@AdmrlStalfos19 Sample text so you can find the body paragraphs easily while formatting it for a character. Due to the really poor limitations of BBCode if I were to neatly organise the coding it adds massive spacing between everything and that’s infuriating.
But sure change it up however you like it’s just outlining the basics required on the sheet along with fun extras.
@Dead Cruiser Sure, I’ll have it up later today. Check back occasionally.
Reworking a side-RP of mine. Will be sharing a Discord (invite link here: discord.gg/UDd82mv) with another RP I'm running (on another site) because I'd rather manage everything on one server. Intchk will have information slowly added over the next week or two, but for now just curious how many want to play.
I reserve the right to reject anyone without any reason stated. If this happens, don't continue posting in the RP's thread or intchk, thanks.
No one knows the sources of magic that once permeated the world nor how they faded with time. In the modern age, the world has forgotten much of the arcane secrets. And terrors.
In the midst of perpetual upheavals and innovations the old magic, known as The Whisper, persists. Its champions still called themselves Crowns, the ones chosen by the aspects of humanity to fight the endless war against crawling shadows. The mark of a Crown was an appearance that suited only them, unusual and impossible in reality, while an ornament decorated their head, its shape and size distinct with every mind, but always wisping an ethereal white smoke.
The first crowns were chosen by the primary aspects of humanity--Wrath, Joy, Fear. They were not the strongest, nor the bravest. Some refused to bear the burden. But, one way or another, the unwanted responsibilities came to their doorstep. Then came the Crowns of Madness, Disgust, Grief, and Contempt. They were better than their cohorts, if only by sheer chance.
They learned the war and fought it. Hunted down the monsters and taught each other the methods of seeking and destroying. These Crowns named the amorphous creatures 'the Elegies' for the sad hum of music audible when one approached the source. And every appearance of an Elegy was heralded by the sound of bells--some tinkled and others clattered, while still others thrummed with a deep, resonating tone that quaked the air. These bells would soon be called 'the Death Knells', but for whom was the eternal question: the monster or the hunter?
The Crowned power allowed its users to step into another world, where people vanished and reality no longer acknowledged them. But here the Elegies dwelled, the funeral song of their otherworldly tunes driving mankind mad with sickness both physical and mental.
Then came the Crown of Pride, almost reluctantly like the powers that created them struggled to justify its decision. For a time they kept the Elegies at bay, but even the magic that bolstered their bodies in combat could not stop the flow of time. They aged and weakened, stronger than humans but too frail for Elegies. Most did not survive to see old age.
Before long the first Crowns were replaced, the few survivors seeking out the new to teach them the ways. It became an old tradition as human history continued its breakneck pace, that surviving Crowns would mentor those who had recently awoken and throughout time several Crowns pooled their resources to create discreet hubs of shelter and information for Crowns and their supporters to meet. Many of the locations were expanded and upgraded over time, changing their forms of business to match the ages, but never their true purpose.
The Industrial Revolution saw the emergence of new Crowns, of a different ilk. The ornament no longer breathed mist, but caught the light and refracted the colors. Their numbers were vastly greater than the first Crowns and their powers immensely more varied. There were too many to catalog, or even keep track of. They were divided into Prismatic Crowns and Ethereal Crowns thereafter, with the former category boasting champions for more complex aspects of humanity and everything in-between. There was peace for a time, until the Mourning Day, when an Elegy woke that was so powerful it set the world on fire. Many Crowns were lost that day, whose replacements would never match their courage and wisdom. But the creature fell, at last, to a hail of destruction from the combined might of hundreds.
Such a disaster has never been seen since, and the world has maintained a relative sort of peace until now.
》 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖨𝖲𝖤
Fast forward to the present day when the Crowns have had to innovate to get by. Seedy dives and bars were out of the question when they made hideouts prime targets for police stakeouts, so many of the established headquarters of Crown operations have been repurposed as more reputable, but low-brow fast-food joints and diners.
The mystique of the older traditions gave way in the self-deprecating climate of the times and much of the reverence had faded from what the Crowns could do. Those who fastidiously hunted and eradicated Elegies at the sound of every Death Knell had no time for the rigors of realities and either lived at the various hidden headquarters or remained homeless on the streets. But the Elegies remained the same, unfettered by worldly concerns, driving both human innovations and calamities.
Your character is someone who lives in the fictional city of Bloomfield Bay, a beautiful coastal metropolis boasting a burgeoning population of four million and upwards. As the city expands its residential districts and constructs more high-rise apartments surrounding the glistening waters of the bay, its population is blissfully unaware of the strange illnesses that have stricken several backpackers and citizens living in low-budget accommodations within the city slums. As the government does its best to pretend like the poor and their problems don't exist, the cases are swept under the rug as a localized epidemic affecting only areas with poor sanitation and hygiene.
People are told to wash their hands more often. Then the news segment cuts to the latest styles in Hollywood. The problems do not exist.
Your story begins here.
》 𝖬𝖠𝖦𝖨𝖢 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖡𝖠𝖳
A force the Crowns call "The Whisper" is what awakens Crowns. An unintelligible whispering calls to someone, and leads them into the Grayspace, where their powers awaken. There are times when new Crowns do not survive the process, especially if an Elegy is lying in wait for them.
Crowns transform by summoning forth their 'crown' which can take the shape of any headgear or headwear they desire. When a Crown is first awakened, they’ll see a traditional royal crown float down to them, its border unstable, but undeniably fit for a king. For Ethereals, the crown they first see is ghostly and transparent, with a white mist billowing from it. Prismatics are greeted by a similar, but crystalline crown whose shape jitters like a glitch on a screen and whose form refracts light in every colour visible and invisible. The Crown moulds to its wielder’s soul once and remains that way forevermore. For Ethereals the Crown’s final shape will continue breathing a white mist, regardless of the colour/colours and make of its form. For Prismatics the Crown’s colours and features will finalise and the result glows noticeably. The transformation can also change eye and hair colour (along with hair length and style) and in some extreme cases encase an entire body in armour. Facial features and body type do not change, however.
Once the shape of the Crown is selected, the outfit follows, generally tailored to some vague notion of the user's thoughts and finished by The Whisper's power. Every Crown has a weapon, even if it's not immediately apparent. The weapon, too, can take on any shape and isn't always a conventional armament. A Crown's power and attributes will suit the aspect they champion, as it is the aspect that chooses them and grants them its blessings. While Crowned, physical capabilities surpass all human bounds. Running and jumping at speeds and heights normally impossible for humans is like breathing and reflexes are naturally sharpened. Stamina is nearly boundless and restricted mostly by the individual magical capacity of the Crowns. These basic enhancements can be further upgraded under the effects of certain Crowns.
Crowns are divided into Ethereal Crowns and Prismatic Crowns. Ethereal Crowns tend to have huge-radius AoE buffs/debuffs, but very few, if any, directly offensive capabilities. Prismatic Crowns are the scalpels to the Ethereal kitchen knives and possess immeasurable varieties of powers between various Crowns. While the Ethereal Crowns are limited to the eight basic aspects, Prismatic Crowns are free to champion any other more complex/nuanced aspects of humanity. There can only be one Crown of each type at a time, however. New Crowns are not selected by The Whisper until a previous Crown has died. Prismatic Crowns, though limited by the same restrictions, are as varied as there are words.
Crowns fight Elegies in a world they call the Grayspace, a strange limbo world where colors are muted and people disappear. The environment remains the same, but Crowns and Elegies cannot interact with objects aside from touching them. Doors do not budge and handles do not turn. The inanimate objects, then, become something like perfect barriers to use in order to avoid otherwise devastating attacks. Crowns have made use of the strange environment ever since the first battles.
The sound of a Death Knell signals an Elegy within roughly 10 kilometers, and the closer a Crown gets the louder the voiceless tune of the Elegies' songs sound. Crowns can hear Death Knells and Elegies even in the real world, but can only see and fight them in the Grayspace. The Crowns' transformations, however, can happen both within the Grayspace and reality. Old stories tell of more powerful Elegies, who can step out of the Grayspace for a time and threaten the Crowns in reality as well. Elegies come in all shapes and sizes and are often abstract in form. The more amorphous an Elegy is, the weaker and the easier to dispose of. Stronger Elegies have more unique personalities that shape their forms and amplify their songs, making them high-profile, but immensely dangerous targets.
An Elegy's song has been known to cause both creativity and madness, ultimately leading to future calamities. The Crowns agree that for every innovation brought about by the wonders of a song, there are thousands more driven mad, and even the creations brought forth by the song's inspiration has always wound up being the same instruments of destruction. Where the Elegies come from is a mystery, one that the Crowns have yet to solve.
Crowns can normally identify each other immediately by feeling the magical energies of others, though this only informs if someone is an Ethereal or a Prismatic Crown, and gives no information on what aspect another Crown champions. Veteran Crowns have learned to hide this aura, as Elegies can use the same trick to follow their movements in combat. New Crowns, especially after awakening to their powers, are always easily identified by the burst of uncontrolled magical energy around them. If they survive long enough for another Crown to find them, they'll be taken to the nearest headquarters for introduction and an explanation.
》 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲
Bloomfield Bay sprawls around the water's edge on the city's massive southern side filled with ports and ships loaded with cargo. The city center is the downtown business district filled with large, multilevel shopping complexes and high-end businesses catering to every luxurious need. The further west you go in the city, the more impoverished the housing and businesses. The west end has the oldest, original architecture of the city's first settlements, but is poorly maintained. Newer, more modern houses crop up on the east, where suburbs filled with new family homes and smaller apartment complexes expand ever outward and cozy businesses set up shop in response to the demand. The city's north is filled with factories and manufacturing plants sequestered away from the scenic cityline. Large swathes of land are devoted to warehouses and rented storage units and even further north are the wide, sweeping farmlands that provide the city's agricultural goods.
Public transit runs throughout the city and is normally more efficient than cars in most places except for the far north end. Trains stations, lightrails, buses, and rentable scooters/bikes are plentiful throughout the city and provide ample means of transportation for everyone. Rush hours in the mornings and late afternoons still require a squeeze onto the trains and lightrails, but increased frequency of public transit during peak hours alleviate much of the congestion.
Many private and public schools and universities litter the massive city and many major companies have recently decided to call Bloomfield Bay their headquarters, bringing with them employees and families eager to settle into the beautiful metropolis.
