Backdrifts

[Lars]

Seventh Break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

North End Lodge, Egilrun, Scalvoris

You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet.

Richard Siken

Tears came and went, falling so frequently from Carver’s dark eyes. Laures could not remember many times in which he had seen the other man cry, before waking on that sapphire shore. There had been gatherings of tears, but they were always blinked away before they could roll down freckled cheeks. He did not know whether his love had thought it yet another sign of weakness, but he was pleased to see his emotions pulling through the veil. He did not wish for his dear companion to cry… it had not been his intention, when he had asked him what he felt, what he wanted - but it caused such a reaction all the same, and he was glad, if only for the fact that it was all so open and real. For the fact that he was honest in his vulnerability, and did not close himself off from him as he might have before. There was resistance… he knew that it pained him to be so exposed, but he hoped that the other man knew how much it meant to him to witness it.

Glass shattered into vibrant blue shards, coated in foam and swimming in a puddle of soap. The bottle had slipped from Carver’s weary hand, and Laures did not respond but to hum, lowly, at his lover’s muttered comment. If he wanted to sleep, then he could. Laures would not stop him. He would not bar him from rest. But as the younger pulled himself up, stirring the water around Laures to lap at his scarred shoulders, he was not left alone in the tub for long. His husband stood only for a few trills before lowering himself back into the water, returning to his place beside him. Laures did not move, at first, as his lover leaned against him, a head of wavy blond hair finding rest upon his shoulder. He only listened, patient and unrevealing of whatever might have been felt beneath his steady surface. Even once Carver’s whispered voice faded into silence, he did not speak… but eventually, his hands moved beneath the water.

Gathering Carver’s softer hands in his own, his fingers smoothed gently over the skin, pressing lightly. He let them go, and then moved, and guided his husband to do the same - situating himself behind Carver, he pulled him close, leaning back enough to allow the younger to rest his head against his chest. Movements slow and sleepy, he cupped water in his hands, letting it rinse down over Carver’s wet hair. Before long, he reached toward the nearby table himself, water dripping in quiet little taps against the floor from his arm, and he pulled one of the other glass bottles into his grasp. It did not fall, and for that he was fortunate - so he set about washing Carver’s hair. His fingers scratched lightly over his scalp, blond hair filled with suds and foam soon enough, and when he was satisfied with that, he brought more water to rinse the soap from the strands.

In the end, Laures did not speak again, not that night. There was too much to say, and too little that he knew how to word, without the (previously unwanted) assistance of numerous other voices in his head. He was not used to working through things alone, nor did he know how to adapt as quickly as he would have liked. So after ensuring that both of them were suitably clean, he pulled his lover from the bath, blew out the candles, and then pulled him into bed without another word about life or death. There were no attempts to lull the other man to sleep through the use of his softly rambling voice, he did not think it was needed - and he did not know how to begin, either way. He fluffed the pillows, pulled the blankets around them, relished in the feeling of being clean and comfortable in bed… and with his arms around Carver’s waist, he held his soulmate as close as he could, and placed a kiss to his shoulder before he fell asleep.

Breaks dragged on, and Laures slept, but for once, his rest was light, and fleeting. Unaware though he was of it, too tired to notice the change, he drifted in and out of sleep quickly, never lasting long in one state or the other. Throughout the night, he pulled farther away from his lover, turning to lie on his other side in some unconscious desire to get away from the added body heat.


He awoke curled in on himself, his hands balled into fists. It was dark, but that offered him little indication of the time, of how long he had managed to sleep before the pain in his head had disturbed him. His pale skin was damp with sweat and hot to the touch; mindful though he was of the other man in the bed, he had to move. The blankets were too hot, too constricting, and it took all of his strength not to kick them off. Instead, he drew himself quietly from the bed (he did make sure to lean over and kiss Carver’s cheek, and if the younger awoke, he murmured a request for him to stay in bed and rest), and stood on sore legs and to walk through the darkness to find his clothes.

He pulled on his undergarments and socks, and left it at that. Laures returned to the main room, his breaths quiet, his steps muffled. For a moment he debated returning to bed, and clinging to his husband as he wished to do… but the mere thought of so much shared heat warded him off. With the ache in his head only growing stronger and harder to ignore, the blond wandered the room, carrying a small candle and using its dim light to search. What he was looking for was not clear, but he was looking for something. His free hand sought to open and rifle through every drawer, every cabinet - anything that could be closed, he opened, and as the bits went on, he felt his temperature spike. Whether it happened naturally or was merely an effect of his growing irritation, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Though his eyes lingered on certain items during his search (a little box that looked as if it might’ve held something valuable, bottles that must’ve held medicines, some… interesting novels), he did not, in the end, take much. Laures grabbed a few differently colored candles, a few pieces of hard candy, and let the rest of it be - he would not find what he wanted, not here. So he returned to the bed, finally, but did not move to get under the covers.

Setting the candles and candies to the side, he crawled over the blankets, and when he reached his husband, he dipped his head to nuzzle close to his neck. A kiss here, another there; he ignored the intensifying ache in his head as best as he could for now, and focused on the gentle press of his lips against Carver’s soft skin. Down his neck, across his collarbones - he pulled the blankets down for better access - over his shoulders and chest, and back up, until his plush lips met Carver’s. Regardless of whether the other man stirred or not, he continued to press kisses to his face, over his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, his nose, his ears - until there was nowhere left to kiss. And only then did he lower himself to rest atop the blankets, lying on his stomach beside his sweetheart.

“Carver,” he addressed quietly, his face turned towards him, blue eyes closed. There was a note of tension in his fine features, a slight furrowing of his brow that made it look like the older might have been in pain. His hand found Carver’s, and he intertwined their fingers, holding them between them.

“I… I can’t sleep. My head, it…”

Not even his head, as that was manageable enough… the reason behind the pain being there, though, was more of an issue. One that he found embarrassed him, despite having had no control of the body before the previous trial. Opting not to finish his sentence, Laures opened his eyes, pulling in a deep breath and attempting a little smile. His expression softened, the strained lines evened out, and he raised their hands to his lips to offer yet another kiss, this time to the peculiar snakes that adorned their fleshy wedding bands.

“I - uh, I found some candy, in here. You said that you felt like your body wanted some sort of… sour, fruity thing, right? Antoni must’ve had a sweet tooth,” Laures spoke casually now, his tone light, and he pulled their hands close to his chest, turning to face his lover a little better.

“I bet we could find some real food, as well - maybe in that tavern area by the front,” he did not mention that he wanted - needed - to visit the tavern for more reasons than one, that his newly acquired body was dragging him into a sickness that frayed his focus. He gazed lovingly at the younger's face, quieted for a moment. Laures leaned his head forward, maintaining what eye contact he could, but giving Carver's shoulder another kiss.

He added in a murmur against the skin, "good morning, my love."

[Carver]

Seventh Break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

North End Lodge, Egilrun, Scalvoris

let me find my place inside you

Carver dreamt of many things. Things he didn’t understand, and that which he wished he wouldn’t understand but the visions inevitably crawled up through his own memories to tell him that he had to understand because he was the one who had made them. No choice in the matter, sensations collided in the unseen dimension beyond his mind and filled his throat with bile, his skin with fever heat, and his lungs with inflamed despair. He breathed between stuttered snores and broken gasps, his pulse as quick as the breaks flew past while he slept. For once, he slept heavy and his rest endured the night. His dreams weren’t only the terrors of existence, but also the fondness of the recent trials – of the beautifully handsome man who shone through it all. Who’d washed his hair and let him rest, who’d cleaned his skin and let him cry, who’d said nothing about the weakness and the weariness and the disappointments; who had guided him so well through the downpour of salty water that clouded the world around them, until the rain had stopped and the storm went away and they found shelter in the comfort of soft blankets and each other’s arms and legs, soon entangled like the creep of overgrown vines on an abandoned brick wall. Who’d bloomed last with a small budding flower of a kiss against his shoulder, before exhaustion stole them both away from each other.

Blood spilled from his beauty’s neck and painted his dreams red. This was good. This made Carver smile. While the heat rose to his pinkened skin, and sweat beaded along the weak sore limbs, he smiled at something that was not his husband but that he believed to be so. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, soaked into the pillow underneath, and coated his cheek. No tossing. No turning. Near paralysis for how unmoving the restless man slept in the spot where he’d been laid and there he stayed. His fingers twitched, though, when he felt the absence of the other man’s body. Whimpers curdled in the back of his throat when he couldn’t feel the shape of external flesh to press against his. His heartbeat leaped and jumped like a startled hare at the crack of a whip, and he was off. Off, off, off through the undercurrents of the red. A slip, and a fall that would never stop, and it all went upside down and he couldn’t see what color his mind was anymore, and he couldn’t hear, and the jagged memories tore him into pieces. Drained, taken apart, he scattered in the loss of himself through the shredded past that refused to let him go.

