Bubbly

He ran into the fire. Broke through the flames, heard voices scream beneath the thunder of ignition. He hadn’t been there to prevent it. Hadn’t protected them. Hadn’t kept everyone safe. Stepped away once and everything went to shit. The fire singed the hair on his arms. The smoke was so thick he could cut it. He staggered, trying to remember the buildings, streets he'd been down so many times, now shrouded in dark and light. He coughed, bending. Smoke acrid and tangible on his tongue. Tried to get his bearings. Listened.

“Eve? EVE! Where are you? Eve, honey, say something to me!”

“Kix? Kix? Please, is there anyone in this building? Fuck!” Vesper, shriller than he’s heard them before.

Griff’s voice, choked with smoke. “Don’t fucking do this to me, please! Delight? I know you’re there, I know it - Delight?”

A scream, piercing and broken. Caught in the careening smash of collapsing buildings and shearing metal.

The deep thrum of bellowing heat.

He pulled people out. Stepped forward blindly. Looked for gaps where the flames parted and faces, sometimes mirage and sometimes reality, twisted in anguish through the fire. Saw the community he worked so hard to build, twist and melt and deform. It was only so long that he could look. It wasn’t long enough. He stopped, off to the side. His eyes wept in the smoke, skin raw and damaged where he disregarded the heat, breath painful in his damaged throat. The fire was blinding to witness. It licked the top of the cavern, burning, burning. Survivors cried, huddled on the outskirts. Small groups of shaking people - old and young holding each other. He saw Lave and Halo working as a team, dragging one unconscious individual from the inferno. Vesper held a toddler in their arms, fed them water from a flask. Shale pulled burning cloth from a waving limb. Griff stumbled half delirious around the peripheral, yelling Delight’s name in a desperate shout over and over. He should have been here. How did it happen? How could everything be gone, ruined, just like that?

******

They came back after the fire had burned itself lower. Returned when the ground was molten embers and the crushed dark husks of buildings. The search took hours of labour. Survivors salvaged what they could from beneath the ashes. Keir went everywhere, tended to wounds, lifted beams to look for anything unmarred by the fire. Held people's hands as they trembled. Brought food, water, remaining possessions. He caught glimpses of Vesper as he worked, tirelessly carting items to the new location, stumbling with arms full through the narrow passages. Staggered, eventually, due to their exhaustion as well as the weight. Did it without complaint, accepted the additional items that Griff piled onto them without a word.

Not so distantly he can remember when they first arrived at Mouse Hole. He’d been pleased to see how they sought to help from the beginning. Stood aimlessly next to distrusting people and asked again and again for things they could do. Endured the tasks and lent a hand wherever they could. From the beginning, Keir had wanted to defend them. Rejected Griff’s suggestion to kill them for blithely discovering the community he worked hard to protect. His early affection for them surprised him. So he distanced himself - watched them mend clothes, carry firewood, fetch water - all from a safe distance, trying to keep his emotions in check. In a city like this one, it was best not to get too attached. He was never especially good at that.

******

How can you hold a funeral for so many at once? The survivors had found some bodies, places where crumbling bones and burnt flesh were identifiable amongst wood and stone. They’d set them aside carefully. Hope falling when looking under each broken wall revealed nothing but ash. Shale worked to count the remains, expression grim as those searching found fewer and fewer alive. Gathered the bones in cloaks and table cloths, fabric acting as impromptu burial shrouds. A few words were whispered over them. The list of those who were lost gradually grew as the search finished. So many were missing. Kix, Eve, Delight, Dee - all gone. Few had hope that those missing would turn up. Everyone was aware of the fact that the fire had alerted all of the market to their presence. The time they had to search was a few paltry hours, not days. Vesper was at Keir’s side like a shadow, helping wherever they could.

“Maybe some of them escaped, Keir,” they said to him, face frozen and stiff. “There’s so many ways out of Mouse Hole, right? They just haven’t been able to come back yet.”

He brushed a dark smear of soot away from the edge of their mask. “Yeah. Could be.”

He didn't tell them that in the chaos of that first night, while Griff and Halo tended to the wounded, he ran through those passageways himself. Desperation had hurried his feet. It hadn’t mattered that his eyes were blurry from tears and smoke. These paths were known to him. Teetered down them as a toddler, scampered with the slightness of adolescence, stepped through them with surety in adulthood. He’d found a few alive in those passageways that night. Half conscious from smoke inhalation, or weakened from their injuries. But no more than a few.

“This isn’t your fault. Don’t shoulder that.”

“If I hadn’t left, this… this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Think of how many good people were here. Shale, Griff, Halo - none of them could prevent it. You saved so many. There’s at least fifteen people that owe their lives to you, you did what you could, we all did -”

“But what about all the people I couldn’t get to? All the people who fucking burned?”

They flinched back, expression shaken. Looked at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know.” Keir looks at the mess of everything. The dark soot that had spread up the stone walls. The crumpled outlines of homes. Black and tangled and broken.

“If I tell myself I could have stopped it, it means I could prevent it from happening again. That if I’m careful enough, proactive enough, this could never happen. Should never have happened. I don’t want to lose that. If it’s out of my control, if -”

“It won’t happen again. We’ll make sure of it. Eat cold food, start a fire squad, however we can, we’ll stop it. This can’t happen again.” They squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

******

He’s always been rebuilding. This time was the hardest yet. There’s so little that they’ve been able to bring to the new cave over the past few days. Piles of cookware, a few scattered personal items. Each one a reminder of what and who they’ve lost. But the marketplace helped them here and there. Baskets and food and drink from those they’ve been able to assist. A sizable donation from Oleander allowed them to purchase wood to begin the scaffolding of houses. Keir slept where he could, the ground padded by his weariness. For days he focused on getting the rough shape of a structure, children and elderly separated from the cave with walls of hanging sheets. When it had begun to take shape, Halo made him and Vesper take a portion of the space, a tent-sized section on the edge of the camp with a lumpy pile of sacks as a mattress.