》 BURGER QUEEN (ON FIFTH AVE AND WINDSOR ST)
Just another fast-food restaurant with limited seating capacity on the suburban east side of the city. The chain has recently upgraded their locations with cove lighting and nicer chairs, with significantly better interior decorating. Sitting just outside the business district of the bustling city, this Burger Queen sees a steady stream of customers and has even added a special VIP room in the back for its most frequent customers. A clean and tidy, but otherwise homeless man lives in an SUV outside this location and despite numerous complaints to the city council, some influence or higher power has allowed him to remain right where he is. No one knows where he goes to take showers and clean up, but his car and clothes are consistently clean. Most people assume some kind soul is giving him money.
》 THE EXCELSIOR COMPLEX (ON A ST AND TREMANE RD)
Smack in the middle of the most expensive district in the city center, this apartment complex is only for the filthy rich and obscenely lavish. There's 24/7 security, surveillance, and multiple layers of scans to even get in the front door. Airport security has nothing on this place. The penthouse apartment at the Excelsior is known to host many get-togethers and meetings for the owners' friends, who are all in possession of a guest-access keycard and Excelsior-issued ID. The apartment owner is almost always overseas on lucrative foreign business trips and is rarely around to help others get into this meeting hotspot, as much as he would like to. Rumors say he's been sending money to the homeless guy outside the Burger Queen.
》 SULTRY SIPS (ON LEICESTER ST AND ESCALERO AVE)
This is one of those seedy bars in the wrong (read: west) side of town that most Crown headquarters have stopped being, but the Sultry Sips doesn't care about that. Featuring 'entertainers' and blackjack among other hedonistic activities, the Sips is about as dirty as used lingerie and smells about the same. Its VIP room is immaculately clean, however, and is equipped with a jacuzzi and bar, making it the next best place to bum at for those who still can't get into the Excelsior. Just be careful of the drunkards outside on the way in. The Sips' owner is a older Crown who's since retired herself from active combat and settles for running her unregistered brothel/registered bar in relative peace while mentoring any new Crowns who cross her path.
》 ABANDONED WAREHOUSE (ON IMBREE RD AND MCNEILLY ST)
Someone owns this large, abandoned warehouse on the north edge of the city and just won't use it for some inexplicable, Crown-related reason, so the Crowns have set up shop and made themselves cozy with secondhand furniture and jerryrigged electricity from a generator. It's a communal effort from the Crowns to keep the place tidy, but with people coming and going and dropping off more bargain bin household supplies, it's something of a comfortable mess. The largest of all the Crown HQs but the least pretty, it's still a good place to meet up for Crowns living in the area.
》 THE BAGEL PANTRY (ON STATENHAM RD AND GEYER BLVD)
A southside eatery specializing in bagels and bagel sandwiches that gets plenty of foot traffic from the trendy occupants of the city's southern end, which borders the expansive bay and is ringed with high-rise apartment complexes. The location isn't as expensive or extravagant as the inner city business district, but is becoming quite popular for its views of the coast and its small, but somewhat affordable apartments. The Bagel Pantry has a large basement that's been added to over the years by various Crowns, resulting into a smorgasbord of mancave, cutesy decor, floral arrangements, and modern-aesthetic furniture.
》 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖳
Ethereal Crowns are limited slots and not FCFS, but Prismatics can be almost anything you prefer and does not require slot competition. All eight Ethereal Crown slots do not need to be filled. Multiple apps are allowed, limited only by your capacity to play them all.
Personality stats should be self-explanatory. Just copy and paste either a blank star or a filled-in star for the ranking out of five stars. Don't use these as hard guidelines for how to play a character, they're for fun. Likewise don’t set confidence to zero stars and then have the character never stop believing in himself. Be reasonable.
The name of your crown should correlate in some way to a core aspect of the powers granted. It can be a loose fit, but don't stretch too hard.
Combat stats follow: strength is a measure of direct damage; support is a measure of anything else that helps teammates other than you directly killing/damaging something; dexterity is a measure of how fast your character moves/attacks; defense is a measure of how tanky the character is or how effective they are at deflecting or countering attackers; magical energy is a measure of how long a character can fight before they need to rest or how often they can fire off big attacks. The stars are a rough rule of thumb, five stars is five big attacks before the character needs to rest and so forth.
You character can have anywhere from 1-5 main skills (with minor variations being offshoots of the main skills and don't need to be mentioned). Make sure to describe your skills clearly--if it's an AoE, say so, if it's a high-energy skill, say so, etc. Don't stack your skills list with nothing but high-energy skills because the rough rule of thumb is purely a guideline for you and not a perfect indicator of how many of those big skills I'll allow you to keep firing in one fight. The bigger/more damaging the effect the more energy it'll cost. I'll leave it to you to figure out what category a skill falls into, but if you need to check, feel free to ping and ask.
Don't take the stars too literally, they're just general indicators to guide combat. On the other end, don't completely ignore the stats you set, either. Find a good balance when you play.
Try not to create characters with the same weapon/skills/personality/history as a preexisting one. It's certainly possible in the universe of the story, but it tends to rub players the wrong way, so first come first served on the character/power archetypes and no repeats.
A sample character is below, but I won't be playing that one so the bow and the corresponding Crown is not taken, as a disclaimer. It's purely a sample.
》 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖢𝖤: 168 cm || 57 kg || brown eyes || black hair
Emery keeps it casual with T-shirts and jeans for warm weather and just throws a light jacket on top for the colder, but still pleasantly mild, winters of Bloomfield Bay. He likes his hair a bit long, but trims it whenever it reaches his shoulders. He really enjoys collecting and wearing different styles of chokers from handmade ones to cheap trinkets found on the cashier racks of grocery stores. He collects baubles to accessorize the more basic chokers, amassing a hearty jewelry box of colorful plastics and thrift-store crystals.
》 𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖸
Emery's got a stick up his ass for people who waste food. His family had hammered into his impressionable mind from a young age that food was never to be wasted and as he grew up his belief in that only strengthened, especially when stints volunteering at the homeless shelters really opened his eyes to the reality of those with less. He thinks of himself as obligated to help others in whatever way he can, spending much of his high school years volunteering with the local charity clubs and racking up an impressive CV. In his free time he enjoys cooking at the homeless shelter's kitchen, killing two birds with one stone by getting practice and feeding others.
With graduation recently behind him, Emery's college life looms like an abhorrent beast and he's only just realized he doesn't have a girlfriend. His Tinder profile is nothing fancy, but he's looking for someone with a 'hearty appetite' and a 'tolerance for recipe experiments'.
» 𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤𝖲
» 𝖣𝖨𝖲𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤𝖲
cooking
watching people eat
researching recipes
trying new food
food waste
selfish people
picky eaters
dirty sinks
》 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸
Emery was born to a middle class family with little aspirations for him. His father would have been content if Emery had become a general desk clerk for a generic company while his mother was happy enough if he could find himself a respectable girlfriend. But Emery had a knack for cooking from a young age and obsessed over Food Network. He became the one who bought groceries and made dinner every day, much to his mother's delight and relief, and his father enjoyed the food enough to say "You should open a restaurant!" with a hearty laugh while Emery beamed.
He would up working in high school, but at a homeless shelter instead of a restaurant, deciding he could get both extracurricular activities done while working towards some nebulous dream of opening a restaurant. For a time it went well, and his college application looked saintly with all the hours he had clocked at the shelter. In the summer before he entered the local university, the Whisper called to him, pulling him into the Grayspace where a weak Elegy warbled its sad song. His magical transformation took place then and some supernatural instinct told him to fire the bow that came forth.
He hasn't been the same since. His parents worry.
✣
❅ 𝖢𝖱𝖮𝖶𝖭𝖤𝖣 ❅
❖ 𝖬𝖠𝖦𝖨𝖢
CROWN OF DILIGENCE
» 𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧
» 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖯𝖮𝖱𝖳
» 𝖣𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖳𝖸
» 𝖣𝖤𝖥𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖤
» 𝖬𝖠𝖦𝖨𝖢𝖠𝖫 𝖤𝖭𝖤𝖱𝖦𝖸
★★☆☆☆
★★☆☆☆
★★★★★
★☆☆☆☆
★★★★☆
The arrow always finds its mark and the bow fires relentlessly, whittling down shields and armor in its torrent. The Crown of Diligence boasts remarkable endurance and sustain fire, able to constantly apply pressure to enemies.
HOMING ARROW: High-energy attack. A piercing shot that feverishly seeks its target. Cannot be cast in quick succession and drains a large amount of magical energy, limiting its number of uses per battle.
RICOCHET SHOT: Suppression. Shots bounce between enemies, dealing little in terms of penetration, but constantly keeping the enemy off-balance and distracted.
ARROW RAIN: AoE. The classic fantasy archer's attack. Diligence fires one shot into the sky that rains down upon enemies persistently. Keeping up the attack drains him after some time, but betting on his stamina running out is normally a mistake.
❖ 𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖮𝖱𝖬𝖤𝖣 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖢𝖤
As the Crown of Diligence, Emery's Crown takes the shape of an ornate hair tie binding his longer hair into a ponytail. The band is decorated with colorful crystals matching the decor of his longbow. His outfit is a long, blue trenchcoat worn over a white blazer and black skirt. Black pants and gold-trimmed thigh-high boots finish the outfit in high fashion, leaving Emery as confused as he is...impressed?
Sander eventually woke up to the smell of his own shampoo. Yawning, he lifted his face from Christmas’ golden locks and stirred gently. As he blinked sleep from his eyes, Christmas’ bare shoulder came into view, the boy’s loose sweater was skewed after his sleep. Tempted by the taut skin, Sander leaned over and nibbled gently, teeth scrapping over where Christmas’ neck connected to his shoulder.
Tiny sensations stirred the healer and he groped blindly for Sander’s arm, hugging the limb close once he found it. Seemingly encouraged, Sander began licking at Christmas’ neck, leaving a wet trail as he moved up to nibble at the shell of his ear. Quiet, but uneven breaths signaled the first real signs of waking and a sharp inhale followed as Sander’s tongue touched the exposed ear.