Something moved. He couldn’t feel it. Something sounded. He couldn’t hear it. Something touched. He wanted it. He wanted. He desired. The red returned. He returned. Through hazy darkness, the red-hot blood that pumped through his veins brought him to open an eye. Just the one. He only needed the one. Murmurs… what was the kiss saying? Rest? Was he not already resting? Was he not already staying? Was he not sleeping? Whose voice was tha—Laures, yes. Laures. Dead Laures, but now alive again. Like him… once dead, now alive. Who would have thought it took death to become alive?

Sweat and drool, and whatever else, he rubbed his forearm against his face. He turned, and went onto his stomach, and felt the blankets crumple around him. No immediate threat, he returned to the sleep that his body demanded from him and that he’d only partly left and there was no time at all before he felt dragged inward by a most insistent presence that was his own consciousness. For there was much work to do, he told himself, and every breath was needed until his lungs ran out of air forever. His fever spiked, again. Tossing. Turning. He pushed away the blankets, almost frantic in his sleep, and then laid on his back. Unknown time passed. He shivered. Cold, too cold, and he whined behind chapped lips and grabbed the blankets he’d just pushed away and held them so close like he loved them and never wanted them to go away. Blankets that would never dismiss him. Never tell him to get on with it. Never push him out of the bed when their threads were warm and their wool, satiated.

Unaware and ignorant, Carver muttered in whispery breath. Escaped comments rattled broken, tongue slurred – and flicked sharp at other times – until his chapped lips split open and bled droplets of scarlet pink: -see why the moon ate you- not much- -my breath isn’t a house- -where’d the maggots- I’m sorry- -do you know- -they aren’t ready- -I’ll kill them- -every single one- -squirm back into hell- I’m sorry- -you’re missing an eye, dearest- -let me find it- -did you hear- i can’t- say it again- say it again- won’t let- say it- please- the green is nice but the blood- I’m sorry- send a heart for his laugh- -watch out- -there’s a fly on the wall- stop looking under there- it’s only a hundred! -salts on ‘em, y’ can hardly smell- ouch- why’d you- can’t cry- I’m sorry- crush everyone, for you- break- snap- have you seen my cigarettes- and- choke- don’t cry- look- look at me- just won’t cry.

M̶̛͆̆͜M̷̢͙̈̔͛̈́́̈́͒͠͝m̴̤͚̫̀̅͗̅̾̑̃̃̏̀͘͠͠m̸̨̭̱̤̲͖̖̣̣͙̰̞̾̒̇̈́̐̿́̏͒̅̌̏̚m̸̨͕͍̝͖̱̫̄̿̽͗̍̆̀́͌̓Ë̴̡̢̱̻̬̟͈͎́͑̒̓͋̒̈́̊́͋E̶͔̗̦̦͉̬̲̙̻͑͆̓͆̌́̈́͝r̸̛͚̻̰̭̟̣̮̩̜͎̠͎̫̗̺͊͋͂͘ř̶̨̧̨̩͚͍̣͈̜̮̞̙̺̙̾̎̈́͆ͅȒ̴̝̏̈́͒̐̓̇͐͠r̵̡̲̜̲̯̠̈́̌͆̑́̾͋͠͝a̸̡̢̨̝̳̦̺͍̮̗̍̈́̋̽́́͆́̓̒̋̕͠h̶̢̡̻̘̘̰̜̥̥̞͕̘̘̅̓́̿̄͐̓̇́̓̉̆͝h̶͉̄̐̀̊̀̈̀̿̆̐̄͝͝ḩ̷̙̝̩͔̗͚̻̩̩͂̎̒͒̿
ɔ ∀ ᴚ ᴧ Ǝ ᴚ
C A R V E R

Upon the feverish sweat of his inflamed body, tender presses of moisture gathered like large dew drops of pleasure. Kisses. He felt them now. When they had begun, he did not know. He hoped it was when he began. That it’d all begun together, him and these kisses, and that they would never stop while he still sucked air past the sting of his lips and- he felt the moisture on his lips and the thin blood leaked into his dry mouth. He nearly choked on it all, on the inhaled air, on the drip of coppery taste, on the lips against his, and the gentle weight of his lover that pressed the blankets against him – though not against his chest, no, it’d gotten lower, he was bare. Exposed. Vulnerable to the other man… and he did not mind. Cracks split through his eyes as the lashes parted, he peered through the darkness to look at his heart. He felt fingers entwine with his. Stammered words, quiet and soft in voice but so desperately wanting to be heard… and so Carver listened. With all he had, he listened the best he could.

“I… I can’t sleep. My head, it…”

Carver heard. After that, he woke. As if he’d never even been asleep, he woke. Whether from the tone of voice, or the tension etched on the fair features, or simple lover’s intuition, he could tell that the comment meant something important, urgent, something he needed to be awake for. He lifted himself onto his elbows, ignored the burn in his shoulders, and he caressed his hand over the other’s hair. It seemed to calm, as Laures kissed their unusual wedding bands and spoke of other things.

Though he spoke of candy, Carver focused still on the statement which had been said. Had Laures woken him up for that? Or… had Laures already gotten better because he was now awake? Slight suspicion showed on his expression, but when the tavern got mentioned, it deferred to a look of realization. Oh, Laures was probably hungry but didn’t want to venture out alone to get food. Carver could understand that well enough.

Eye contact desired, and met, his features softened while he relaxed despite the aching pain in his muscles. Carver wrapped an arm around his husband and brought him closer against him. Though sweat still dried on his skin, he was otherwise clean and grateful for it. He gently smiled, the barest hint of teeth shown, when a proper greeting was given. The younger blond guided Laures to lift his chin so that a proper kiss would be placed on his lips – sleep breath, be damned.

“Is it morning?” he returned nonchalantly. Carver traced his thumb over the other’s lower lip, then he kissed his lover again. He looked into the shadowed blue eyes for several trills, then exhaled before he moved to leave the bed. His body protested. Every muscle trembled, every joint ached, and his feet felt swollen as he lowered them onto the rug. He raised his eyebrows, leaned against the bed, and hissed out a couple breaths to endure the overlapped sensations of pain. Carver wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so sore from mere chores. He’d always been so used to constant tasks, ever since he was a young boy. Forcibly, he limped past the bed and went through the dark to the armoi-

-or he meant to, except when he passed by the bedpost, his foot went a little too far to one side. The bedframe shuddered as his toes hit the wood. Carver swore, loud, and then he hunched over with his hands held over his face while he tried to hold the intense pain that shot through the nerves in his stubbed toes. A shot of adrenaline, though, and when he lowered his hands a few trills after, he had fresh alertness. He slapped a hand against the bedpost and growled, “You wait. I’ll get that axe. Wood chops as well as flesh.”

Carver walked over, but he didn’t actually retrieve the axe. Instead, he rummaged about the armoire until he found a clean long shirt (tunic-styled, again) and a pair of actual trousers though they had an unusual style of lacing along the sides. When he pulled them on, he found them to be incredibly tight to his form. They seemed to be meant to fit that way, though. He loosened the lacing some. At least the velvety fabric was soft. It was good enough, he hoped while he secured the belt that’d been next to the shirt around his hips. He turned back around to find Laures.

“Dress quick,” he suggested. Carver licked his lips, cleared away the taste of blood, then he added, “I don’t want candy. I’m hungry.”

It wasn’t true. He didn’t feel hungry. Whether because he was still sleepy or because he’d simply gone too long without eating anything, he just didn’t feel it – not like how he’d said it. But if Laures wanted to eat, then that was as good as if he were hungry. A simple and easy lie. Carver slipped on some pointed shoes, and then collected some coins he’d found in the cottage before they’d left. He put them in the pocket of his tunic along with the suite’s key, then set aside the wooden chair. Barricade moved, he opened the door and peeked outside in the dimly lit hall.

“Don’t see anyone…” he mentioned, and he opened it a little further and tried to listen for any specific noises. He heard some murmurs in a nearby room, but other than that, it was silent. Carver waited, with a glance to make sure the older man had gotten ready, before he headed out to the hall. He waited, again, then once Laures had joined him, he locked the door to their new home. Surveying the hall, he placed the key in his pocket. Carver wasn't sure what kind of attitude this world had to men like them... but he reached out and he took hold of Laures’ hand anyway. He pulled close, as he started a slow walk down the hall, and he looked over to see the older man in the warm illumination of candles set in sconces along the path.

A slight smile, a subtle lean, and he placed a kiss to Laures' cheek. His grip on the other's hand tightened. He returned his gaze forward and spoke in a hushed, raspy voice, “You were in my dreams. Did you get any sleep?”

