Tags: M/M, Guide/Original Character, Character Study, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Obsession, Possesiveness, Mutual Pining, Blood, Death, Angst, Horror
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
chapter 4: this is a hunger that cannot be sated
Next Chapter >
"Late again as usual." Will remarks dryly as he slows his descent onto the patch of grass just in front of them. The gale that stirs up threatens to blow away their hat and with a fuss, the boy has to pat down the hat with both hands to keep it from ending up on top of someone's chimney.
"Sorry about that. I lost track of time- there was a hoard of zombies nearby. Decided to deal with them before they got near here." He explains with a grin and unable to help himself, he steals Will's hat anyways before setting off into a run in a random direction. He laughs loud and gleefully at the affronted "hey!" and only picks up his speed marginally when he hears footsteps trailing after him.
It's uncomfortable running around in a full set of armor, a lot of unique places becoming chaffed in new and annoying ways, so after he's done a lap around the fountain a few times, he stops and takes a seat on the marble rim. Practically yanks off his helmet so his mop of now sweat soaked red curls can get some air that isn't his own heavy breathing.
Will's run screeches to a halt in front of him, their face pink from the exercise, and with a defeated, but pleased grin, he offers them back their hat.
"Surprised you didn't fall flat on your face running in all that." Will tells him while settling their hat back onto the crown of their head and hopping to take a seat next to him.
"Ever since I got the wings I can't help but notice my balance has gotten better. It's like my sense of equilibrium has gotten sharper." He explains, despite knowing Will had mostly just been saying it as a rib at him and not wanting an actual explanation.
Will just lets him ramble about bone density and air currents and anything at all, humming to show that they're listening, but he sees that their eyes are looking at his new current obsession- a flail he'd found in the dungeon that was made from a material he was unfamiliar with and was a shade of blue richer than the ocean. In the dark, the flail glowed fainty with blue particles.
"Want to hold it?" He asks, breaking off his rambling mid sentence to hold up the weapon. "It's heavy, so I'll hold the ball like this so when it falls it wont land on our feet. Just grab the handle, okay?"
Once the massive, spiked ball of his flail sits in the palm of his gauntlet and Will is holding the handle braced in one hand, face pinched in dubious excitement, he offers them a nod and only when they return one, does he let the ball fall to the grass.
"Bloody hell-" Will curses sharply, being pulled towards the ground by the weight of the flail's ball dropping. He laughs and slips a hand flat on their chest, keeping them upright before he takes the flail away. "What is that thing made of and how do you stand to use it?"
"Not sure!" He says in between his ridiculous giggling. "I found this one. My old one I made was built out of lead. Felt like carrying a cannon ball. This one's lighter, if you can believe it."
Will shoots him an incredulous look, before it dissolves into something more like sulking.
"I've only ever seen you use it from far away." Will tells him.
He hops off the fountain to stand, helmet tucked under the crook of his arm, before jabbing a thumb in the direction of his home. "Come on, then. Let me get out of this armor and I'll give you a show."
One of the things he really enjoys about his time with Will is that when one of them becomes excited, it's not long before the other is positively bouncing off the walls with it too.
"I'll beat you there." Will sticks out there tongue and starts off in a run, leaving him with no other choice than to chase after them. He could simply use his wings, but that'd be cheating, wouldn't it?
And Will does beat him, of course, and they're standing around his unlit forge, looking at the various tools and ingots lying around and he leaves them to it in order to slip inside his home, shrug off all his armor, and race back outside. Dressed down in the thin, apron-like shirt that Raziel, the clothier, had fashioned for him to make putting on shirts easier, along with his usual leather pants and boots, he whistles for Will before walking over to the training area.
The training area, being nothing more than the patch of grass he's decided to stick straw dummies in so he can pummel them. He should really patch them up- most of them are falling apart or still currently stuck with the weapons he'd been practicing with. The dummy with a throwing knives still stuck in it's face gets a dubious look from Will when they saddle up near him at last.
"Might want to stand a bit back." He says and Will scootches back about a yard and a half. He lands his sights on the nearly pristine dummy in the center of all the rest. He readies the handle in his left hand before clutching the chain of his flail with his right and starting to spin the biked ball in a loop.
"Flails are my favorite," He explains, peeking at Will from the corner of his vision. "you sacrifice the amount of times you can attack an enemy for pretty good range and heavy hits." The momentum has peaked nicely and without any further speaking, he releases the spiked ball forward. It crashes into the training dummies' stomach, obliterating the wood and straw and burlap into thousands of pieces.
When he turns to Will, he's pleased to find them a little bright eyed at the display. Their blue eyes go from the flail, his bare arms, and then their own, much thinner appendages. He knows what's exactly on their mind, but tries to keep the amusement to himself.
"Someone like me can't use that." Will says and he hadn't thought that they would admit it due to pride.
He blinks. "Did you sincerely want to? I thought you were just curious."
Will's cheeks are a little pink, so he knows he's hit the mark.
"Flails aren't good to start with." He explains. "I've got plenty of swords, but they'll be too heavy. We could practice with a wooden one until you get the hang of it."
"Really? You don't think I'm too young?"
He hadn't considered that. "I think with something like learning how to defend yourself, the earlier the age the better?" It's not like he has any authority to say otherwise anyways. "And besides, it's another thing for us to do together, right?"
Will grins up at him and for once they don't at all try to hide it.
--
Just as often as Will asks to go fishing, they ask to practice with their newly acquired wooden sword. They haven't demolished a dummy yet, but he's sure they'll get there in no time. And it's only a dummy that Will is allowed to practice on, despite all their asking to test out their blade on him.
"If I can land a hit on you, can I hold Starfury?" Will asks, a devious glint to their eye as they peer over their right shoulder to regard him. The dummy in front of them doesn't seem to particularly mind that Will's been striking at it for the past several minutes now.
From where he sits on a wooden fence, balancing on the balls of his feet and his wings spread out, he considers that.
"Sure." He ends up saying and as soon as he does Will chucks their sword at him, which he dodges at the last second. "Will!" He scolds, but laughs halfway through.
--
Training dummies can only provide so much in the ways of learning, so after a few phases of the moon he decides that Will can have their wish. The boy looks eager too, their stance wide and steady, both hands on the hilt of their wooden sword as they stand across from him on the grass of the training area.
"Ready to meet your end, blackguard?" Will asks him with wicked confidence.