“Your connection with Oleander gave us a leg up. Take the bed. I won’t hear no for an answer, Keir.”

He didn’t bother arguing with Halo. If she pushed this hard for it, he’s sure she had Lave and Griff backing her too. He placed his stuff down by the flap in the fabric. Not much- a few ceramic items, a shard of Vesper’s glass decoration, soap that somehow didn’t melt. He’d come back later to sleep, probably. Maybe.

Building gave him something to do. Day in and day out for as long as he could stand. A purpose when the hopelessness and grief were overwhelming. Penance for his sin of leaving, his failure to prevent this. He’d always been one to focus on action. It was simpler to nail boards together until his hands buzzed with the force, dig into the soil and hammer in posts.

“You’re going to put a nail through your thumb if you don’t sleep for a little while.” Vesper’s voice, cautious, over his shoulder. “Griff has been standing around over there, I can get him to do it.”

“I’d like to see you try to get Griff to do anything.”

But he sat down. They were right. His eyes were blurry and he’d been swaying on his feet. It’s just that once he sits it all comes rushing back. It was easier to keep moving. He walked a few paces away and sank to the floor, leaning back against a box on the ground. Through closed eyes, he heard Vesper yell from the other side of one of the temporary structures.

“Griff, Keir doesn’t think you know how to use a hammer!”

Well, that’d get him going.

******

“Only one bed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looked into the tent, the narrow width of it, smaller than his outstretched arms. The floor was covered with burlap that might have held vegetables less than a week ago. Halo had been generous enough to stuff them with something - grass, maybe, or rags. A tattered quilt covered it. It’s better than he felt he deserves, with all of those outside who don’t have anything comfier than their packs or the soot-stained clothes they have on.

“Yeah, looks like it. I’d say that I could sleep on the floor but… the mattress is the floor.”

Vesper looked at it, looked up at him. They placed their hand on their hip. “Well? Do you toss or turn? Steal all the covers? Moan in your sleep or anything weird?”

“Nobody’s ever said I have.” He looked at them, smirked beneath his mask.“If you want to hear me moan, you’ll have to figure out a different way than watching me sleep.”

“Got it. I'll place some heavy objects in front of the tent when you’re not looking, get you to stub your toe in the morning.”

“Oh, you want to find a way to hear it, do you?” He’s caught them. Satisfaction prickled in his gut.

“Just want to see you do something as undignified as yelp, that’s all.”

He wondered if they moan. What they'd sound like if he went further than kissing them. Whether they’d get breathy and air would hiss through clenched teeth. Or maybe their voice would deepen, groaning when he touches them. He sat down on the kind-of-mattress with a long-suffering sigh. He's weary to the bone. He patted the bed next to him. “Get in. I gotta keep my eye on you so you don’t boobytrap the door.”

“Wow, I’m still a captive, even now. How much longer until I deserve freedom?!”

But they got in beside him, shed their cloak. Removed their gloves and placed them by their side. They lay under the same blanket with him. He could feel the warmth radiating from them. Warmth that reminded him of when he brought them to this same cave, seemingly a century ago. It was quiet. Awkwardly quiet. Their breath was steady and even. He stretched a little, put his hands behind his head. Spoke to break the silence.

“So… do you usually sleep with your mask on?”

“Normally I wear three or four to bed. Keeps my skin looking tight and youthful, you know. Resists gravity better that way.”

Quiet again. If he waits in the quiet, he usually gets a real answer from them.

“...it feels like a lot. Maybe it’s silly, with everything that’s going on. I shouldn’t worry about your reaction. But yeah, I’d like to keep it on for a little while longer.”

He nodded, though he’s certain in the dim lighting they don’t see it. “Sure. There’s no rush.”

They wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly in here, don’t you think?”

It was hard to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m freezing, myself.”

They inched closer, their hair tickling Keir’s ear. “I think we might have to huddle together. Make sure we conserve all of our energy.”

“Very practical.” But he opened his arms, pulled them closer. He could feel the heat of their shoulders beneath their clothes. They snuggled closer, resting their cheek where his shoulder meets his chest. Cradled in his arms. He held them like he’s wanted to do for a while. They made everything feel easier. Eased the guilt which lays crushing across his shoulders. He was glad that they’ve both decided to keep their masks on for now. It conceals the smile that cracks across his face like dawn breaking. As well as the kiss he presses to the top of their head, unnoticeable through the fabric.

*****

Everyone was exhausted. Worn thin from grief and the number of tasks. But Vesper seemed to be worse off than the others. Keir tried to find something nearby to work on, when he’s not needed elsewhere. More and more often he saw them start to pull apart. The way their motions stilled, the way they sat down too suddenly or found an excuse to step away. The subtle motion of their hands balling into fists as they tried to keep it together. He found them during one of these times, seated at the base of the cave wall. Trembling a little beneath their cloak.

“Peeling potatoes too much for you?”

They’re quick to brush aside his sympathy. They’d have to make do with teasing.