[Lars]

Carver rose quickly this time. The first time he’d addressed him, it’d been little more than an attempt to calm himself, to find respite in a sleepy kiss before his body dragged him out of bed. It had been surprising enough to the older blond that the younger had not risen then; the lightest of sleepers, Carver was, the total opposite of himself when it came to rest. And yet he had slept the night through right beside him, and fell easily back into sleep even after Laures had left the bed. He supposed he could not be entirely surprised, for his hardworking husband had not exactly gone easy on his new, untrained form since finding residence within it - but it was still an interesting change of pace, to see him slumber on. A nice one, he thought, and one that he could hope was not broken as his lover’s surely-aching body grew accustomed to the level of work he put it through. But, of course, he did not put too much hope into it. He knew Carver. He knew that he would not allow himself that.

A hand caressed through his clean, fluffy hair (fluffier than the colorless hair from before, he'd noticed, and it now flipped out wildly at the ends), and Laures leaned into the calming touch. It might not have been able to quell the persistent, irritating ache within, but Carver's touch had always had a soothing effect on him. So far from the dirty, unwanted, vile, disgusting and disgraceful touch that he had put up with for too long in the name of his debts; that he realized, now, he no longer had to put up with at all - and the realization brought a smile to his tired face.

Brought closer by an arm around his slender waist, he lifted his chin when guided, and met the little kiss happily.

“Is it morning?”

A thumb traced his lip, and the tip of his tongue tapped against it playfully. Without much time to do more (as he was rather prone to do, when given a chance), Laures accepted another kiss, humming behind his lips. “Good question,” said Laures, lowering his head just a bit as he met Carver’s dark gaze. In truth, he was only guessing at the time - hoping, perhaps, that it had been long enough, that he could do away with trying (and failing) to sleep, that the tavern-like area nearer to the front would be serving already… he could only hope, for it was far too dark to tell. And still, in spite of his growing need to leave the suite and find sustenance, he couldn’t help but whine when Carver left the bed.

Laures remained there while his lover stepped down, lying lazily on his stomach and resting his head while he observed. The toll the previous trial had taken on Carver’s body was evident, and he could not help but frown as he watched him push through the pain. He’d never met a man more resilient, though, and -

- oh, that sounded like it really hurt. Laures’ face twisted into a faint grimace as he heard his lover’s curse, as he watched him cover his face with his hands and contain the annoyance that surely flooded through him. He pushed himself up with his elbows, though he did not get straight up yet: he left his face pressed down into the pillows as he got to his knees, and arched his back into a subtle curve… too subtle. Too little. A deep, calming breath drawn into his lungs, the scent of fancy soap and Carver’s hair, and he relaxed his spine into a deeper curve. He stayed this way for a few short bits, eyes closed, sleepy - before the sound of rustling fabrics pulled him upwards. Carver was getting dressed… yes, that was good, he supposed. From maybe one point in existence. Laures sat in quiet observation, legs drawn underneath him, as Carver put on a belt and then turned to face him. Blue eyes darted upwards from the form-fitting trousers, settling on his face, and he gave a nod.

Leaving the colorful candles and candies near the foot of the bed, Laures made himself get up again. Footsteps silenced with his tall socks, he made his way past Carver and the armoire and into the washroom, moving through darkness to grab the rest of his clothes. He pulled them on quickly, as requested, and slipped into his shoes next, leaving his coat with Carver’s on the chair. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed the fluffy blond mess back and away from his face, and proceeded to the opened door to follow his husband out and into the hall. A veiled blue gaze looked about while Carver locked the door behind them, and flicked to the side when the younger turned around to meet him. His lover looked around too, then, and he readied himself to leave, hands beginning to move towards his pockets - but one of them was taken into Carver’s soft hand, surprising the older blond.

The shock flitted over his fine features for but a moment, before his mouth was curved into a small smile, obviously pleased. His thumb brushed against Carver’s as they began to walk, and though he worried for whatever reactions the contact might bring about in this strange, dark world, he did not pull away from it. How could he? Carver had never allowed such things before. Not when there was a chance of being seen. He’d always pulled away, and given him those shocked looks, as if surprised that the older could even think to touch him when others were around - he could still remember so clearly the way he had looked at him when he had grabbed his wrist, the night they first kissed. Laures let himself be pulled closer as they walked, and when the hand tightened its grip on his own, he returned the little gesture in a light squeeze.

Carver’s mention of dreams pulled a quiet laugh from Laures, and he dipped his head almost bashfully before looking forward again. “Enough,” he replied in reference to getting any sleep, though it was a lie. He was exhausted still, his sleep interrupted and restless, but he could manage just fine, he was sure. He was not used to sleeping so little, but he suspected that there was nothing to be done about it until his body stopped fighting against him. Dragging him by its own desires, punishing him for trying to do otherwise - even now, he fought the annoyance, the irritability that crept along the edges of his tired, wanting mind.

“You know,” his voice was quiet as they walked, continuing through the halls and tracing back the path the attendant had brought them through, “it’s quite nice, not worrying about any more visits from the birds.” It was left at that, though he offered an amused little smile. The last little bird’s neck had been easy enough to wring, he supposed, now that he could remember it happening at all. But it felt good - no, it felt amazing, to think that he might never have to see any of them again. So, continuing to ignore the pain in his head, he swung their hands gently between them as they walked, as they passed by door upon numbered door on their way back to the lobby.

As pleased as he was with the touch, though, he had not forgotten the looks he had received before. The looks that seemed to follow him everywhere they went. Not to mention the apparent opposite perception of his lover; where the people of this Scalvoris treated him with suspicion and thinly-veiled distaste, they looked to Carver with respect, with… warmth. Laures did not know what to make of it all. But as they followed the ornate woven runners back into the lobby, he drew his scarred hand back to himself, reluctant though he was to do so. After giving Carver’s hand another little squeeze, he slipped his hands into his pockets, and dipped his head slightly as they passed through the mostly-unoccupied lobby. If the attendant was there, or if another had replaced him, Laures did not know, as he did not look over to check. Whoever was there, he could only guess what kind of expression he might find on their face, and he did not think he could deal with it just yet.

Through one of the four open frames, Laures stepped through, and into the warmer, busier, tavern-like area. Although not as busy as he suspected it would be later on (if it was truly morning, as he thought), there was still a good amount of people scattered about, conversations calm and quiet but there all the same. To the side closer to Laures, a curved counter lined with ornate wooden stools - not as nice as the chairs in the suite, he thought, but sturdy, and only one or two were occupied at this break. A few tables were spread about the open area, where a few people (some with those same strange ears and colorful eyes) sat around in idle chat and ate their meals in peace. A hearth to the side opposite the counter, warming the area and giving off a welcoming, comfortable glow. Laures did not venture far, his nervousness seeming to get the best of him once they entered the wide area, and his eyes darted about, flitting over various faces and away.

“Uh - right. Are… should we… sit?”

Admittedly, he did not like the way the pointy-eared girl at the counter was looking at them. Laures turned slightly, facing Carver so that he might not have to look at her. “Maybe I should leave the talking to you,” he suggested, quiet, “the people here don’t seem all that receptive to me.”

[Carver]

Eighth Break, 2 Cylus, Arc 720

The light squeeze of a hand against his, the quiet laugh at the mention of dreams, and a little bashful glance… and Carver fell in love with Laures all over again. Right then and there, within the span of mere trills. He recognized that the answer given was a lie, but he didn’t challenge it. A simple survey of the dark circles under the other’s eyes proved obvious that whatever amount of sleep that his lover had managed to get, it was hardly enough. Carver made a small meager plan, then, to share a decent meal and then get the other man back in the bed. He supposed if it continued to remain so dark outside, that at least it made for long expanses of shadowed slumber.

No more visits from the birds; yes, it was true… least Carver hoped so. He doubted they’d follow them through death, but then he didn’t completely discount the possibility either. While he wasn’t sure how any of their past could manage to find them, hidden away in new bodies like they were, Carver existed in that narrow window between disbelief and potential where just about anything seemed possible: good and bad. It felt both freeing and suffocating, somehow, at the exact same time. No matter the actual likelihood, he didn’t say anything and let Laures have the moment of respite from the obligations of the past. He glanced at their hands while the other swayed them back and forth, as if slightly confused by the motion. But again, he said nothing. A small smile hinted at his lips before he looked forward again to continue along the path toward the lobby and tavern area.

Emptiness in his hand immediately made him look down to see his lover’s scarred hand retreat. His own fingers twitched, but he accepted the separation while they entered the lobby. He glanced to see that the attendant had gotten replaced by an incredibly bored looking woman with curly black hair. She perked up, however, when she saw them and waved. Carver hesitated, then waved back, but hurried into the tavern to avoid any conversation. It was difficult, navigating what he was supposed to say to strangers who thought he knew them already, and he wondered if he sounded the same as Antoni did. If he had the same accent or if he chose different words or if someone would eventually point at him and proclaim the truth that he was an usurper in the body of their once-friend or… whoever Antoni was to these people. Someone worth knowing, he guessed, from how people treated him. He wondered why it was Laures received the reception he did as well… thinking about how the attendant had mentioned the man wasn’t supposed to be in the establishment or something. The morning attendant didn’t seem to care as much, as she didn’t call for them to stop.