”S-Sander…?” The same shaky murmur he always had, because Christmas always seemed nervous and skittish and too ready to hide himself away at the first sign of confrontation—the learned habits of the constantly oppressed. ”…Good…morning?” Cornflower blue eyes cracked open to check the daylight, but squeezed shut once again, still looking for sleep. Christmas shifted instead until he was tight against Sander, shivering in the morning cold. ”…Are you okay?” Because he hadn’t forgotten, not for a single waking second, Sander’s condition.
"You’re here. I’m fine.” -Sander mumbled, seemingly in a daze -”I’m fine.”
One of his hand slipped into Christmas’ unzipped shorts, groping. At that, the blonde woke up, curling up to try and stop the errant hand. He clutched at the arm now, confused noises all he could muster in his surprise. Sander only seemed to be amused, breathy laughs brushing the back of the healer’s neck.
“I’m getting used to waking up next to you.”
Christmas snuggled in tighter at the comment, hand still trying to hold back Sander’s advances. He wanted to spend their cozy moment together a bit longer, though he couldn’t deny that he liked what Sander clearly wanted as well, the heat rising to his shoulders once more. But Sander didn’t push. He just went limp, hand retreating to the safer territory of the healer’s stomach.
“How’s your leg?” -Sander’s voice was muffled slightly as he pressed idle kisses against the back of his boyfriend’s shoulders and neck, seemingly unable to leave the patches of bare skin alone.
”It…It’s okay. A-Are you…?”
“Fine.” -The word was light, but Sander’s tone was firm, brokering no argument.
If there was one thing Christmas could do, it was shutting up, so he did. The room was quiet besides the sounds of rustling sheets and breaths, awkward in the aftermath. ”S-Sorry…”
A defeat sigh, and Sander’s hand began to caress Christmas’ stomach, as if trying to smooth out the tension. For the most part, the blood mage’s body temperature had got back to normal. The last fight was not as taxing on him as the ones before.
“Don’t be.” -Sander lowered his voice to barely a whisper -”I’m just…practicing restraint.”
To that, Christmas only nodded, choosing to avoid saying anything more. Despite his inability to even hold a conversation most of the time, despite his social ineptitude, and especially despite himself, he didn’t want to lose Sander. Not even in the smallest way.
Sander let the uncomfortable silence stretch out for a bit more, until he finally gave in and sat up, crawling into a kneeling position between Christmas’ legs.
“Can I see?” -He placed a tentative touch on the healer’s previously injured foot.
Trying to avoid the distraction of a naked Sander, Christmas covered his face, nodding again.
“Why are you covering your face?” -That drew a soft laugh from the blood mage, just as he lifted the injured foot and twisted it gently, observing Christmas’ closely for any discomfort. There was none, only the faint and rising scent of the coffee once more.
Already too familiar with Christmas’ tells, Sander could easily recognize the signs of arousal. Still, instead of pressing the healer down and finishing where they left off last night, Sander only leaned up, bracing both of his arms on either side of the blond boy’s head.
“It’s fine?”
More nodding, though Christmas continued to hide behind his hands, only for Sander to lean down and kiss his knuckles, leaving a wet trail.
He didn’t know what to do with so much affection. It wasn’t a display he had ever been given unconditionally—always meted out carefully because his mother couldn’t find herself and Alvin had never cared enough to show it so often. He moved his hands away, staring up wide-eyed and vulnerable at the blood mage.
”…You’re too good.”
Sander wasn’t sure how to respond. It felt too intimate, too honest, and he didn’t know if his words were good enough in this moment. But he tried, anyway.
“I’m grateful, you know.” -A hand brushed lightly at the white mark on Christmas’ face -”This…brought you to me. It healed you. I’m grateful, so I’m just trying to be someone you would deserve.”
”You’re already more than that.” He thought of his mother hugging and rocking him during a rare moment when the medications had taken over and she was calm enough to feel, but emotional enough to grieve. The mark had been a death sentence for her son and she had only cried over him that night. It clashed against the gentle appreciation Sander always felt and Christmas couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Sander’s chest, trying to hug all the good things as close to himself as he could.
“Not enough, you know. It’s different for us black marks.” -Sander sighed, relaxing into the embrace -”I’m trying, but I don’t really know…where I’m going.”
”N-Neither do I…I just…want to go anywhere with you.”
“Even if wherever I’m going isn’t…good?”
”You’re good. Wherever you go will be good, too.” His hold on Sander tightened, as if to physically confirm that belief.
Sander was quiet for the longest of time, because he knew. Christmas wasn’t there to see the murky darkness in his dream. The whirlpool of blood. The looming doom in the distance. He didn’t want the blond boy to, yet, he wasn’t sure he could refuse anything when it was Christmas who asked.
He wanted to get better, now more than ever.
With a quiet sigh, Sander simply patted the blond boy.
“Wanna shower?”
”Okay,” Christmas replied, voice buried in Sander’s shoulder because he knew that people had different faces, but he had seen the red eyes and wanted to believe Sander could be more than that. He wanted Sander to believe it, too.
Sander had been reclusive after the first day of their return and Christmas had an inkling as to why, especially with the way Sander curled up under the covers in his own bed every time he returned at curfew. He knew of the rigors the Stigma forced on those who bore it and he knew Sander was suffering in a way he couldn't heal. If only his power could heal that, too, though this time his wishes didn't invite any more visions of yellowed, summer grass. He hugged the hiding Sander instead, laying down beside the covered form and holding on to the trembling shoulders because he knew it was Sander's fight to bear alone. It hurt him, too, because he was a healer, and the recent improvements to his power had given him a false sense of hope like he could fix anything if he relied on it enough. But now the power couldn't help him and for all intents and purposes he was only a normal, weak boy.
That's why the text from Ernie scared him so much. Scared him half out of his mind and he couldn't figure out which "first" stall was which if it was the left or the right one and when his first guess was wrong he threw them all open anyway. It hurt, how hard his heart beat in his chest at the sight of Sander laying there bloodied and unconscious. There were glass shards on the ground from an obvious fight and one of them he used to tear at his own skin, ripping jagged lines into his legs and arms while it hurt so much he couldn't even think. White mist flooded the room, enveloping his and Sander's torso in that clear, sparkling sheath again, pushed out rapidly by his will until he was dizzy. Sander's wounds were healing now and he could see the rise and fall of breaths from Sander's chest right before he collapsed to his knees, more shards piercing the skin there and making him cry out as he fell to the side, curling up on the bed of glass while more pricked at his arm and side.
In the dream Sander saw the nightmare again. Waves upon waves of red, whirling in a violent dance. He was trapped amidst the crimson water once again, and it felt silly to assume he ever left. This was his place. His prison, his hell. His watery grave. Sander surfaced, drawing in gasping breaths as he looked into the distance, where he knew the familiar darkness would loom. It was there now, present in the space nearby because it had grown smart and fat on a faintly familiar presence. Smarter than it was before. It peered in to the space of his dreams, where a strange force seemed to keep it at bay. It stalked and moved like a vulture eyeing future prey, knowing its target would soon die. The Stigma surged in his thoughts, threatening to consume him in the urges that he had been so desperately fighting back. But it couldn't enter, yet. Couldn't take what it wanted from him. Sander screamed, desperate and instinctive, but no sound came out. In the plane of dreams, there was simply none. But fear remained. Awkwardly, he fought the impossible currents, trying to get away from it. The visage ebbed and he found himself floating over it all, nestled in a protection that was simultaneously his and not. Sourced from within and outside all at once. The Stigma's noise edged into a lower intensity, but now the shapeless presence around him was boiling and overflowing, surging around as it probed for a way in. He could feel it searching, the mark on his throat burning. A wave of red, not enough. The connection wasn't there. A blonde woman in a lab coat. Closer, but the force of her had faded. His brother. His family. Even his elementary school friends. It searched and parsed through his life like it was sifting silt for gold. And that's where it struck rich. A head of gold and sad blue eyes. A soft voice against Sander's ear and the sensation of heated skin against his body. "I trust you." Against all odds.
It took the memory, mapped out the shape of the body that Sander had explored. And Christmas stood in front of him, naked and sad and pleading. "Can I come in, Sander?"
Sander struggled at first, because he was afraid. The presence was around him, it was swallowing him whole. His punishment, was it? His judge, his jury and his executioner? He squirmed, hands clawing at the burning brand on his throat. Because even at the very end, he did not want to die. He was afraid, for all men feared the inevitable. All men feared death.
Then in a flash, Christmas was standing before him. Sander’s eyes widened, his mouth worked to ask the hows and the whys and the wheres, as if this weren’t obviously a fever dream. Was this light at the end of the tunnel? Was this his life flashing before him, and whatever forces above granted him the mercy of seeing someone he treasured?
Was it benevolence, or a cruel taunt?
He knew not, but he reached out nonetheless, welcome the blond boy into his arms. And the moment he did it was too late to stop the tide. The outside force crashed in, thundering in now because it had learned its lesson. No quarter. It would take him whole, tear the ready Stigma from him because it was reaping what it sowed. The image of Christmas remained to taunt him, but the boy was smiling like he never had before, all wicked glee and victory and the face looked too real, even imitating the mark though the look of it seemed wrong--missing the broken streaks that looked like white paint. Still the image could fool even the original.
In reality, Christmas felt it. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what, but his hairs stood on end and something within pulsed painfully. His power was awake, the currents running through him violent and out of control, responding to something he couldn't see. It felt like a fire in his veins, blazing in retaliation. Whatever was wrong, he needed to get away from there. So he pushed himself up, adrenaline hiding the pain of more glass cutting into his palms. He needed to take Sander with him, so he stumbled towards the healthy, but unconscious body. Just as he reached down to grab Sander by the shoulders, the world went white, a shock of energy passing through him like lightning. Was he dead? Far below a black speck seemed to move. An ant, from its size. And then he fell towards it, the endless space closing suddenly so that it was vast and incomprehensible. The darkness a shapeless mass of something so terribly alive. He didn't want to fall in, struggling against the imagined gravity to no avail as it plunged him inside the inky darkness.
He thought he would be swallowed up by it, because the first thing he could feel was an endless hunger. But the shadows parted around him, the blackness tearing apart like flesh wherever he passed through and he felt the distinct understanding that it wasn't strong enough. Not nearly. But strong enough against what? Him? Certainly not. Something else.
A sound caught his ears in the dreamscape. A voice that sounded like his. Suddenly air felt like water and he swam clumsily towards the source, waiting as the sound magnified all around him and faded before a guiding tug he couldn't identify urged him towards an aimless direction in a space that had none.
