it is, as Veyl digs his fingers harder into the side of his head and clenches his eyes closed. He wants to be left alone but he also wants to be found- to be cared about.
He wants a million contradictory things and they all rattle in his head until he can’t hear over them, teeth biting down hard against each other as he misses the sound of the door being opened and light filtering into the room.
Aurion, who saw Veyl enter this room exactly thirteen minutes ago and has been waiting for him to exit it ever-since, slides into the room, closing the door behind him with the knowledge that what he is witnessing is fragile.
He doesn’t know what he can do to make the inevitable moment of Veyl witnessing him any better so he pulls up a list in his head and checks it off one by one.
He moves away from the door, as slowly and silently as he can manage, somewhat surprised that the man doesn’t even react, continuing to make a contained noise that sounds like sobbing but is too soft. (No person can cry that quietly. Surely.)
Next on the list is to be at Veyl’s level, his descent slow and careful as he sits opposite the embodiment of shadow.
It’s unfair to treat him like a scared animal but that’s the only thing Aurion can compare the situation to as dark eyes, pools of blackness blacker than the shadows around them, find his feet and follow them up, eventually reaching his face.
Veyl stares at him, his expression hardening instantly as his jaw sets and his brow furrows. There is still the sadness there- the impression of angst that colours Veyl’s pale skin- but Aurion knows the man is building his wall up, mind already racing with what he can and should do.
Not knowing what else to do, Aurion interrupts any excuse that might be coming up by simply greeting his friend, a soft, “Hey Veyl.” escaping his parted lips.
It’s said with a quiet understanding, the artificer infusing even words with the magic of a million meanings.
It’s also, simply, his name. -Not an insult. Not a scolding. Not the hundreds of other things he’s been called when found in a situation not dissimilar to this.
And maybe that simple fact is what has Veyl ducking his head again, lips pressing together once again as he stifles any sound and hides.
He can’t fight his emotions. -And he has tried many times.- so he just has to ride it out, praying this moment of weakness passes quickly.
It’s bad enough this happening here but with him? Veyl can’t help but scold himself, knowing that Aurion will leave as soon as he is able. He could tell everyone else Veyl is nothing but a pathetic creep- hiding in a closet and weeping. Or he could just make fun of him here. -Who cries over their own name!?
Aurion doesn’t do either of those things (nor the other tens of things Veyl also imagines), moving instead to cup the back of Veyl’s head, drawing himself closer and bringing Veyl into his shoulder until they are hugging awkwardly.
On instinct Veyl’s arms wrap around the back of the man, hands digging into his back as he grips tightly to him, burying his head in the minor hope he suffocates.
“Hey…hey.” Aurion whispers, feeling Veyl shake as finally his mouth opens, gasping desperate breaths being let out as he struggles to contain it all.
Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, holding the warlock so tightly as if he can mend him just by sheer force alone, but he remembers when he had nightmares- bright lights and voices above and beyond- he’d always feel better holding himself together like this, making sure no pieces get lost as he breaks apart.
Eventually the panting stops, breathing turning quiet once again as Veyl’s chest stops hurting- his lungs no longer screaming at him for trying to control them.
“You…don’t have to take care of me.” He explains to Aurion, loosening his grip on the man and pulling away from him, his head raising. He is not a child- though sometimes he still feels like one, begging for attention.
He’s met with Aurion’s heterochromic gaze, one gold eye glowing in the dark.
“It’s not about having to…” The artificer breathes, the rest being left unsaid as he offers Veyl a smile, the both of them understanding this exchange is weird, even for them.
“I’m going to get some water, you want some?” Aurion asks after a couple seconds of silence, moving back a little before he stands, Veyl’s gaze following him out of habit as the warlock places the past few minutes in a box to review later.
“Ye-Yeah.” Veyl nods, making no moves to stand as his gaze drops to the floor, wondering what kind of spells could make him not seem like he’s just been crying.
His head is starting to feel strange, tight and painful, likely due to the release of emotion and dehydration. He’s going to stay here for a minute or two just to rub his eyes and make sure he’s okay.
“I’ll grab you a water.” Aurion states as he exits swiftly, the harsh light and sound of the party causing Veyl to wince as he rubs his eyes.
Are you okay?
“Yeah…”
Honest?
Veyl tilts his head, exhaling from his nose as he gets up from the floor, swiftly pressing his back to the wall as the door opens. It’s just Aurion though, carrying two cups.
Veyl takes the offered drink with a thankful nod and sips it slowly, shoulders detensing and back being removed from the wall as the cold water flows down his throat.
“I had an idea for a ranged weapon for you. Since I’ve got you here, do you want to hear it?” Aurion asks once they are halfway through their drinks, Veyl not exactly wanting to say no so he waves for the artificer to go on.