A quick survey told him all he needed to know of the lodge’s tavern. It was meant more for food, that much was clear, but they still had a counter. He yawned, covering his wide open mouth with a hand, while he followed after Laures. When his lover seemed to become uncertain, and turned toward him with a quiet suggestion, he nodded.

“That might be because you’re not supposed to be in here,” he mentioned. “Way that fellow last night spoke about it, sounds like you’re not allowed or something like that.”

Carver clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder and led toward the table farthest from any of the other people in the room. He promised, “I’ll handle it if anyone gives you trouble.”

Without much care for how a few of the people in the room glanced at him, then at his companion, he pulled out a chair for Laures first. He waited until his husband had sat, then pressed the chair to the table before he finally sat down as well. Carver tapped his fingers against the surface, while he noticed the pointy-eared girl from the counter had already started on her way over.

“Morning,” he greeted her with a similar wave as the one the attendant had given him, before anything else could be said, and gathered her attention away from staring at Laures.

“Morn’,” she murmured in distracted response. She held a round tray, then set a tall glass of… well, Carver didn’t know what it was. Half of the glass was filled with green juice(?) and a top layer of vivid orange liquid that bubbled in a froth. Along with this glass, she set down a squat teapot that had steam rising from the spout. Two small mugs got set upside down beside it. Lastly, she placed a small container of what looked to be a blend of tea leaves and herbs with a tiny spoon sticking out of it. “Same as always, Antoni?”

Same? Carver had no idea what that meant, but clearly whoever had his previous life had a routine to his morning. At least he had confirmed it was indeed morning. He nodded and said, “Yes, and whatever… uh… Iver wants.”

The young woman’s eyes changed colors from brown to blue. She glanced at Laures, and held her tray over her midriff, then sighed in obvious reluctance. “So, what… are you two a thing now?”

“…Excuse me?” asked Carver, placing a hand on the table in front of Laures as if in silent communication that he remembered he was the one handling the talking. He frowned up at the server.

“What?” she retorted at him in an overly familiar casual way, a shrug to her shoulder. Her face blushed bright. “I can’t ask? Orikor told me about last night. I’ll have you know he was keen to tell Ms. Caldwell, but I convinced him otherwise. You should be thanking me, Antoni. Honestly. What if Jenny found out? Her poor heart.”

Carver stared at this server. She was… a wealth of information, he realized. Already he had the name of last night’s attendant, and another name of someone he clearly should know about. He glanced at Laures, then back to the girl. “Uh… Hold tight, Iver.”

He left the table, arm quick to wrap around the pointy-eared girl’s shoulders while he guided her to walk back toward the counter. Carver leaned down and muttered to her, “Let’s keep this between us, okay?”

“Really, Antoni?” chided the stranger with a scoff. “Jenny’s my friend too, you can’t expect me to keep this from her.”

Friend… they were friends? That threw Carver a bit. He loosened his hold on the other and straightened his posture. “I want to tell her, myself. Just… give me a few trials? Please?”

“Fine,” muttered the girl as her eyes returned to their brown shade. “Not that you can keep anyone else from talking though, not like you’re being too subtle, bringing him about like you are.”

“Just… get us some hot good food, okay?” he said, trying his best to keep a veneer of amiability. He smiled, and luckily it looked charming enough with his perfect teeth and dimples. Carver could tell, because the girl’s features softened, the blush returned, and she quietly giggled with a shake of her head. She retreated from his touch and went behind the counter.

Carver returned to the table and slid back into his seat. He rubbed his brow and then leaned over. He whispered to Laures, “She could be useful. I don’t know what she’ll bring for food, did you want anything specific? I think this is tea…”

He lifted the teapot lid and looked at the hot water inside, then nodded. Carver picked up the glass of odd colored liquid and said, “This… I have no idea…”

With a sip, he coughed. He tapped his finger on the edge of the glass and said, “Ah. Right. That… that there is the sour taste.”

[Lars]

Eighth break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

“I - what?” Laures looked to his lover with a frown, unable to fully mask his distress. More nervous than ever now, he breathed out a silent sigh, absentmindedly biting at the inside of his cheek as Carver’s hand found his shoulder and pushed him back into motion. He wasn’t supposed to be here? Seriously? He had been bothered enough just by the disapproving glances and suspicious whispers that followed his appearance in a room, but this was worse, wasn’t it? Not allowed. He had to wonder, yet again, what his body’s previous soul could have done, who he could have been, to leave him with such a tarnished reputation. Had he really been deserving of such apparent ill repute? He attempted to push through his growing discomfort as Carver guided him through the room, though he was unable to wipe it completely from his fine-featured face.

Brought to the table farthest from the others in the room, Laures looked surprised, again, when a chair was pulled out for him. He only lingered on the gesture for a moment, though, seating himself and looking equally as surprised when the chair was then pushed in to the table. It did not bother him, of course… he just did not expect such things. Not with so many watchful eyes around. Laures threw another nervous glance about the room as his companion moved to sit down as well. The quiet tapping of Carver’s polished nails against the table’s surface alerted him to the fact that his own hands were moving, fingers tapping against the soft interior of his pockets, and he willed them to stop. It would do him no good, to stay this nervous. He was here with Carver, and nothing… too bad could happen anyway, right? What would happen, if someone from the lodge decided to throw him out?

Gods, he did not know who Iver might have been, but he was cursing him now for making his life that much more difficult. Laures caught the gaze of the girl with the pointed ears and quickly looked away, but it was too late - she was already making her way to their table, carrying her tray, and he kept his head down. How might Iver react? Given the way Master Arkwright had seemed so wary of him, he supposed his body’s former soul must not have been a shy one. So… swallowing his nervousness, he lifted his head, and watched the girl carefully as his lover greeted her.

She cleared her tray, setting some strange (green and orange?) drink down on their table before adding a teapot, two mugs, and a little container of what he assumed were tea leaves. Laures did not reach for any of it yet, though he wanted to, and kept quiet while Carver attempted to converse with the girl. Like the attendant from before, and a few others seated at tables around the room, her eyes switched from one color to the next as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He tried not to think about it too much; there were far more pressing matters, and he thought it was far more unusual to die and wake up again than it was to see someone’s eyes change colors. Ignored easily enough, though he couldn’t help the curiosity that came with it. They must’ve changed for a reason, after all… but no, he was focusing on other things, like keeping quiet and keeping his expressions calm, and friendly. He didn’t need to give anyone more of a reason to throw him out.

Whatever… uh… Iver wants.

He knew what he wanted. He just didn’t want to ask. He didn’t really want it either, he just knew that his body did, and that the damned thing wasn’t going to stop bothering him until it got it. Laures wasn’t all that into drinking in the first place - it’d been a good way to distract himself, before, and a cheap enough way to force unconsciousness considering how little it took to take him out, but he didn’t like the taste of much. What was he to do, then? The girl was staring at him again. The corner of his mouth twitched, and when she gave a sigh and asked if they were a thing now it did little to help ease his concern.

What? Were they a thing now? What kind of a question was that? Of course they were, they were married, but what exactly had they done to provoke that sort of inquiry, thrown out so casually? It was easy enough to figure out that Iver and Antoni must’ve known each other… but how? What kind of relationship had there been between them, if Iver had been barred from his place of residence? Laures was sure his surprise must’ve shown on his face, in the widening of his eyes and the parting of his lips, but he shut his mouth again just as soon. No, it was best if he didn’t speak, didn’t question anything. Carver would handle it. But gods if he didn’t feel lonelier than ever, even in his soulmate’s calming presence.

“...if Jenny found out? Her poor heart.”

“Uh…”

Carver’s eyes found his, and Laures frowned.

“Hold tight, Iver.”

The older blond leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and holding close to himself as Carver left the table. His gaze lingered on his husband as he pulled the girl away, arm tight around her shoulders, and he ignored the twinge of discomfort. Not discomfort, fine, but it was uncomfortable, and unwanted, and he glanced away to stare at the stout little teapot instead. The name rolled around in his aching head: Jenny, Jenny, Jenny. Who was she? No, he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see her to find out, didn’t want to deal with it. He relaxed his arms, letting his hands come to rest on the table’s surface before him. Passively examining the peculiar ring on his finger, he waited, and told himself not to let his mind wander far. It did not help that much, but his fingers began to tap against the smooth wood, and the quiet sounds distracted him enough.