“Don’t look at me like that, Keir.”

He put his hands in his pockets, leaned against the wall next to them. Rolled out his shoulders, raised his hand to brush across the surface of his mask theatrically.

“Why do you think I was looking at you? Seems like there’s fascinating soup-making-action right over there.”

“Takes a little more than soup to impress you. Need at least a pot roast to capture your interest.” They were quiet for a moment, still recovering. “Because you’re always watching me. I can tell.”

They were right. He’s always aware of where they are lately. Felt their presence on the periphery of his vision. He couldn't baby them, there wasn't time for that. Couldn't hold their trembling hands in his, breathe with them. Put the pieces of them back together himself, like he wanted to.

He’d always said he couldn’t sacrifice a life for his own happiness. When it came down to it, he couldn’t bear to let Vesper do it either. There had to be a different way to save them. Something other than hurting innocents like Thorn.That doesn’t mean it didn’t feel fucking miserable. He and Vesper still hadn't really talked since the first time he showed them this cavern. When they laid the responsibility of their survival squarely on his shoulders. You’re too noble to sacrifice their life, but you’re pretty fucking cavalier with mine, huh? I guess I’m just not worth saving. He had to believe there’s a better way. Damning himself for pursuing his own moral code no matter the cost. There was time left. There had to be.

******

He had started to get used to it again, sleeping with someone. He could tell that Vesper is too. They’re less shy about it now. They’d move his arm off of them if it’s squishing them, throw their limbs across his waist or the spread of his thighs, complain if he’s laying on their hair. Both of them had grown a little bolder in other ways, as well. More cavalier about sliding their mask aside when they ate breakfast together in the tent or a late night snack of nuts or figs. At night, their sleepy arms rested, ever so casually, across his waist near the button of his pants. It was agonising. He was careful with them. Kept his fantasies as just that. Didn’t push for more, no matter how exciting it was to have them so close. It was one of those nights - Vesper’s head pillowed on his shoulder, his hand resting on the side of their head. They squirmed, shifting around.

“Does anyone in the camp know what you really look like?”

“Yeah. Halo does, she stitched up my eyebrow when I cracked it on a hanging pipe in the market. When I was younger and not quite as used to being tall.”

“Oh. So I could ask her what you look like? Get an unbiased perspective.”

“You didn’t believe me when I said I was devastatingly handsome? Anyways, asking Halo wouldn’t be fair, would it? There isn’t anyone that I can ask to find out more about your appearance.” He holds his breath. Hand flopped away from them, landed on the rough burlap. He flexed his fingers. “If you really want to know, I could just show you.”

“Fine. This lighting is flattering enough.”

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. He leaned away from them, craning his neck. He thought he’d grown out of sweaty palms and butterflies by now but Vesper always found ways to surprise him. “Alright then, if we’re really doing this. You want me to go first?”

“Let’s just get it over with. We can go at the same time.” They studied him, thinking for a moment. “We’ll take them off with our eyes closed and then open them on the count of three.” Their fingers hover at the bottom of their face. “But you can’t laugh, ok? Or kick me out. I’ve gotten used to sleeping here. I heard that Griff only has sand to sleep on in his tent. Who knows if the other sleeping arrangements even have that?”

“I’m pretty sure Griff just wanted you to feel bad for him. But I promise.”

They pulled apart from each other, sitting upright cross legged on the floor. Keir’s hands trembled a little as he gripped the edge of the material. Vesper heaves a heavy breath and says “Ok then. Close your eyes. I’m taking it off.”

He did so dutifully, eyes pressed shut. Cycled through, for a moment, all the different appearances he’d imagined them to have. Threw in a few unlikely ones quickly just to try and prevent any surprise that might show on his face. He pulled off his mask. He knew that his ears were redder than his hair. At least they’ve already seen that.

“Ready? One, two, three.”

His eyes blinked open and he stared at them. Their expression, nervous and eager. The shape of their brow and how it smoothes into the curve of their nose. Their eyes, bright even in the dim lighting, that fixed him with their complete attention. The same lips that he’s kissed but never seen. The soft give of their cheek.

“Holy shit.” He breathed out, gazing at them. “Why do you look like that?”

They frowned at him, aghast. That same expression that he’d been able to discern through their body language now has more potency. “Like what?”

“How are you so hot? You’re telling me there wasn’t any rich suitor who wanted to snap you up topside? You’ve just been looking like that this whole time? This whole time we’ve been together, ever since we met, you’ve been walking around with that face under there?” He slid his hand over his eyes. It didn’t feel as satisfying to do without his mask on.

“Keir!” For once, they’re at a loss for words.

He grinned at them. Damn. This was way more embarrassing when they could see him completely. “Do I meet your expectations?”

Vesper rolled their eyes at him. Their face was delightfully expressive. He’d know what to picture now when he sees those same mannerisms beneath their mask. “Yeah. You do. More than, even.”

“Told you I was handsome.”

They raised their hand to his face. Their fingers were gentle. Thumb made a small circle on the jaunt of his cheekbone. “I’m glad I didn’t punch you before. You’re too pretty to bruise.”

“Hasn’t stopped people before.”

“Is this where Halo stitched you up?” Their hand traced the line of his eyebrow.

“Yeah. She did a good job.”