He does a big stretch, both arms over his head and rolling the balls of his feet, before relaxing into a stance, his own wooden sword drawn and pointed at the boy.
"It's a fine day as ever to die."
The two of them grin at each other, sharing a moment, before he starts to slowly toward them, poised to attack at any moment. Will visibly tenses, but holds their sword steady regardless. It's when he starts walking faster that Will's eyes widen a little.
"It's okay!" He tells them brightly. "It's just us, remember? You know what to do."
Swallowing hard, Will nods, and starts to walk toward him instead of waiting for him to clear the rest of the distance.
"Good. That's good, Will. Keep your back straight and your eyes forward. Don't ever take your eyes off who you've got your sword pointed at, not if you can help it, alright?"
Another nod.
When the two of them are close enough that he could, very well strike at Will, he doesn't, and instead gives them more time to loosen up by starting to stalk in slow circles around them.
It's just nerves, he thinks. Will's never had to look at him as anything other than a friend and a source of protection. Looking at him now, as a supposed threat, is just taking some time getting used to.
He's always been the type to just go with what feels right, so perhaps against his better judgement, he raises his sword and makes to feint a strike on Will's left, just to see if their reflexes have settled in as of yet. Will flinches, as expected, because they don't know he isn't going to fully connect the wooden sword with their side or not.
What isn't expected is the way they drop their sword entirely and freeze up, their eyes wide and mouth parted as they suddenly struggle to breathe.
His heart plummets into his gut and he drops his sword immediately as if burned by it before dropping down to one knee and holding Will by the shoulders.
"Hey, hey, hey, Will, it's okay. I'm not- I wasn't going to hurt you." He says quickly, feeling terrible and half close to a panic attack himself. "Not going to hurt you, okay? We aren't fighting for real. If we were, you'd wipe the floor with me."
He doesn't know what else to do other than pull them into a hug. He even spreads out his wings and uses them to cocoon the boy.
It takes an agonizing amount of time, but eventually with enough assurance and instruction, Will's breathing evens out and their eyes gain focus once again. Underneath the sun of the morning, the boy's tan skin looks ashen and clammy.
"Forget training. Why don't we go sit by the lake?" He offers, ready to scoop up the boy and set into flight, but Will takes a step back from him, looking ashamed now that they were able to think clearly, and with nothing more than a dejected shake of their head, Will leaves him there.
He looks at both of the wooden swords discarded on the grass.
What had he done wrong?
Had he misjudged just how close he and Will actually were? Did the boy always harbor some kind of fear of him or had the increasing times they've seen him fight up close suddenly inspire the feeling within them?
He spends the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon agonizing over it. The evening finds him on the roof of his home, sat atop his unlit chimney, gazing up at the stars with a miserable look on his face.
As pretty as the stars are, his eyes keep flickering over to Will's tree house.
"What have the stars done to make you look so miserable?" He hears from below and looking down he spots Kieran standing with their arms behind their back, their expression curious.
"Nothing at all." He sighs. "You weren't looking for me, were you?"
"And if by strange circumstance I was?" There's amusement not just in their voice, but in the way their gray eyes sparkle in the moonlight. Wordlessly, they slip their arms from behind their back and spread them wide, inviting.
He stands up immediately, left with no other choice than to be spurred to action. He hops off the roof and glides easily into Kieran's open arms, slipping his own around them as he's caught.
"It's not like you to sit still." Kieran tells him when the two of them have parted just enough to be able to look at each other without being cross-eyed. "Or to hide.”
“It isn’t.” He agrees and Kieran hums before lifting their left hand and moving some of his curls that had fallen over his eyes. He shivers when they tuck the hair behind his ear.
Kieran watches him silently for a moment, eyes intense.
“I’m here for you, as always, if something is troubling you.” They tell him, the words sweet, but all he can focus on is there hand on his lower back.
He nods, unable to meet their eyes. “Today while I was training Will, something happened. I don’t know how to explain it- he startled. His eyes went all wide and he was fighting to breathe. He looked scared of me! Like he expected me to hurt him.”
“Was it you that Will was frightened of? Or the sword in your hand?”
He shakes his head. “The sword was wooden-” He starts to insist, but stops at the look Kieran gives him. Right. Just because it was a training sword didn’t stop it from being a sword. The fact that it was a weapon drawn and pointed towards him was enough reason for Will to frighten. “...You think it was the sword?” He asks, shakily hopeful.
“How long did Will live on their own before you brought them here?” Kieran asks instead of answering. Or, as he realizes a second later, answers his question with this. As terrible as it was to think about, it was more than likely, practically a given that Will had died at some point out there on their own. Adult or not, fighter or not, all of them died one way or another.
He wonders how it happened and with horror imagines some hulking figure with a sword approaching Will, unprepared and so much smaller in his imagination.
“I know you might want to talk with Will tonight, but I think it’s for the best you give him some space. He has no problem with coming to you when he’s ready to speak.” Kieran adds, before eyeing his wings. “Your wings are a mess.”
“Haven’t had a chance to get to them today yet.” He admits, thoroughly aware of the leaves, blades of grass and twigs stuck in his feathers. “I guess I should head inside my place instead of sitting on top of it, right? Taking care of my wings will give me something to do while I sulk.”
“I could tend to them for you.” Kieran offers.
“You’d want to? I know you had to take care of them for me when they first grew in, but...”
“I’d like to.” They say.
He blinks, before smiling. “Okay! My place or yours?”
Kieran’s home is always tidy, so it only makes sense to go to their place. Nobody wants to eat or relax near piles and piles of armor and weaponry after all.
“You can sit wherever.” Kieran tells him before walking off into their restroom and reappearing again with their wooden brush.
He decides on taking his usual seat at the table, having scooted out the chair. He sits backwards in the chair, his front pressed against the back of the chair and he rests his face against his curled bicep. From here, he can gaze at the fire. Kieran stopping to stand just behind him is a very, very distinct feeling. It nearly feels physical. They only stand there for a moment, probably eyeing the work cut out for them, before dragging a chair over and settling it behind him. He hears their weight distribute against the wooden floor as they take their seat.
Now that he’s told them about the thing with Will, he doesn’t really feel like talking much more about it. In fact, he doesn’t really feel like talking at all, so he stays quiet and Kieran lets him.
This will be the first time Kieran’s touched his wings since they first tended to them. He’s pretty sure he knows what the sensation of another’s fingers will feel like, given Kieran had toiled over him for hours on end those first few days, and he’s right for the most part; when Kieran gently plucks out some of the debris in his wings it gives him the same goosebumps as when someone runs a hand through his hair.