It wasn’t long before Carver returned to him, taking his seat and leaning closer. Laures looked away from his hands and scooted his chair closer. He did not answer immediately, unsure of what to say - he did not typically have to ask anyone for a drink first thing in the morning. The discomfort of it all, the anxiety, the annoyance, it reddened his ivory skin slightly as his temperature rose again. After Carver inspected the teapot, Laures reached for it, flipping over one of the mugs and pulling it close as well. He grabbed the container and spoon, quietly putting together his tea while his husband tried the weird green drink. Setting the teapot and container aside, he did not pull his mug between his hands as he typically would, to soak in the warmth - he did not need it right now.

Carver coughed, and Laures’ eyes were caught on the finger that tapped against the edge of his glass. Maybe he would feel better again if he just touched him, just sat a little closer, just… oh, he didn’t know. He was already probably closer than he should have been.

“It looks…” he regarded the green liquid, the foaming orange color that topped it, and admitted, “...gross.”

A small laugh, quiet and nervous in tone but an attempt regardless. Letting his gaze drift away from their table again, he watched girl behind the counter, and said, “yes, useful.”

For you.

“What did she say? She’s not… uh,” he caught her colorful gaze then, and quickly looked away. Not going to kick me out, he had meant to say, but he supposed they couldn’t know for sure either way. Everyone seemed to like Carver… perhaps they would let him do as he pleased, but Laures did not seem inclined to trust them. He cleared his throat, quietly, and his fingers began to tap against the table.

“Maybe we can get more from her then. More about this place, at least, maybe more about… who everyone thinks we are.”

If he could just get rid of this pain in his head, if he could just break this fever, if he could just… just get to a point where he could think straight, perhaps the discomfort would not overwhelm him so. Laures raised his other hand, resting his cheek in his palm and finally allowing blue eyes to settle over Carver again. Quieter still, he confessed, “Carver, I uh -”

Closer, he leaned, and continued, “I need a drink. My body does. I don’t care what. I just need something soon.”

Laures leaned back again, eyes drifting back to the wood his fingers tapped against. It was just - it was embarrassing, and it was annoying, that his body already demanded things of him when his lover’s seemed so… so… perfect. So well received and adjusted, as opposed to the attitude his own came with. Laures didn’t even want to think about anything else his new form might require, or any people it might’ve made real enemies of, considering the reception it found with the calm people they had met thus far. The blond forced his fingers to stop, and they curled into his palm, nails digging lightly into the skin as he forced himself to focus on that rather than his headache.

[Carver]

Eighth Break, 2 Cylus, Arc 720

Nervous, distressed, upset, Laures’ discomfort came across in almost every perceivable way. All reasons why Carver had to be calm, resolute, and friendly for the both of them. He didn’t necessarily want to. Part of Carver felt unusual, trying to pretend to be a stranger’s friend, when he so much preferred to tell her off for saying what she had and looking at his perfect soulmate like she did. He wanted to slam her face against the counter until she begged for him to stop, then make her apologize to Laures for daring to act like she had any kind of superiority – no matter how casual or mild – over the man who was Carver’s light of the world(s). Instead, he smiled at her while he imagined her with a broken nose.

Distracting himself, he made a note that the pointed ears were in fact ears, rather than some kind of fleshy accessory attached to a round ear. He’d never seen such a thing before, in his previous life, same with the color-changing eyes. An oddity, but he moved on quick enough from acknowledging the difference. It seemed there were to be lots of oddities in this new world they found themselves reincarnated in.

Carver didn’t want to learn about the lives of whoever had been in the bodies before. It hadn’t been him, as far as he knew, and that was all that mattered. He had no memories of any of it, he had no feeling of belonging to the things that Antoni seemed to have or people who knew him. It felt almost wrong in a way, so he focused on that because the wrongness of it made it a little more fun than it might have otherwise been. Far more enjoyable than to focus on the sheer confusion of it all. There were some things he didn’t feel confused about though, as he had started to collect little pieces of the puzzle though he wasn’t sure how they all fit together yet –

-except for one. He knew that whoever Antoni was, he fit right together with Iver. His body had made that abundantly clear yestertrial, when they’d laid together at the hearth. He didn’t know if Laures had quite realized it, like he had, but there was no denying that Antoni’s physical form was greatly accustomed to the intimate embrace of Iver’s body. Yet people did not think they were a thing? So, concluded Carver, it was a hidden affair. Maybe taboo, even, given all the looks and the fact that Iver was not allowed in the place where Antoni lived. But why? Taboo because they were men? Or something else? Because there was this Jenny woman involved?

“Looks gross,” murmured Carver and he glanced at Laures with a slight glimmer in his expressive dark eyes. “…sometimes, you gotta swallow something gross to get by.”

He trailed a fingertip through the orange foam, gathered along the digit, then placed it in his mouth to suck away the sour taste. While he kept his finger wrapped between his lips, he watched Laures’ gaze. How it drifted, then averted, and he seemed so nervous… Carver removed the finger from his mouth and shook his head at the unspoken but obvious question about whether she would kick Iver out or not. He glanced at the tapping fingers and took another sip of the gross-looking, sour-tasting drink. It made his cheeks hollow, but his body craved it almost as much as he had craved the other man yestertrial. “Yes, that is what I was thinking. She seems to talk easy and without care.”

Maybe it was death, maybe it was recklessness – whatever it was, Carver placed his hand over Laures’ curled fist. Past the dim illumination of the halls, the brighter firelight of the tavern area made it more obvious how exhausted his lover looked. The ivory skin looked flushed and patchy with pink and red, and the hint of sweat. Did Laures have a fever? That possibility worried him, and he considered what the other man had confessed in such a quiet voice. A drink… he needed a drink… didn’t care what. A drink to survive… any drink is better than nothing…

It clicked easily enough. No stranger to the grasp of alcohol, Carver’s face showed a momentary guilt. At the moment, while he noticed how embarrassed and shy his lover seemed, it seemed unfair that he had been granted a body – weak as it was – which seemed entirely clean of demanding habits other than whatever sour liquid filled the glass, and the embrace of the other man. He had not wanted for a cigarette, not even a puff of smoke, nor even considered liquor itself in any noticeable way. He didn’t have to deal with the same kind of looks, or attitudes, either. But then, he’d spent years of his previous life with the expectation of those exact things… if ever there was something he might be able to help with, if he could not take the burden directly onto himself, it would be these issues.

“I see,” he murmured. His other hand came up, to brush aside some of the fluffy blond hair that flipped so demurely at the ends. Despite the differences, Laures still managed to be so very beautiful. The world be damned, he just wanted to kiss the other man and fuck it if he wasn’t going to while he still could. Brave, or reckless, or completely stupid from love, it blended together when Carver leaned across the table and placed a firm kiss to Laures’ lips. There was no mistaking the kiss for any kind of formal or mere friendly touch. His lips parted slightly, and he breathed against the other, then he kissed his forehead while he moved out of the chair to stand again. He held the back of the other’s head, kiss pressed dry to the forehead, and he whispered, “I’ll take care of it, my love.”

He endured the soreness in his legs while he left the table again and walked over to the counter. The girl had vanished behind a swinging wooden door that had the clinking and clattering sounds of cookware behind it. A couple of the people at the bar counter looked at him, one with wider eyes than the other, but when he caught their gazes – they both hurriedly looked down as if preferring not to have seen him. There it was. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he was far more familiar with. Discomfort, unease, and desperately pretending not to be a witness for fear of what it might mean if they were considered one.

Carver recognized the colors behind the bottles along the back shelf of the counter. He found the gate, opened the countertop, and simply walked behind. No one said anything about it. Keen to notice his surroundings, he did notice a woman at a table get up and leave the tavern. He turned his attention back to the bottles, then grabbed one of dark sepia color. Next was a glass, a simple heavy-bottom shape, and then he tapped his finger and tested the different white grains in containers before he found the salt and then the sugar. He set the glass on the counter, then pulled the cork off the bottle. Pouring a small amount into the glass, he drank it himself to make sure it was what he guessed… rum. He nodded, glanced over at Laures, then returned to-

-“What are you doing?!” The pointy-eared girl had returned with a tray full of fresh food. Her eyes flashed orange. She quickly walked over, staring incredulously between the bottle and him.

“Making a drink,” he said with a sharp edge to his voice. He glanced at the food. “Is that for us?”

“Yes, but if Ms. Caldwell sees me do-”

“Good, you should go put it down on the table then,” interrupted Carver without care for how it landed. He ignored the confused scoffs because the girl still followed the suggestion regardless. While he poured a shot-and-half of rum into the glass, he kept an eye while she went over to the table. She seemed to be saying something to Laures, but he couldn’t hear what it was.

Carver set aside the rum bottle, then called to distract the girl, “Say, where’s the juice at again?”

Distracted, she pointed in a general direction at the shelves, then returned to point at Laures instead with whatever it was she said. Judging from the frown on her thin eyebrows, it wasn’t anything good. Carver hurried up, though it made his muscles burn a bit more, and he followed the gesture to find a row of various bottles and jugs. Many had little paintings of shapes on them, and he realized that it was meant to be the shape of whatever type of juice it was from. He didn’t recognize most of the shapes but picked a jug out and uncorked it to sniff. He tasted it, and it was sweet, and he realized it was apple juice.

