andromeda

༘ * ⋆ 𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙚

𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 (𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥): 4/? (𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘷𝘪)

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨:

𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 (𝘫𝘢𝘺𝘷𝘪𝘬)

𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 (𝘫𝘢𝘺𝘷𝘪𝘬)

༘ * ⋆ 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙬 𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮

𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴: 5/? (𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘦)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 (𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦): 2/? (𝘴𝘢𝘮)

1, 2

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨:

𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸! (𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘦)

𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯)

A Cave in the Underdark, 1492 DR

Silas clung onto Astarion’s intricate vest. Every step felt like agony, even when he didn’t put pressure on his ankle. It throbbed angrily, already disturbed from the river trap a mere few days prior. A part of his mind gnawed on the thought of never being able to use it again. Shadowheart was nowhere in sight, and neither was Gale.

“I think we’ve already been down this way,” Silas breathed, “I just saw those vines earlier.”

The cave system was never-ending. Silas did his best to navigate, despite the pain clouding most of his attention. His breathing was strained, rib cage thrumming in sore pain every time he took a breath.

“…You’re right. Shit,” hissed Astarion. Silas glanced up at him, fangs worried his bottom lip.

“We should—we should take a break.” Silas steadied himself against a wall, slumping down with an exerted huff. Sweat pooled at his hairline, combining with the residual dirt from the fall.

“Tapping out already?” Astarion teased, annoyingly composed.

Annoyingly attractive, too. Astarion looked ethereal in this light. Someone found a meal last night. What could he even eat down there? Myconids didn’t seem very nutritious for a vampire.

His hair looked flowing and beautiful, skin bright with health. The dandelion light made his red eyes a more neutral color. Like the blue Silas had committed to memory. He’d seen Astarion’s face at just about every angle, but he was still so astonishing. His features were sharp, with skin wrinkled with the four centuries Astarion had seen before meeting his captor.

Before Astarion became a husk of his former self to protect himself from the trauma. He hadn’t told Silas what specific torture Cazador preferred, but even the thought of it made Silas ill.

Here, Silas could pretend for a second that they were back in time. That they were in their small townhouse. Astarion would come home from his long day with a sore back and a frown. Especially at the end, there were many days like that. Having such control over the laws in Baldur’s Gate wasn’t easy.

Silas would rub his back and shoulders, smiling at the way Astarion melted into the sofa beneath him. His man, his lover.

Now who was the one that stood in front of him? What was he to call this new Astarion? An acquaintance? A frenemy?

“Hey, that’s not fair. Besides, I never judged you when you were heaving on our hikes,” Silas jabbed playfully, huffing. The cave wall was cool on his back, bringing him some temporary relief. His good leg screamed in thanks, relieved to finally sit down.

Astarion scoffed. “Perhaps we should camp here for the night. It doesn’t look like you’ll be getting up any time soon.”

Without waiting for Silas’s opinion, Astarion spread out two bedrolls and lighting a torch. The ambiance wasn’t the best for sleeping, and they were still in their outside clothes, so the bedroll didn’t provide much comfort. The cave was nothing short of spooky—long, spiraling, dark tunnels. Occasionally, there was a noise, like a drop of water or a rock shifting. The quiet was unnerving.

“Do you still meditate the same? You know, with your… condition…?” Silas asked after he’d laid down.

“Yes, quite the same,” Astarion replied simply, turning to face him. Usually, they laid in a circle around the fire, but now the two of them were lying side-by-side. If both of them weren’t immortal creatures, Silas was sure they would’ve frozen already. “Why?” Would you expect it to be different?”

A beat.

“Are you still afraid of the dark?”

Astarion guffawed, face drawing up into a scowl.

“What, do you suppose I’m some sort of child?” he sassed. “Afraid of the dark, please.”

Silas’ lips turned up into a grin. “Do you think I forgot?”

Whether it was the tadpole or their mutual understanding, Silas had no doubt that Astarion remembered that night. One of whispered confessions and soft intimacy. When Silas was at his loneliest, barely skimming the never-ending abyss of grief, the thought of that night kept him afloat.

Astarion’s smile slipped, and Silas recognized a vague sense of embarrassment on Astarion’s face. Had he pushed too far?

Before Silas could open his mouth again to apologize, Astarion was speaking again.

“I’m not,” Astarion blurted. “Afraid of the dark… anymore. When I was turned into a vampire spawn, Cazador made sure that I would spend every night in darkness,” he spat. His voice turned mean at the mention of his former master.

Silas sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, that bastard will be sorry when I take his head as a trophy,” Astarion replied, looking down at the dirt below them. “Now, this is hardly conversation for a sleepover, darling.”

He smiled, and Silas could see his tapered canines, glittering off of the firelight. They resembled the stalactites that surrounded them.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Astarion asked blatantly.

Silas blinked a few times, trying to register whether he hallucinated that or not.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me. I’m not a blushing virgin, Silas. I’m not afraid of a late-night tryst. The angle might be a little uncomfortable because of your ankle, but I’m more than happy to be on top while you—“

“Astarion.”

Silas sighed and sat up to the best of his ability.

“Maybe let’s think about this.”

Astarion frowned. “What, do you not want to kiss me? I mean, come on, you were looking at me like you could eat me up. What changed?” he asked, voice hardened.

“I’m just saying, I’m worried that doing that could… ruin what we have right now. We work well together, you and I and the others. We need to think about maximizing our chances to get a cure, so we don’t have to turn to someone like Raphael,” Silas reasoned, stumbling over some words.

“So you think I’m a liability then? I don’t kiss and tell, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Astarion could be frustratingly convincing. So good with his words that Silas could get swept away in them. Silas had watched him talk circles around people anywhere they went. For a favor, or money, or for their lives. His charm was endless.

So, when Astarion quelled his worries, Silas let him. His conscious tried to raise alarm, but everything went quiet when Silas pushed himself forward, connecting his lips wirh Astarion’s.

A rush of long-forgotten sensations among new ones whirled around him. Silas thought he remembered kissing Astarion to a good degree, considering the time they’d spent apart.

He was wrong.

Astarion was never a bad kisser, but the skill he had now was almost absurd. He settled a hand behind Silas on the ground so he could partially hover over him. Astarion’s other hand snaked up Silas’s thigh, squeezing the skin beneath Silas’s rough pants.

Silas himself was quite out of practice. He let Astarion carry most of the weight, literally and metaphorically. Where Astarion hovered, Silas let himself relax lower toward the ground. His body still grew fatigued at a normal mortal rate, but when Astarion was fed, it was like he was unstoppable. An unyielding force.

Astarion’s sharp teeth grazed Silas’s bottom lip, and his breath hitched. His dominating intimacy was also new to Silas. Astarion used to be exactly what he said—a blushing virgin. He had more experience with men compared to Silas when they met, but Silas was the first one to truly explore Astarion’s body.

Silas dragged a hand up on Astarion’s jawline, running his thumb along his jaw, then on the underside of his pointed ear. The shiver from him made Silas’s lips turn up. Astarion had always loved when he did that. Some things never change.

“You’re so beautiful,” Silas mumbled sincerely. He tucked a piece of silvery hair behind Astarion’s pale ear.

Astarion scowled. “Enough with the pleasantries. I want to ravish you,” he whispered, kissing up Silas’s neck. It made him shiver, fingers twitching at the sensation.

Bedding with Astarion was like a whirlwind. He was everywhere; with his talented fingers and pointed teeth, razor-sharp against his neck and chest and navel. It toed the fine line between stimulation and overstimulation; a mind-numbing, cacophonous experience.

Yet, Silas got the sense that Astarion was mentally distant. His eyes held nothing except seduction and overbearing charm. Words dripped from his lips like golden honey, echoing off of the dark cave walls.

Graveyard, 1268 DR — Astarion

Surely, he had to have died.

After being beaten bloody by a group of Gurs, Astarion knew he was reaching his end. His vision was spotting, limbs laid out and hacked to shreds. His entire chest was warm with internal bleeding, causing his lungs to sputter and defect.

So then, how was he still breathing?

His memory was hazy as he gathered his surroundings. He was somewhere small, silent. His lungs no longer moved with air, instead sitting eerily still as his wide eyes scanned around.

Astarion was in a coffin.

Just a few years earlier they’d stopped attaching bells to the coffins to alert people on land that the victim was still kicking. How would they possibly bury someone that was still alive?

It had to be a nightmare. Yesterday, Astarion was walking home from his work. His important work. Being a magistrate made him feel like he was doing something vital for Baldur’s Gate. He was needed.

Yesterday, Astarion was going to see Silas. His beloved, the one he’d walk to the ends of the world for. They were planning to move in together soon, start their own family. A full, loving family neither of them had for themselves.

Instead of lying peacefully in the spring light with his lover, Astarion was pushing dirt. Six feet didn’t seem like much until it was crushing you downward. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes and pushing up, and up, and up. Dirt was everywhere. In his mouth, stinging his eyes, nose, and ears. The worms were slimy against his skin.

Getting up to the surface didn’t come with a breath of fresh air. Astarion was no longer capable of that, he’d learn. When he disturbed the grass, pushing it to the side with a cry, the only respite he got was the night stars. Did they know what he’d become? Winking down at him cheekily, they sparkled.

“Good work.”

The voice came from who Astarion would grow to despise more than anything or anyone. The one that ripped him away from the happiness he’d worked so hard for. The one that would torture him for his own amusement, carving scriptures into his back night after night. Astarion couldn’t see the stars when he did this. Only the expensive rug of Cazador’s manor.

Cazador. The reason he was still alive, but the reason he was dead. The one that made Astarion wish he’d died during the Gur attack.