Ticklish, but pleasant and the longer Kieran works at removing the twigs and leaves from his feathers, the less ticklish it becomes. When everything has been pulled away and tossed to the ground in a pile to be swept later on, Kieran places their left hand on one side of his wing, bracing, and starts to use the brush across his feathers.
This isn’t ticklish at all and he relaxes further in the chair, practically boneless. He might have even hummed too, but he’s not sure. Falling asleep like this would be perfect. He’s light enough that Kieran could just pick him up and settle him into their bed if he knocks out. He’s actually planning on it, his eyes are so heavy all of a sudden, but Kieran stops brushing his wings.
He hears the soft thud of the brush being set down on the table. Then, he feels their fingers sink deep, deep into the plumage of his wings and gently start to knead at the glands hidden beneath. It feels nothing like the previous touches. It’s electric; has pleasure spiking at the base of his spine and the soles of his feet. He’s far too slow to stop the breathless, high pitched sound that leaves him.
Kieran’s fingers still.
“Sorry!” He says quickly, mortified, and he’s glad his back is turned towards them so Kieran can’t see how flushed his face is. “I- I didn’t expect it to feel like that.”
“And how did it feel?” Kieran asks, something about the perfect calm of their tone making him shake just a little.
“Good.” He settles on, swallowing hard. “It felt really good.”
“Do you want me to stop? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He’s a little confused by what they mean by that. Wasn’t he the one making things uncomfortable?
“You aren’t. I was just...surprised.”
“I see.”
Without preamble, Kieran slips their fingers back into his feathers and has him hiding his face in his folded arms while he tries not to grip the chair to the point of splintering the wood. He’s often wondered how Kieran knows as much as they do, but really at this moment it feels stifling just how well attuned they are with knowing exactly where to touch to make him clench his jaw and fight back all the embarrassing sounds fighting to break past his lips.
He’s breathing hot and hard into the safe space of where he’s pressed his face into his arms; leather pants unbearably tight. It’s the best kind of torture, although torture nonetheless. He feels terrible for secretly feeling this way, for taking this gesture of theirs and twisting it into something coiling, addictive and-
“-nngh!” He keens, back arching, and he hates himself for it, he does, but he couldn’t keep the noise back even if threatened with bodily harm. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He flushes, clenching his eyes shut hard.
“It’s alright.” Kieran shushes him.
Surely it can’t be alright when Kieran doesn’t know just how aching for them he is? How he’s teetering an edge he can’t see the bottom of?
He doesn’t want to push boundaries, not anymore than he has, but time and time again it strangely feels as if he’s rewarded each time for doing so. If it keeps happening, he’s afraid his brain will be trained into following each and every impulse he has, regardless of the consequences.
“It’s alright.” Kieran tells him again, and they massage against a gland, fingers so gentle, and he bites back a desperate sound. “I’m almost done. Just a little more.”
A sort of fully body shudder rocks him and he clings tighter to the chair, wishing for the self-discipline he clearly doesn’t have. Kieran starts on his other wing now and it is inexplicably worse, his other wing having not been touched at all in several minutes now.
Somehow, and he’s not sure how, he manages not to come undone by the time Kieran takes their hands off him.
“There,” Kieran says. “Beautiful as ever. Why don’t you take a look at them in the mirror while I get dinner started? I’ll be sure to make enough for two.”
He feels them slip out of the chair and give him space to stand. With some apprehension, he stands up too, although mostly keeping his back to them still. “Thank you,” He tells Kieran, voice a little fragile.
Kieran, either preoccupied or merciful, busies themselves with grabbing the things needed for dinner, not at all paying him any mind as he walks to the restroom with an obvious erection. The second he’s in the restroom and the door is closed, he presses his back against the door, shoves his pants down and grabs his dick.
He cups his free hand over his mouth and frantically starts to pump himself roughly, coming undone in no time at all with Kieran’s touch still lingering on him.
He spends a long time washing up and even longer staring at himself in the mirror.
--
It's become habitual that he winds up taking naps when he doesn't mean to- which is to say, at all. Daylight was precious to him, better used out exploring or making something, not snoozing. He'll sleep when he's dead and seeing as how he does in fact die quite a lot, it could, in theory, be sustainable.
That afternoon for example, he had meant to sit under the apple tree on the knoll and finish the chainmail he's been working on for the past couple of moon phases, but as soon as he had taken as seat on the grass, his back settled against the trunk of the old tree and the sun warming his skin, his eyes had quickly fallen shut.
Naps are the kind of sleep where he thinks the body truly takes over because it takes an awful lot to wake him. It makes sense, he supposes, probably because at night, when he should be sleeping as heavily as he is while napping, his brain simply can't slip into that state. He's always some form of alert, either looking out for the sounds of his friends being hurt or for the sudden sound of the stone wall miraculously being blown to smithereens and monsters suddenly pouring in.
The anxieties of the night can't get him here out in the sun and its with serenity that he sleeps on. A little more frequently than expected, people seem to visit him wherever he ends up napping; sometimes the apple tree, or the patch of grass just near the outskirts of the forest that has a pond.
He's woken up with flowers in his hair. Woken up with freshly picked apples from the same tree he'd been sleeping under carefully placed on top of his head or his stomach. Once, even, he had woken up to Nasrin laying just near him, on her stomach and watching the ants crawl in the grass nearby as if to make sure they don't start journeying up his arms instead.
When his eyes flicker open however much longer later, he blinks up at the sky, sees where the sun sits in the sky and groans at how much time he's wasted. Still, he does feel well rested. He lifts up his arms to stretch, or try to, but when he moves he notices a weight on his side. Looking down, he finally notices Will, asleep and curled against his right side.
The movement hadn't woken them.
Good, he thinks, settling back against the tree as carefully as he can. He slips an arm around Will and adjusts them so that their face rests on his ribs instead of careening to the other side precariously. Adjusts the brim of their hat so that the sun doesn't cut across their flickering eyelids.
It's a staggering relief that the boy isn't avoiding him- or worse, frightened of him. He isn't Will's father, he reminds himself, nor will he ever be, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep trying to be someone that Will saw as safe; as a source of comfort. Truthfully, if allowed, he'd take over whatever role Will asked of him- if they ever did ask. Brother, father, mentor- he doesn't mind.