Their other palm came up to cup the side of his jaw. Held him with a delicateness he hadn’t felt before. The same way he held them. His hands raised to circle their waist as they hovered in front of him. Their lips dropped, feather-light, to brush against the scar. Paused there, pressed against him. With a groan, he pulled them down, pressing his lips against theirs. Kissed them like he wanted to before, without the burden of hiding their face from him. Held their head in his hands, fingers tangling in the fine hairs at the back of their neck. Enjoyed the wet slide of their mouth against his. Let out the soft sounds that he normally tries to hold back.

“So that’s what you sound like.” Their voice was incredibly smug. And, after he cracked his eyes open, he learned their expression matched it.

“Hey, you’re a good kisser. Don’t deny me one of the simple pleasures in this life.”

“Makes me want to hear more.” Fuck. They’d be the end of him yet.

They slunk down, settled by his knees. Fingers hovered at the button of his pants, a question on their face. What a crime it was, that their face has to be hidden all the time. What a gift it was, that they’d share it with him. He nodded at them, heart hammering. He was throbbing already, achingly hard. He wasn’t sure how far this would go, tonight or ever, but he’d gladly accept whatever they’d give him. They eased off his pants, sliding them down along with his underwear. Sat back for a second and took him all in. He burned under their eyes, flushing everywhere.

“Huh. Guess the freckles really do stop somewhere.”

He spluttered, caught off guard. “What, you think I’d lie about that?”

“You never know. I had to check for myself.” They leaned forwards, wrapped their fingers around his length. Rolled him in their palm. Pressed one thumb over his beading tip. He stifled a choked gasp, hips stuttering up towards them. They leaned forwards, taking the end of him in their mouth. Lowered him into that burning heat. He could feel the flutter of their tongue beneath him. His hand fell to the top of their head. They slid him deeper, working him with their throat. Fell into a steady rhythm, waves of pleasure that built higher. Their hand found his where it fisted on the blankets. Held it as they bobbed their head. His hips strained, lifting towards them. Towards that aching, twisting friction. They brought him over the top. Swallowed him down as he came. When he reaches for their clothes, they stop his searching hands. Satisfaction was clear in their scratchy voice.

“You’ll have to wait to find out what I sound like.”

******

He brought them things to work on when they’re recovering from their bouts of illness. Socks to mend and wood to carve accompany soup and crusty bread. Their energy had flagged. Some days were better than others. But some days were just like this one. Stuck in bed for most of the day. He knew that having something to focus on helps them. Helped them keep their pride, helped distract them from it. But even outside of that, Vesper had become the best at darning out of the group. So it wasn’t paternalism that motivated him to bring them things to do. There was an ever growing pile of socks, ripped knees, and busted seams for them to weave back together. They’d lost so many tradespeople in the fire. All everyone could do was try their best to fill in the gaps.

They were sitting up in bed, leaning against a bag. “Been a minute since I’ve checked in with everyone. Any news on the ichor?”

He stopped in the doorway, soup steaming in his hand. “No, not that I’ve been able to find. Those who can still run missions check every stall they pass by. Our informants know, too. They’d tell us if there was anything that they’ve heard of. I’ve been reaching out to contacts of contacts just to make sure there isn’t anyone I've missed. As soon as any ichor enters the marketplace, we’d know.”

“I’m just waiting, then? Hoping that chance will deign to keep me alive?”

He sighed, leans over and sets the soup next to them. “I’m not going to create it. Or find someone who would. All we can do is wait until some that already exists makes it down here.”

They stared, gaze fixed at the door of the tent. Frozen still. Spoke so quietly he almost didn’t hear them. “Where’s Thorn?”

Keir looked at them incredulously. “He’s healed, Vesper. Healed and safe. Not turning into ichor anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, all of it’s disappeared. Absorbed back into his system or wherever the hell it goes.”

They were icy. Avoided his eyes. “I was only asking.”

He scoffed, shocked. “I’m sure you were. But I’ll be careful not to mention him again, just in case you get it in your head to try something.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just sit here, keep waiting. Being patient until I die of it.”

He kneeled down before them. Tried to intersect the static line of their eyes with his. “I’m doing everything I can. You know that. Everyone else is too. All the people here care for you. But even cases like Thorn’s are rare. Ichor doesn’t come through the market often, regardless of if it’s in a vial or a person.”

Finally, they met his eyes. There were tears there, watering, at the edge of their lash line. “I’m sorry,” they say brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s ok. It’ll be ok.”

******

Keir pressed his face into their skin, the scent of pine made more resinous and heady from their warmth. Held himself over the fragileness of their spine, the broadness of his back shielding them. Slipped kisses into the curve where their neck meets their shoulder. Pressed into the hot tension within them, sank deeper. Gripped their thrumming skin and used the sturdiness of them as leverage. Set a slow tempo, listened to the choked gasps they made when he hit his mark. Tenderness, always, in the way that he pulled pleasure from them, spinning upwards. Their breath was humid and gasping in his ear. His hand beneath their hips, rubbed insistent circles against them until the malleable give of them stretched taut as a wire. Chased his own release after, friction spooling desire white-hot in his groin, cascaded over in a clenching moan. Freed them from the sweaty enclosure of his arms.

“I needed that.” They rolled over and curled into the covers. “Makes me forget everything.”

Keir scoffs, fake outrage colouring his tone. Disguising the crack in his voice as offence. “Oh?I'm not a memorable lay?”

They hummed, too fucked-out to really argue. “Guess you’ll just have to work harder next time.”

He tried, shoved those thoughts that cloud them away with the warmth of his mouth, heavy hands that grounded them and centred, tongue that pulled pretty sounds from them until their thoughts were too scattered to worry. Helped them to ignore their slow and relentless shattering. Held them until they forgot while he focused on remembering. Kept each new experience in his mind the best he could until time muddled them into memories, blurry and fragmented.

