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It was a rainy night at Piramida when Illuga asked Flins out.
In retrospect, it’s the cheesiest thing he’s ever prepared for. He had a bouquet and a note with his speech ready. He even sprayed cologne on himself. He made all those preparations just to wait all evening for Flins to stop talking to every dang Ratniki in the city. Then it started raining.
It’s a miracle then that Flins chose to slip under Illuga’s awning for shelter, rather than any other house. Much less the houses of the other Lightkeepers he’d been speaking to. Illuga lets him in, offering him water as he tries very hard not to think about the flowers he shoved under the table or the folded note burning a hole through his pocket.
“You look unwell, Master Illuga,” Flins says, peering at him from across the table. “Is something the matter?”
He does feel like he might puke. Instead, he blurts, “SirFlinswillyoumarryme?”
Flins’s expression doesn’t change. “Hm?”
Illuga clears his throat. He should be banned from talking for the rest of his life. “Sorry. Let me try that again.” He inhales. “Ilikeyoualotwillyoudateme?”
“You should speak a little more slowly, Master Illuga. It’s a little difficult for people to understand what you’re saying if you merge all of your words into one.”
For Kuutar’s sake. Illuga can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Fine,” he says, setting Flins’s glass in front of him. “Drink this and go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He is just about to sulk in his room when Flins grabs his wrist.
“Master Illuga.” When Flins speaks, he sounds kind. “I was not discouraging you from telling me how you feel. I was attempting the opposite.”
“It didn’t sound like that.”
“Well, I’m all ears now. Tell me. What is it that you want to say?”
He already knows. Illuga knows this because Flins has that stupid smile on his face he makes whenever he pulls a prank on their fellow Lightkeepers. But then maybe it says something about Illuga instead, that he’s still down bad for this provocateur.
“I like you,” Illuga says, making sure to enunciate each word slowly. “A lot. I would like for us to be lovers.”
“Lovers,” Flins repeats. “Are you sure about that?”
“What,” Illuga responds flatly. He had prepared for acceptance or rejection, not this weird, ambiguous response.
“I’m trying to tell you that you should think twice before you make a decision.”
“I’ve thought long and hard about it.” More often than he should, to be honest. Illuga mentally apologizes to Nikita for the drool-speckled paperwork from his impromptu naps while thinking up confession scenarios. “I like you very much, Sir Flins.”
“Well, you’re lucky that I like you very much as well, Master Illuga.”
It doesn’t register with him at first. When it does, it crashes into him all at once, filling his heart with a sort of lightness that could very well ascend him to the heavens.
“You’re not lying to me to make me feel better, are you?”
Flins laughs. He takes Illuga’s hand and places it against his lips.
“I have many habits, but I do not make a habit out of lying.”
Illuga wasn’t aware of it at the time, but a few days later, he learns he had a scar on his left hand. It’s tiny, barely an inch; he must have received it from training practice or some sort.
Flins doesn’t make a habit of lying, not really. But Illuga soon finds out about another common habit of his.
As the days pass and their relationship grows, Illuga learns that Flins likes to kiss his scars.
They are fledgling lovers, still learning how to accommodate their lives to each other’s presence. They have not yet shared a bed, although it is an idea that Illuga has thought about and one that Flins has suggested several times. Mostly through gestures that Illuga didn’t understand at first, but grew to learn.
Sometimes, when they’re spending time together at Piramida or the cemetery lighthouse, Flins would drag his hands on the left side of Illuga’s neck, where his scar resides. Illuga hadn’t thought much about it because it was always something he did when they were alone. But then one day, he does it during a Lightkeeper meeting. Illuga never knew Flins to be incessant, but here he was, dragging his hand up and down Illuga’s neck like a paintbrush to a canvas.
“What are you doing?” Illuga hisses. Even with gloves on, Flins’s touch is enough to send thrills all over his body.
Flins’s lips curl into a smile. “Why? I was under the impression you liked it when I touched you.”