Sometimes, when Astarion was at the brink, he’d imagine Silas in the corner of his tiny cell. Giving him praises or insults, depending on Astarion’s mood that night. When he was really lucky, he’d feel Silas’s hands, gentle but calloused at his fingertips, carding his hands through his hair.

His Silas, the one that was definitely lying six feet below by then. For good.

—

The Underdark, 1492 DR — Silas

Silas had been almost everywhere, but the Underdark was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

With its peculiar fungus creatures (Myconids, Gale corrected him swiftly) and spores with various effects, the land brought a sense of unfamiliarity. Silas was already lost enough before the change in scenery.

Gale knew the most about mushroom foraging, so he was leading them. He explained, mostly in words Silas didn’t understand, the fungi growing around them. Shadowheart had sighed a breath of relief when Silas dismissed her from the group.

“Anything to get a break from Laezel,” she murmured, turning to examine her strange artifact.

Silas trailed closely behind Gale, with Astarion and Laezel in the back. The Underdark was an eerie, disconcerting place. The group was quiet besides a few remarks about the people or plants.

They crossed a bridge, then entered a clearing. Gale explained that the mushroom surrounding them were edible, so they spent some time foraging them. Camp supplies were vital, especially food. Silas was drooling, thinking about the mushroom stew they would eat for dinner.

He barely had time to register the giant form appearing from underground, just about to swallow them up.

“Hells!” Astarion shouted first, quick on his feet. He was already several paces away, but not before grabbing Silas’s arm and dragging him with. Silas gasped, looking at Astarion’s determined red eyes.

Together they crumpled onto the unsteady ground. The reptilian creature had broken the stable dirt below. Like a broken vase, the cracks spread until they were falling.

Silas grabbed onto Astarion, shouting something that he himself couldn’t hear. Just like that, they were hitting the ground hard.

Despite his immortality, Silas was far from invincible. He definitely twisted his ankle, and one of his ribs was snapped. Dirty with the residual soil falling around them, he blacked out.

Only for a minute or two. When Silas opened his eyes again, Astarion was above him.

“You took quite the fall, darling,” Astarion murmured. He was dirty, but physically untouched somehow. As if answering his question, Astarion held up a potion.

“Feather Fall,” he said. “I drank it right before we fell. At least one of us is going to have to be unharmed if we have any chance of getting out of here.”

“Where is everyone else?” Silas asked, voice scratchy. His head was pounding, world spinning when he pulled himself into an upright position.

Astarion shrugged. “Maybe that horrible creature ate Gale.”

Their feud was no secret. It wasn’t as intense as Shadowheart’s and Laezel’s, but whenever Astarion had the chance, he would make a jab at him. Silas felt guilty. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring Gale along, knowing about their tension. The image of the reptile consuming Gale made Silas’s nose wrinkle.

“They must’ve gotten separated in the fall. I could only imagine how the two of them are getting along right now,” Silas said, voice a hushed sigh.

“You’re really hurt,” Astarion observed, a frown on his face. “This ankle must be broken.”

“I’m fine,” Silas protested. He moved to stand up, but in his attempt to prove Astarion wrong, he felt a splitting pain shoot up his entire body. A loud cry echoed the cave walls, and it was only when Silas had fallen back down that he realized it was him making the noise.

“You were always stubborn,” Astarion mumbled, moving to examine his ankle. Even touching it made Silas squirm in discomfort. “The Sharran would be able to heal this.”

Astarion hauled Silas up, carrying his weight he couldn’t put on his ankle.

“The sooner we get out of here, the better. I’ve never been a fan of the underground,” Astarion said.

Somewhere near Reithwin, 1270 DR

Silas’s black boots dug into the dirt. His breath escaped him in quick bursts; his lungs ached. Still, he knew he had to keep running if he valued his life.

Blood pooled from his abdomen, leaving a trail in the soft white snow. It was a mere few days ago that he was watching the first snow with his friends. It fell around him too, shining off of the full moonlight and wetting his ruddy cheeks.

A deep growl came from behind him, followed by another. A branch ripped Silas’s tender skin on his face, leaving warm blood in its wake. He wondered distantly if the Worgs still had Eudora and Ben in their teeth. They were no longer Eudora and Ben. Now they were shreds of flesh and a pile of bones.

Adrenaline made Silas’s head pound. His vision was tunneling due to the blood loss. The forest was only growing thicker, and his limbs were growing weak. His sword was long abandoned at the original gruesome attack site. All he had was his armor, and that wouldn’t hold up. It certainly didn’t for his friends.

At least they would send Silas’s body back to his father. There was something comforting about being shipped back to where he had come from, where he felt most safe. He would be cleaned up, then put into the ground there to rest. Right down the street from his childhood home.

Silas made it to a dead end, a clearing among dense thickets he couldn’t dream of getting through. He backed himself against the trees, resisting the urge to throw up his breakfast. How normal things were when he was sitting at the long table among his fellow Flaming Fists, eating bowls of porridge.

He was fucked. It was over. All of the work he’d done, all of the love he’d given, it ended then.

Amira would be devastated. She couldn’t afford their home by herself, so she’d have to move back in with her wretched mother. Silas’s father would be truly alone without Silas nor his mother filling the space.

He never found Astarion, who had mysteriously vanished into thin air two years prior. No one had seen anything. Silas didn’t even get to say goodbye. Perhaps they would meet in the afterlife.

Silas squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a tight breath, when the unthinkable happened.

Air whooshed around him, then he was somewhere else. A grand home with a table full of luxurious food. He was severely out of place with his subpar armor and open wounds.

“Welcome to the Middle-of Somewhere.”

Silas whipped his head around, still clutching the piercing pain in his gut. Before him stood a devil in all of his glory. Blood-red wings fully elongated, he towered over him.

“Where the Nine Hells am I?” Silas asked, sucking in a long breath to get his words out.

The devil smiled. “A safe haven. The House of Hope, love, is where you ended up. No offense, but you’re certainly not in the best state.”

He pushed out a chair, and a force made Silas fall into it with a sharp huff. His weary legs had been screaming for respite, so he didn’t stand again.

“Well met, Silas. I am Raphael,” Raphael introduced himself warmly, but his smile was frigid. His father had told him not to trust devils, that they would always win in the end.

“How do you know my name?” Silas breathed. He was hunched over, running a hand stained in crimson through his dark hair. It was the shortest it had ever been, nearly buzzed off. His face was clean-shaven.

Raphael stood in front of him, and being so far under him made Silas uncomfortable. He was looming like a giant wall.

“I knew you’d come here, of course. You have something I want, and it seems like you’re in the position to make a proposition.”

—

Sunlit Wetlands, 1492 DR

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Shadowheart had been the first one to express doubt. Skeptical and untrusting as she was, the thought of a place being genuinely kind to them seemed outlandish. Especially after their experience with the goblins, and the Gnolls.

“Nope,” Silas replied honestly. “Do we have a choice, though? Those brothers need help finding their sister.”

“What, are we good samaritans now? Hells, we’re wasting our time,” Astarion grumbled. It was the fourth time complaining since they talked to the two men an hour prior, and Silas insisted on marching in to help her.

Laezel hummed in agreement, spinning her sword as if looking for something to maim.

Silas glared at him. “Can you trust me for one sec—“

He cut himself off when a piercing pain clawed his ankle, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

A trap hidden in the riverbank sand was now grabbing onto Silas, refusing to let him go. His blood was dispersing into the murky water.

Silas cried out, trying desperately to pull the teeth of the trap out of his skin. It would leave a nasty scar, at least.

“Are you just going to stand around?” Silas heard Astarion demand. “Help him!”

Shadowheart scoffed. “I don’t see you doing anything about it, vampire.”

Tension had been high since the camp found out about Astarion’s true nature. After he drank from Silas a few times, they could no longer pass off high lightheadedness as common illness. Not to mention, Astarion left two distinct marks every time.

Shadowheart was wary about him, keeping her distance to avoid “becoming a snack”, as she so eloquently put it. She was civil, but guarded.

Laezel had gone a different route. Keeping a stake strapped to her belt as a silent threat. If Astarion tried anything, she’d skin him after driving the stake into his heart. She told him she’d keep his fangs as a keepsake.

There was a flash of magic, then the trap released. Silas tugged his ankle close, panting with adrenaline.

“I didn’t know you had a hand with magic, Astarion,” Shadowheart observed. She placed a hand over Silas’s ankle, closing her eyes and mending the wound shut with a whispered phrase.

“That was you?” Silas asked, turning around to face him. Astarion had dropped his bow to the ground, hand still extended in spell-casting position.

“I still remember some things,” Astarion replied. “I’m thankful I didn’t cut your ankle clean off, darling. Who will lead us into peril then?”

Silas smiled, letting out a breathy laugh. He walked over to pick up Astarion’s abandoned bow, placing it into his lithe, pale hands.

“Thank you,” they said at the same time.

Their journey across the Sunlit Wetlands was treacherous. The sheep that innocently grazed the plains before were revealed to be malicious Redcaps. Astarion disarmed the traps as they went, and Laezel and Silas put a quick end to most of the hostile creatures.

When they found the Hag and Mayrina, Silas was reminded of what it was like to be caught in a pact. His own power was borrowed, granted by a malevolent entity that only looked out for himself.

“You don’t have to do this, Mayrina,” Silas had said. He stepped forward, giving her a smile that he hoped was trustworthy.

But that was the thing about someone stuck in a desperate situation. The fear inside turned into sheer will. Determination was sometimes one’s undoing.

The Hag’s blood covered Silas’s hands. He had laid the killing blow with one of his swords, driving it right through her skull. It was gruesome, and Silas longed for a bath. A bath full of rose petals and milk, like his mother had given him before her death.