******

They’ve been so tired lately. Every day they tumbled out of bed and did chores with wooden limbs. Everyone had to do their share. Vesper couldn't anymore but even Griff didn’t push it. It’s clear how much they cared about contributing when they could. And it was clear how much it cost them. Their steps were sloppy with exhaustion after only a few hours. People brought them tasks they could do sitting down as much as possible. But still, they pushed themselves, helped to dig new passageways, shovelled the moist soil away.

The only missions outside lately were those that depend on speed - stealing supplies like cloth and bedding and sprinting away with them. Keir went out a lot, though he loathed leaving Vesper behind. Even those uninjured by the accident had lungs damaged by smoke and heat. He was fast, and more importantly - reliable. So he made countless trips in and out, until his legs ached and sweat lay stiff and dry on his skin. There was an added benefit, too. Sneaking around the marketplace allowed him to access the ever-changing web of gossip throughout the city. When he’s home with Vesper, their deterioration was clear, right before him. It motivated him to spend more time away searching for a cure.

If there’s lunar ichor down here, Keir’s almost certain it’d go through the auction. With as rare and valuable it is, trades are either done for a tremendous amount of money or in backroom deals that he doubts even Oleander had access to. He spent a lot of time around the auction house. Well, as close as he could go. He picked up a new mask on one of his trips for good measure. Too many people around here knew what he looked like. Hey, his height and flowing red locks were only a benefit most of the time. He tried to go at different times of day, wearing new outfits. Or at least with the clothes layered differently. Made it a little less obvious that he’s casing the joint. He’d always thought about how to get in. Seemed like the final feather in his cap. He and Griff used to spend hours debating different possible strategies. Hiding in through some expensive chest, pickpocketing the goods right under the nose of the guards; or maybe lighting the building on fire and taking things during the chaos. That one in particular didn’t seem like an option anymore. But he wasn’t only daydreaming about it as the scene of a heist. Now he had a goal. Didn't make it any easier to figure out a solution. He’s studied the deep, crimson walls more times than he could count. The guards are catching on. One called out to him where he stood, pretending to browse the necklaces.

“You there. I’ve seen you around here before. Just a few mornings ago, and again the night before that. Haven’t seen you buy anything.”

Keir gave the guard a cocky bow. “Oh, you’ve found me particularly memorable, then? Something particular about my appearance that caught your fancy?”

“Don’t try that with me. This isn’t the place for browsing. Either you have the money to buy, or you shouldn’t be here.”

“Judging me by my looks, eh? True wealth comes less from fine clothes and more from knowing how to live richly.” He’s stalling - and by the looks of it, not well. “I’ve purchased plenty of fine items from within these ruby walls. Guess your attention isn’t as sharp as you believe it to be.”

“My attention’s plenty sharp.” The guard started for him, stride purposeful.

Keir made a break for it. It wasn't his finest escape by any means. There’s a brief scuffle where his arm gets snagged by one grasping fist and he had to wrench free, tearing the muscles of his shoulder in the process. Once he escaped the chase through a few narrow passages he took stock of the situation. His shoulder is definitely worse for wear. It ached, tight and burning, as he swung it around a little. There’s something wet on his shirt, too. Maybe he was a little more beat up than he first thought. A narrow gash had torn through his shirt at the rib, the blade leaving a thin cut. He took a roundabout route home. He guessed he could call it that. Home. It felt more like home now that buildings are starting to take shape. Especially since Vesper was waiting for him in one of them.

******

Lave caught him as he tried to sneak back into camp quietly. He’s brought a few sacks of flour for good measure. The reason he was coming back so late, of course. He’d almost gotten back to his tent when she stopped him.

“What took you so long?” Her voice was quiet but sharp. People were sleeping.

“Just made an extra stop. One of our connections had a small donation for me.”

“Yeah, and they tried to stab you?” Lave took a step back, really looked at him. Examined him. Her voice raised. “It’s the fucking auction, isn’t it? What the hell, Keir. We need you here. What good is it going to do? You and I both know there’s no ichor at the auction house. Everyone’s looking for it already. I thought you were smarter than this. And lying to me?”

“Lave - they’re getting worse by the day. You and I can both see it. How am I going to steal the ichor if I’m not prepared? Every second counts. If I wait to form a plan once it shows up, it’ll be gone before I can get to it!” His voice quieted to a hushed murmur. There’s rustling coming from inside his tent. “What would you have me do, huh? Sit back and wait until they’re dead and gone?”

She softened a little. “There are other people here who are sick, with cures that are far more easily found. There are children that are hungry. Few of us are well enough to take care of those who need it. You need to shift your priorities. Even though that sucks.”

“I thought we were on the same page. You said you’d help me, that you’d look too.”

“Things are different now. I’m helping where I can but my focus is here. With the community we’ve built.”

He straightened his shoulders. Turned away from her. Let the hurt he felt show like frost on the ground. “I apologise for not doing my share. I’ll work harder so that my side project doesn’t impact the group.”