He filled the glass up with the apple juice, then scooped sugar into it until there was an entire layer at the bottom of the drink. Carver hurriedly put a dash of salt at the top, grabbed a thin stirstick, and headed away from the counter to return to the table. The food smelled good, and he felt hungry now, but there was the matter of the pointy-eared girl who seemed more than eager to speak her mind with Laures – and he grimaced when he got closer and heard mention of Jenny again.

Carver set the glass in front of Laures. He also placed a hand on the other’s shoulder to let his sweetheart know that he had returned.

“That should help… love.” He said the endearing term with a sort of petulance in the tone of his voice. His grip on the shoulder, scarred under the shirt, tightened in a protective squeeze. He asked, but it was not clear which of the two he inquired, nor what he meant exactly by the question, “Is this going to be a problem?”

[Lars]

Eighth break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

How did he manage it? How did he manage to be so accepting of all of his faults? This might not have been one of his own, at least not before the previous trial - but as always, Carver listened to his issues and solved them. Not always in the way he might expect, but he solved them. All of them, in one way or another, and Laures felt an overwhelm, a surge of emotion within his chest as a hand was set over his own. Carver had given him freedom from debt, from slavery, from a life that would have been twisted and ended soon enough anyhow. He had given him hope, and reason, and the desire to have either at all. He forced his hand to relax, his fingers uncurling beneath his husband’s to rest flatter against the table. Carver’s other hand fixed his messy hair, and it made him a little nervous (he told himself not to look at the counter again), but it was appreciated nonetheless. Any form of contact, it seemed, soothed the unsettled mind and stolen body.

And then Carver kissed him. Leaned over as if it was nothing, and kissed him right there in a room of strangers, a world of unknowns. So surprised was Laures that it took him a trill just to get over his shock, but then he eagerly returned the kiss, even pushing forward a bit for more when his lover pulled away. He did not persist, even if he wished to (truly, the exhilaration he was granted from the whole thing was far more distracting than he could have even wished for), even if the pink that’d risen to his ears was no longer only from his fever. He only nodded, still looking a little dazed, and he almost failed to notice the subsequent kiss to his warm forehead. But it made him smile almost goofily when it registered, and there was another shy laugh, another grateful little nod when Carver promised to take care of it and then left the table again.

Alone, it took Laures a moment to adjust, his mind still reeling a bit from the fact that his lover had just kissed him in public. Though he tried to let it fade, the smile simply would not leave his face, and the hand that’d held up his cheek was moved to cover his mouth instead. His elation was still clear enough in the glittering blue gaze that followed Carver’s form, that really couldn’t help but linger a little longer on the form-fitting trousers that looked like they’d be so soft to the touch, that only darted upward again when his husband slipped behind the counter as if he was meant to be there. The older forced himself to breathe (when had he stopped?), and though his fever was far from gone, the world felt colder and colder the further away Carver went.

Smile finally beginning to lessen, he set both hands down, fingers splayed against the cool surface of the table. Carver seemed to be as at home behind the counter as he’d ever been in their previous life, even if the environment was new to him. Laures had not gotten to see him behind a bar as much as he probably should have, before - his love had worked in a tavern after all, shouldn’t he have shown up to see him? But then, he supposed Carver could not have gone in very often himself, considering how frequently he had been with Laures instead… and he was certainly more grateful for those nights than he would have been for those spent sitting at a bar.

At a table nearby, a chair was scooted back a little too loudly, catching his attention. Laures watched as a redheaded woman gathered her things and left, and though her dark gaze did scan over him, she did not seem to recognize him as some of the others did. She was gone soon enough, and he was safe from whatever sort of conflict he might have been expecting. There had been a few bewildered glances after Carver had left the table, a glare or two that was hastily averted when it was met, but nothing big enough to matter. Nothing that could not be ignored and forgotten, in time.

Or so he thought.

Laures had been so distracted in his assumptions about the woman’s departure that he had failed to notice the reemergence of the girl from before. It was too late to leave the table, by the time he saw her walking out from behind the counter and coming towards him, and where would he have gone anyway? Would he have hidden behind the front desk, beneath the attendant’s chair? More likely, whoever was sitting out there would have him thrown out, without Antoni’s presence beside him. So he took a deep breath, drew his hands back to himself, and braced for impact.

The girl wasted no time. She set her tray on the side of the table opposite him, but did not bother serving anything yet. Presumably not wishing for his husband to overhear, she commented quietly, “well you look better than last time. What are you thinking showing up with him?”

“Um - I don’t -” he cleared his throat, leaning back a little more, “I just…”

Her expression betrayed that she likely wouldn’t have believed whatever he had to say anyway, and a thin eyebrow was raised in suspicion as she began setting out their plates. Laures did not move to help as he might have before, though the urge still struck him.

“You’d better leave before she sees you here,” she warned, “not that I’m worried about what happens to you. Do you know how hurt Jenny will be, when she finds out that you two are st-”

Carver’s voice cut through her quiet scolding, and Laures swallowed against a dry throat. Gods, what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know how to respond to any of this. He only sat there awkwardly, looking as uncomfortable as he felt, his expression twisted into one of pained confusion. The pointy-eared girl’s attention was barely swayed but for a moment, and then the same finger that’d pointed out the location of the juice was pointing at him instead. She was frowning, all the food having been set out by now, and she continued without care for letting him speak just yet.

“You’re going to ruin his life,” said she, with all the protectiveness that Laures assumed friends were meant to have. He wasn’t all that sure; he had not had many. “Antoni doesn’t need your influence. Ms. Caldwell’s going to be so-”

“I’m not hiding shit from Jenny,” Laures interrupted, having found an edge to his soft voice and a glare to fit his sharp face. “And I don’t care what Ms. Caldwell thinks. I’m not making him do anything he doesn’t want to do. He wanted me here, so I’m here.”

“Jenny’s a good girl, Iver, even you know that. You shouldn’t be humiliating her like this.”

“Tell her yourself, if you care so much.”

She was quiet for a trill, eyes lowering as she retrieved her emptied tray. Laures made himself sit up straighter, even if it took far too much of his concentration to stay that way.

“He’s the one that should care,” she pointed out, “but I will if he won’t.”

What an immense relief it was, when a glass of dark-toned liquid was set before him and a hand graced his shoulder. Laures suppressed a sigh, his eyes darting away from the girl as he reached for his drink. He listened to his lover’s voice, so comforting despite its edge, and took a far larger sip than he’d intended when he’d brought the glass to his mouth. It, too, was a relief, and he hummed, pleased.

“It will be if Ms. Caldwell hears about this,” the pointy-eared girl answered, and there was something weighted in the words, something that struck him as urgent. It sounded like she was trying to warn him again, like she was urging her friend to reconsider their presence here. Laures’ face twisted into a grimace as he set his drink back down, having downed a good majority of it already. Just the smell of it already helped, though he was not sure how. A hand came up to touch Carver’s where it rested on his shoulder, and he turned his head too, pressing a little kiss to his fingers.

“Thank you,” he murmured, before looking to his face. “There's no problem. She’s just concerned about us, love.”

A little scoff from the girl, and she held her tray at her waist, glancing back at Carver.

“About you, yes, and poor Jenny. She’s going to hear about it real quick if you two keep this up - I thought you said you wanted to tell her yourself, Antoni?”

“Please leave,” Laures requested, and swiftly finished the rest of his drink.

“You’re always such a-”

“Leave, leave,” he shooed, “go away. I’m tired of you.”

“Well! I - likewise!”

“Leeeeeaaaave,” why was she being such a petulant little brat? (He recognized, yes, that he might have been one himself and he might have been projecting. But his head hurt and he was sick of the way these people talked to him.)

“Antoni?” and she still didn’t do as requested, but stood there spitefully, holding tightly to her tray and staring expectantly at the younger blonde. Laures didn’t know what she wanted - if she wanted him to tell his older lover off, or leave, or speak with her in private - but he could not suppress the sigh that escaped him then. Like a displeased child, he looked away from her, and took note of how the others in the room had stopped looking at them, as if they did not wish to be a part of it. Laures hadn’t raised his voice - didn’t think he even could, given how soft it was, and he suspected it had more to do with not wanting to intrude on dear Antoni’s business.