“You look… unfortunate, darling. Though, maybe some would find the appeal in your bloody-self,” Astarion said, oh-so-honestly. He was completely clean of any blood or injuries, due to him hiding in the shadows.

Silas huffed. “At least I face the threat head-on. I’m not jealous of the role you play, Astarion. What matters is that it worked. Mayrina is safe.”

Once he made it back to camp and soaked in the warm water of the bath, Silas was lost in thought. The small bath-house a short walk away from their bedrolls had become a sanctuary for Silas. The only time he was ever alone.

He hummed a simple melody, closing his eyes and beginning to slip into unconsciousness. It was short-lived, as he was jolted awake by a presence he could feel lurking in the shadows.

Raphael.

“I know it’s you,” Silas said, sat up straight and on his guard. “Come out, foul creature.”

Raphael appeared in front of him. He was in his human form, but it was as unsettling as his devilish look.

“Don’t be that way, Silas. We used to be friends once.” His white teeth glittered from the dim light above them.

“That was before you took everything from me. You monster,” Silas growled. He was hyper-aware that he was naked, his body barely covered by the water.

Raphael clicked his tongue, tossing a rag into his direction. Silas used it to cover himself, but his full upper body was still exposed to the cool air.

“Everything? No, not everything. In fact, I believe you recently reconciled with a special someone. That Astarion. He’s a brat, in my opinion, but it seems like you have a type.”

Silas furrowed his eyebrows in alarm. “Have you been watching me this entire time? Do you not have anything else to be doing?”

“It’s not I that’s been watching you, but yes, you’ve been being watched. Now, you know I wouldn’t come for a surprise visit unless I had important news for you.”

Raphael paused for a moment, smirking for dramatic effect. What an asshole. Silas waited with bated breath, clenching his fists.

“I’ve noted your… desperate position. It must be stressful, thinking about what would happen to you if the tadpole transformed you into one of those horrible things. Poor Silas, immortal yet doomed to live in a hive-mind of Mind Flayers. You wouldn’t remember yourself, or anyone else.”

Silas rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, I know what I’m going through. You don’t have to explain it to me like I’m a child. What do you want, Raphael?”

That conniving smile flashed again. The kind that made Silas feel like he knew nothing, and Raphael knew all. The dominating, unsettling smile that only came from a charlatan.

“I want to offer you a way out, as I’ve done before. I’ll remove that parasite from your noggin. In exchange for your soul.”

That was it. Simple, laid out terms. Just like the first time around, Silas thought. Offering his soul was big business, though. Bigger business than what he had to do before.

There was a light in the room and a familiar flash, and Silas found himself back in the House of Hope. It hadn’t changed from all those years ago. Still as luxurious and tantalizing as before. Raphael had even taken the liberty of putting Silas in camp-clothing first.

“So, will you make another deal with me, Silas?”

A contract appeared out of thin air, with long lines of script etched into it. Silas sighed. Did he let Raphael screw him over again, knowing what he knows now?

“As an extra, I’ll even do the same for your friends. All of the people you’ve been on this jolly journey with. I’ll see to it that they’re taken care of as well.”

That was convincing. A noble sacrifice. He imagined Shadowheart and Astarion, along with the rest of his comrades, able to live their lives as if they were never kidnapped at all. Happily, and without fear. To save so many people, wasn’t it worth one small soul?

Silas didn’t register signing the contract until he was back in the bathhouse, alone in the now cold bath water.

To Jayce, Freya was the world.

Freya meant everything pure, everything good. Every bird call in the wind was her. Every warm breeze was her. All of the good things reminded him of her.

He never knew how powerful it was to be a father.

Mel’s pregnancy was physically decent, but it had been mental torture for her. Mel had the tendency to drive herself nuts. She wouldn’t speak out about it until she exploded, sitting on the floor of their expansive bedroom and crying until the mirrors shook.

Jayce would be there to hold her, and that was all he could do. Rub her back and insist that she wouldn’t raise Freya like her own mother raised her. Especially after her death, Mel finally had time to process how Ambessa had treated her. All of the emotions she had kept inside spilled out with the help of increased hormones.

He was so lucky to be able to watch her like this. With Freya on her chest, rocking her to sleep at night. Jayce sat beside her, looking down at their baby. She had his golden eyes and Mel’s dark skin and hair.

“She looks just like you, you know,” Jayce said. It was true. Freya resembled Mel way more, with her cute little nose and freckles. Long eyelashes and dimpled smile.

Mel smiled. “Yeah, but there’s some of you in there too. She’s so perfect,” she breathed. Not too loud, at the risk of waking her up. Freya was adorable like this, but she could be a menace when she was woken up from a peaceful nap.

Mel hummed softly to her. It was always the same song. When Jayce asked about it, she somberly told her Ambessa used to hum the melody to her as a baby. The tune was from an old Noxian anthem.

The next best thing to fatherhood was watching Mel ascend into her role of motherhood. Jayce did most of the work around the house, since Mel had her own duties to uphold. He would make blueprints and do research with Freya lying beside him in her rocker, reaching up at the plush stars that hung on the top of it.

That wasn’t to say Mel didn’t spend any time with them. She made it up to them in times like this. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, but she insisted on rocking her to sleep.

“She needs to know I’m here too, J,” she had said, giving him a look that he couldn’t deny. He could never deny her of anything. His radiant, strong Mel.

Jayce was the only one that saw her like this. Disheveled and imperfect in a way that ironically made her all the more perfect. Her extensive hairstyle had been taking down and braided into something simpler.

He leaned over to kiss Mel’s cheek, and then Freya’s. Freya made a little sound in her sleep, and Jayce could’ve died just then with satisfaction. Sitting beside the two he loved most. The ones he would go to the ends of the planet to keep safe.

A family.

Jayce had always wanted a complete family. His mother did her best with what she had, but the loss of their father never went unnoticed. Now he could be the father he always wanted. A guide, but also a friend. Someone to rely on even when everyone else was against her.

“Our little family,” Mel whispered, like she could read his mind. Or maybe he was speaking aloud.

Jayce kissed Mel’s cheek again, pressing them on until she started to giggle. Gods, that sound was like a drug.

In a few years, he’d hear it in Freya’s giggle too. Light and warmth. Safety.

Campsite, 1492 DR

Astarion was officially pissing Silas off.

It had all started during a small fight with a pack of Gnolls. They were massive, standing multiple heads over Silas. He had seen their kind before, so he knew what to do. They were easily manipulated, easy to talk out of fighting.

Silas stood in front, with Shadowheart, Astarion and Laezel behind him. Talk about a diverse crowd. They all had their own opinions on how to solve the conflict, but Silas was confident he could talk his way out of it. He was speaking with the leader, convincing her to turn against her pack for them. It was the best way.

Imagine Silas’s surprise when a few seconds later there was an arrow through the leader’s heart, immediately angering the rest of the group. It had been a gnarly fight. Shadowheart had one measly spell left before she fell from exhaustion. Silas had earned a grisly scar across his nose from a claw.

He knew it was Astarion. None of them had that much proficiency with a bow. Laezel was tragic with one, and Shadowheart could shoot a short-bow accurately 40% of the time. But even if this wasn’t the case, Silas had been watching Astarion act out since they started traveling together.

Silas’s liquor-drawn courage fizzled out after his conversation with Shadowheart. He decided to wait on it, ignoring Shadowheart’s taunts about him being a coward. It was for the best of the group, to not bring more drama into their lives. Everyone was going through enough already.

The Gnoll incident changed his mind. Now, he was annoyed. Annoyed on top of the frustration and confusion he was already feeling.

“Was that you? With the Gnolls,” Silas demanded.

Astarion was standing in his camp, reading some giant book Silas couldn’t understand the name of. Silas tried not to let his anger get out of control, but he found himself chewing on the inside of his cheek to refrain from yelling.

“So what if it was?” Astarion asked. He refused to meet Silas’s burning gaze.

“It almost got everyone killed,” he spat back. “So I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Silas stomped away, and once again he felt like a child.

Meditation that night didn’t come easy. He shifted constantly in his bedroll, fighting off nightmares. Mostly about his time serving. The thought of that time made his blood run cold.

When he opened his eyes, Silas didn’t know what time it was. He had no chance to figure it out, because before he saw anything he felt a piercing pain against his jugular.

Silas shot up, hands grasping the ground for his weapon.

“Hey! Hey, shh,” the figure above him whispered intensely.

Silas grabbed his dagger, turning to slice in the air. He stood up, socked-feet digging into the dirt as he lunged. He grabbed his attacker’s wrist.

The moonlight was bright. A full moon. Silas always loved full moons. Magic was potent on those nights, more than usual. Peculiar things happened when the moon was full, high and sparkling in the sky among the stars.

It provided a spotlight on Astarion. He stood in front of Silas, panicked and caught off-guard.

Suddenly everything fell perfectly into perspective. The sharp teeth, the red eyes. The malnourished, pale figure. The mysterious disappearance into thin air all of those years ago.

Vampire.

Silas didn’t have much experience with vampires. They were taboo to talk about in Baldur’s Gate. There were rumors of eerie creatures that lurked in dark alleys, waiting to strike. As long as they were around, no Baldurian would be safe.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Astarion said, voice cracking.

“Actually… I feel like it’s exactly what it looks like,” Silas countered. His anger had turned into exhaustion, and he let out a little laugh. “I knew you got paler.”

He was expecting at least a smile from Astarion, but all that radiated from him was fatigue. His shoulders were slumped, and his fangs poked at his bottom lip in a way that should’ve made him bleed.