“You know I didn’t mean that, Keir. I’ll talk to some of my contacts again, see if they know anything else about the auction that we overlooked…”

He shrugged. Headed into the tent. If it had to be only his responsibility, he’d bear it. Truthfully, though he’s thankful for any help, it wouldn’t feel right if he wasn’t doing the most out of anyone. How could he be sure that nothing is overlooked, that there isn’t some detail that could help them? He wondered then, if the ichor would heal them back to true health. Fill in the cracks of their soul like molten gold. Or whether they'd be stuck like this, a third of the way from death, and the ichor would only stop it from progressing. Vesper was where he had left them in bed. He slid in under the covers behind them. Their skin was warm and silk-like from sleep. He rests his hand on their waist, their shirt riding up slightly. Holds them. He’s all they have. First their death sentence and hopefully their cure.

*****

Lately, they only come out of the tent for a few hours. Help babysit one of the children for an hour, use the latrine. He goes straight to the tent whenever he returns. Knew the odds are good that he’d find them there. They were sitting up but their shoulders were hunched forwards. Deep bags lay under their eyes. Chapped lips twisted to the side as he appeared.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I could be the look-out again, or a distraction.”

“And get yourself killed even earlier? I'm trying to save your life, not end it tomorrow.”

“At least it would be on my terms, then. Here I'm like a prisoner waiting for the gallows.” Wearily, they flopped back into bed. Set down the socks they were mending. “I hesitated too much, didn't I? Took too long to come down here, didn't search hard enough for the ichor while I still had my strength.”

“Even if you came down earlier, it would have been tough to find any. But I’ve been looking around the auction. I think I’ve found a weak point in the roof. I’ve been memorising the schedule of the guards too. Learning what they like, which ones of them leave to piss all the time, which ones of them show up wasted. I think there will be a chance -”

“There’s no ichor there though, right? Nothing actually being sold?”

“...No. I’m working on it, planning, making sure I’m ready when it arrives -”

“The roof, though? You expect that to work? Once was already lucky, the guards have caught on to that. I don’t know. I don’t want my situation to result in both of our deaths. Can’t you try something else? Talk to Oleander. Get information from Thorn. Who knows.” Their voice, once sure, wavered. It seemed like they never have quite enough air in them these days. Like a sentence was a marathon they had to push through to finish.

“I’ll visit Oleander again. Remind him of how important this is. Make sure he’s taking it seriously.”

*****

Keir hasn’t made a habit of visiting Oleander, but it was easy enough to find his way to his apartment. He can smell it before he arrives - thick perfume wafting under the door and beneath his mask. He raised his fist to the ornate door and banged loudly. Oleander pulled it open halfway, clearly taken by surprise. He stands in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned to his waist and holding a damp cloth in his hand, mask slightly askew.

“Keir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Keir shouldered his way into the room, impatient. Paced in the light of glittering lamps from the walls of the room, steps muffled on the plush carpet. “There’s no news about the ichor? You haven’t heard anything?”

“You know that I’d inform you as soon as I knew. What’s influencing you? You’ve been so desperate to talk to me lately, it’s almost like you miss me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s them - Vesper. They’re sick. Getting sicker by the day. Fractum Amina. I don’t think they have much time. I’m looking everywhere for ichor, I’m not sure it’s out there, if they’ll survive it until I find it -”

“The last time I saw any was half a year ago. It’s exceptionally rare, even here.”

“I know that, but there has to be something more I can do, somewhere I can look, someone who knows something, I’m losing them, they’re dying -”

“Don’t lay roses on a grave that doesn’t exist. They have a spark, a fight to them. They’ll keep holding on, especially with your encouragement.”

Keir’s voice rushed out of him. Shot words like darts at Oleander. “I can’t help it. I look at them and it's like I've already lost them. When I hear their voice I try to remember it as best I can. I archive bits and pieces of them; their laugh, the way they like their porridge, the songs their mother sang to them growing up. I feed them my favourite dishes for the first time, try to not think about how it might be the only time. What if I forget? What if I don't get the chance to learn everything they are? I'll be grieving them longer than I've known them. Grieving them now, before they're even gone. They're a ghost that I'm trying to hold fast to. And maybe if they hadn't met me, they’d already be healed. I stopped them, Oleander. We saved someone halfway to ichor and I couldn't fucking do it. Couldn’t let them do it. Had to tell them the truth about what ichor was. I love them. It’s not enough - it won't save them. It doesn't matter that I love them. Maybe I should have let them choose. Maybe I should look the other way!”

By the end of it he's shouting, eyes brimming with tears. Words an accusation towards himself, towards the harshness of the world that would take Vesper from him. “I’m begging, Oleander. You've never taken me seriously, please, for once in your life -”

He holds his arms open and Keir falls into them. Holds him and cries. Buries his face into his shoulder.

Oleander’s voice steadied him. “I will do everything in my power to find the ichor, you have my word. I can’t bear to see you like this. It’s heartbreaking.”

*****

News didn’t come. A whole network of people searching for something that doesn’t exist. An impressive spiderweb that stretched hungry, broader, broader in a sealed room. Keir prepared himself as best he could. Found a few fifteen minute intervals where the auction guard occasionally ran late. Identified how goods came into the guarded buildings in case he could steal them before they even entered those ruby walls. Prepared other plans, too. He hated to admit it, but he kept his ears open for other prisoners being turned to ichor. Spoke with Thorn about how it had happened. He said there hadn’t been any other prisoners like him. Keir wasn’t certain at this point what he’d do if he found one. Wasn’t sure there was any other way than finding someone as they transformed. It’s different when it’s someone who has no choice. He figured that one out on his own. Well, it was starting to look like creating ichor might be the only way Vesper could live. They had no choice. Let the celestial gods help him if it ever came to that.