[Carver]

Ninth Break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

The change from nervous distress to elated surprise made the kiss worth far more than Carver could have ever predicted. Value inherent, that he was able to press his lips against the other man’s, and feel warmth and breath, he didn’t know if there could have been anything so precious, so treasured, so priceless than the kiss he’d given his lover in that moment. It felt freeing, that he did not worry about what the other people in the tavern thought about it either. He simply did not care. Not like he once had. In their last moments, when he’d watched Laures die in front of him, he had so badly wanted to kiss and in his own death, he had failed miserably at doing so. He never wanted to feel that urge to kiss Laures and suppress it, not ever again. It would not matter where they were, or what was going on around them, he would always kiss the other man if he felt drawn to do so. This, he promised himself while he prepared the sweet rum drink to nurse his sweetheart’s weary body.

Carver returned to the table as quick as he could, especially when he saw the pointy-eared girl talking like she was. He didn’t appreciate not being able to hear what was said, though he tried to read the shape of her lips to figure it out. As soon as he returned and made sure that Laures was okay (enough to drink from the prepared concoction), he fixed his attention on Antoni’s friend. Again, with the mention of Ms. Caldwell, and while he assumed that she oversaw the lodge in some manner, he didn’t know why others kept saying it like they were. Like he should care, in a way that went beyond a patron of a business. A small kiss to his fingers distracted him, and he looked down to find eye contact with those blue eyes… and Carver couldn’t help but smile in a slanted tilt of his lips.

A smile that remained while the exchange whipped between the waitress and Laures. His eyebrow quirked in an askew expression when the girl tried to mention what he’d told her before and tried to refer to him as if he’d defend her from his lover’s dismissal. As if he saw any problem in how Laures spoke to her, at all. He didn't. Carver enjoyed it. He liked that his lover recovered enough to have a voice rather than silently hiding or frowning.

“You heard ‘im,” said Carver, as he sat down in his chair. “Thanks for the food, now, go. If you want to tell Jenny so badly, then go ahead. I won’t try to stop you. But I’m hungry, and have a headache, and…” he glanced once around the tavern, noticed how people seemed intent to ignore whatever unfolded at the table. Laures might have managed to not raise his voice… but Carver didn’t have the same restraint as he felt an all-too-familiar rush of frustration crash over him.

“And if anyone has issue with how I live my life, or who I choose to be with, then you all can fuck right off. I’m done hiding in shadows! That includes you. You want to break it to some poor lady? To Jenny? Ms. Caldwell? Go ahead! I don’t give a shit! …anymore. Now, let us eat in peace and LEAVE- US- ALONE!” He didn’t so much as shout the words, as he did loudly hiss it while he raised from the chair and placed his hands flat on the surface in front of him. A wide-eye glower dominated his pampered features. He stared at the girl, while she tried to gather enough breath (and courage) to scoff but she didn’t manage it. Instead, she retreated with a bright red face.

Carver lowered to sit again, and set his gaze on the plate of breakfast-like food in front of him. He picked up a fork, angrily stabbed at some eggs, then shoved them into his mouth. The younger blond fiercely chewed, then he glanced at Laures. His anger vanished, just like that, because they were left alone for the moment. A quiet laugh escaped him, and he rolled his eyes, then pushed the other plate of food in gesture for Laures to also eat. A different sort of rush ran through him. He leaned over, quick, and grabbed onto the back of Laures’ head. Though he’d only just finished swallowing the bite of eggs, he pressed a passionate kiss to the other man’s lips. He kissed as much (and as deeply) as Laures allowed for, and then he returned to his meal without a word otherwise about any of it.

[Lars]

Ninth break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

In almost every circumstance, Laures despised such conflict. He did not like disagreements, arguments, fights - he did not appreciate loud voices or shouting or screaming. He was a quiet man by nature, and a polite one too, after so many arcs as a slave; more often than not, he was simply on the wrong end of verbal confrontations. He was the one being yelled at, the one being belittled, the one that struggled to raise his own voice because he had neither the power nor the desire to do so. He could be petulant, he could be bothersome, he could be downright rude… and in truth, he felt more like himself in those moments (in his needy, impatient, bad-tempered moments) than he did when he remained silent and demure. But not many things could get him to that point (though the things that did, did so quite quickly), and overall, he was meek, and he liked to be.

Carver reminded him, then, of his thunderous voice booming throughout their shared apartments; of the implications he had made, the wrathful disgust with which he’d made them, the way he had cursed him and looked as if he had wished to snap his neck right there - but the reminder did not stem from any similarity. His lover’s voice did not reverberate through the room and threaten to shatter his unreliable psyche. He made no hurtful requests. He left Laures not feeling dirty, not feeling sorry, but feeling right. Justified. Supported, and loved, and made visible in a way that he had not felt before. And perhaps most of all, he felt proud. Carver would never have proclaimed such things before, not as far as Laures knew. Even if he might have wanted to, at any point, he wouldn’t have. And to be with him now - to be kissed in front of an audience of critical spectators, and cared for so clearly, and to have their love defended - he was so glad to be alive, that he could have dealt with all the scolding in the world and been fine with it, so long as he got to hear his love refute it in the end.

So, the little display might have silenced him for a good trill or two, the blond staring wordlessly at his husband’s face after he’d finished speaking. It seemed to have the same effect on the nosy girl, for which he considered himself fortunate, and she turned away from them without further interruption. Laures took it that Antoni must not have been one for much verbal conflict either, judging both from her reaction and that of the attendant from the night before. Perhaps that was a good thing, though - it meant that they took him seriously. He could only hope that neither Jenny nor the mysterious Ms. Caldwell would really prove an issue, in the end, but they were perhaps problems for another time. Right now, they were due to focus on what they wanted, he thought.

Laures couldn’t break the trance himself, too caught up in fantasy (reality) as he stared at his wonderful husband. Stuffing his mouth with eggs and chewing angrily, and he’d never looked better. A quiet laugh from Carver was all it took. Laures giggled, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest and spilling out of his mouth like moths taking flight. So pleased was he, so delighted, so enamored and blissfully in love, and it showed. A smile might’ve been hard work for the unpracticed muscles of his face, but this - this loving glimmer, this mesmerized glow - it looked as natural as anything else, at home on his delicate features.

Hated though Iver seemed to be, Laures understood, then, that he must have loved Antoni like this. He must have looked at him like this, in private sanctuary, in stolen moments, in lives unseen and forever lost. Wherever their souls were, whatever had happened to them… he hoped they were together too. Iver’s hand reached for Antoni’s, and Laures’ thumb smoothed against Carver’s.

The untouched plate of food was pushed towards him, but Laures had forgotten about the matter of eating entirely, until now. A glance down at the meal and his hunger was quickly recalled, his stomach going so far as to ache (unless it had been aching the whole time, and his the pain in his head had drowned it out) as he let go of Carver’s hand and reached for his fork. Grasping it between his long, scarred fingers, he made to start eating - and was pulled away from the task just as soon. The back of his head suddenly warmed by the presence of his lover’s soft hand, and though it happened quickly, there was less of a delay in Laures’ reaction this time around.

Uncaring for the fact that Carver’s mouth tasted of eggs, and his own of apples and rum, he kissed him deeply, passionately, freely. His ears still burned red for the knowledge that there were onlookers in the room, but it did not dim his desire. No, it only fueled it, and it took a lot more strength than he cared to admit, to stop himself from taking it further. To keep himself in his own chair, with all of his uncomfortable clothes on, with his restless hands so underutilized and bored. But he controlled himself, holding tight to his fork and to the edge of his plate, and when Carver pulled away, he did not let himself push forward for more. Gods, though, he wanted to. Desperately.

Instead, Laures sucked in a quiet breath and smiled. They had time. They had all the time in the world.

Releasing his grip on the edge of his poor plate, he stabbed (a lot less angrily) at some eggs, bringing a forkful to his mouth before letting both hands slip down to grip his chair. Scooting closer, again, Laures brought his chair right next to Carver’s, so that their knees touched where they sat. He had always preferred eating this way, in their apartments: chairs brought together, legs touching, elbows knocking. On many an occasion he had opted to go without a chair and just sat in the other man’s lap, or draped himself over it and allowed himself to be fed - things that he could not imagine going down well in this environment, even after Carver’s statement to the room. But it was nice to remember, and nicer still to consider that in this new world, they had another chance for all of it and more.

After a few bits had passed in which Laures forced himself to focus on eating, he said, “you asked me how I slept - how did you? Are you tired still, my love?”

Certainly Carver did not appear as sleep-deprived as himself, at the moment, but that in itself was unusual. Usually he was the one having to be woken up by the younger blond, not the other way around, but he had not worked as much, or as hard, as his love in the previous trial. He had seemed weary, perhaps, like his body still ached and burned with the soreness surely felt, and Laures supposed there were things to be done about that, if needed. He could not imagine a world in which he might mind trying to help work out the pain, if his lover needed his sore limbs massaged and his soft skin cared for (he could imagine, though, that he knew more about that part than Carver).

“And… I suppose we should figure out who this Ms. Caldwell is, before she creates any more problems for us while we’re here. I’d rather not get us - or, me - kicked out just yet. Maybe she likes you, since all the others seem to,” Laures offered a little shrug, “or… maybe it’ll be an easy fix, if she doesn’t.”