“I’m starving,” Astarion sighed, running his hands through his hair with both hands. “I can’t… I can’t take it anymore.”

Silas frowned, and he scolded himself for trying to be playful in a time that was clearly dire.

“Couldn’t you feed off of an animal?” Silas asked, reaching his hand up to touch the marks on his neck. Astarion’s teeth had almost punctured his skin. Silas imagined what would’ve happened if he woke up later, or never woke up at all. Would Astarion tell him? Or feign cluelessness when he brought it up?

Astarion shook his head. “I haven’t been able to find anything since before the Goblin Camp.”

Silas hissed. He knew what starvation was like. It wasn’t kind. Hunger pains made it hard to focus, the lack of energy made it hard to stand. There was no scarier feeling than your body failing on you.

“I’ll let you do it,” Silas reasoned. “But you have to answer some questions for me first.”

Astarion smiled ruefully. “You knew me so well once, darling,” he said dryly.

Silas swallowed hard, sighing.

“Well, it’s been awhile since we last caught up,” he breathed.

They ended up at the beachside after Silas pulled on his boots, sitting on the sand. The wind blew cool air through the thin fabric of Silas’s white tunic.

“I want to know what happened. How you’re here,” Silas said. “Did you end up on the ship because of me?”

“What a self-centered way to view it,” Astarion huffed. “Your vanity is certainly still intact.”

Silas rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t come for you. I had no idea you’d be on the ship. I was kidnapped just like the rest of us,” Astarion replied, voice solemn.

“I was attacked in Baldur’s Gate. Then, a vampire bit me. Cazador. He made me into his spawn. I was to do his bidding, and bring him fresh blood to feast on.” There was an anger building in his tone, venomous and spiteful. Vengeful. “Now that I’m free, it’s my mission to destroy him.”

Silas nodded slowly, letting the information soak in.

“I see. So that’s why you didn’t write,” he sighed.

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence. Silas didn’t know the extent of how Astarion had been treated, but it didn’t sound promising.

“Any more questions? Or are you going to let me expire on this beach?”

“Hells, you’re as impatient as I remember, Star,” Silas said with a small grin. He saw Astarion’s body jump.

“That’s not me anymore,” Astarion mumbled. “I’m not the man you knew, Silas. It’s been a long two hundred years.”

The waves of the ocean crashed onto the sand, splashing salty water onto the tips of Silas’s black boots. Reluctantly, he lifted his head in a silent invitation. Whether he believed him or not didn’t matter. The team needed him. He was their best lock pick, best smooth-talker. Best shot with a bow.

“I won’t take too much,” Astarion promised.

Silas squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Astarion’s lips brush against his neck. They were slightly chapped, and the rough touch made goosebumps rise onto his skin. It was so familiar, so authentically Astarion.

His lips were a short respite before the piercing, burning pain of his fangs clawed its way up his neck. Silas sucked in a strong breath, fists clenching. The pain was throbbing. He could feel the blood draining from him into Astarion.

This went on for about a minute, and Silas could feel himself starting to black out. Astarion had pulled himself closer to his body, holding onto his shoulder to get a better angle.

Silas’s breath grew thinner, and he weakly pushed at Astarion, who let out a high sound of protest. His eyelids fluttered. He mustered up his strength to really push the vampire backward. He lost his balance, teeth retracing from Silas’s skin as he tumbled onto the sand.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Silas asked, lying back too.

He turned to look at Astarion, who had a huge smile on his face. His hair looked healthier, muscles filled out. Like how he looked before the incident. The glint in his eyes was still missing, so not exactly the same.

“Sorry,” Astarion breathed.

There was a wide smile on his face. He looked drunk. Silas wondered if he drank a bottle of wine and then let Astarion suck his blood, would they both be drunk? What would those blood-soaked lips feel like against his, fangs dangerously dancing between them? If he had more blood left, maybe Silas would’ve blushed.

“As strange of circumstances as this is, it is nice to see you again,” Astarion said.

His voice dripped with charm even like this. It made Silas question whether he actually meant it. There was a new sultry shift in the way his spoke since they reunited. One that Silas was sure he used for survival, especially now knowing the context of his disappearance.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Silas replied. He couldn’t put his walls down quite yet. Astarion was right. They didn’t know each other anymore. The two hundred years they spent apart had heavy value.

“I should go back.” Silas dusted his hands off on his pants when he stood up. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

Astarion smiled, glancing at Silas once before peering onto the beach.

Baldur’s Gate, 1265 DR

“If you have half a mind, you’ll come with me tonight,” Amira said, tugging on Silas’s arm. The moment she arrived at their shared home, she demanded that Silas pull on his best dress-shirt. The one he only used for performances. It was odd to be wearing it without juggling his lute and sheet music.

“All you do is practice. Come join the land of the living for once!”

The only time Silas ever went to parties was when he was tasked to play in front of a crowd there. It was a disconnected point of view, watching the entire party atop a stage. He’d seen bar fights, bar couplings, and bar breakups. The full range of human emotion.

Silas sighed, flashing her a smile. His best friend was convincing even on her worst days. Amira worked as a bartender on weekends, then during the week she would sell her art at a stall in the city. She had built up a lot of charm since they were kids, and she had no shame using it on him.

“We have to hate on the other people there. You love that!”

It was true. Silas did love doing that.

So, Amira convinced him. There he was, beside her with his black leather pants and hair let loose upon his shoulders. She was in a casual green dress with a white corset. Amira was quite beautiful, and she had no problem finding a woman to accompany her time. Not only beautiful, but popular in her workplace. The bartender poured her a drink as soon as she entered the tavern.

“Do you want something?” Amira asked, brushing a piece of her dark hair from her eyes. After some careful deliberation, Silas nodded. “See any crazies in the crowd?”

This was their favorite thing. Speculating on people’s lives. They did it wherever they went that was public. Because of Amira, he was always wondering what people were thinking.

It was different from this perspective. On the floor instead of on the stage, Silas had a limited perspective of the place, which was so crowded that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with others wherever he walked.

He peered among the crowd. Most people stayed by the bar, but a chosen few were dancing near the stage. It was still early, though. By the end, there dance floor would turn into a tumultuous sea of drunken folk.

“That couple is fighting, I think,” Silas said, peering over at a couple that was yelling at each other over the music. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the woman looked close to slapping him.

Silas’s body jolted back into reality when a sudden coldness hit his arm.

His head whipped around in shock. In their drunken stupor, someone had spilled their drink all over his best shirt. Fantastic.

After assisting the bartender in spreading towels over the growing wet spot on the bar, Silas excused himself to get cleaned up. The alcohol he’d been healthily sipping wore off in favor of sobering annoyance. He stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, biting the inside of his cheek angrily.

“Need help with that?” a voice spoke from beside him. Silas turned his head to see an elf. Probably a head taller than him, with light blue eyes and an expensive-looking shirt. His ivory hair was in well-kept curls atop his head.

“I think it’s beyond saving,” Silas replied with a rueful smile, staring down at the off-white stain. “My own fault for wearing white in a place like this, I suppose.”

“Don’t I know it. I learned that lesson early on here. Mine was with red wine, though. All down my good shirt,” the man replied, smiling at him through the mirror. When they finally turned to each other, he grabbed Silas’s wrist, sticky with liquor.

“Hold still.” The stranger then closed his eyes and started reciting a spell. A feeling of warmth replaced the chill. It took a few seconds for Silas to realize he was drying his shirt with magic.

“Wow, I’m lucky to have met someone so handy with a spell like that,” Silas replied warmly. “Thank you.”

“My name is Astarion,” he said as he let go of Silas’s arm. “I’m not very versed in magic. My mother is a studied wizard, so she teaches me what she can.”

“I’m Silas,” he introduced himself, finding that a smile stuck on his face. Getting a good look at Astarion, he could admire his chiseled cheekbones and crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes.

“Let me buy you a drink, as a thank you.”

—

Emerald Grove, 1492 DR

“You know him, don’t you?”

The accusation had first been made by Shadowheart after they’d had a few drinks together. Saving the Emerald Grove from the goblins hadn’t been easy, but it was a proud victory. They sat at the celebration thrown by the Tieflings. For hours, he waltzed between conversations, making champagne toasts.

All the while, Silas was trying his best to stay away from Astarion.

To the best of his ability. They were forced to work together during their tirade on the goblin camp. Astarion’s expertise with a bow was a required asset for their victory. Silas enjoyed watching his back muscles flex when he was trying to land a sneak shot. It was a contrast from the timid homebody he’d known Astarion to be.

His complicated feelings couldn’t get in the way of their common mission: curing themselves of the parasites that had made a comfortable home in their heads. Recognizing Astarion meant facing all of the unanswered questions in his head. How could he possibly still be alive? Where had he gone missing to all of those years ago?

Perhaps sensing his stress, Shadowheart had offered some of her wine. She was secretive, but Silas felt oddly protective over her. She had the same charm as Amira, the same wit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shadowheart grinned. “The others may not be able to see it, but I can. Something happened between the two of you. This isn’t your first time meeting.”

To be fair, Shadowheart had the most exposure to it. Karlach and Wyll were new additions to their group, and they were too involved with their own rivalry to keep up with the others brewing at the camp. Shadowheart’s disdain with Laezel was growing every day, so Silas assumed Shadowheart had her hands full as well.

Silas sighed, taking another long sip of the red liquid from inside of the goblet. Being drunk on wine was different from spirits. It instilled a deep sentimentality inside of him that he thought died with his mortal self. A whimsical feeling of honesty.

“We‘ve met before,” Silas replied slowly. Surely a white lie was better than a boldfaced one. “It was a long time ago.”