One hand shot forward, because he didn't want to be lost anymore. And he thought of Sander lying bleeding on the bathroom floor.
The murky blindness cleared at the thought, like he had always needed a direction first. In front of him Sander was holding...Christmas. Him. Not him. Naked and grinning and shadows seeped from the mark on Sander's neck like blood, drawing away into the whirling black around them. A tide of blood swirled below, the waves lapping at Sander's feet as he held on to something that wasn't him.
"Sander!" He didn't know where he found the voice. But maybe in the dreamworld his nerves didn't exist. Maybe here his body didn't tremble at the thought of being judged by others. Maybe here, he could say what he wanted to say. "Sander, I'm here!" he called out, and suddenly he was. Right there. Next to Sander while the thing in Sander's arm curled its lips and widened its eyes in disgust. It struck at him and screamed as that part of its body burned away, the wisps collecting into the shape once more. He reached out to pull it away. "Get off him! You're not me!" Too clear. His thoughts were so loud here and he didn't understand what this was. Where he was. But this was wrong. This was Sander and this creature was not him. It recoiled, vanishing away at his touch to reappear elsewhere.
Sander escaped the haze then, hands going to his throat and mouth sucking in shallow breaths he didn’t even know he needed. Two Christmas before him. But he already knew which one was a fake. It had shown its true nature to him. A monster, born from the darkness of his dreams. It wished to devour him, and it almost had.
He turned to the other Christmas, eyes blinking.
“Are you…real?” -His voice felt so jarring in this land of silent dreams, but he talked. That was new. Maybe he could have talked before, there was just no one to hear it –“Christmas?”
"I'm here. I'm here." He reached for Sander then, finding the dream version just as solid and warm. Strange, unless it was his own perceptions mixing in, because he could smell the cologne now, too, and it felt ridiculous. Everything did. And he wanted them both out of there already. Sander leaned into the touch, finding comfort in Christmas' presence despite it all. With his boyfriend's embrace around him, the blood mage found the resolve he needed.
He stared down the shadow. This liar, this beast. It wanted his soul, his heart, and it almost got it. He wanted it out of his head, the focused thought becoming a force that rippled through the dream.
The shadow writhed, then, almost like it had been burnt, before dispersing completely. With the intruder gone, the air shimmered and gave off a glint like sunlight. Sander was warm again, protected.
Then he woke up. Christmas was there with him, both of them lying bloody and battered on the bathroom floor though his injuries from the fight with Ernie had healed entirely now. Sander stared up at the ceiling, watching the broken light flicker. He was alive. A broken laugh made it out of his parched throat. He was still alive, and Christmas was and he still had him. For a moment, he closed his eyes, content. Perhaps this was all that mattered. He wished that could be the case. But the disturbing dream pulled at the seams of his thoughts, and he was forced to think about it. The dream felt far too real, exactly like those visions before the Change. And it was Change, yet far different from the previous occasions. Before, they were tiny trickles. But now, his power surged, coiling beneath his skin not unlike the currents of his dreams. The Stigma was a pathetic, muted shadow of what it once was. Was that it? Was this the final dream?
He remembered the hungry shadow. He remembered the promise, when he first woke up in that hospital years ago. Was that his...benefactor? Was it here to collect the debt he owed?
He blinked, tired. This world was mad. Maybe he was. Maybe everyone was mad. Pulling Christmas closer, he curled around the unconscious blond boy, clutching his anchor to his chest.
Sander woke up late. Unlike other slow mornings, though. At least, not morning anymore. memories of the days before immediately rose to the surface, and Sander found himself staring at the ceiling once more, amazed at the bizarre story that was his life. How everything built up just to arrive at this point in time was nothing short of a miracle. Maybe he should just stop questioning, because there was obviously no answer. At least none that he could comprehend.
Fortunately, now that his Stigma was mostly silenced, he found it easier to focus on the important things. Like the blond boy in his arms. The blood mage rose gently, as to not disturb his bedfellow. A lot from last night remained: blood streaks marred their white sheet, handful of glass shards littered the bedside table, while several rolls of bandages and their clothes were strewn haphazardly nearby. There was still blood all over Christmas and himself, as they were both too tired yesterday to care. Sighing, Sander brought a hand to Christmas’ cheek, nudging gently to wake him up. There was no response at first, the healer’s body colder than normal despite the visible injuries having already healed. Concerned, Sander tried again, calling out Christmas’ name this time. Unfocused eyes opened to meet his and for a moment Christmas’s face remained blank. Then he cracked a tired smile, face paler than usual. Whatever blood had been lost the day prior had yet to fully regenerate and the effects of exhaustion remained etched on the boy’s features. Still, he brought a shaky hand to Sander’s jaw, barely touching with the tips of his fingers.
”…Good morning,” he whispered.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Sander leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against Christmas’ lips in place of a morning greeting.
“…I dreamed about you last night, you know.”
”H-Huh?” The touch of lips on his was enough to scramble the morning thoughts and Christmas blinked dumbly at Sander, the events of yesterday still fuzzy.
“You saved me.”
Christmas blinked again, trying to recall what had happened the night before. Memories of Sander, bloody and unconscious on the bathroom floor, seeped back in and the horror on his face grew to match. ”A-Are you…are you…” he fumbled to finish the sentence, realizing now the red streaks were blood and that Sander could still be hurt.
“I’m fine.” -Warm fingers trailed feather-light touches down Christmas’ face -”Thanks to you.”
”What…what did…what happened?”
“A lot.”
”A lot?”
“I’ll tell you in the bath.” -Sander just shook his head, working his arms beneath the blond boy’s smaller body -”Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Soon enough, they were both half-submerged in hot water, Sander situating himself behind Christmas so he could wash the blond boy’s hair. Still, he had yet to make any mention of what happened yesterday, his mind still debating on what he should say as he kneaded the golden locks. Christmas was settled comfortably between his legs, back against his chest, and from the way the small shoulders relaxed slowly, it was hard to broach a topic he knew would bring all the tension back. With a suppressed sigh, Sander pulled the long shower nozzle closer and began to rinse off the soap on Christmas’ head, scrubbing gently at the blond boy’s scalp as he did, enjoying the small ways Christmas was Christmas—the hands over his face so none of the soap suds would get in his eyes and how he kept them adamantly closed as he wiped the water off his face. The behavior clashed often with how poorly he took care of himself, like it was only in the shower that he meticulously made sure he was fine. When those blue eyes turned back to stare at Sander, though, it was clear who mattered more, regardless of the simmering shower thoughts that seemed to fill the empty spaces the Stigma left behind. There was so much room to think now. So many things to think about.
”Sander?” the quiet voice asked, still always worried for him first.
“Yeah?” -Sander hooked one arm around Christmas’ waist and squeezed gently. Unable to help himself, he reached up and ran a thumb across the healer’s soft lips, the motion so delicate like Christmas was something precious and breakable. In a way, he was.
”…Is everything okay?” The soft question came after a moment of silence while Christmas blinked rapidly at the touch, responsive as always. Sensitive. Water still clung to his eyelashes. All the small things that defined a person seemed a bit too clear to Sander that morning, when all the focus he devoted to holding his Stigma back had nothing to fight this time.
Sander didn’t really answer. He didn’t really know. So he just threw his head back and leaned against the rim of the bathtub, pondering.
“This world is mad, I think. It’s awful.” -After a moment, he finally spoke, tone light and lazy. Like he didn’t really mind at all -”But I’m okay. I’m fine now.”
He didn’t miss the small smile on Christmas’s face, nor the way Christmas tried to hide it, too, a hand reflexively rubbing at his nose and pretending to wipe more water away. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? So he reached over and pinned both of Christmas’ arms down, before leaning and whispering right next to the blond boy’s ears.
“I also think you are too hard on yourself.” -The instinctive thoughts that he didn’t deserve this peace, this happiness, had all but evaporated and Sander realized he really, really wanted to see Christmas’ smile -”I think you should smile more.”
”But…I…uh…” Christmas looked down instead, the protest dying out because he didn’t have one, just a lingering feeling that if he smiled any more than he already had at home, the gesture would mean nothing. And smiling often made others look at him strangely. Ask him what he was smiling at. He didn’t know. And one way or the other he was stuck, so he learned to smile at home and stop outside. It hurt to question why his home was different from others, so he didn’t. He just acted in the way he learned was most socially acceptable, because despite it all he still wanted to be liked whether he deserved it or not. ”I don’t…want to look weird.” The only reason he could provide.
“I think you’re beautiful.” -Sander breathed softly on Christmas’ bare skin, enjoying the faint scent of coffee. It was still there, but the craving didn’t so much twitch, even so close. Because he was stronger now; the power no longer defined him. The monster was pliant and tamed now, a domesticated thing at his beck and call. He could do anything, now, or at least that was what he felt.
Was this the freedom he sought, after all this time?
“You’re perfect.” -He nibbled gently on Christmas’ shoulder, which was slowly becoming his favourite spot to mark –“You’re brilliant. You’re amazing.”
His breath hitched a bit, but he still managed to utter those words that had been denied to him the moment he admitted his feelings to Christmas.
“You’re mine.”
Only the sound of water dripping from wet hair answered him, Christmas stunned at the deluge of affection. No one had ever praised him in that way and meant it. He still didn’t believe it, either. Instead he tried to shrink down further, fighting a look of fear on his face because he wasn’t good enough for those expectations, then fighting an awkward, near hysterical smile because he didn’t know what to do with all the motes of joy that welled up at the words.
So he made a strange whining noise instead and ducked his head into the soapy water. Still, Sander pressed on, determined to chip at Christmas’ shell.
“You told me before. You believed me. I didn’t believe…in myself then, but I know now. I’m better, Christmas. I got better.” -He caught the healer’s hand in his, squeezing –“I believe in you too. So should you.”
Only small nods and the quiet splashing of water from the blonde as he lifted his head, but Christmas still couldn’t muster the strength to look up, so he kept his eyes closed while the water streamed off his face.
”…Th-Thank you,” he mumbled, deciding not to open his eyes. ”Thank you…so much. For—For being here. For…all of it.” His shoulders still drooped, because he didn’t know what to do with himself and happiness and fear, and the trembling was back because strong emotions of any sort always invoked that instinctive shaking. But he managed to say what he wanted.