*****

Vesper laid next to him, laced their fingers loosely though his. Both on their backs, looking up at the distant roof of the cave. The soft light of glow worms made it so he could just make out their profile against the cloth wall. There wasn't much sound except the distant murmur of conversation from across the cavern, and air sighing softly where it blew over stone openings. Their hands were cold. They shivered more often than not. When they finally spoke, it was in a near whisper.

“I've decided I'm not going to write a will. Not much to leave behind, really.”

“No secret diamonds and rubies that you have to give away? Maybe a castle you forgot to mention?”

“I've already given my castle and unicorns to charities above the surface. What do you take me for, a misanthrope?”

His voice was gentle. “That's unfortunate. This whole time I figured you'd been holding out on me. I was keeping you around because I thought I could get my hands on some treasure.”

That earned him a laugh. He’d never get tired of hearing it. Held each one close to his chest. “That's what I'm talking about! Classic thief mentality.” They rolled, cold hand still in his, to face him. “I’m the treasure. That's why you stole me away”.

“In my line of work you get pretty good at recognizing something valuable as soon as you see it.” He paused, serious for a moment. There’s no use in telling them he’s trying to save them. They both knew it. Knew that there’s been no progress. “But no last rites? A ceremony or anything that would be important to you?”

They’re contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me earlier, around when we rescued Thorn. Bones in your house. I like the idea. Turn me into glue or whatever. Keep me here with you.”

He allowed himself to imagine it. How he’d rest his head next to a door they'd never walk through, a home they were part of despite it, blended with wood and blue paint, whisper words into the wall like he’d been doing for years but this time so different - I'm home, sweetheart. I'm home.

These days, it’s often that you end up in Francesco’s bed. Tangled in the sheets with him, giggling and breathless, hands spanning each other's bodies. Teasing such pretty sounds from his lips. You much prefer to go to his lodgings. After all, he has the money to shell out for the high thread count sheets. 

It’s on one of these evenings that the two of you lay side by side in his bed, fingers loosely intertwined. He’s nude except for his mask and sheet that drapes around his lean hips. He looks like he fell out of a Renaissance painting. The room is cosy, lit by the cool tones of glowworms that cast delicate shadows through the transparent canopy around the bed. You’re still in your clothes, rumpled and a little damp from sweat. His thumb rubs absentmindedly along your hand.

“Vesper – I have something I’ve been wondering about.” His voice is tentative, like he’s worked up the courage to ask. 

“Hmm?” you mumble, cosy in the relaxed afterglow.

“Well, you – you never seem to take your shirt off when we’re together, and…” You turn towards him and he’s reddening, lip caught between his teeth as he pauses. Each time he’s tugged at the buttons of your shirt before, you’ve bent towards him, used your tongue and teeth to suck kisses into the skin of his neck until he’s gasping and distracted, fists holding tight to the fabric instead of trying to remove it. It’s been a pretty effective strategy at keeping your clothes on.

“You’re that eager to get my clothes off? Been fantasizing what I look like, undressing me with your eyes?”

Though you can’t see his expression clearly, you know he’s leveling you with a glare. “Stop it! I’m trying to ask you something.” 

He rolls to face you, fingers still laced with yours. Serious for a moment. “Is there something you’re insecure about? Because – well, I wanted to say that you don’t have to be worried around me. I won’t judge you. We-we could even turn the lights off, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

You sigh. You are insecure, to tell the truth. Your entire torso and face are specked and pockmarked with scars, left over from years of acne. Blemishes still dot your skin, scattered between the fading marks. It’s easier to keep your shirt on so you can just focus on being in the moment with him. You lay there quietly, thinking it over.

“If you’re not comfortable changing things, we don’t have to, I promise! I just noticed that you always leave it on, so…”

“Whatever you’ve imagined I look like in that pretty head of yours, I won’t measure up.” 

You can feel his alarm just as much as you can hear it. Francesco shoots up onto his elbow, propping it under him like he wants to leap into the air. “What?! Y-You don’t have to worry about that!” He’s fumbling, stumbling over his words in his haste. “I’m sure that you look amazing! You’re strong, you’re– you’re so good at kissing, your voice is really hot…I– Please, let me convince you.”

You think about it. You’ve thought about taking your shirt off in front of him before, and maybe even your mask as well. But shyness and shame has always stalled your hands. It’s even harder when you can see him, how golden and resplendent he is, perfect and princely. It makes your own imperfections seem even more unattractive. “Ugh, I don’t know. My skin’s pretty bad, Francesco. I don’t have a great complexion.”

He slumps back down on the bed, thinking it over. “When I was younger, I used to play in a garden with another boy. It was a big, beautiful one – with thick walls of stone and flowers that crept up them. We’d be out there every day, running around and playing games. But as we played together that year, I noticed he changed a little bit.” Francesco’s hand is so warm in yours. “He got freckles in the light, as the summer went on. I hadn’t seen that happen before, so I asked him what they were. Where his spots came from. He told me each one is a kiss from the sun.”

It’s just like Fran to explain it so romantically. “Yeah, well… I think freckles are a lot cuter than what I have going on,” you say hesitantly. You’re scared. Scared that all his giddy affection will shutter when he sees you, that his face will fall. The thought is nearly unbearable. But at the same time, he’s been so brave with you. Never afraid to let you see his most vulnerable parts. Shy and blushing at times, yes– but he’s always running forwards, trusting you to see him through. Maybe you can be brave too. 

“Fine, I’ll take it off.”