Shadowheart nodded, finishing up the wine in her cup. “I won’t press you on it,” she said. “It would be hypocritical of me.”

Silas laughed breathily. “I suppose so. Everyone has secrets.”

“Still, maybe you should talk to him about it. I don’t know if I can listen to you two bicker any more,” Shadowheart said, frowning.

Silas cringed. Their dynamic had become something more tense and uncomfortable. It was a wonder only Shadowheart noticed it, because Silas thought it was even palpable to the goblins they were slaying.

He took a deep breath. “You’re right,” he replied in a moment of courage. He was an adult. Hells, he was 254. So why was he acting like a child?

Silas turned his face toward Astarion’s tent. He was sitting by himself, helping himself to a grand amount of wine as well. There was a frown on his lips. Kissing him always fixed his frowns. His lithe figure sat still atop a throw pillow.

“Thanks for talking to me about this, Shadowheart. For entertaining my wine-addled self.”

“You sap,” she sang, patting his arm. “It’s no problem. Out of these degenerates, you’re the most tolerable.”

“Not that you have many other options,” Silas pointed out.

He paused for a moment in comfortable silence, scanning the crowd. “Do you see the pants he’s wearing right now?” he motioned toward Rolan. “Hells, he needs to cast a spell for better clothes.”

Shadowheart laughed into her cup. “It’s a lost cause. He’s gone this long without seeing a problem with them, so he’ll probably never change. They’re quite hideous.”

Ravaged Beach, 1492 DR

Silas didn’t know which was worse.

Being cursed with immortality by a wretched creature, or getting a sizable worm shoved into his eye socket by a different creature—also wretched.

He could feel it kicking around in his skull, swimming through the layers of tissue. It was less pain and more pressure, at least. The tadpole had gone in easily, like it was meant to be there. It dug a home into his cranium, poking around in places that no one had ever seen before.

Shadowheart, as she introduced herself, didn’t have any useful information. Silas took some pity on her. She had a long day too. Even he was almost certain that she was doomed, but here she stood on the unfamiliar beach.

“Do you know where we are?” Silas asked, blowing a rogue piece of dirty-blonde hair from his forehead. His ponytail had come out during the crash, letting his hair fall to his shoulder blades. It was unruly in the salty wind that blew wildly.

Shadowheart frowned. “I don’t,” she replied, crossing her arms over a strange looking object. Silas hadn’t brought it up yet, but it was beginning to serious pique his interest. Still, he refrained. In the 254 years he’d been kicking, he learned how to pace a conversation.

“We should find Baldur’s Gate,” Shadowheart continued, light eyes peering down at the sand beneath their feet. “We’ll find the best healers there.”

She assumed they were traveling together. It wasn’t like Silas had any better choices on the abandoned beach. Surrounding them were corpses of those unfortunate enough to be near the wreckage. Fishermen with sparse gold coins in their pocket and thralls who hadn’t yet started their transition.

Speaking of—

“Why aren’t we turning into those creatures?” Silas asked, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t know much about Mind Flayers. The stories of them feasting on brains and spreading their kind always made him queasy. Ironic that he ended up where he was.

Shadowheart was trekking behind him, appearing lost in thought until he spoke up.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

That brought a succinct end to their conversation. They trekked on, exploring the area in hopes of finding leads on a healer. The only one they managed to run into was Laezel and her Tiefling captors. To distract from Shadowheart’s obvious smug satisfaction of seeing Laezel locked away, Silas put on a wonderful act of convincing the Tieflings to let them handle it.

Silas was pleased to have someone else on the team until Shadowheart and Laezel began bickering behind him through their entire walk. If he had less patience, he would’ve turned around and snapped at them. Maybe if he was still actually 30, and didn’t just appear to be. His body was 30, but his mind felt eternities wide, crammed with too much like an overstocked library.

With Laezel followed Gale, a wizard from Waterdeep that was nice enough. He mediated the two women quite unsuccessfully. Laezel had threatened to butcher him, and that seemed to shut him up for the remainder of the evening.

The night brought glittering stars. The ravaged beach was becoming more familiar. They had a run-in with some Intellect Devourers, which they defeated eventually. Exhaustion was starting to creep in, making Silas’s eyelids feel heavy.

“Hey, you there,” a voice murmured in the dark, full of fear. Silas jumped in his place, grip tightening on his dagger.

Silas heard Laezel unsheathe her sword, pointing it at the offending figure.

“There’s another one of those… things there. Could you fight it off?”

Silas wasn’t sure what to make of this. It was too dark to see the person standing in front of him, let alone a Mind Flayer that was supposedly off in the distance. Perhaps a swift Eldritch Blast could catch the monster off-guard. Then they would all strike hard enough that it wouldn’t have a chance to fight back.

“Alright, just stand back,” Silas said easily, taking a deep breath and channeling the magic through his veins. Magic delivered to him by his patron like a promise.

Then, many things happened. A boar sounded and ran through the thickets, then Silas was being tackled to the ground. Adrenaline shot through him as he tried to squirm away, but this stranger had an inhuman grip on him.

Shadowheart charged a Guiding Bolt, and light swept over the area. Turning in his grasp, Silas looked up at his attacker.

Astarion Ancunín was the last person he was expecting to lay eyes on.

In an instant their minds connected. Old memories mixed with new ones. He watched Astarion walk down an ominous street in his mind, eyes gazing around warily.

As they were seeing these new versions of one another, Silas was also sifting through the memories they’d made before.

It was the Year of Daystars, just before Astarion had gone missing. Astarion had just been promoted to a magistrate. Silas was working his way up the ladder in the world of the Bard, making connections and playing at venues increasing in size.

They had stopped hiding their affections for one another at that point. After months of secrecy, Silas had been the one to bring up the change. Astarion was on board, and things were comfortable. Safe.

“Hells, Si, are we almost there?” Astarion had whined, tugging where Silas had grabbed his hand in protest. He didn’t stop walking, though.

“We’re almost there,” Silas promised, squeezing his hand. They were in the forest. It was Silas’s second time taking the walk, the first being earlier that day when he set up their date.

When he finally let Astarion open his eyes, Silas watched him drink in the sight. A small patch of grass under a big willow tree that provided shade from the spring warmth. Flowers dotted the ground, but not too many. Astarion was never fond of bees, or any insects.

It took an arm and a leg to get him to go outside like this. Silas usually had to love on him. Give him a massage, or kiss down his neck breathily and ask against the shell of his ear. Not that he minded doing that for Astarion. He would’ve done anything he asked, because Silas was a giver in his heart.

His favorite part of that evening was watching Astarion bask in the sunset. After their picnic, they laid out on the blanket and talked about nothing. Their fingers intertwined loosely on the blanket.

“This is one of the best days,” Silas had mumbled, kissing Astarion’s knuckle.

By contrast, this day was probably one of the worst. His first love had a knife to his throat, drawing blood and making Silas wince.

“Who are you?” Astarion growled into his ear. “You can’t possibly be him, so who the hells are you?”

They were fighting with each other, stress and adrenaline fueling their shoves. Silas, despite his laughable hand-eye coordination, managed to gain control back. The situation was beginning to settle in, leaving Silas with a deep confusion and desperation. He untangled himself with Astarion, who was still trying to wrestle him.

“Stop, stop—will you stop?” Silas begged. He was entering hysterics.

“Step back, I’ll take care of this,” Laezel offered, stepping forward with her sword. She stepped back, raising it and aiming for Astarion’s neck.

“No!” Silas put himself between the sword and Astarion without a second thought. He raised his hands up, scrambling on the dirt to maintain position.

Laezel scowled, sheathing her sword and glaring at them. “You protect this stranger who tried to kill you? Fool,” she spat.

Gale, ever astute, stepped forward. “This rogue has also been infected, then. We’re looking for a healer to get the parasites out before certain doom. Maybe it would be more wise to work together.”

Silas managed to get his first look at Astarion when Gale conjured a light source with his magic. It was him, but different than how Silas remembered him. His blue eyes had become blood-red. His skin was sickly pale, and he was skinnier. The headstrong, charming man Silas had known was replaced by something more desperate, more sinister.

“We should rest,” Silas blurted after a long moment of silence. No one argued with it, since they’d all been sharing yawns back and forth for the past few hours. Some rest would clear his mind, surely. “Do you want to join us?” he asked carefully.

Astarion had agreed, introducing himself to the rest of the group, then Silas, like he didn’t already know.

Silas tossed and turned in his bedroll. The ground was uncomfortable, so that wasn’t helping, but the constant flood of unanswered questions was his real ailment. After more than two centuries, they were reunited once again. Neither of them the same as before.

Vi must’ve been a saint in her past life to afford this.

She was sitting in between Caitlyn’s deft legs. The couch cushions sucked her in deeper into the crevice. Final bits of sunlight streamed through the thin curtains hung on the grand walls of their living room.

Luxury took some getting used to. The home—palace—Vi moved into after the battle with Noxus was so big it was almost lonely. Especially when Caitlyn was gone. She figured Caitlyn shared the sentiment, though, because she always greeted Vi like she was a husband back from war. On a good day, she’d kiss up Vi’s neck and cheek until she reached her lips in something tender.

On a bad day, however, they usually ended up like this. With Caitlyn holding her close in silence. The first time it happened, Vi was so worried that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Silence made her uncomfortable. Her life was always full of inescapable amounts of it. It made her confront unpleasant moments in her life, and it allowed her to concoct the most horrific visions of where Powder was, whether she was even still alive.

Her ramblings overwhelmed Caitlyn the first time it had happened. She took Vi’s hands, giving her a thin smile. “I need you to let it be quiet, Vi.”