The matter of Jenny seemed a different one entirely, but he was trying not to let it concern him. Whoever she was, whatever she was to Antoni, it seemed that that particular problem had been going on before he and his love ever found residence in these new forms. And what she was to him did not matter - girlfriend, wife, whatever; she couldn’t have him. Laures wondered how his husband might react now, if he told him of the first time someone tried to take him away from him.

“I suspect she’ll know that I’m here soon, if she doesn’t already. We should figure out what to do if someone tries to kick me out. I don’t want to give up that suite yet, and if they know that we’re not… these people, who knows what they’ll do.”

[Carver]

9th Break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

The kiss almost felt better than the first. Only Carver had long since given up the impossible task of comparing their kisses. Every single one stood on its own, perfect beyond reproach even when their teeth accidentally clacked together or tongues dried or lips shone with too much spit exchanged, even when they exhaled or inhaled at the same time, and even though Carver’s jaw still hurt from the punch he’d endured yestertrial and he couldn’t open his mouth all that wide because of the way the swelling had gathered near the hinge of his jaw. It was all perfect though, full of life and heart, and his fingers entwined with the fluffy locks of dark blond hair to grip the strands in a desiring passion for more. If only because he could feel, so deep down, that Laures wanted more too.

As free as they might’ve been, he couldn’t just throw his wonderful lover down onto the table and take him right there in front of everyone… Carver supposed he could, but he shouldn’t. He liked the thought of that freedom, too. A freedom he’d either never allowed himself, or had, in his previous life. Not only because Laures had been a slave, that his precious husband’s body had been property for a greedy criminal. He’d stolen him away like a thief steals a prized diamond from a collection. That hadn’t been the only reason for his reluctance to act in such ways before, but out of a fear for what would come in consequence. He felt awareness that something similar might occur here, in this Scalvoris, and he felt prepared to handle it – if needed – but he had done a quick measure for how the waitress had spoken about them. Not like they were filthy for being men together, but because they were hurting this Jenny by not telling her and bothering this Ms. Caldwell. There was no voiced complaint beyond that. None of the men at the tavern’s bar cracked their knuckles, or gagged, or shot darkened looks at them. It was a wonder that the women across the way didn’t even whisper behind their hands while glancing at them with hatred in the eyes. No… this place was different, he could tell.

He retreated from the kiss anyway, though. Because he needed to eat, and so did his lover.

Carver’s gaze lingered though, while he watched the other start to eat and then move closer. It was a familiar position for their chairs. His face warmed, a blush across the cheeks, and he placed a hand on the other man’s knee as it bumped against his own. Smoothing his palm over the pants, he gently squeezed the subtly muscled thigh underneath, and felt a sparkled sort of sensation in the swell of his heart. He couldn’t resist a smile, literally, as the corners of his lips seemed drawn by a reversed gravity of cheerfulness. Though he had the fork in hand, partly in the motion to take another bite, he paused to admire Laures.

A pleased sigh, then he pressed a kiss to Laures’ temple before he forced himself to focus on the food. Food, mouth, chew, swallow. Food, mouth, chew, swallow. Foo--- he glanced at Laures again—he playfully tapped his knee against the other’s. His foot looped around to wind around the older blond’s ankle. Where was he? Right. Food, mouth, chew…

After a few bits of blissful contentment, he heard the other man speak up. Carver had nearly finished the juice. He swallowed before he answered, “Mm, I’m better. Tired? My body is… Yes.”

Carver ate some more while he listened to the other man’s reasonable concerns. He quirked an eyebrow when he caught the implication of Ms. Caldwell being an easy fix. His hand slid up along Laures’ thigh, then slipped down to knead at the inner side before he traced his fingers closer to where the legs met. With his other hand, he continued to gather bites of food so he could eat.

He nodded, finished the last few bites on his plate then set the fork down. Carver poured some of the lukewarm water into the teacup and placed some of the herbs in it to soak. His hand lifted away from the other’s thigh and he wrapped his arm around Laures’ shoulders instead. He guided him to lean closer and said, “Probably… yes, you’re right. If you don’t want to travel on yet, then we won’t.”

“We should discuss this in the room, though,” he mentioned. Carver glanced over the table. He picked up some toast, wrapped it in a napkin, then put it in his tunic pocket “Are you done eating?”

What food he could, he wrapped up in cloth napkins and placed either in his pockets or Laures’ pockets, then he gestured for the other man to wait. He left the table and went to the counter while the girl had disappeared into the kitchens again. The counter had emptied, the people from before having left to get on with their day. Most of the people who’d been about for his outburst had departed, though new people had entered as well and a second server had arrived to scrub at the windows as if there would be sunlight to let in… though when the shutters were open, it was as pitch-black as when they’d woken up on the docks.

Carver slipped underneath the counter, grabbed the apple juice jug, then a couple slender bottles of unknown juice. He grabbed the dark rum as well and swiped the container of sugar. Arms full, he hurried away with a nod for Laures to quickly follow out of the tavern area. He avoided any acknowledgment of the attendant at the lobby’s front desk and traced back their path to the suite. Once they got around a corner, and the hall proved empty, he turned to look at his companion, and Carver grinned.

16th Break, Cylus 2, Arc 720

After another stretch of heavy feverish sleep in the comfortable bed, Carver roused himself and ate some of the toast from earlier. When they had gotten back, he had tried to discuss matters with Laures and come up with plans for various potential issues. Tried, but as soon as he’d laid down in the blankets, he’d involuntarily fallen asleep.

His shoulders felt stiff, and his muscles sore, but he felt a little more alert than earlier. He looked to find Laures, first, and kiss the other man. Then he made his way to the hearth and searched about until he found some fresh tinder that’d been tucked away in a drawer. He stoked a fire, then settled on the loveseat with a box of letters they’d found in the room.

For over a break, Carver slowly read and reread these letters. He got up and collected a few of the books from around the room, to try and figure out what certain words meant. Table dragged over, he pinned the map of Scalvoris so they could reference it and the various words scrawled at different spots. No one seemed keen to interrupt them, or if they had, he hadn't woken due to any knocks or voices on the other side of the door. Eventually he laid, relaxed, against the loveseat. If Laures wanted to rest beside him, then he held him close – and if he didn’t, then he simply lounged on the loveseat alone. His manicured fingers twitched, and he picked at the chapped dry skin on his lower lip until it bled. The knuckles on his one hand still had the gouged teethmarks along his knuckles, a nasty purplish bruising had started to swell along the bones. His cheek had gotten a bit worse, in that an occasional tear kept gathering in the adjacent eye and drifting down. He rubbed at the eye, enough that the white orb had gone pink around the dark brown irises.

Carver leaned his head against the back of the loveseat and exhaled heavy enough that his wavy blond bangs fluffed upward from the breath. He rested the letter he reread over his face, already tired again though he hadn't been awake for very long. He muttered, “This Antoni fellow sure liked to speak around things, rather than get to the damn point. He definitely has family in this town... Egilrun. Seems to be a... trade town or... something like that, but not where he's from. No mention of Iver, though, not even a hint other than he seemed very insistent that he didn't want to leave Egilrun to attend...” he lifted the letter and glanced over it again, then said, “...the Academy? Think that's the same as the University of Scalvoris mentioned elsewhere. So, maybe, Antoni was a sorcerer? Maybe that's why I can heal you, but...”

He leaned forward and picked up one of the books from the table. Carver frowned slightly, while he flipped it open and then pointed at a particular page, “I don't think it's based on blood. There's a mention here that suggests it is some sort of... choice whether to infuse magic in yourself? It reads like a warning against the idea, that... magic itself leads to death? There isn't enough in this book to make sense of it. The rest just talks about these Immortals that are in a lot of the other books, and the other letters discuss a...”

The younger blond shuffled through the letters, then found the one he had recalled, “Right, the Institute of Technology? From what I can tell here, Antoni was meant to leave Egilrun for this Scalvoris Town so he could attend classes in Cylus? Which is now... Cylus Dusk is, well I'm still not sure what that is, but I think this book might have answers since it has the word in it a lot and from what I found, mentions a perpetual night. Sounds like it, doesn't it?”

He leaned over the table, and rubbed at his brow while he felt a slight headache thrum. Carver closed his eyes and sighed again. There was so much information, and trying to make sense of it strained along with the adjustment to being alive again and in a new body, and his injuries, and the processing of it all. Frustration ebbed and flowed in him, but he did his best to maintain a certain balance of steadiness. Reading through the letters and books did reveal things he didn't know before, and he was learning about the new world around them as well as who he was supposed to be - this Antoni - and all of that was worthwhile to the effort of remaining in the suite as long as they could. While it wasn't physical, all of the sorting through the materials felt as laborious to his mind as swinging the axe had felt to his shoulders.