“Don’t have to.” -Sander only squeezed Christmas’ a bit tighter in an attempt to quell the trembling -”You can take me for granted. I don’t mind.”
He didn’t know what to say, so Christmas remained quiet, hiding one way or another because he didn’t want to take Sander for granted. He wanted to be someone better, someone who could make Sander feel special. This wasn’t enough. Just being himself—being Christmas—might not ever be enough. There was more that Sander deserved.
”I’ll—I’ll be better…” he said, affirming for himself as much as Sander.
“I believe in you.” -Sander smiled, hands slowly groping downward, blunt nails scraping at damp skin -”I would do anything really. How about you let me…?”
He cut himself off then, preferring to let his actions speak for him. His hands pinched at the pink nubs on Christmas’ torso, while he nibbled along the boy’s shoulder, tasting and marking the healer whose body was now trembling in earnest. When nothing but shy, gasping whimpers answered him, Sander continued unimpeded, Christmas’s free hands making no motion to stop him. And the blood mage kept up the motions, dragging out breathless moans from Christmas and eventually reaching for swelling flesh. His touches were light, though. Caressing and unhurried, like they were still chasing dreams on a lazy Sunday morning.
Only then, he felt Christmas was calm enough for the story of last night. A cowardly trick, but one he felt the need to employ.
“I was…My dream was a red sea. I had been there for a long time. I had always been there, ever since the beginning of all this. But this time it was different. Something came for me. The same thing that had been there since the beginning. It wanted…me, I think.”
A short pause for Sander to collect his thoughts, though he used the moment to leave another red mark on Christmas’ neck.
“It looked like you. It wasn’t you, though. But I didn’t…I was scared. I just wanted you, and I didn’t really look.”
It sounded familiar, even if the bits and pieces couldn’t fit together well. Christmas hardly remembered the dream, but something made sure he held onto at least fragments. Maybe it was himself. The vivid image of Sander hugging someone who wasn’t him flashed into clarity at the reminder and the healer shuddered, no longer aroused and feeling the creeping dread that came with the memory. He remembered a pitch-black emotion and then pulling the impostor away from Sander.
He curled up in the bath, pulling his knees to his chest despite Sander’s hand. Sander hadn’t recognized him then, as the dream came back in disjointed fragments. Darkness and fear and Sander holding someone else. He couldn’t remember the entirety, but it was enough.
What was he to Sander? It wasn’t a question he could ask, because he feared the answer—if there was one at all.
Sander noticed the returning tension almost immediately, despite his best effort to reassure Christmas. Sighing, he just tugged the boy closer, leaning on his shoulder as another small shudder passed through the blond’s body.
“I don’t want you to be afraid. I want to make you happy. Tell me…how?”
“Don’t…” -Sander let his head slump onto the tensed line of Christmas’ shoulders -”You’re still afraid. I wish…I could do something.”
“I want to do something.”
Christmas took a breath, because he had promised to be better and the lingering fear from a dream that he could barely remember felt like a paltry reason to hold against Sander.
”…Can we…go shopping?”
“Now?”
”A-Anytime you want…”
Sander blinked, then a smile stretched his lips.
“Sure.” -He squeezed the blond boy’s midsection -”Anything for you.”
Christmas didn’t wave back when he saw Sander floating by, Callan held tight in the blood mage’s arms. He watched them land. Watched Callan hug Sander and give him a large Ziploc bag. A small voice told him he should stop looking, but he couldn’t help himself, the impending despair at realizing what Sander’s evening trip had been for crushing the air from his lungs. He could barely hear over the pounding of panic in his ears. Sander had never flown him. He didn’t even realize Sander could fly. Or maybe it was Callan who could fly, but from the way she clung on it didn’t seem that way.
The minuscule detail served to distract Christmas enough to watch Sander disappear into the lobby floor of the Arbiter dorms. Something caught in his chest, then, like his muscles were trying to tear themselves apart.
He didn’t want to hear it, the inevitable sound of Sander parting ways with him. Five minutes ago, the thought would have been unfathomable save for his waning self-doubt.
In the end, he didn’t have anyone after all.
His hands moved before he realized it, the thought forming only after he held his stuffed manatee in his arms that he had to leave. Because it was easier and he wouldn’t need to hear it from Sander. He didn’t care about the clothes. Even the Vita was left behind on the table. There was only the large plush crushed to his chest as he stumbled out of the room with his shoes only halfway on his feet. He knew Sander preferred the stairs, so he ran for the elevator, taking the waiting transport straight down, into the basement floor where the long hallway of laundry rooms only brought to mind the day spent with Sander and baskets full of dirty clothes.
He was crying by the time he reached the room in the back, hiding inside and huddling at the corner furthest from the door where he tried to become invisible beside the small closet of detergents and fabric softeners.
It took Sander almost an hour to find Christmas. When he returned to the room and did not find the healer there, Sander already had a feeling that something was wrong. It was not usual for the blond boy to go out at this hour, and even then, he would have told Sander. So he left soon after, checking the healer’s favorite spots and focusing on his blood sense to pick out the coffee aroma. Eventually, it led him to a dark room on the basement floor, cluttered with shelves of chemicals and cleaning equipment. Already, he could tell where Christmas was, the heart-wrenching sounds of sobbing were far too loud for him to take.
He was by Christmas side in an instant after turning on the lights, hands pressing against thin shoulders.
“Christmas? Are you alright?”
But the response was an aggrieved sob and the blonde boy curled up tighter in his corner, hugging the large plush until his arms ached and his knuckles were white. He scooted as far back as he could, but the distance was mere inches away.
“Christmas.” -Sander tried again, arms snaking around the healer and tugging, pulling him into a hug -”What’s wrong?”
A small keening sound petered out between sobs, but Christmas only buried his face into the stuffed animal, as if he could wait out the situation by hiding away. He hadn’t thought this far—hadn’t even considered Sander would find him after nearly an hour had passed. And Sander only wrapped his arms tighter around him, mouthing at the juncture of his shoulders and neck.
“Christmas. Calm down.” -He was near begging at this point -”What happened?”
”I’m…n-not—not here. Not here,” he mumbled through broken sniffling, a silly, childish tactic that had never worked when he was younger and never would, but he couldn’t escape the hold and he had no other choice. ”I’m not—not here. Not h-here. N-Not a-anywhere.”
Sander stumbled, then. Christmas had promised him before that the boy would be here, as long as he was. Why had that changed? Something clenched in his chest, and he grimaced, like he was in pain.
“Why?” -The question was curt and simple, like Sander was afraid to speak. Only muffled crying answered Sander and Christmas’s hands shook as he dug fingers into the stuffed toy. A gift from his parents, from the better days—that had been the original toy. And he didn’t even have that. Everything was a sham, and he shouldn’t have thought he could have anything better because it had never made any sense in the first place why Sander liked him.
”I…c-can’t be here,” he whispered at last into the tear-matted fur of the plush, after the spasms in his chest had finally calmed down enough to speak again. ”I’m n-not here.”
“But you said…” -Sander cut himself off, another flash of hurt passed through his expression. His arms around Christmas only tightened, as if the blond boy would evaporate any second now -”I’m here. Why aren’t you?”
”I’m…I’m…” He fumbled for the words, so Christmas fell back on other reasons instead, the ones he had always believed were true because they made so much sense when Alvin said it. They still did. ”I’m…dumb and…s-slow. W-Weird. No one—no one likes me. They just—they feel bad for me. Just feel bad. Th-that’s all. D-Dumb and weird. Simple words so I can understand. I understand it. I do. I do…” he stammered out, the tears starting again. ”N-Not supposed to be h-here. T-Too…too useless. I understand—I do. I’m s-sorry.”
“I don’t understand, Christmas.” -Sander only frowned, thoroughly confused -”Why are you saying that? I like you. I want you here. I…need you here. You were there for me before. Why now? Why are you…leaving?”
Christmas turned away, hiding as much as he could into the junction of wall and floor and wooden cabinet. ”Callan is b-better. She is—she is. I get it. I do. L-Look better. Makes…makes sense. More sense. I g-get it. I get it—I’m s-sorry.”
“W-What? -Sander pulled on the blond boy’s shoulders in an effort to look at his face -”Callan? I don’t…She’s different. I don’t like her the way I like you.”
Christmas’s shaking only worsened and he stared downward, nodding automatically. ”I’m—I get it. I-I understand. I’m o-okay. I’m okay. N-not here so it’s o-okay.” More nodding punctuated the insistence. ”I’m okay.”
Frustrated, Sander placed a few fingers on the blond boy’s chin and lifted his face, staring at teary blue eyes with a hurt expression of his own.
“I don’t. Are you leaving me? Do you want to?”
Looking at Sander was his undoing and the reason Christmas had avoided it in the first place. He burst into another bout of sobbing at the sight of Sander’s expression nearly mirroring his own, shaking his head to the question while tears coursed down his cheeks.
”I’m n-not—not g-good enough,” he sputtered.
Sander held Christmas’ face in both of his hands then, the grip was tensed but careful.
“You’re enough for me. How many times must I say it? How can I prove it to you?”
Christmas only closed his eyes and tried to look down, because he didn’t know how to answer that when he could still see Sander holding someone else—hugging them close. He didn’t fit there, for all the reasons he remembered and more he couldn’t articulate. Instead he choked back another sob and whimpered at last the core of it. ”You…you hugged Callan.”
Sander stilled at the words, face contorted in confusion before finally, his eyes widened.
“Oh.” -Was the only sound he managed to make. It took him a few more minutes to form a proper question -”You…don’t like it when I…do that with her?”
At the question, Christmas squirmed out of the loosened grip, nudging himself back into the corner and turning away, hugging the stuffed animal back to his chest. He buried his face in the plush again, sniffling into it. It was hard to say he didn’t like it, because he didn’t think he had the right to. Even if he did, there wasn’t enough nerve in the world. Not after seeing the two together. He just wanted to hold his manatee and, if he was lucky, disappear.
“Christmas…” -Sander began, gentler this time around -”You can tell me. I told you I would do anything. Just tell me what you want.”
It felt too cheap to ask for the same experience of flying and being held tight. Even cheaper to ask for affection he wasn’t sure was his to demand. He wondered if Callan had asked to fly, too. Was it just him Sander would “do anything” for? The doubts felt sticky, like a thin film over his thoughts because no matter what he tried to tell himself he just kept seeing them fly by, arms around each other—and surely there were less intimate ways to hold people, right? And that wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t seen them land, then the hug.