“You don’t have to! If you don’t want to, really–”

“No, I think it’s a good idea.” And before your courage fails you, you sit up and unbutton your shirt, pulling it over your head.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Yeah, it’s that bad.” You're already turning away from him, flushing. 

“No!! Vesper, wait!” he sits up as well, sheet crumpled in his lap. His hands catch you by your shoulders, steadying you. “You look amazing.”

“I don’t know about that.” All the bravado and confidence you usually show him has fallen away.

“How do you not see it??” Though he has his mask on, you can feel his gaze sweep over you, looking at you with reverence. “All the marks are just a part of you! When I look, I can see the tone of your arms, the way your skin glows in the light, where your heart is…” One of his hands slides up to cradle the side of your neck. “Your muscles, the way they flex as you move… the shape of your waist, the feel of your skin…” 

“I wish I didn’t have them. That I just looked… normal.”

“How can I convince you that I don’t see them that way?” He smooths his hands across the span of your shoulders gently. “That they add to how you look… like sprinkles! Or confetti!”

“Fran, they’re not confetti!” You’re flustered, torn between affection and years of shame that still weigh you down. 

He shifts in your direction, straddling your hips and lowering you down onto the mattress. “Let me show you,” he breathes, stooping towards your chest. His lips press against your skin, warm and affectionate. Peppering you with tiny kisses, one for each of the marks that pepper your skin. You giggle. 

“It tickles!” “Shh,” he whispers, mock seriously. “I need to focus for the treatment to work.”

The blindfold slides over your mask easily, pressing it snugly against your face. There's a comfort you find in the darkness.  It allows you to surrender more easily, to lose yourself in the sensations Cirrus exposes you to.

He leads you forwards, gloved hand tight around your upper arm through your cloak. You're nude beneath it. It's something that Cirrus increasingly favors. You suspect that he likes the vulnerability, the easy access, and most of all - the discrepancy between your two attires.  His narrow, tall, fully covered frame is a sharp contrast to your blemished and exposed one. You stumble a little as you walk, bare feet catching a little on the uneven stones beneath them. There's the sound of a door opening and shutting and you can tell by the resonance of your footsteps and air on your skin that you've been led to a small room. He stops and you do as well, shifting your weight nervously.

"Kneel."  A command you're familiar with. As you do so, you're relieved to find soft, folded fabric on the floor before you. 

He steps close enough behind you that you can feel his shins through your cloak at your back. 

"Every time you're bare before me, you shrink beneath my gaze. You try to hide yourself from me."

He stoops, sliding the cloak from your shoulders so it pools around your legs. He crouches behind you, one knee coming to rest next to your ankle. You shiver a little in the cool air, the only heat coming from the cradle of his thighs at your sides. 

"What is it, that makes you reach so eagerly for your clothes when I allow you to wear them? Do you feel unworthy of my attention?"

So that's what this is about. You feel grateful that your mask conceals the way your face twists. It's your skin. From forehead to sternum, you're speckled with blemishes. Red, painful ones that ache and throb beneath the safety of your clothes. Unblemished sections are marred with scars, pitted and uneven. 

"I should think it's obvious," you mutter, tilting your chin down towards your chest. His gloved hand makes you jump as he rests at the top of your thigh.

"Indulge me."

"I hate my skin. It makes me feel gross, I don't know." Your words rush from your lips, hissed out with a sharp exhalation of breath. He places his other arm around your bare waist, encircling you in his arms. "Nothing I do changes it. At least here in the marketplace I'm free from unasked-for, misinformed advice that doesn't work."

“Your skin?” His gloved hand slides down to rest on your sex. Not moving - just there, a firm pressure. His other draws the blindfold from your eyes and you shudder. There you are, kneeling in front of a full body mirror. The light of torches in the sconces on either side fully illuminate your body, each inflamed spot on your skin casting shadows. Cirrus’ mask glints above your shoulder, his mouth slightly downturned. You turn your headway from the sight, hands balling into fists at your side. You feel disgusting. You no longer feel the chill of the room. Instead, there’s a fire in your skin– one of shame, humiliation, and arousal.

A firm hand in your hair wrenches your gaze forwards again. You flinch, eyes squinting shut. His voice is soft and dangerous in your ear. “Look at yourself.” 

In spite of his grip on your head you manage to shake it a little, scalp burning in his tight grip. He lifts the firm, tantalizing pressure on your groin, only to bring his palm down harshly in a stinging slap. You gasp, eyes flying open. Denying him is only delaying the inevitable. His hand soothes the skin, rubbing softly. Blood beats fiercely in your skin, singing with desire. A reward for obedience.

Both of you look at the reflection. He nearly envelopes you, dark shoulders and shining hair visible over your masked head, one hand still relentlessly moving against your heated sex. The blemishes that spatter your skin are inescapable. Your hips rock into his hands, seeking the friction he provides. 

“Does the moon itself not have a surface that is rough and cratered? A face that shines so brightly despite the ridges that cross it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice quiet.

“Do those imperfections block the light from the sky? For years, scholars have pondered those markings. Depicted them in art, spent hours examining the topography so it can be mapped… wondered at their complexity and beauty.”

You sag in his hold, losing yourself in the commanding tone of his voice. A sermon just for you. You don’t agree with him, privately. How can you see your acne as something beautiful? But you’ll let him tell you, cant your hips into the sweet pressure of his palm, the sinful way his fingers press into your flesh. You don’t have to believe him to–

But that friction is gone and your hips circle uselessly, stuttering in the air. A whine escapes, high-pitched in the quiet room.