Those words stuck with her. Let it be quiet. Caitlyn wasn’t the most levelheaded person. In fact, she was far from it sometimes. Brash, opinionated, and bold. That was her Cait. Losing her eye made her more wary, but she would never let a stray opinion slide without putting in her two cents. It made dinner parties with the Council incredibly awkward, especially ones including Sevika. Those were going to be uncomfortable regardless, Vi supposed.

Caitlyn’s fingers carded through Vi’s hair without rush. Like they had all day to do this. Like their lives weren’t so busy, tearing each other apart in favor of maintaining their professional lives.

Cait was an important woman. Sometimes it felt like Vi existed just to sit around and wait for her, but recently she’d been working on taking control of her own life. Vi never had the opportunity to live for herself. She spent all of her time chasing Powder to the ends of the Earth, then doing the same with Jinx.

Now that fight was over. Jinx was gone—dead, along with Vander. Now what? Who did she have to fight for now? Caitlyn is perfectly capable, and Ekko has been MIA. Vi was born and raised to be a protector, but what does a loyal knight do when their kingdom is slaughtered?

“Hey,” Caitlyn croaked, voice hoarse from a day of shouting orders. She wasn’t in a bad mood, Vi had gauged. More sleepy.

Vi thought she was adorable like this. It was one of the only times she fully let her guard down, dropping her icy and sarcastic exterior for something more vulnerable and precious. The idea that she was the only one allowed to see Caitlyn like this made tears spike her eyes. Vi always was the sentimental type.

Caitlyn brushed a piece of Vi’s hair out of her face. Her pink lips turned up into a smile. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

Vi took her hand, turning her head to kiss the inside of Caitlyn’s wrist. “Nothin’,” she replied easily.

“Yeah, right.”

This was a game they played frequently. Vi always found it simpler to deflect, because articulating her feelings was difficult. No one had ever really doted on her. Vander tried his best, but there was only so much he could do with the four of them. Then when he died, a part of her did too.

So, she learned to keep it in. Out of sight, out of mind. If Vi voiced every harrowing thought she had, it would be a constant stream of babbling.

Caitlyn, as she did with every other facet of Vi’s life, had a way of making her re-evaluate. It was a knack they had for one another. They were consistently bettering one another. Growing together. She found it quite romantic.

“I could die between these thighs, cupcake,” Vi said, charm lacing her tone as she reached behind her to grab one of Caitlyn’s thighs. The muscle underneath the skin was undeniable.

After the fight with Ambessa, Vi was nervous about Caitlyn going back into the battlefield. She knew Caitlyn was capable of defending herself. Vi had seen Caitlyn kick ass more times than she could count.

The thought of losing Caitlyn—the only solid rock she had left—made a shiver run down her spine. So yeah, Vi was stubborn about letting her go back into training.

Caitlyn had just gone back into strength training a few weeks ago. Her thighs were firm with the effort, flexed to accommodate for Vi’s figure. The muscles jumped under Vi’s grip.

There was a moment where both of them were quiet. Vi turned around so she was facing Caitlyn, moving up her figure to press their lips together. One of Vi’s hands met Caitlyn’s waist, thumb smoothing over the silky skin there.

Even from their first kiss, they understood each other quite well. Vi liked when Caitlyn ran her teeth along Vi’s bottom lip. Caitlyn liked when Vi picked her up with zero effort, parading her around bridal style and throwing her on their bed gently. Vi could never bring herself to be too rough with Caitlyn.

Caitlyn liked to be caged, but not enough that she couldn’t assert her own dominance. Control was important to Caitlyn. After being denied it for so long, she could even go too far. Vi was always there to try to talk some sense into her.

So, Vi caged her. She put a hand on either side of Caitlyn’s body, still lying over her. The position wasn’t the most comfortable, but it worked for both of them while their lips continued to touch. This is where Vi felt safest.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Caitlyn whispered, voice cracking with sleepiness. She brushed a piece of magenta hair out of Vi’s eyes, expression so incredibly fond. Like Vi was something to be treasured.

When most people looked at Vi, they saw someone beyond repair. Someone that only did things for others. A expendable follower with no real opinions of her own. It was no secret to her. The discrimination she experienced within the Council walls should’ve been enough for her to quit. She didn’t know how Viktor used to do it, especially beside someone as naive as Jayce.

This made it all worth it. Caitlyn looking at her like she hung the moon and stars. It left no doubt in her mind: it would always be like this, as long as they both allowed it.

“Just wanna stay here for a few more minutes. Is that okay with you?” Vi asked, running her thumb underneath Caitlyn’s good eye. The skin there was thin with a purple tint. Caitlyn was never the best with sleep. Her demons kept her awake, the same way they did with Vi. Everyone had demons nowadays. Everyone lost someone in that war.

Caitlyn nodded. “Just a couple more minutes.”

The only sound in the room was that of the birds chirping outside on a branch. The sounds of nature were active and alive in the warm sunset.

Whenever Vi saw a bird with a blue belly, she wondered if it was her sister. Not Powder nor Jinx, someone in between, maybe? The smaller the bird, the more delicate she imagined her sister.

There was a nest above their kitchen window, and Caitlyn had found Vi stifling sobs at the countertop when they finally hatched. Six tiny little birds without any feathers, chirping helplessly in the nest. Caitlyn had come up behind her, rubbing her back knowingly while Vi buried her face into her own hands.

Even recalling the memory made Vi’s eyebrows bunch together. In her safe place between Caitlyn’s legs, she could express anything she wanted. She hoped Caitlyn felt the same, but Vi had held her through her own tears countless times. They both had scars that would never fully heal.

“Alright, baby, let’s go to sleep,” Vi said.

She stood up, and then she hoisted up Caitlyn with her. Bridal style, the way she liked. Usually it had a sexual connotation, but Vi felt too soft for that tonight. Holding her like this, listening to giggles explode out of her chest, that would be enough.

Their bedroom was just as massive as every other room in the house. With a grand bed that looked like it belonged to a princess. It did, really. Caitlyn was the closest thing they’d ever get to a princess. She could be just as bossy as one.

A few seconds later they were laying side by side. Caitlyn’s fingers brushed along Vi’s back tattoos. It was like magic, and Caitlyn knew it. She immediately grew tired, fighting to keep her eyes open.

A pair of lips pressed against Vi’s cheek. She felt teeth when Caitlyn smiled.

“Love you,” Vi mumbled out, grinning dumbly with her eyes shut.

Caitlyn sighed, pressing a few more kisses to the same spot. “I love you more, baby. Get some rest.”

Vi didn’t have the energy to fight that. She didn’t know when she settled into unconscious, but it didn’t matter. Not when it was the two of them. Time had a different meaning then. Not daunting and inevitable, but syrupy and kind.

The last thing she thought about before bed were the baby birds outside of their kitchen window. Even if her sister was gone, she would be okay. For that spring, another set of birds would hatch. Then another, then another. They’d be sitting in the kitchen, too old to move like they want to, watching the birds come out of their shells to mark a new spring.

“Oh, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, Vik.”

Jayce bit his bottom lip. He had to increase the pressure until he tasted the distinct flavor of blood coat his tastebuds. His laugh still threatened to escape anyway due to the sight in front of him.

Viktor stood with such stoicism for someone that just blew up a beaker. Somehow the shrapnel of the glass had missed him. Jayce went almost unscathed, but there was blood pooling from his forearm. It was a minor cut, but he still winced. No amount of pain would distract from the golden view of Viktor covered in dust and debris. His usual pale skin was now smeared with charcoal-colored dust.

“Jayce.”

Viktor turned to him, and his tone made Jayce a little worried. Working so closely together usually spawned meaningless arguments, but he could hear the warning in Viktor’s voice. If you laugh at me, I will kill you, was the general message.

“Could you grab me a towel, perhaps?” Viktor asked, top lip twitching like it usually did when he was irritated. As angry as he was about the explosion, Viktor still sounded a little amused.

Jayce nodded quickly and left the room, heading down the hallway to the lush bathroom. Once he assumed he was out of hearing range, Jayce doubled over in a hearty, genuine laugh. It escaped him against his will.

“I hear you!” Viktor shouted down the hall, and Jayce had tears in his eyes when he came back. His cheeks were bright red.

“Sorry, I just had to get that out,” Jayce defended, wiping Viktor’s sunken cheek with the towel. He was looking at Viktor like he hung the stars. Viktor was so cute when he was defensive this way.

It brought Jayce pride that he was the only one that ever really saw Viktor like this. Embarrassed Viktor, irritated Viktor, sleepy Viktor, hungry Viktor. In this year that they’d been experimenting together, Jayce had seen him in almost every state. This level of intimacy with another man wasn’t something he was used to. He knew that he could crush on men, be charmed by them, and charm them. Jayce assumed it was always physical interest on his end.

When Viktor broke into a laugh of his own, Jayce’s heart started to beat quicker.

—

“You didn’t decide to tell me you were changing the equation?” Viktor’s voice boomed in their silent lab. It was the middle of the night, and they were both equally exhausted. This was usually the circumstances of their arguments.

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Jayce replied, frowning and looking down at the inactive machine he held in his big hands. They had spent hours working on the prototype, but it wouldn’t work no matter what they did.

Viktor sighed, full of disappointment. Since Viktor had the power to make Jayce feel so alive, it would only make sense that he could also crush Jayce’s ego. A humbler, Viktor was. He was never afraid to tell Jayce exactly how he’d messed up.

“Obviously the equation would’ve been different if it was supposed to be different. Jayce, why wouldn’t you trust me with this?” Viktor asked, taking the prototype and setting it down on his side of the lab. It was another one of Viktor’s silent messages. I’ll fix it, don’t touch.