The wind picks up, blowing some hair into his eyes, and with his free hand he swipes it away. When he next blinks, he can see Kieran's silhouette slipping out of the shade of the forest outskirts, their quiver and bow strapped to their shoulders. In one hand, clutched by the feet, are a pair of rabbits.
He watches them as they walk back into the village, slipping into the back fence, and it's no surprise at all that instead of making a beeline to their home, they make a beeline straight for the apple tree.
Kieran walks up the knoll to stop and stand just in front of him, blocking out the sun almost completely. There's the smallest traces of blood on their sleeves. Before he can say anything in greeting, Will startles awake at his side, whipping their face to look at him, then Kieran, before breathing shakily and settling back down.
"Nightmare?" Kieran asks, eyeing Will.
"Something like that." Will dismisses grumpily, scooting away from him a little now that they were awake. The warmth they had left against his ribs starts to seep away. Typically, Will regards Kieran with trepidation, only really looking at them when necessary, but something's different now- although what, he's not sure.
Will can't seem to take their eyes off Kieran- the boy stares at the bow in their relaxed grip, the dead rabbits, and lastly, the calm of their eyes.
Will opens their mouth, looking determined, before shutting their mouth with an audible click and lowering their face.
It's not like Kieran to pry, but he thinks something on his own face convinces them to try.
"Is there something on your mind?" Kieran prompts.
"...What's it like? Using a bow." Will asks.
It's such a simple question, but coming from Will, who in turn is asking Kieran, it stuns him for a second.
"It's a weapon as much as it is a tool." Kieran says, audibly thinking over the words. "To hunt is to take what you need, use it all, and give back in return. It's patient work- I'm sure fishing is similar."
Will nods, mumbling a thanks, and appears to think that will be the end of it, so it's with surprise that they look up at Kieran, who says: "I could teach you. To hunt, or to just wield a bow. It's your choice."
And the strange thing is, Will turns to him as if looking for approval. He blinks, thrown for a loop.
"What?" He asks.
"I wasn't sure if you would be bothered or not!" Will fusses. "You've been training me to fight with a sword and I haven't made any progress since-" And it's the first time Will's addressing the fact they had gotten so shaken up in their mock fight. He sees the fear in their eyes and he knows that Kieran does as well.
Both of them say nothing as Will sorts their thoughts.
"What I mean is, it feels rubbish of me to start learning something else just because of an...incident. That counts as giving up. " Will explains further.
"Will, you don't have to keep up with the sword." He assures. "And we don't have to talk about what happened either, not if you don't want to. I'm not going to be offended if you learn how to hunt with the best."
"But..."
He pulls Will into a one armed hug and uses his other hand to muss up their hat and their hair, much to their chagrin. "Not gonna be mad at you about this. We've got other stuff we do together, yeah?"
"Yeah..." Will says and sags against his hold.
"It's settled. I'll prepare my old quiver and bow and I'll come and get you sometime tomorrow." Kieran says.
He shoots them an appreciative look that Will can't see from this angle and Kieran's eyes soften a little, nodding, before walking off towards their home.
--
"You're not here because of that other guy, are you?" Pasqual, the painter, asks him; their olive skin nearly ashen with trepidation and a noticeable sweat beading on their brow. Their blue eyes dart to look just behind where he currently stands as if to make sure no one else was trying to enter their recently finished home.
"Other guy?" He asks, frowning.
"You know, the one you're always speaking with. The one with the cold eyes." Pasqual insists, looking sick at the fact they're even mentioning this person.
He stares at them for a moment, face scrunched with confusion, before it clicks.
"Kieran?" At their frantic nod he continues. "I'm here because I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed here. I was too busy to ask sooner."
Pasqual places a hand over their white overalls where their heart rests below. "Good. Good. I don't think I can handle seeing them again anytime soon. And it's a nice home- can't complain."
One of his wings twitches. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah," Pasqual admits, dropping their gaze. "It was my fault, really, but- I didn't think it was that serious, you know? Usually people are asking me to paint their portraits, not explicitly warning me of even considering the idea."
"...So Kieran asked you not to paint them?"
"Yeah."
"And the problem is...?"
Pasqual clears their throat and adjusts the red cap over their shaved head. "I may have...still done it anyways."
He crosses his arms and frowns.
"Now hold on, just hear me out! We're both artists, right? You can understand the itch to work out of your comfort zone and try something new." They say quickly.
"Sure."
"Well I've never seen anyone that looks like your friend-"
"Kieran." He reminds them for the second time and his wings flap with enough annoyance that the loose parchments on the kitchen table threaten to spill to the floor. Pasqual makes a dive for them, gathering them all up in his arms before settling them on a different, just as cluttered surface.
"Yeah, him. For all intents and purposes, he looks like a regular guy from a distance. But then you look a little harder and its just- what? Void. I mean, I can still see his eyes, obviously, but frankly I don't know if I want to. There's something just under the surface. Slumbering. There's a weight to that guy- a presence." It's said all in a rush, the sweat building on Pasqual's face no matter how much they swipe at it with the sleeve of their shirt.
"What are you trying to say? That there's something wrong Kieran?" He begins, jaw clenched.
"I don't know! I'm just saying...there's something different about him." Pasqual retorts. "I don't mean offense. Look, I've made it clear I'm no good with words, but I'm damn good with a brush." And they walk over to a canvas sat on the floor in a corner, a tarp thrown over it.
"Sometimes there are things I don't understand until I've remade them with my own hands. I thought, well, I thought I would just paint him and see if I couldn't make out the rest of him."
"Against his wishes."
"Y-yeah." Pasqual bends down and throws the tarp off. "But they were right. I shouldn't have."
In the center of the canvas is the beginnings of a face has has burned into his brain; Kieran's. Half of their pale, angular face stares back at him. It's detailed work and for all of Pasqual's floundering when it came to people, nothing could be said against their skill.
What was obviously unnerving about the barely started painting is the other half of Kieran's face which is globs of terrible, flesh colored hues. It makes his stomach turn. He's seen paintings before that were done in such a way that they had visible and purposeful textures. Nothing about the texture on the canvas seemed deliberate. It was layered and mucked clumsily and spread out like fat burning. Or skin.
"I haven't been able to sleep since painting it." Pasqual confesses shakily.
He tears his eyes away from the canvas and turns his back to both it and Pasqual.
"Burn it." He tells them firmly. "And apologize to Kieran."