Christmas squeezed his eyes shut, feeling more tears run down his face. It wasn’t the same if he had to ask. That just meant Sander had never thought to share that experience with him in the first place. The thought hurt, and it felt even worse to be placated like he was just a problem to be dealt with.
”I’m…okay,” he whispered into the wet blue fur. ”I’m…f-fine.”
Frustration sparked into anger, and Sander launched his fist into the concrete wall, just inches away from Christmas who flinched and fell to his side with a small scream, shaking arms covering his head. Pain bloomed, but there were no Stigma thoughts to chase away. Just his own, the feelings of helplessness and desperation coiled into an ugly mess in his stomach. Looking down at Christmas’ shaky form, he eventually let his throbbing hand fall to his side, his fury had all evaporated, leaving behind a cold emptiness.
“Please…You have to tell me. Tell me.” -Crouching over Christmas’ body, Sander pleaded, nudging the blond boy’s shoulder with his good hand and feeling the small body flinch at the touch.
”I’m s-sorry—sorry,” the healer mumbled, voice trembling as much as he was. His knuckles were white against his hair now and he was shaking more than he could properly speak.
Sander knew there was no getting through to the blond boy anymore, so he gave up with a sigh. Gently, he lifted the healer into his arms, then carried the boy back to their dorm room. It wasn’t easy; Sander had to take frequent breaks on the hallway because he still hadn’t really recovered from the spar with Callan. His withdrawal was much easier to deal with now, but it was still there, persistently sapping his strength.
He managed to get back, though, after a while. Letting the door swing shut behind him, Sander headed straight to their bed and let Christmas down, realizing too late that he had left the stuffed toy behind in his frustration. Christmas had calmed down by then, relatively, though he occasionally shuddered with residual sobs. He sat on the bed where Sander left him, hands holding on to the hem of his sweater as he continued to stare at the ground. Sander appeared at his side a few moments later with a damp cloth in his hand. He stepped in front of Christmas, bracing his legs on either side of the blond boy’s knees before lifting his chin, dabbing at the tear streaks and red-rimmed eyes, then the rest of the face. He worked deliberately, expression a mix between hurt and dejection, but he did not say a word. Neither did Christmas.
Eventually, the silence became unbearable for Sander. He dropped the facecloth on the nearby nightstand, before inching closer to Christmas and wrapping the boy into a warm hug.
“I’m sorry.” -He paused briefly, throat suddenly too dry –“I…didn’t think. Callan is just friend to me. You are so much more.”
Christmas stared at the texture of the sheets, the aftermath of his emotional outburst tiring him to the point of mindless gazing. He blinked at the assurance, unsure how much of it to believe—how many more times Sander would meet Callan for skyward jaunts and evening hugs. He felt the tears threatening to rise again so he covered his face with his hands. Everything that he wanted to say couldn’t be said. He didn’t know if he had any right to.
”Let’s be real for a second, Snowflake,” Alvin had said, sitting up in the bed that was too small for the two of them. ”You’re a decent fuck. And you don’t bitch for attention like a lot of girls. That’s about it. That’s why I like you. Oh, and you do all the chores whenever you’re around.”
He coughed out another small sob because the words echoed like a universal truth. Fire burned. Water soaked. And he did chores, spread his legs, and didn’t complain. All he was good for, and maybe that was all he was to Sander, too. He couldn’t complain if Sander wanted to spend time with Callan instead, treating her to a skyward trip and romantic landing. Couldn’t say it was an awful thing to see when he had been curious where Sander was. He hadn’t even known. He had asked to come, hadn’t he? If the two of them trained again. But this wasn’t training. So of course Sander hadn’t brought him along.
Couldn’t complain.
Meanwhile, Sander only sighed, staring into nothingness with a silent Christmas in his arms. He tried almost everything, but Christmas was shutting down on him. Why couldn’t he do anything? Wasn’t he stronger now? Was the Stigma gone? Nothing left to blame his incompetence on.
He breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut. There had got to be something he could do for Christmas. He just wanted the boy to be happy.
“Why won’t you tell me anything?”
Silence passed between them again, until finally Christmas whispered into his hands, almost inaudible were it not for the silence of the room.
”…Because I don’t…h-have anything worth saying.”
“I don’t care. I would listen. You won’t believe me?”
”…You hugged her, too.”
“Between friends.”
”Then I’m…just a friend.”
Sander sighed, arms only tightened around Christmas.
“I would not do this with a friend.” -Those same words from their first time echoed, and he leaned down, pressing his lips against Christmas’. Fumbling arms wrapped around his shoulders and Christmas’s tears renewed, only this time the blond waited until Sander had broken off the kiss before crying onto the taller boy’s shoulder.
”I-I don’t—I can’t say it,” he sobbed, rubbing his face against Sander’s collarbone. ”It’s…I can’t,” he sniffled, hands balling into the back of Sander’s shirt as he shook his head slowly.
“Why?” -Sander took the opportunity to press a chaste kiss against the healer’s hair -”What are you afraid of?”
”It’s not…nice,” came the hushed reply, voice shaking as if Christmas had already said the thoughts and now feared the consequences. ”I don’t…d-don’t want you to…to…n-not like me.”
“That’s simply not possible.” -Sander began to rub Christmas’ back gently, not unlike what someone would do for a child -”You are allowed to do whatever you want here, Christmas. You can ask for anything. You are allowed to want. You are allowed to live.”
And that was simply the truth. Sander would know, he had realized the same thing himself as soon as the Stigma quieted. He knew he could be more than his past mistakes. He knew that he wasn’t the monster they made him out to be.
Here, he was simply Sander. He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. Callan was a dear friend, but she wasn’t the person he wanted to see on his bed.
”It…should have been Callan. I…I should have…should have d-died on the first day. It’s…it’s—sh-should’ve been her.” He couldn’t say what he wanted. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t right.t.
“Then you would have to take me with you, too. Because it’s cruel to make me live the way I did. Before you.” -Sander’s voice was low, as the images of cold metal slabs and burning scalpels invaded his mind. He looked upon them in a different light now, no longer the martyr for the wrong cause. He knew he deserved happiness too. So was Christmas.
“You are the only one for me, Christmas.”
But words were cheap, so Sander pushed the healer down onto the bed, hovering over the boy as he worked quickly to undo the buttons of his own shirt .
“I’ll show you.”
Looking up at Sander, Christmas couldn’t help but continue crying.
”I’m…weird,” he tried to explain with the words of his old high school classmates and that limited, harsh vocabulary of ignorant adolescence. ”I’m s-stupid and weird. It’s always l-like that. C-Can’t even talk right. Not supposed to be…happy or…anything. Especially not w-wanting things. C-Can’t h-have then a-anyway,” he stammered, the words caught up in the rapid breaths of sobs.
Now, more than ever, Sander wished he had asked for something different from that menacing darkness all those years ago. Anything that could help him fix this. Because he found himself stumbling, times and times again.
“I don’t think you are weird.” -Sander shrugged his shirt off, letting the fabric fall softly onto the carpet before lifting one of Christmas’ hand and pressing it against the black mark on his neck -”You have seen me hungry before. You have seen why they called me a monster. But you don’t think I’m weird, do you?”
Christmas shook his head, eyes red and swollen from crying as he protested weakly, ”You’re perfect. Even the…bad things.”
“Then why can’t I think the same about you?” -Sander’s hands were beneath Christmas’ sweater this time, fumbling with the buttons of the blond boy’s shorts.
”B-Because I’m…not…w-worth it. Not g-good enough. Stupid and…and selfish. Dumb. R-Retarded. P-People don’t like me. They just f-feel bad for me. That’s what…what they said.” He tried to hold the straying hand, because he wasn’t supposed to be happy. It was a concept for others.
“Then they are wrong. They told me I can only be a weapon, too. And they were wrong. They are always wrong.” -Despite Christmas’ effort, Sander pressed on, undoing the buttons and slipping both the healer’s shorts and boxer briefs down.
The floodgates felt the pressure of words unsaid, but Christmas held his tongue as much as he could, worrying instead about what Sander was currently doing and the image of Callan in his arms. ”…I didn’t know you could f-fly. I didn’t know you were w-with someone else.”
Sander was silent for the first few moments, slowly hiking up Christmas’ sweater with a thoughtful look on his face. Eventually, he nodded.
“It was just sparring, I promise. I just thought I could give her a lift. Because it’s late.” -Fingers pressing into the groves of Christmas’ ribs, running up his side until he could get at the pink flesh of his chest -”I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
”You didn’t…didn’t tell me…” the words came weakly now, losing the frenetic momentum that had driven Christmas into the corner of a laundry room.
“It was late. You were sleeping.”
”The ph-phone. A note…?” He looked up at Sander through his fingers, peeking out sadly as he tried not to be distracted by Sander’s fingers. ”…I don’t…get to know a-anything…but C-Callan does…”
“I’m sorry.” -Sander leaned over then, kissing and leaving wet patches on the skin of Christmas’ chest. Still, his tone was genuinely regretful. He understood then, how his boyfriend was jealous because he was careless -”I just thought…I didn’t think.”
“It won’t happen again.”
Christmas shivered under the kisses, tired, upset, and aroused all at once. But there was the last thing that demanded to be said, thrashing in his thoughts like a rabid creature. ”You did think. Just…not about me. In—In the first place.”
Sander looked up then, face scrunched up like he had been physically struck -”I did…think about you. I still do. Why won’t you believe me?”
”You…were holding Callan. The…The same way you hold me. It…it hurts.” He turned to his side, burying his face in the pillow to hide from it all again, because people always settled into the same feelings about him—Alvin had been right about everything.
“It won’t happen again.” -Sander tried again, leaning up to kiss Christmas’ cheek this time -”Give me another chance, Christmas?”
The blonde swallowed a small sob. He didn’t want this conversation. He didn’t want the turmoil of it. It didn’t matter that Sander didn’t understand anymore. He was just tired of talking and not being heard. Maybe he had always overestimated where he stood. A decent fuck who does all the chores and doesn’t complain. He could live with that, he decided.
So he bit back the words and just nodded to Sander’s question, wiping away his tears because they hadn’t mattered until they became the problem.
