#poor emory

I’m bleeding out

So if the last thing that I do

Is bring you down

I’ll bleed out for you

Clearris was in town.

Emory had heard it from the baker when he went to buy bread that morning. “Some businessperson, some elf,” the baker had said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Ms. Janine down the road said they’re campaigning for magic to be legal in the north!”

He didn’t doubt for an instant that it was Clearris. Verix Clearris was almost certainly the only northern politician who could suggest legalizing magic without causing a riot. His hands had shook as he took the bread from the baker; he’d smiled instead of thanking her, because he just knew that goddamn stutter would sneak out.

When he got home, Felix was pacing in front of the door.

“What happened?” they asked the moment they were both inside. Emory’s flower tattoo was a vibrant purple, and he winced.

“It’s nothing,” he said. And then a moment later, “Clearris,” because he’d decided a while back that the only way he would ever get Felix to be open with him was if he reciprocated.

Felix stiffened. “Emory…”

Emory set the bread down on the countertop. “It’s fine,” he said, looking around for some other way to busy his hands, to keep them from shaking too visibly. He couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Felix’s wrist. It was wreathed with black flowers. No wonder Felix had been waiting by the door.

“It’s not fine,” they said. 

Emory felt their arms wrap around him from behind; for a moment, just for a moment, he let himself close his eyes, take a shuddering breath. And then he opened them again, gently extracted himself from the hug. “It is. I don’t think they know we live here. It’ll be okay.”

Felix’s brow was still wrinkled, like they didn’t quite believe him. Emory thought that was probably smart of them. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Emory said. He forces a smile onto his face. “I’ll just stay in here all day. I can’t imagine someone like Clearris will be staying here for long.”

“Okay.” Felix bit their lip. “I was supposed to go meet up with Crystar this morning… do you want me to…?”

Emory shook his head, maybe a bit too fast. “No. Go ahead, seriously. I’ll be alright. Clearris doesn’t know how to find me.” Felix opened their mouth, seemingly to argue again, and Emory gave them a gentle shove towards the door. “Don’t worry. Seriously. You’ll know if anything happens, you’ve got the tattoo. It’s okay.”

“I…” Felix grimaced. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s been a year since we saw them last,” Emory said. “If they wanted me, they would have found me already.”

Felix nodded slowly. “Maybe. Just…” They hesitated, and then flung their arms around Emory. “I’m sorry,” they said, voice a bit muffled by his shirt.

Emory hugged them back—don’t cry don’t cry—and nodded. “Don’t be. It’s not like you invited them.”

Felix pulled away and nodded. “Still.” Their trademark smirk came a bit more slowly than usual. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“You’ve got it,” Emory said. “Have fun with Crystar.” And then, on a whim, “Love you.”

Felix looked a bit startled, but they smiled. “Love you too. See you later, Emory.” And then they were gone.

Three hours later, Emory was covered in red.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, staring down at his dripping hands. He’d been shaky all day, and yet for some reason he’d thought it would be a good idea to take care of some home improvement projects. Instead, he had managed to turn them all into home degradation.

The wall, which was supposed to be painted red, was very white. The floor, however, as well as Emory’s shirt and hands, was well-coated in paint. There was even some in his hair, he noticed. The now-empty bucket rolled into a corner and clattered feebly against the wall. 

“Great,” Emory said. Coffee sauntered into the room and meowed loudly, then strolled out again, tail waving lazily.

Sighing, Emory walked outside and pulled his shirt off, dropping it into the trashcan without even trying to get the paint out. He turned the hose on, painting it crimson in the process, and sprayed himself off, shivering under the blast of cold water.

His tattoo

stayed red.

“Wow,” said a voice, and a chill worse than anything the water could give him filled Emory. “Hello, Emory. I didn’t expect this.”

Emory turned around. He was shivering, dripping with water, in the backyard of a tiny house in the woods where he knew, he just knew, nobody would hear him scream. “What did you do to them?”

“To who?” Clearris asked. They looked polished, sharp, smiling that pleasant little smile they sported so often.

“Felix!” Emory snarled, holding up his wrist. The red was swirled with black now, a mixture that made his own gut churn with panic. “Where are they?”

Clearris just kept smiling. “I recognized them right away when I saw them walking down the street. Weak little Worm. It was almost too easy.”

Emory’s breaths were coming too fast as he took a few steps towards Clearris. “Where. Are. They.”

Instead of responding, Clearris stepped closer, until they were just two feet, one foot, away. Slowly, they reached a hand out, ran their fingers over the raised mass of scars thinly disguised beneath the snake tattoo that wound around his arm. “Impressive. You can hardly even see it.”

Emory was shaking, stuck somewhere between utter terror and blind fury, unable to hide it no matter how hard he tried. “BRING ME TO FELIX!”

“Don’t raise your voice,” Clearris said, their own voice perfectly level. 

“Don’t fucking t-tell me what to do,” Emory said. He gritted his teeth at the sound of his own stutter. Don’t let them see it, don’t let them see that you’re weak, don’t don’t don’t don’t—

“Fine,” Clearris said. “I suspect it’s been long enough anyway.” They grinned. “I left them in the woods a couple dozen feet from the lamppost at the end of the road. Good luck!” And just like that, they were gone, strolling back towards the road like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Emory was running almost before he was conscious of it, pushing Clearris to the side as he sprinted towards the street. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, born of panic more than exertion, and he skidded into the woods, almost impaling himself on a low-hanging branch.

Felix was covered in red.

Emory didn’t think it was paint.

“Felix,” he barely managed to gasp out, sinking to his knees next to them, and then that was all he could say, over and over, like somehow he could bring them back to him if he said it enough, like somehow he could stop this please stop it and then—

“Here,” Clearris said. Emory didn’t know when they’d gotten there, but now they stood over him, holding something out. A bloodsteel sword, similar to the one they’d always used for revivals but not quite the same.

Emory was shaking, almost too hard to take the sword. Somehow he managed, though, and then he was sitting over his almost-dead lover with a sword and that didn’t make any fucking sense either.

“You have to choose,” Clearris said. Pleasantly. Just like everything they did.

“Ch-ch-choose what,” Emory spat.

Clearris laughed. “Save them or save yourself.”

It wasn’t even a question, and Clearris knew it.

“How?” he asked. “W-what do I d-do?”

Clearris pondered that for a moment, and then took the sword back. “Here, I’ll help you,” they said. 

Emory watched the flowers on Felix’s wrist flush from black to red.

The sword turned red so slowly, and Emory watched a bit dizzily as Clearris pulled it out of his arm. “And now we transfer,” Clearris said, pleasantly of course, as they stabbed it into Felix’s arm.

The blood drained from the sword more quickly than it had filled it, and just like that, the sword was bluish again. 

Clearris drew it from their arm, and then it was inside Emory again, and it hurt it hurt it hurt it—and then it was out, it was in Felix, and then back in Emory, and back out, and it hurt it hurt and out of the corner of his eye Emory thought he saw Jaydin, but she was dead she’d been dead for ages and he looked down at Felix and they looked like an angel and Clearris stabbed him again and pulled it out and then— 

“EMORY! NO!”

Emory was on the ground—I’m so tired, leave me alone—and Felix’s face was hanging over his, and Emory’s face was wet, with whose tears he didn’t know, and he was so tired

“You idiot, STAY AWAKE!” and Emory had never heard Felix raise their voice like that so he listened as best he could

but he was so tired

and everything hurt

and he barely even felt it when Felix kissed him

and then

he didn’t

feel

anything

at