Illuga elbows his stomach. Nikita is shooting them odd looks from across the room. Archons forbid he saw what Flins was doing. “We’re at an official meeting. You are a renowned Lightkeeper, and I a squad leader. You cannot say those things or touch me like that.”
Flins slips his hands back into his pockets and juts his bottom lip slightly as he sighs. “Alright. Whatever you say, Young Master.”
He’s actually pouting. Illuga wants to grab him by his stupid rat tail and kiss him like the world will end tomorrow. Instead, he yanks Flins’s shoulder down to whisper into his ear, “But of course, if you’d like to continue touching me, you’ll have to come to my room later.”
Flins coughs, having choked on air. Illuga pulls away, tilting his head to the side to hide his smirk. He doesn’t pay attention to a single word Nikita says at that meeting.
Flins comes to his room at midnight. They are in the middle of undressing each other when he freezes.
“Are you okay?” Illuga asks.
“I did not expect you to have so many scars.”
Illuga looks down at himself, at the marks all over his stomach. He never really paid attention to how his torso may appear to others, but with Flins staring now, he can’t help but feel embarrassed.
“Most of it was from the incident that killed my parents,” Illuga says, already using the blankets to cover his body. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite Flins to his bed. They’ve only recently got together, after all. “Most of them are old, really. They don’t hurt anymore. I know they look bad—”
Flins shuts him up by placing his finger on Illuga’s neck, on that familiar scar. He runs it down his clavicle, dragging it all the way to the front of his left shoulder, where the line ends its course. Then he splays his other hand on Illuga’s chest, where three diagonal scars run parallel across it. He gently runs his thumb against the ridges before leaning in and pressing his lips against them.
Illuga can feel himself growing faint. It’s a lot different from when he touched it with his glove on.
“They’re beautiful,” Flins says. He’s not really whispering, more so speaking in low tones. “Embrace them.”
Illuga grabs the back of Flins’s neck, and things proceed as expected. Flins kisses every mark on Illuga’s skin, no matter how small they are. Their time together is a little awkward at certain points, but it’s wonderful regardless. So wonderful.
Illuga discovers Flins’s true identity a month into their relationship.
At some point, Illuga had realized that Flins tends not to bring supplies to his lighthouse. So, Illuga is forced to bring necessities during his visits, because what kind of person was he to let his lover die of starvation on a cemetery island, all alone?
“I assume you are part of the supplies?” Flins asks as he kisses the back of Illuga’s neck. His hands are already slipping under Illuga’s shirt and wandering over his skin.
Illuga blushes. He can’t help himself. Despite his affections being known, Flins’s flirtatious tendencies always manage to undo him. “If you want me.”
Flins nibbles at his ear. “Who would not want you?”
So he ends up staying in Flins’s bed for the night. It’s small, the mattress surprisingly thin. But the poor conditions of the enigmatic Lightkeeper’s bedroom aren’t what draws Illuga’s attention. It’s—
“Your skin is so clear,” Illuga says as he runs his hands over the pale skin of Flins’s arm. “There isn’t a single scratch on you.”
“An astute observation.” Flins enunciates each syllable slowly.
“How’d you manage that? You’re holding up this whole territory on your own.” Illuga starts patting Flins’s half-dressed body down, like he was checking for weapons. “Surely you have one or two somewhere.”
“No, I am quite sure I do not.”
“Do you have really good genetics? That makes your skin recover more easily from injuries?”
Flins hesitates here. It makes Illuga nervous. Did he offend him with that question?
“Remember when you told me once that you think I might not be human?” Flins asks.
“I wasn’t being serious,” Illuga says quickly. Is he still hung up on that? Is Flins going to hate him forever? “I mean, I was at the time. I guess. But there’s no way you’re not human, right? I mean, you feel like you’re human. Sometimes. You know?”
“I am a Fae.”
It takes about thirty minutes for Flins to calm Illuga down, and another twenty to convince him to return to the bed. Even then, Illuga is adamant in keeping his back against Flins, his arms folded as he glares at the wall.