“I’m sorry.” -The same words, because Sander could read the look of resigned sadness on the blond boy’s face. He had seen it far too many times, but this was a first on his account. And he didn’t really know what to do but apologize again -”I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t like it when I was so close to her, right? You think we were…not sparring?”
Christmas closed his eyes, letting out several shaky breaths. ”I think…you didn’t care w-what it looked like. And n-not about me.”
Sander didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t even defend himself. In fact, he wouldn’t, because this was all his fault. He had hurt Christmas, and he didn’t even care. Those intimate motions were so important to Christmas, yet he carelessly threw them away like they were nothing.
“You think…you aren’t that important to me.” -A quiet realization, but too little, too late.
Silence again, and Christmas took a deep breath. ”…It’s okay. I…w-won’t mind again…”
“Again?”
”I won’t…make trouble next time.”
“Why are you punishing yourself for something I did?” -Sander sighed, patting Christmas’ hair -”You are allowed to be upset.”
”I don’t…want to be. …I’m okay.”
“You are not.” -Sander finally dropped down onto the bed, curling behind Christmas and hugging him to his chest -”I’ll stay with you until you are, then. Even if you don’t believe it.”
It hurt that Sander was always kind, because Christmas wasn’t sure anymore if that was a display for him or for everyone—hadn’t been sure, but he had wanted to believe. Had even started to believe.
”The problem with people these days is they buy into ‘self-esteem’ and ‘personal worth’ too much.” Christmas had just returned to Alvin’s room with another cup of coffee—the fifth one that night while Alvin looked through the errors in his robotics club’s rudimentary source code meant to command a simple contraption to pick up a ball and drop it into a basket. The code had needed a complete overhaul and Alvin’s mood had soured immensely throughout the evening. Which was why Christmas had been called over. ”You’re not like that, Snowflake. You know you’re worth nothing. Unlike these idiots.” He gestured to the indecipherable lines of computer jargon on his screen. ”People are only worth as much as they can do for others. Everything else is just how failures make themselves feel better.”
The healer blinked back another surge of tears. He wondered if he had been failing the entire time and was only just now realizing it. It scared him that Alvin was always so right.
Despite what transpired last night, morning was still relatively enjoyable. Sander woke his boyfriend up with warm kisses and wandering touches, and Christmas had been responsive, as usual. But Sander did not miss the hint of sadness in blue eyes and how Christmas curled in on himself in the aftermath. There was still nothing he could do about it, which really begged the question: did he really get better? The Stigma was gone. He should be fine. He should be normal. Why wasn’t he? Maybe the problem wasn’t the Stigma at all.
A splash of oil against his forearm broke through his morning rumination. He yelped, pulling the hot pan off the stove before rinsing his arm off under cold water. There wasn’t really anything he could do about this. So he plated up their breakfast and sat down with Christmas in the dining segment of their dorm room, absentmindedly poking at the bruise on his left hand while shoving eggs in his mouth.
“Do you…want to go out today?” -Eventually he spoke, glancing up at Christmas who was studiously eating his eggs with a firm focus, eyes glued to his plate.
”…I’ll…go anywhere you want,” he responded, careful to keep his own preferences out of the picture. He poked his fork at the food on the plate while he waited for Sander to decide, puncturing the scrambled eggs with holes to distract himself from the mounting anxiety. It felt scary to no longer feel comfortable around Sander, like he was waiting for Callan to call. Or Sander to leave without a word again. Even breakfast felt tinged with an emotional counterweight, like Sander needed to make up for something. And people rarely apologized for the sake of others.
“You wanted to go shopping the other day, yeah?” -Sander tried to smile, even when Christmas was not looking at him–“Let’s go shopping.”
”Okay,” the blond answered, obedient as promised. He finished off the plate quickly, standing up to gather the other plates as well, but Sander was already on his feet to stop him.
“I’ll do the dishes. You can go get ready. It won’t take long.”
He looked dejected, but the waiting hand retreated and Christmas nodded, shuffling off to the bathroom to wash up and change. Sander watched until the bathroom door clicked shut, before allowing himself a sigh. He really couldn’t do a thing, huh?
They left soon after, catching a bus down to the center of Crimen Culpae 1. Sander was still unused to the sounds and sights of a crowded city, but he was getting there, the Stigma no longer filled his head with dangerous intents. Still, he was adamant about keeping Christmas close, draping one arm over the boy’s shoulder when they were on the bus and threading their fingers together when they browsed the shops. He noticed the way Christmas’s eyes lingered on those touches and wondered if that was any progress. They went through a short checklist of items that had needed restocking in their room—soap, shampoo, junk food, toilet paper—and skirted the wary glances of their regular counterparts in the grocery store. Christmas had been reaching for the bagged items when Sander took it from the counter, tucking the smaller boy under his free arm instead as they walked out of the store and back to the nearest bus stop. They could have gone straight there, but something felt lacking in the day, because Christmas’s mood hadn’t shifted at all and Sander began to worry it wouldn’t change ever.
He took a detour, surprising even himself as he turned them down a McKee Road and onto a different set of shops sporting an old-world charm, their shabby, clapboard faces quaint in contrast to the polished storefronts of the main shopping district. Beside him, Christmas looked up quizzically, glancing around them while he pulled at the hem of his blue-and-white striped sweater, the pastel top jarring against the dark jeans he wore. The blond’s entire outfit clashed with Sander’s polished look, the blood mage having ordered from the beginning nothing but Armani’s and rag & bone’s lines of jeans and dress shirts as if the top names were the only clothing distributors in existence. Moncler and Ferragamo floated around in his excessive closet as well, but he hardly remembered all the names. His shopping style remained resolutely in the range of hundreds and thousands, the Institute staff ordering far more clothing than he ever needed once his monthly budget ran out and he found the use of their request forms. On his part, the teenager knew nothing of fashion nomenclature, but he had an eye for what looked good. He wasn’t really bothered by Christmas’ lack of attention to his appearance though, always thinking of it as an endearing personal quirk. Interesting enough, Christmas did reveal his penchant for girly bathing suits last time they were at the beach. So the blond boy did have some hidden preferences when it came to clothing.
As they walked, his eyes caught sight of a small storefront, the words ‘Fleur-de-lis’ were artfully etched onto the sign, though much of the lines had been chipped away by weather and time. Yet, despite the building’s worn-out appearance, the dresses on display behind the glass were vibrant and spectacular, frills and ribbons of all kinds decorated the elegant curves of fabric. Even to a casual admirer like him, the dresses were simply stunning. Soon enough though, Sander realized he wasn’t the only one staring. Beside him, Christmas was looking intently at the glass display, eyes wide and lips parted like he wanted to touch the clothes already. Sander blinked, stunned for a few brief moments, before grinning.
Maybe this would work.
“C’mon.” -He tugged on the healer’s hand, prompting him to follow as he headed inside. The boutique was far smaller than he expected, far too used to the spacious stores of large brand names. Despite the cluttered space though, their items were neatly arranged in a way that used space most efficiently, hanging from uniform rows under warm yellow lights. Here and there, a few pieces stood out, adorning mannequins or suspended in glass displays. This, however, was a women’s clothing store and the cashier at the table in the far corner regarded the two of them suspiciously. Sander scratched the back of his head awkwardly, turning to Christmas who was already staring at an off-shoulder, navy blue dress in the corner that looked inspired by Middle Eastern garb, the illusion of a collar formed by a graceful arc of sash that curved over one shoulder and across the torso while the cream-white underlining displayed intricate gold embroidery along the hem, small tassels dangling in careful patterning along the stitching. The dress blossomed out into a full gown at the bottom, the upper layer of blue artfully hitched up towards the hip on one side to flash the soft white fabric below in a sweeping oblique curve, finishing the decadent look. Even as they walked away from the door, Christmas couldn’t take his eyes off it.
“See something you like?” -Sander whispered, leaning closer, like they were keeping secrets.
At that, Christmas looked away, almost in the opposite direction like he was afraid to like something. ”W-We can go back if…if you want,” he mumbled, the hands on the hem of his sweater pulling more forcefully than before.
“We’re shopping, Christmas.” -Sander only wrapped an arm around Christmas’ waist, as if holding the boy in place -”Is that what you like?”
A look of despair crossed the boy’s face and he tried to stay quiet, hands working at the stretchy fabric of the sweater’s hem.
“You can tell me.”
Christmas’s answer was a frightened whisper, bogged down with memories of days he’d rather not remember. ”…They made fun of me.”
“They will never know.” -The arm around him only tightened -”This will be our secret.”
Sad eyes looked up at Sander then, the gaze searching as Christmas’s lips trembled. There was doubt and fear and wishes all packaged into that gaze and eventually the blond lowered his head again. ”…You…You won’t tell Callan?”
“Not even her.” -Sander assured, pressing a hand against Christmas’ cheek to lift his face -”Just between us.”
”…We can…just go back,” he insisted again, turning for the door. Yet, Sander’s arm held him firmly in place.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
For all that he was scared of, and all the anxiety, he couldn’t lie to Sander. Christmas looked back to the ground, hands trembling now. ”We d-don’t have to buy it.”
“But we want to.” -Sander was insistent, this time -”As long as it makes you happy.”
That made Christmas pause and he looked up again, peeking before looking back to the floor like he was afraid. ”I…w-was happy—am—am happy,” he corrected quickly, nodding to emphasize.
“Then you can be happier.”
”It…it doesn’t…have to do with the d-dress.”
“It doesn’t. But I want you to know you can trust me.”
”But…Callan…”
“She isn’t my boyfriend.”
”…But you…treat her like me…”
“Never.” -Sander repeated, firmly -”It was just sparring, Christmas, then a ride home. I would not take her out shopping. I would not buy dresses like this. In fact,” -Sander took a few steps closer to the dress Christmas had been staring at, tugging him along -”I would not help her put this on, and I would not help her take it off later.”
”Y-You let her hug you…” the healer responded, though he couldn’t help but look at the gown when they approached it, eyes running over the vintage embroidery patterns of florals and serpentine lines across the dress’s lining.
“I have let you do much more.” -Sander frowned, determined to fix his mistakes -”If you don’t like it, I won’t ever let her touch me again.”
