They were different in every way, yet somhow they were so alike. Like a mirror showing a warped reflection.
Drifter was a wild force, having shaken everyone in the Sanctum upon his arrival. They had arrived to aid the Operator to quell the forces of Murmur within the walls of the enigmatic laboratory.
He was a quiet individual, yet their eyes were loud and expressive. How those glowing orbs glared daggers at Roathe and how the softened slightly when they gazed at the child soldier.
Lyon thought he was akin to a vengeful wraith. How they walked the halls as if he haunted them, his footsteps barely audible.
Or how they cornered Roathe upon his arrival in the Sanctum. How that long, elegant blade was held to the protoframe's throat and a burning hatred in those bright eyes.
After the situation had calmed down, the child explained why their older counterpart reacted the way he did. It was all due to his hatred for the Orokin caste, and the history surrounding it.
The priest didn't approve of the use of violence, but having heard much of the Orokin and their ways from Roathe.. He could understand why Drifter responded the way he had.
And as time passed, he got to know the enigmatic individual. The two of them would grow closer and closer, both of them gaining a better understanding of each other.
Lyon grew to understand why the other was so wary of those in the Sanctum. How Drifter seemed to gaze at the light of a candle, getting lost in the dancing flame as if they yearned for it's warmth.
Drifter seemed to do that a lot.. Getting lost in the glow of light, as if he was a moth being drawn in by a flame.
Even now, when their relationship had progressed to intimate touches and longing gazes did he still gaze into the light of a nearby brazier. The flame dancing within it's metal cage.
That was how he found him in one of the many libraries. There was a candle set on the table, wax dripping onto the gilded holder as Drifter seemed to stare into the eye of the storm of the flame itself. The book the other seemed to have been reading laid abandoned on the table as the other was hunched over.
Lyon's eyes softened. He remembered the quiet words that were spoken to him by that enigmatic man, quiet and rare words he didn't use very often, but the priest had manage to coax more out of them with time and patience.
"Never forget the warmth of life.."
That was what he had been told. Drifter had mentioned in passing that he saw life like a precious flame, a warmth the other craved and yearned for.
The other described themselves as cold, having lost the warmth upon the growing infection of The Void and it's song.
The priest approached with audible footsteps as to not startle the other man.
Drifter tended to zone out in states like this, letting his attention be whisked away by the mesmerizing flame that danced in front of him.
"You are far away, mon miracle.." Lyon's voice was quiet, a gentle tone meant to grab his attention in a careful and attentive manner. "Won't you return to me?"
The priest now stood behind him, his hands resting on the man's shoulders. Drifter flinched slightly, a sign that they had acknowledged Lyon's presence as his posture slowly relaxed into the touch.
Lyon's fingers gently trailed along Drifter's shoulders before they traveled up his neck. The pads of his fingers gently massaged the muscles before he let them travel further to now rest upon the Void Angel's face. His fingers resting over Drifter's glowing eyes while Lyon's thumbs would rub at the skull.
"I am here, my love.." The priest murmured gently into the other's ear. He stood close, his chest against the Void Angel's back to create a warming hug.
"You need not rely on a flame to make you feel warm.."
He could feel Drifter's head shift in his hands, tilting so he could theoretically look at Lyon.
".. Hm.." The other hummed.
Two shaking hands came up to cup the priest's hands. They were cold, but they were incredibly gentle despite what bloodshed they could commit.
They existed within the library, anchoring one another while they held each other close.
The silence would be broken, but it wasn't by Lyon.
".. Thank you.." The words were quiet and soft, with a slight rasp of disuse.
The priest's face was graced with a gentle smile and a crinkle of his eye.