--
Despite having built the greenhouse for Kieran awhile back, it's only just now that he ventures into it for the first time, having noticed Kieran's silhouette through the glass as he walked from Will's home back to his own. He slips inside the greenhouse with a big grin, unable to stop admiring just how perfect Kieran looked amidst the greenery.
"What're we planting today?" He asks, bright and cheery as he walks over to stand beside them. Lined up in a neat row were terracotta pots filled with gravel at the bottom. "Rocks?"
Kieran offers him a bemused smile. "The gravel helps with drainage. I'm planting the deathweed seeds you brought me the other week now that I have enough of the soil it needs."
He sees deathweeds all the time on his travels, the purple color of them and the smell of wood rot always so striking.
"Can I help?" He asks, always happy to be busy.
"Of course."
The two of them have barely finished adding the corrupt soil to the pots when quick, but determined footfalls sound off near the entrance of the greenhouse.
"I could sense that plant's vile presence from inside my home." Iris says with grave seriousness as she stalks inside of the greenhouse. "Plants such as those should be crushed under heel instead of nurtured."
Kieran and himself turn to regard Iris, momentarily struck speechless by her sudden whirlwind. It's Kieran who speaks first, and its now that he realizes its the first time he's ever seen Iris and Kieran in the same area.
"Vile or not, it's merely a plant. One that's being contained in a pot." Kieran tells Iris, eyeing her only for another second before going back to topping off a pot with soil. "There's no reason to be frightened."
Iris' shoulders stiffen and just like that all of her attention goes solely on Kieran.
"I'm not frightened." She says.
"What's the problem with this plant?" He asks, seeing as how he's apparently the only one out of the loop.
"It's corrupted. It will continue to corrupt if given the chance and it will filthy the natural soils of these woods and drain its life force." Iris tells him haughtily.
"Yes," Kieran looks up to agree. "But like all things, it can be managed. The corruption won't spread because the plant has been placed in a pot, instead of the soil. You have a higher understanding of plants than I do, so what is the harm of keeping it? It's isolated."
"Isolation is a mercy. It should not exist." And the cold inflection Iris laces the words with makes his knees buckle marginally, his hackles raising.
"And yet it does." Kieran tells her. "As it always has and will remain to do so long after us."
The silence that falls in the greenhouse is tense. He would even wager calling it uncomfortable.
"Be mindful of your actions." Iris says in parting, brown eyes flickering from Kieran and then to himself before turning on heel and exiting the greenhouse.
Kieran watches her back as she leaves. It isn't until she's out of sight that they return their focus to the pots.
"I-" He starts. "I'm not sure what just happened."
Kieran huffs a rueful sort of laugh. "That's alright. Maybe it's best we just forget about it."
Still, it's hard not to notice that something is different about them after the encounter. When it finally comes to water the seeds, he sees that Kieran's hand is clutching the tin waterpot with a trembling grip.
It's the first time he's ever seen them hesitate.
Slipping his hand over theirs, he guides Kieran into nurturing the plants.
--
The next morning when he steps outside of his home, the first thing he notices is that Kieran isn't outside tending to the smaller garden that still remained on the side of their home. The windows, as well as the curtains, remain shut. It's not like Kieran to sleep in, but he doesn't think too much about it. The morning was still early, after all.
It's when noon strolls along that he starts to feel something gnaw at him when Kieran's still yet to be seen. He ends his foraging trip into the forest early, satchel only half full of mushrooms and wild greens, and makes his way over to Kieran's.
He knocks twice before entering.
Kieran's home is dark in an impenetrable kind of way. No matter how hard he focuses his eyes, he can't see a thing. It didn't even matter that the sun was shining brightly directly overhead. Fortunately, seeing as how he visits often enough and had built the place himself, he knows precisely where everything is.
Mostly. He still trips over the broom.
"Kieran?" He calls out as he follows one wall with his hand until he reaches a window, which he pulls back the curtains, unlatches the lock and then pushes up. Sunlight floods into the dark home like a beacon. He blinks, blinded, before turning around.
There at the table, back ramrod straight, their arms neatly folded over one another on the table, was Kieran, their face stony as it regards the wall across from them, unblinking. He stares at them for a moment before approaching. When he's close enough to touch them, he's alarmed to find that Kieran is warmer than even he is. Their warmth is practically exuding from them in waves.
Their eyes, normally gray, have those odd red flecks in them once again. Maybe they always had them, it was just in times like these where he was able to see them.
"I missed you." He can't help but be painfully upfront about it. "I know we see each other every day and that we live next to each other, but it felt weird not seeing you as soon as I woke up."
Kieran doesn't act as if they'd heard him, but that's alright. Whatever mood they're in, he'll help them through it. He opens up the rest of the windows, starts the fire, and sets the kettle on to bubble. Kieran rarely eats breakfast, so making them tea had seemed more logical.
Little by little, their home brightens.
"I already watered the plants in the greenhouse, by the way." He starts to tell them while he pours them a cup of tea. "How long does it take for deathweeds to bloom? I don't think I've ever seen-" He nearly drops the kettle when he turns around and finds Kieran standing right behind him, but they catch his hand and prevent the accident. Keeping their eyes on him, Kieran guides his hands to deposit the kettle back down.
Wordlessly, they slip their arms around him and pull him into a hug. It's not like the casual hugs the two of them always share. Kieran holds onto him tightly like they're afraid he'll disappear.
"I miss you too." Kieran whispers into his hair. "Every time you leave, I miss you. Is that wrong of me?"
"Is it wrong of me?" He retorts.
Kieran says nothing to that.
--
He jumps awake to urgent knocking on his door and nearly trips and face plants into the floor as he slips out of bed, tangled in his sheet, to answer it. What time was it? How long had he been sleeping? It felt like he had only just closed his eyes...
Answering the door, he's greeted by Nasrin who looks wide-eyed and is breathing hard.
"What's the matter? Do I need to put on my armor?" He asks.
Nasrin shakes her head. "No. I don't think so? But, umm," And she pauses because there's suddenly noticeable arguing, followed along by the sound of something breaking. "Khalid and the Callahan are fighting and its worse than ever. Could you talk some sense into them?"
He should have guessed as much. The demolitionist, Callahan and the arms dealer, Khalid, had apparently struck a rivalry the second the two had shared words with one another. For what reason, he can't understand. Neither can Maggie, who seemed particularly annoyed at Khalid's antics when it came to the other man.
"Sure thing." He sighs and slips out of his home to run after the source of the noise.