”I just…that’s not…if…” he breathed in, trying to explain himself before the nerves struck him dumb, ”…if it only matters to—to me, you’re…you’re not really…doing it b-because…you…care…” Saying it cemented the problem and he petered off, looking back down to the ground as the tears rose again despite his internal attempts to berate himself out of being so emotional.
Sander blinked, processing the information. So that was the problem. Christmas put much more importance into the motions Sander took for granted. And Sander didn’t even understand, until today. How long had the healer been hurting? How much longer?
All that, because Sander didn’t understand. Because he couldn’t decipher basic social cues. The lost years were coming back to bite him, and he was suddenly angry. At them. At his brother. But mostly, at himself.
“I see.” -His words eventually came back, and he pulled Christmas close, pressing the boy to his chest –“You think I treat everyone the same? That…you’re not special?”
”It’s selfish. I-I know.”
“You should be.” -Sander sighed, rubbing the blond boy back gently, the motion familiar and calming for him -”I’m…yours, Christmas. If I could rip out my heart and give it to you, I would. You should…ask things from me. You are allowed that.”
”D-Don’t hurt yourself…” The half-panicked reply came immediately and Christmas pulled at his sweater again, trying to calm himself down. ”I’m y-yours, too, right?”
“As long as you want.” -Sander was thoughtful for a moment, then he added -”I have only ever wanted you.”
Christmas didn’t know how much of it he dared to believe this time, but his hand reached for the soft, white fabric of the dress’s lower half, peeking out under the swathe of blue, fingers running over the delicate needlework in vibrant gold. He was scared of having what he wanted. It felt too easy and he still held back, still waiting for the other shoe to drop except there was nothing to expect but his own mounting fears. Sander could leave him at any time. Could decide a bumbling idiot wasn’t good enough and move on to someone better. Someone like Callan who looked good in Sander’s arms and was strong enough to be a sparring partner. A more useful friend than he could be as a boyfriend.
”What if…one—one day you stop wanting me?” he asked, hand retreating from the elegant display.
“Then I have gone mad.” -The answer came easily for Sander, who could not imagine a life without Christmas anymore -”Put me out of my misery.”
But it did bring up a concern. What if Christmas was the one who chose to leave? Sander knew he would not stop him. Could not, even if he wanted to. So he voiced his fears too, just as Christmas did.
“I don’t think…I don’t know what I would do without you.”
”I’m…okay when I’m…with you. Even if it’s bad I—I want to be okay,” the blond admitted, looking at the floor and the space between his dirty sneakers and the dress’s ornate hem. ”I think I’d…want to disappear if…if I was alone again.”
“Then…I’ll always be with you. Is that okay?”
Christmas didn’t respond for a moment, following a trail of curving gold decoration towards the dress’s waist. When he finally spoke, the request was as small as his voice. ”…Will you help me try it on?”
Sander’s eyes lit up at the request, and he could not hold back a grin. He took Christmas’ hand then.
“Of course.”
”Excuse me,” a testy voice to their left called out, ”but the store is about to close. Are you two quite done here?”
Christmas flinched at the woman’s approach, having missed her leaving the desk and walking towards them while he marveled at the gorgeous dress in front of him. She was dressed down for someone who managed a vintage boutique, but a low bun, neat shawl, and simple skirt seemed to suit her portly frame, imposing a certain mature authority with her demeanor.
“Eh…We’ve just finished. Actually.” -Sander blinked, taken by surprise as well -”Can we use the dressing room? It’s for…someone else. Not us.” -He explained hastily, gesturing as the dress that Christmas had been looking at.
”Dressing rooms are locked half an hour before closing,” the woman explained curtly, making no attempt to cater to subnatural customers, especially two boys in a women’s fine clothing store. ”If you’re not going to buy anything, I’ll need you two to leave.”
Sander looked disappointed then, looking at the dress and back at the stern woman. Eventually, he gave. He could wait a little bit longer.
“We will take that then.” -He pointed at the dress, already taking his USARILN-issued card out -”No need for the dressing room.”
There was a tiny, worried noise from Christmas, but the lady gave them no time to rethink the purchase. She snatched the card from Sander’s hand and swept up the dress quickly, muscle memory already bundling the large hem into a neat roll as she brought the entire gown to the cashier’s desk where a long, plastic bag seemed to appear in her hands, pulled so swiftly from a roll beneath the countertop that she might as well have magicked it into existence. The dress was bagged, the plastic sheath’s dangling end knotted up, and the item was charged all in a matter of seconds. There was a moment when Sander’s card and its insufficient funds required a wait, the $972.72 transaction marked as “pending authorization” for over a minute before some godsend cleared it on the other end. Christmas’s eyes went wide at the price on the register’s forward screen but he couldn’t protest when everything seemed to work out. Huffing as if she had expected the crowing victory of telling them they couldn’t afford it, the cashier thrust the bundle at Sander.
”Will that be all?” she asked, her tone daring them to linger.
Satisfied, Sander only took the dress with a smile. He nodded a ‘thank you’ to the cashier, before turning around and nudging Christmas’ shoulder gently, as both of his arms were occupied with bags.
“Let’s go back.”
The trip back to their dorm was relatively quiet after that, Sander kept grinning like an idiot while Christmas stayed close to him, a hand hooked into the nook of Sander’s elbow in a more comfortable display of companionship than he had shown since the strained morning. It took around half an hour for them to finally arrive, and when they did, Sander was obviously at the end of his patience. He kicked the door shut behind them, tossed the handful of grocery onto the kitchen counter before beckoning Christmas closer, the bundle from the dress store still tucked under his arm. Christmas obeyed, but looked worried, fretting with his hands on the hem of his sweater once more. Sander only pressed a hand against his boyfriend’s face, the touch warm and reassuring, before he got back to unfurling the dress from its package. It didn’t take long, given Sander’s experience with handling clothes. Once that was done, he laid it out onto the nearby bed, then turning back Christmas. His hands went for the hem of Christmas’ sweater this time.
“Hands up.”
Blinking in surprise, Christmas obeyed, holding his hands up at eye level and letting Sander slip the sweater off of him. The blood mage went for the pants next, making quick work of the buttons before stripping it down, leaving Christmas huddling in his underwear. He paused a bit then, a hungry look flashed through his expression, but he turned to the dress instead, turning it over to look for the zipper in the back. There wasn’t one, only a series of cleverly hidden clasps in the back while the main portion of the dress’s top was meant to be wrapped around the torso like a sari.
Sander did not have much experiences with dresses, especially not exotic dresses. He did not wear them, obviously. His mother did, though, and he was reminded of better days when she asked him to help her with the zipper or to fetch her favorite earrings.
It felt like an eternity away, now. Sander’s hands stilled for just a moment, then he forced a smile.
“Ah…How do we do this?” -He mumbled, fiddling with the hidden straps. Eventually, he managed to undo them all, spreading the top part of the dress on the bed and revealing that it opened wide enough at the hips for Christmas to simply step into the flowing gown while the sari-like top half splayed out in navy blue and gold-rimmed white. At Sander’s gesture, the blond moved forward, slipping himself into the center of the gown and adjusting the cinch of the waist to fit his small form. By design, the dress accommodated a flat chest easily, the wraparound top half held fast by the same series of clasps and straps that helped the cloth retain a look of looseness while remaining steadily on the body, the navy half of the wraparound draped over the left shoulder on a fashionable diagonal across the torso while the white half wrapped below the blue and horizontally, exposing the boy’s right shoulder in stylish asymmetry. He spun slowly after putting together the outfit, half of the straps still unhooked along the back and letting the over-shoulder sash sway freely behind him.
Sander stared on for a few moments, a bewildered look on his face. The dress fitted Christmas perfectly, the boy’s soft curves and petite frame was accentuated by flowing fabric, just like they were meant to. For the next few seconds, Sander realized he couldn’t take his eyes off, dumbstruck. Eventually, the blood mage calmed down enough to walk closer and put his hands on Christmas’ shoulders.
“Let me…” -He trailed off, spinning Christmas around to fiddle with the clasps on the back of the dress. Unable to resist though, he leaned down and pressed a toothy kiss against Christmas’ exposed shoulder.
”D-Does it look weird?” the blond mumbled, embarrassed that Sander was seeing the depths of his girly fascination.
“What’s weird?”
”M-Me…”
“What are you saying, Christmas?” -When the straps were all clasped and tightened, Sander slowly turned Christmas around to face him -”You are perfect.”
A fizzling happiness bubbled up at the comment, but Christmas was quick to cover his mouth, pretending to rub at his nose. ”Thank you,” he mumbled at last, too emotional to look at Sander. But Sander had already figured out the tell, so he grabbed Christmas’ hands and leaned closer.
“Give me a smile, please?”
The blond faltered, the tiniest of smiles creeping onto the corners of his lips. He couldn’t hold the display long with Sander staring and so close. Before he could stop himself Christmas was leaning forward, a ghost of a kiss fleeting on Sander’s mouth, but the warmth lingered as proof of the healer’s small courage. Already he was ducking his head, heat trickling upwards to his shoulders and neck. Yet Sander still hadn’t had enough. Strong arms closed around his waist, and the blood mage leaned in, capturing his lips in a wet, sensual kiss, the kind that screamed for more. A small whimper escaped between the intimate contact, but was the only noise Christmas could make before he lost the capacity to resist, form growing pliant under Sander’s touch until he was flush against the heated skin. Soon enough, he was pushed onto the bed, at the mercy of Sander as the blood mage kissed and licked at every inch of his exposed skin. Errant hands finally found their way beneath the soft fabric and pulled at Christmas’ dull underwear, spreading his legs and lifting his hips.
Only then did Sander realize something was missing. Hands still remained firmly on Christmas’ hips, but he had ceased most of his teasing motions, only stared down at Christmas with a puzzled look on his face. The healer’s face strove to match Sander’s confusion and Christmas waited for what was wrong.
“How do you feel about…lingeries?”
”L-Lingerie?”
“For…here.” -Sander pressed a palm against the raised fabric of Christmas’ boxer briefs -”But pretty.”
He could smell the arousal in more ways than one, but Christmas seemed at a loss for words, hiding his face behind his hands again while heat sparked on the back of his neck. The answer was little more than a squeak, but he nodded. ”I l-like it.”
Sander smiled then, sharp and toothy, a bit of the red-eyed predator showing as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Christmas’ hair.
“Then I suppose we will have to go shopping again soon.”
Member
Jing