“You don’t understand the circumstances.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes accusatorially. “I don’t understand the circumstances,” he repeated.

“Yep. You don’t.”

“The circumstances of… what exactly?”

Jayce pursed his lips. He realized he couldn’t lie anymore, and it made him cringe.

“I was trying to impress you.”

Jayce watched Viktor struggle not to laugh. “You were…”

“Yeah, it’s stupid, I know,” Jayce snorted, embarrassed.

Viktor was smiling, a rare sight. Usually his smiles were forced, like at an event. Jayce had his practiced golden smile, but Viktor could never quite get it right. Jayce was one of the only people that could see this version of him, truly entertained and comfortable.

“Why would you want to do something like that?”

Viktor had moved in closer, and it made Jayce feel warm. He’d thought about what it would be like when one of them inevitably made a move. This type of sexual tension could only survive so long while they were forced together. It was destined to become something more, Jayce told himself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, because it didn’t work,” Jayce laughed, but it was airy in a way neither of them could deny. Nervous, not calculated and charismatic like the way he normally was. Another rare sight that didn’t usually leave the lab.

Viktor blinked up at him, still amused.

“I’ll fix it,” Viktor offered. “It wasn’t a bad idea. You need to ask me first, though. We are a partnership.”

He was right in front of Jayce now. If Jayce moved at all, he’d have to brush up against Viktor. It was unfamiliar to him, being trapped in a corner like a shy virgin. Jayce was far from that. Still, the blush on his face was present and unwavering.

“Okay,” Jayce mumbled. If he had the ears of a dog, they’d be pressing down against his skull, resigning control.

Viktor stared at him, pretty lashes fluttering against his cut cheeks when he blinked. They were both silent. Jayce’s mouth had fallen open at some point, and it almost felt unfair how badly he wanted to kiss him. Or for Viktor to kiss him. In his fantasies, it always went either way.

“Just who I wanted to see, boys!”

The sudden sound made Jayce almost fall backward. He scrambled away from Viktor, brushing up against him to get past him. Sure enough, Heimerdinger stood in the doorway to chastise them for Viktor’s explosion a few days prior.

—

“Vik,” Jayce called, a wide frown on his face. He looked a little like Viktor on the fateful day of their lab explosion.

He was in his forge, working and thinking. The forge was the best place for him to blow off steam because of the physical labor. It was also one of the only things Jayce didn’t do with Viktor. Therefore, he had time to think. His thoughts were mostly about Viktor anyway.

Jayce heard the distinct clicks of Viktor’s cane as he arrived in the doorway of the forge. When Viktor finally faced Jayce, he stifled a laugh.

The flames had gotten too high while he was softening the metal of the hammer. It has singed off some of his hair. It spat out ashes as well, which covered his pants and his upper body. As per usual, he’d stripped himself of his shirt before starting, so that was spared.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asked, examining his hand and then his arms. Jayce let himself be coddled. He preened under Viktor’s touch.

Jayce nodded. “Yeah, just a little too much heat.”

Viktor laughed, tilting his head down. “Yeah, that is for sure.”

There was a moment of silence when Jayce realized what he’d gotten them into. Viktor was standing close to him again while Jayce wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Something about being unclothed while Viktor was still in his intricate outfit made him feel hotter than the flames.

“Guess you should get cleaned up,” Viktor said, but Jayce noticed he couldn’t take his eyes off of his bare chest. Oh.

It wasn’t like Viktor never saw him shirtless. It was circumstantial. They often spent long nights in the lab, so they’d change into their next-day outfits in the same room. It never felt unnatural. This felt different, more intimate.

“Do you really want me to go?” Jayce flirted, suddenly remembering that he could do that. He still sounded nervous, a goofy smile on his lips.

Viktor blinked up at him. “If you don’t go now, I may do something inappropriate.”

Jayce was quickly outdone, a flush filling his cheeks again. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” he whispered, looking at him earnestly.

It was the last thing he said before Viktor grabbed one of his cheeks with his free hand, pulling Jayce down to smash their lips together. It was long awaited for both of them, and that became obvious when they kissed. It was rough, but loving. Adoring, on Jayce’s end.

Jayce wrapped a sturdy arm around Viktor, holding him up. Viktor ran a nimble set of fingers up Jayce’s back, nails lightly digging into the skin there. Jayce let his tongue dip into Viktor’s mouth, and Viktor quickly retaliated. He bit on Jayce’s bottom lip, rolling the skin with his teeth for a second.

Jayce led Viktor to a cluttered desk in the forge. With one clean swipe, he let the mess fly to the floor in favor of lifting Viktor onto it instead. He reconnected their lips, then he let Viktor kiss down his neck.

“Look at you, so pretty,” Viktor mumbled, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. The confidence made Jayce feel small, which was rare for a guy with his stature.

They were both panting, kissing on and off and exchanging small praises that they’d been waiting to share with one another.

Suddenly, Viktor pulled away, placing his hands on Jayce’s chest. There was a flicker of fear that Viktor regretted this, that he was caught up in the moment and now wanted to take it back.

“Before we go any further, I need you to take a shower. You smell like a campfire. It is too much.”

Jayce laughed at that. “We could always… get clean together.”

caitlyn.

“That girl is foul, Caitlyn.” The shrill voice of her mother didn’t quite reach her ears. It was the day after Vi fought Maddie, and it was all Caitlyn had been hearing about. How Maddie had to go to the hospital to get checked for a concussion. How Vi was suspended for four days, but Maddie showed up to school the next day with a bandage around her broken nose.

“You don’t know her,” Caitlyn replied, always defiant. Cassandra scoffed.

“And you do? That girl is bad news. I don’t want you speaking to her anymore.” Caitlyn’s blue eyes met Cassandra’s in a familiar staring contest. She was unsurprised when she lost, turning away and marching up the stairs to her grand room.

The bed-frame jumped when she threw herself on her bed. Her face was smushed against her neat blue covers that had been tucked in by the cleaning staff. Caitlyn felt totally, absolutely powerless.

Her Doberman, Scout, slowly stepped onto the bed. He was huge now, but Caitlyn remembered when he was a puppy. When she looked at him, she still saw that puppy. Scout leaned his head down on her back. She felt his warm wet nose touch her skin, making her lips turn up into a smile.

“At least I have you,” Caitlyn whispered when she flipped around to see him. She pet behind his ears, and he panted out of joy.

—

School the next day was hellish. All Maddie wanted to talk about was Vi. Caitlyn tried not to entertain it, but she found herself nodding and smiling. It was easier that way. During recess Maddie insisted on going to the nurse to make sure she wasn’t dying, so Caitlyn finally got some alone time. Finally!

“Heads up, Sprout!”

That was all the warning Caitlyn got before her hair was being tousled out of place by a lengthy hand. She slapped it with all her might. It made a loud sound and Jayce retracted his hand with a frown.

So much for alone time.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Caitlyn snarled, the anger that had been building up finally spilling out of her. The tension in her shoulders still stayed. Caitlyn really had no poker face when she was upset, eyebrows knitted and angular face downturned. A prominent frown sat on her face.

Jayce relented, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. “Hey, okay, someone’s a bundle of joy today. What’s up with you?” It would’ve been irritating, but he sat down with such a genuine expression. Whatever insult that was cooking on Caitlyn’s tongue died out, replaced by exasperation.

“Vi was suspended because of the Maddie fight,” Caitlyn said. The anger quickly returned to her and she turned away. “God, it’s just so unfair! Maddie started it, I mean, she was being a total bitch at homecoming.”

Jayce bit his lip. “I’m guessing your mom didn’t handle that too well.” As much as Jayce had respect for Cassandra, he was never afraid to tell Caitlyn when she going overboard. His honesty was validating.

“She freaked out! She’s never going to let me talk to her again. It’s like… whenever something is going right for me, it just blows up out of control.” Caitlyn ran her hands over her face then through her long hair. It was usually parted perfectly but now some of the blue strands streaked over her face in desperation.

Jayce didn’t speak immediately, and Caitlyn thought he might be trying to think of something to say. It was fair if he was, she definitely sprung this on him. Most of their heart-to-hearts happened this way. One of them was pushed too close to the edge and the bottled up emotions came out.

“I mean… she did get into a fight during her first week. I’m surprised they didn’t expel her immediately,” Jayce said slowly, carefully. “They’re giving her another chance for a reason. Who knows, maybe she’ll prove herself. If she’s worth it, she’ll try to.”

“Do you think so?” Caitlyn blinked up at him. She picked at her cuticles, cherry-red blood spotting where she was too aggressive.

Jayce gave her a reassuring smile. It was something he was good at, even if he didn’t believe what he was saying himself. “Yeah. It’s not like Viktor didn’t fuck up when he first got here. Oh my god, you should’ve seen it.”

Caitlyn grinned. “That was the explosion in the lab, right?”

“Yeah. He was so embarrassed, I thought he was going to drop out,” Jayce sighed in a way that was reserved only for Viktor. “But he stayed. Now look at him. The first full-time student at Progress High.”

“You’re drooling,” Caitlyn teased, leaning over to bump their shoulders together.

“But I get it. They’re giving her a chance, and eventually, my mother will have to get over it. Maddie probably never will, though. She had to get surgery on her nose.”

“Someone had to show her some sense,” Jayce replied, lips turning up into a more malicious smile. “I’m sure a lot of people have been waiting for someone to punch her in the nose.”

“How is it going with Viktor anyway?” Caitlyn, eager to change the subject, raised her eyebrows accusingly. “Any more romantic nights in the lab? Without the explosions, obviously.”