On the other side of the village he finds a couple of the others gathered, the arguing at top volume here, and he makes it just in time to see the front door of Callahan's home opening and Khalid being bodily thrown out of it.
"I'm not going to patch either of you up if you keep up this horseshit. You're grown men. Act like it." Maggie sneers, tapping one of her feet.
"I don't need your help." Khalid hisses, pushing off the grass and swiping their hair out of their eyes. It comes out slurred and paired with the fact that Callahan's face is bright red, he comes to the conclusion that the two had coincidentally both gotten drunk on their own and then decided to pick a fight with the person they liked the least.
Will spots him approaching and clears the distance. " Talk some sense into these idiots! I can hardly get any sleep with them bickering."
Sighing, he straightens and looks towards the group. "What seems to be the problem this time?" He asks, absent-mindedly resting his hand on top of Will's head. They usually complain when he does this, but maybe they see just how tired he is and they're being merciful.
Callahan meets his gaze, their cheeks scarlet, and barks out a laugh that shakes the rest of his drowsiness away.
"The usual. Khalid here thinks he has any right to tell me what I ought to do in the privacy of my own home." They explain.
Khalid pushes themselves back into standing and dusts off their clothes aggressively. "You nearly set your house on fire with the dynamite you've been screwing around with all night! I heard the bang and this may come as a newsflash, asshole, but I live next to you! If your place sets on fire, mine's next. Not to mention your work is as noisy as anything."
"A little gunpowder going off and you come banging on my door." They tut.
He takes a deep breath. "Callahan, every home here is made of wood so if there is an explosion, I'm going to have a lot of work ahead of me. I can't ask you to stop doing what you love, but I can build you a place specifically for it."
Callahan arches one of their thick brows. "Oh, aye?"
"Yeah. I can build you a bunker where you can work as much as you'd like." He thinks for a moment. "I'll make it out of concrete. It'll be soundproof and if any tinkering goes wrong, you'll be the only one at risk. Does that sound fair?" He asks.
"Aye, that suits me just fine. But what am I meant to do in the meantime? Just sit around on my hands?"
"I'll get to work on it tomorrow. Shouldn't take more than a few days, so can you put any tinkering on hold until then?"
With a huff, Callahan nods. "Can do, boss."
"Great." He sighs with relief. "Are we done here?"
"Like hell we are." Khalid chimes in. "He's been antagonizing me all night and threw me out the door like I was trash and all he gets is a reward?"
"If the shoe fits..." Callahan mumbles just loud enough to be heard, clearly on purpose and he sees the attack before Khalid even implements it.
Khalid lunges at Callahan, toppling the burly man to the grass, and expecting only a couple of drunken fists being exchanged further, he doesn't really pay any mind- that is, until Khalid instead reaches for their holster. Their handgun is whipped out and aimed directly at Callahan's face, the latter of which isn't intimidated at all and stupidly shoves the gun away, forcing it upwards and Khalid's drunken hands into pulling the trigger.
The gun goes off and a bullet rips through the air- right through his left wing and cutting just above where Will was standing at his side.
All at once it grows eerily quiet as everyone turns to look at the two of them. Blood spurts out of the bullet wound in his wing but he doesn't care, doesn't even really feel the pain- he's too busy looking at Will, running his hands all over them to make sure that the bullet hadn't actually landed.
Will's eyes are large and watery, their breathing shaky.
"I'm," Will starts. "I'm okay! It didn't hit me."
He wonders why they're trying so hard to assure him when they were the ones scared, until he realizes just how badly he's shaking.
"Look what you nearly did." He hears Callahan shout.
Slowly, he turns towards the two of them, blood boiling and teeth clenched and he lets go of Will and surges forward, propelled by his wings. At the sight of him, Khalid drops the gun and it lands in the grass. He grabs them by the collar of their shirt, leans back and headbutts them, the sound of their nose breaking under the force of the strike loud enough that it rivals the gunshot. As Khalid is reeling from the blow, practically falling over themselves onto the grass, he clears the distance over to Callahan and connects his fist with their mouth.
He's about to strike them again when a hand, cool and calloused, settles on his right shoulder.
Turning around, he sees Kieran, their eyes shadowed. They don't say anything to him, just stare and gently squeeze his shoulder.
It's enough for him.
Clenching his eyes shut, he takes in a deep breath before shoving Callahan away and standing to his feet.
"If that bullet would have hit anyone other than me, you'd be dead." He warns the two of them, anger white hot in his veins. "If you two want to tear each other apart, be my guest, but do that outside the village. And apologize to him." He points at Will.
All at once, Khalid, cupping their broken nose and Callahan, spitting out blood and a tooth onto the grass, stand to their feet.
"I'm sorry." Khalid warbles, voice wet and nasally. The obvious shame in their eyes appeases him, but not by much.
"Me too, kid."
Will, overwhelmed, merely nods.
He breaks away from the crowd, scooping up Will with one arm and tucking them near his chest as he sets into flight towards their treehouse. The action had barely even connected in his mind, practically on autopilot, and he barely even comprehends how much time he spends seated at the edge of their bed while the two of them wait for the adrenaline to seep away. Neither him or Will speaks, not past Will's initial asking of if he was hurt, to which he had answered with a shake of his head. However long he stays there, it's long enough that Will at last falls asleep. He leaves quietly after watching their chest rise up and down for a moment.
He's about to set into flight once again, but notices Kieran waiting for him at the bottom of the treehouse.
"They're asleep?" Kieran asks when he glides down to the grass. When he nods stiffly, Kieran adds: "Will you let me tend to you now?"
There's a darkness to their eyes that hits him down into his marrow.
"Of course."
So he follows after them into their home, sits at the table and tries not to think about what happened in said chair the last time he did anything other than eat in it. Kieran walks over to their work desk, face passive as it has been all night, and goes to grab a healing potion, but the bottle slips in their grip and clatters to the floor with a shatter.
"Kieran?" He starts, worried, and stands to his feet the same time that Kieran holds up a hand to stop him. Their other hand moves to conceal their face. "Kieran, what's wrong?"
"Sometimes it's easy to be around the others. Other times, like now, I wish it were still just the two of us." Kieran confesses, voice strained.
"What happened tonight was an outlier. Most of the time it's calm, isn't it?" He's mindful of the glass as he approaches.
"I was tempted to let you keep going." Kieran slips their hand to look at him and say.
"But you didn't."
Kieran inhales sharply. "No. No, I didn't."
He stands in front of them and takes one of their shaky hands and starts to gently rub his thumb across the knuckles.
"Why?" He asks.
"You would have wanted me to stop you. You were trusting me to do this."
"And you did." He hums, and turns their hand over so he can trace their callouses with the tip of his finger. "Which I'm thankful for."
Kieran watches him, eyes turbulent, before saying: "Stay the night with me."
"Of course."
--
The following day finds him fast at work in his home, working on schematics for Callahan's bunker. There isn't much space in the village for more structures so he's left with building the bunker outside of it. He's scribbling down notes furiously when there's a knock on his door.
"Come in." He says and in the short breath it takes for whoever to open the door, he manages to finish his train of thought and etch it onto paper. "Hey, Maggie, what is it?"
The nurse never visits, which is fine. The two of them aren't close but just because they aren't really friends doesn't mean he'll ignore the worry etched in her features. Maggie closes the door behind herself and takes in the clutter of his home.
"Hi," She returns at last, coming to stand near him at the table instead of taking a seat. "Is it that obvious I'm here to talk about something?"
"A little." He shrugs. "Is it about last night?"
She sighs and nods.
"Yeah, that was pretty bad." He agrees.
"It was, but not because of anything you did. While I didn't care to see Khalid being pummeled like that, he deserved it. He shouldn't have been drinking as much as he was and he shouldn't have ever had his gun on him. It was a recipe for disaster." Maggie explains.
"The thing is," And her voice drops an octave. "Despite Khalid being an idiot, I care for him. More than I thought I would. We- we're together."
He blinks. "Oh. Congrats."
She gives him a look. "We've been dating for a little while now and at first I thought it couldn't work because he's always running his mouth before thinking and he had been flirting with Iris a lot, but it turned out he was just doing that to get my attention."
He wrinkles his nose at that.
"I know." She agrees. "Petty. But he apologized, told me the truth and promised he wouldn't do that anymore- the doing stupid shit for attention. And he hasn't. I've learned that when he makes a promise, he doesn't break it."
He studies her for a moment, confused. "...Why are you vouching for him?"
"Because last night he pissed you off in one of the few ways you can be pissed off and I was okay with him being roughed up to learn his lesson but I kept worrying all night that you were going to kick him out." She admits quickly.
"And when I thought about him leaving it made me realize how bad I've got it for him and than I had to consider the fact that even despite how much I like him, I'd stay here because there are people that need to be taken care of and honestly I don't think I can give up the safety I have here for anyone. Not even him." Her voice cracks a little at the end, but its quickly covered up by her clearing her throat.
"Maggie, I wasn't planning on kicking anyone out." He clarifies before she goes any further.
"You aren't?" She blinks. "I was so certain you would. I know how much Will means to you and last night-" She breathes for a moment. "- I really thought you were going to kill the both of them."
He flushes shamefully at that.
"You know, kid, usually when Kieran's around, I get nervous. It's hard not to, but after last night, I have to admit that I was glad he was there." Maggie says.
"He-" And he wonders what the right thing to say would be. "-he's good to me. Makes me better."
She hums knowingly. "The same goes for him, I think. I don't think he'll ever stop being as nerve wracking as he is to be around, but it's easier when you're with him."
"Is it?"
"Yeah."
It falls quiet for a moment.
"Listen, I promise that unless something really terrible happens, I'm not ever going to tell someone to leave. That's something that I think everyone should get a say in. And as for Khalid, you said he doesn't break promises. Can he promise me that something like last night won't happen again?"
"He can." Maggie tells him with utmost confidence. "Once he wakes up I'll kick him out so he can tell you himself. I've already done all the hard work for him, so it should be easy."
He blinks rapidly before a grin spreads across his face. "Kick him out?"
Maggie doesn't dignify that with a response.
--
And Khalid does come to him later as he's in the woods felling trees to make room for the bunker. Mid swing his axe, he hears footsteps. He doesn't stop the momentum he's built, lets the blade of the axe sink into the side of the tree's trunk and stay there. He wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his arm.
"Got a minute?" Khalid asks as they trudge through the foliage over to him. Their voice is garbled from the makeshift splint on their nose. Maggie really hadn't been kidding about not helping them.
He nods.
"Cool. So, about last night." Khalid starts, hazel eyes bleary from their hangover. "I don't know how else to say it other than I fucked up. Massively. It was...stupid. All of it. I shouldn't have confronted Callahan when I was drunk, shouldn't have had my gun on me and shouldn't have, you know, tried shooting his face off."
He snorts despite himself.
"I really am sorry about Will, I should say. I know I already said sorry to him, but he's like your little brother. Or son. I don't know. You care a lot for him. But even if it wasn't Will, I still deserved this." Khalid points up at their nose. "And you said last night if that bullet had hit anyone other than you, I'd be dead, which, while fair, I just have to point out that man, it hit you. It hit you, alright, and I didn't say sorry about that. Didn't even ask if it hurt. That's shitty. And I know you shake off injuries like it's nothing, but you shouldn't have to get hurt when you're at home. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah?" He says.
"Good. I appreciate the stuff you do for us. For me. And I know Mags already went to talk to you, I felt her slip out of bed when she thought I was still asleep, so whatever she said I agree unanimously with because she's smarter than me."
"She's pretty smart." He agrees.
--
Another victory leads to another celebration and of course leads to a night of drinking far too much wine.
He's flat on his back across Kieran's bed, legs hanging off the edge and his still covered feet planted on the floor. Every and now and then he sits up to take a drink from the bottle of wine he's got gripped in his left hand but he's pretty sure he hasn't remembered to do that in quite some time now as he instead stares up at the ceiling and upends his rambling thoughts into the quiet of the home.
While he talks endlessly, Kieran busies themselves at their brewing station, grinding herbs and fiddling with small vials of liquids. They hum occasionally to reassure him that even though their eyes were elsewhere, they were in fact listening. It must be distracting, he realizes; having to listen to him talk about schematics for this and that while they work, but this isn't the first time he's been drunk around them and he's positive it won't be the last. Kieran's home is the only place he feels comfortable enough to let loose like this.
He stops talking to turn and look at them instead, mindlessly biting his bottom lip. He admires Kieran's hands, first and foremost, as always when they work. He knows the shape and feel of those hands better than his own. As par of the course for when he or anyone is staring, Kieran can intrinsically sense it. They don't turn to look at him, but he does see them pause in their work and slowly sees their left eye slide to the corner to regard him.