Jayce smiled at the mention of his name. Caitlyn envied that Jayce was pining over someone so close in his life, someone that he was allowed to see whenever he wanted. “It’s good. I don’t know, I still think I’m being a little delusional about it. I don’t think anything will ever come out of it.”

“You never know,” Caitlyn assured, offering a comforting smile of her own. Hers wasn’t nearly as convincing as Jayce’s. “I wish I could give you advice about it, but I don’t really have the experience to back it up.”

Jayce cracked open a blue fizzy soda, taking a sip and then licking his lips. In moments like this, Caitlyn saw the little boy she’d been introduced to when she was a young child. She thought he was so cool then. He was older and had a certain level of confidence that was rare in a child.

“I still have him in my life either way. It could be worse,” Jayce shrugged. “Besides, Mel is already my prom date. There’s no way I’d back out on her like that.”

Mel Medarda. Magnificent, charismatic, beautiful Mel. She was on the track to be valedictorian, with Viktor following up as salutatorian. Everyone loved her for what she did for the school. She would go to college to get her degree in education, then she’d come back and take over her mother’s spot on the Educational Board.

Caitlyn, however, wasn’t so fond of her. She saw the cesspool beneath the gold. She watched him manipulate Jayce time and time again, grooming him to be the golden partner she deserved. It wasn’t to say that Mel didn’t truly like Jayce, even Caitlyn believed she did, but she would never approve of her ulterior motives that came along with it.

“Ambessa would filet you,” Caitlyn agreed with a long sigh. “Is Viktor even going to prom?”

Jayce frowned, turning his amber eyes to the green grass below them. “Probably not. He got a little upset when I talked to him about it, so I took that as my answer.”

Caitlyn hummed, closing her notebook she’d been scribbling in when the bell rang loudly, abruptly ending their conversation.

—

Maddie was surrounded by a group of friends when Caitlyn walked by her to class. Caitlyn had eyes on her all day as more people learned about the fight. Unlike her, Maddie was reveling in the attention. She was retelling her story for probably the hundredth time, but it was cut short when her eyes met Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn froze, clutching her books against her chest tighter.

“Hey, she was there to see it! Go on, Caitlyn, tell them,” Maddie urged. There was a grin on her face that was anything but genuine. Caitlyn couldn’t believe she didn’t see it before.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “You’re disgusting,” she bit, pushing past her to shuffle into the classroom.

Class was unbearably awkward. Maddie kept trying to pass her notes, and the third time, they were caught by the teacher.

“Detention, both of you. Out of control,” the teacher scolded. Caitlyn turned bright red, both with embarrassment and anger. She had been humiliated far too many times in the past 72 hours.

In detention, it was just the two of them. Caitlyn wished that there were more students to buffer her tension with Maddie, but they were forced to sit next to each other in the first row and do homework silently.

Caitlyn was worried that the teacher would call her mother, but she would find out either way when she got home. Cassandra always had a way of tracking her, of knowing everything she does.

“Hey,” Maddie whispered. They both glanced at the teacher, who was already open-mouthed sleeping at his desk a mere ten minutes into their two hour detention.

“What?” Caitlyn snarled. “What could you possibly want?”

Maddie sighed. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For embarrassing you.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders, which were held up high, started to sink. As much as she held herself to a standard of being headstrong and understanding her worth, Caitlyn folded quite easily when it was someone she loved. It was the only reason her and Cassandra could still stand each other after all the disagreements.

“You better be sorry,” Caitlyn said, glaring at her. “You completely humiliated me in front of everyone. You told everyone that—“ she paused, sick with the words that were spilling out of her mouth. “You told everyone that Vi should kiss me. Do you know what something like that could do to me? What if my mother found out and she thought I was sneaking off with some Zaunite?”

“You always take everything so seriously,” Maddie huffed, crossing her arms. “It was a joke, Caitlyn. I’m sorry it hurt your feelings, but no one would go running to your mom. I don’t know if you knew this, but you’re not the only person in the world. Not everything is about you,” she said it kindly, but the words made Caitlyn’s blood run cold.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it,” Caitlyn laughed dryly. “Could we just drop it? It’s your fault that I’m here anyway. I don’t want to listen to you the entire time.”

There was a tense silence for the rest of detention. Caitlyn started to draw stars on her math homework. She sighed. She could’ve been with Vi now, attempting to learn math problems and talking about their day. Both of them were too guarded to talk about anything deep yet, but it was relieving to have someone willing to listen to her complaints of certain classmates, even about her mother.

When she was tucked away in bed, Caitlyn pulled out her phone. She nestled into her warm covers, Scout snoring loudly at the end of her bed.

She bit her lip, hesitating before sending her message.

‘Hey, miss you. Are you doing okay?’

Caitlyn wasn’t expecting a response so late at night. To her surprise, Vi started typing immediately.

‘yeah, im ok. suspension is kinda like a vacation! miss you’

Her lips turned up into a smile.

‘Four days is nothing. We’ll be back to math in no time..’

‘i know ur excited!’

Jayce couldn’t believe this was real.

In the golden sunrise, he could watch Viktor’s chest rise and fall. It was their first morning together like this, but Jayce would do anything for even one more.

Viktor, as bold as he was, hid a lot of his mannerisms from Jayce. In an effort not to look weak, Jayce assumed. But seeing him like this, guard fully down, nothing could be hidden. Not the way his upper lip twitched when the sunlight struck his eyelids, not the way his breathing was a little raspy from his condition.

Not the way his hand was comfortably curled within Jayce’s from last night, twitching and squeezing.

In a moment of selfishness, Jayce reached to push Viktor’s hair out of his face. There was no doubt Viktor would be embarrassed if he woke up like this. He would hide himself again, pulling away from Jayce.

Jayce pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. He would have to wake Viktor up eventually, they had work to do. Viktor rarely slept in, choosing to pull all-nighters in the lab rather than sleep in his bed. Or, in this case, Jayce’s full-sized Piltover bed. He remembered when Viktor spread out his whole body on the mattress.

“I can’t believe you get to sleep here every night,” Viktor had said, looking up at Jayce with those golden eyes that made his heart melt.

Jayce would let him sleep there again and again. As much as he tried to be a stubborn leader, he could never deny Viktor anything. He loved him too much, he supposed.

He was just about to wake Viktor up when there was a foreign sound. Jayce whipped his head toward the door, finding in horror that the knob was jiggling.

Caitlyn opened the door before he could protest, standing with a large cardboard box in her arms. The box was long, shielding her face from a half-naked Jayce and a fully naked Viktor. He covered the two of them anyway.

“Jayce, I got the stuff you wanted from my mom! She says you owe her a tea date. Good luck with that,” Caitlyn said with a snort, walking further into the room.

“Wait!” Jayce protested, and Caitlyn stopped short. There was a beat of silence. “Just—I’ll meet you in the living room, okay?” A nervous breathy laugh came from him.

You knew he stood on the shore of the mountain lake every night, clutching a joint between his thumb and pointer finger.

Your crush on Sebastian was no secret to most of the town. Hell, Robin was trying to get you over for dinner to work things out with him. Sebastian was just so oblivious. At least you thought he was, anyway.

“What brings you here tonight?” Sebastian asked between a mouthful of smoke. He was a fan of smoking tricks, and it didn’t help in your burning desire to stare at his mouth until the sun rose the next morning.

You hummed, shrugging and looking off into the water to avoid looking at him. “I wanted to see you. We never see each other in town,” you replied. It was the truth. Everyone in Pelican Town was great and welcoming (for the most part), but Sebastian was such a recluse that he only set foot into the town during the handful of events each year.

“Oh,” Sebastian was at a loss for words, and the weed probably wasn’t helping. “Do you want to smoke?” He tilted the joint toward you.

You flush. It’s not like you’ve never taken a hit of anything ever, but weed was something new. You didn’t even know how to hold the joint, let alone smoke it. “I’ve never…” you trailed off.

“You’ve never smoked weed?” Sebastian finished. “It’s easy. Actually… I can help you.”

The offer hung heavy between the two of you. “Okay, yeah,” you mumbled, hoping the fall moonlight would distract from your blush.

Sebastian gave you one last look before lighting it. He took a long drag, ghosting it before blowing it away. He took another one and without warning, closed the space between the two of you. You made a sound in the back of your throat as he stood so close.

“Open your mouth,” he said, quietly because of the limited space. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you did what he asked. Your lips fell open, eyes still trained on Sebastian’s.

He cupped your cheek, angling your face how he wanted before blowing the smoke into it. You inhaled, the sensation burning but not enough for it to be bad. You still coughed a few times, but you gave him a thumbs up.

Sebastian laughed good-naturedly. “You took it like a champ. Wanna try again?”

His eyes were lidded, and for the first time you noticed how stoned he was. You were starting to feel the effects yourself, but it was nothing compared to smoking it from the source.

In an act of confidence, you reach for the joint between his fingers. “Let me try,” you said, giving him a smirk. You took a hit longer than intended, the urge to cough suddenly much stronger. You gave the joint back before doubling over.

You hear him chuckle again, rubbing up-and-down your back in a way that should be illegal. So comforting and caring. “Are you okay? You did great,” he soothed. He had to be doing this on purpose.

The effects of the weed made everything feel number. Your mind was quiet. Suddenly there was no anxiety about this meeting, only happiness. You let out a laugh, tilting your head back.

“I’m just so happy,” you mumble, laying your hands against his chest. You could feel his ribcage slightly protruding, t-shirt doing little to cover it. His eyes widened at the affection, and this time you didn’t miss the flush on his cheeks.

Sebastian reached down to hold your waist naturally. There was no one awake now, no chance of being interrupted. “Me too, I’m happy too,” he said, bloodshot eyes running up and down your figure.