A small smile peeks from their lips and just like that he's enamored as always.
"Kieran." He calls out, a little slurred, but just as affectionate.
This time they do turn towards him.
"Yes?"
As embarrassing as it is, he doesn't know why he called out to them; doesn't know what to say now that he's got their full attention. He bites his lip as he thinks, maybe a little harder than he should because he thinks he tastes blood. Kieran's eyes follow the movement of where his tongue peeks out to lap at the sudden shallow blooming of blood.
With calm, measured ease, Kieran sets down their things and walks over to the bed. Takes the wine bottle of his hand and sets it on the table.
"Are you feeling ill?" Kieran asks. "You drank more than usual."
He shakes his head.
"It's late. Why don't you sleep?" Kieran offers from their position above him and god, having them stare down at him- it's binding. Makes him unfurl his wings and spread them out beneath him.
"Could I sleep here?" He manages to ask.
"How could I turn you away?" Kieran smiles.
He breathes relief at that and starts to struggle to sit up to take off his shoes but Kieran beats him to it, gracefully sliding down to crouch on one bent knee. One by one his boots get untied and slipped off before being set at the end of the bed. The fondness he feels for Kieran in this moment strikes him like lightning and he can't help but be overwhelmed by the truth that yes, he'd carve out a hole in his chest and tuck them inside the cage of his ribs, if only to keep them safe from the world and all its dangers. They would live right beside his heart, where they belong, and they'd be safe and-
The thought is stopped dead in its tracks when he realizes with horror that his mouth has been moving to speak the words to life and Kieran had heard all of that and is now standing once more, eyes wide and flickering with emotion as they regard him. And while mortified, he refuses to eat the words. He stays where he is, nursing his abused bottom lip as his wings twitch and flutter with the adrenaline that's now coursing through him.
Kieran slips to stand between his spread thighs, and although not at all making physical contact with him, he still finds his back arching just a little. The next time he blinks, Kieran is looming over him, their right hand braced flat against the bed to keep them balanced as they cup his cheek with their left.
Their eyes bore into him, smoldering like steel from a crucible and without breaking eye contact, he leans into their touch. Slips his right hand around their wrist to keep their hand where it sits. Turning his face towards their palm, he presses a kiss and then another and another, hungry, all the while dragging his thumb across the horizontal scar across their wrist.
Emboldened, he flicks his eyes towards them, still mouthing at their palm, before inching up and sinking his teeth just near where the original scar from his bite lies. He doesn't bite hard, just firm enough there will be indentations, and above him Kieran inhales sharply.
"Zachariah." Kieran says and it's deeper than he's ever heard, practically a rumble. His gut roils with heat at the sound. Both of his wrists are captured before being pinned to the bed on either side of his head.
He turns his face to the side, baring his neck, his scar from them, and Kieran's eyes darken before there's a morbid sound like a crunch or a joint popping out of place and Kieran dips their face to conceal it against his neck. For an agonizingly short moment he feels their lips part and there's a graze of teeth that are far more sharper than any human's ought to be. He blames that on the alcohol messing with his head.
Still, he braces for a bite, is desperate for one, but it never comes.
Kieran takes a few deep, shuddering breaths and raises their face to look at him once more. Their eyes are perfectly gray and there are no sharp teeth peeking out past pale lips. It had all been his imagination.
"Zach." Kieran says again, sounding strained. "For you, the world." And they lean up to press a kiss that isn't at all chaste to his forehead. It sears like a brand. "But you need to sleep."
They break away from him, still pinning, but far away enough that he can think about something besides kissing them. Dizzy, he nods, and Kieran lets him go so that he can readjust on the bed. He flops onto his stomach, face smushed into the pillows and he folds his wings neatly against his back. Kieran pulls the sheets over him, mindful of his wings, before sinking a hand into his mop of curls.
He falls asleep to that touch.
--
He makes himself scarce after that drunken night.
Can't even look at a bottle of wine without his guts turning into a ball of frantic worms. He'd meant every word he'd said, doesn't regret speaking them, it's just...
Loving Kieran isn't what he's ashamed about- it's the manner in which he loves them that's the problem. What he feels for Kieran feels selfish. He's read that love is meant to set you free but really, in the deepest parts of himself where he is a clawed and desperate thing, he wants nothing more than to keep Kieran in his cradled hands; his grasp always a bit too tight.
So it hurts, avoiding Kieran, but he needs time to sort himself out.
He explores deeper and deeper into a sort of pit he's made. One day he had just started digging straight down and didn't stop. It's been months since the pit had been started and now when he jumps down it, it descends past a myriad of different biomes. At the very bottom, leading into a lake of lava, is somewhere new.
Whatever this place was, it was so hot that his armor starts to scald him in certain spots and breathing took notable effort. The air is dry and smells like sulfur and looking on ahead means seeing things through a mirage of heat; the figures in the distance looking warped.
Avoiding the lava is easy, seeing as how he can fly, but it takes three times the amount of effort here than it does on the surface. What really pisses him off are the winged, malignant creatures that keep trying to curse him.
It's as he's hastily emptying out chests in the black stone structures that another devil spots him and he's nearly hit by an arc of magic while he's trying to look at whatever it's got clutched in its taloned feet.
Hitting the thing in the back with his flail makes it drop the item, which he scoops mid air above a bed of lava as the monster themselves plunges into it; too stunned from the pain to remember to keep flying. He flies back over to the structure, boards himself in a room, and inspects the item.
It's a doll, made from something rough like burlap. Squeezing it a few times reveals that it's most likely filled with straw. What horrifies him are the little button eyes, the exact shade of someone in particular he knows, as well as the yarn hair, light brown in color and falling into the doll's face in a familiar way.
It's even wearing the clothes he'd seen Kieran wearing that morning when he'd dared to peek at them before flying off.
Staring at the doll gives him too, the sense that he's being watched. It's enough to make his skin crawl. He startles when he hears a sharp whisper into his ear, the words unintelligible, and thoroughly sick of too many weird things happening at once, he exits the structure to stand atop it. He eyes the bed of lava in front of him. Every instinct is telling him to toss the doll into the lava. He chances looking at the gray button eyes again and despite the reeling dread that sinks into his core, he feels wistful. Feels a misplaced affection because even if this thing wasn't Kieran, it looked like them and he was an idiot and misses them terribly.
So he takes it.