“Master Illuga, I’ve already apologized.”
“We’ve been lovers for a month! I tolerated you touching me during a Lightkeeper meeting! You told me you didn’t make a habit out of lying!”
“I wasn’t lying. I was withholding information.”
“That’s practically the same thing!”
“I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I told you.”
Illuga sniffs. “Did you think I’d be mad at you? That I’d leave you?”
“It is a possibility.”
Flins sounds a little sad when he confesses this. Illuga deflates alongside most of his anger. “Well, lucky for you, I still like you a little too much. So. There you go.”
“Then will you turn around?”
Illuga buries himself deeper against the wall. “No.”
Flins makes a low sound similar to a chuckle. Illuga grumbles, his annoyance overpowering his desire to obey and return to what they were doing before. But then he feels a finger trace his lower back. Soaring and swooping over his skin. A damp, bow-shaped warmth tickles his spine afterward. Illuga flinches from surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“Did you know you have a scar down here?”
Illuga blinks. “No, I didn’t, actually. Does it look bad?”
“Not at all. It is wonderful.”
Trust Flins to say something like that at a moment like this. Illuga sighs against the wall, wondering what he did in his previous life to deserve this.
“Can you describe it to me?”
“Of course.”
Apparently, there is a patchwork of scars on Illuga’s back unbeknownst to him, which Flins maps out by peppering his skin with his mouth. Illuga closes his eyes as Flins traces the lines between points like they were constellations, elucidating each one and their notable features. Illuga tries to recall his past injuries and the events tied to them, but he loses track. He has had more than one deadly encounter with the Wild Hunt and others, after all.
“So you don’t scar because you’re a Fae?” Illuga asks once he’s done.
Flins’s lips brush against the scar on Illuga’s right scapula. “My body is a projection of my true form, the flame in my lantern. When I lived in Snezhnaya, I was part of the royal court, and Fae were required to have what they claimed as an ‘attractive’ appearance. I have grown accustomed to projecting this form.”
“Oh.” Illuga’s heart twisted. What did it mean, then, that his body was full of scars? How does Flins see him, then?
“Young Master. Turn around.”
Flins’s touch was so soothing that Illuga gathered enough courage to turn around and face him. He places a hand on Illuga’s cheeks, thumbing the corner of his eye.
“I’ve told you this once, and I will tell you again,” he says, so softly that Illuga had to strain to hear. “Scars are wondrous things. They are signs of battle and survival. Of the hardships of humanity, of living only once.” Illuga feels Flins’s mouth against his forehead. “They are memories manifested on skin, and they are beautiful. Never be ashamed of them.”
In the dim light of the moon, Flins’s eyes are softer than usual. Illuga could feel his entire body relax.
“You’re just as beautiful, Sir Flins. Even without the scars.”
“My. You’re much too kind.”
Illuga rolls his eyes and pushes him into the bed. “Stop fooling around and kiss me.”
Flins does exactly what he’s told.
When Illuga hears about Flins’s rather nasty encounter with the Wild Hunt on Lempo Isle, he embarks to Nasha Town immediately. Flins is barely hurt, but it doesn’t stop Illuga from forcing him to rent a room at the Flagship for him rest.
“I am in peak condition, Young Master,” Flins tells him, possibly in hopes of stopping Illuga in his frantic pacing. “Please. You need not worry so much.”
“Not worry?” Illuga snaps. He grabs Flins’s lantern and points to the cracked glass panes. “If this lantern is destroyed, you die, don’t you?”
Flins looks at Illuga with way too much calm for someone whose life was literally in someone else’s hands. “If my fire is put out, yes.”
“Why do you disregard your life so?” Illuga sets the lantern gently on the desk before sitting next to Flins on the mattress. He places his hand on the Fae’s cheek. It feels so real, so warm, that Illuga can’t believe Flins’s true form is the purple flame in that lantern.
“It is not that I have no regard for my life.” Flins folds his sleeves, exposing the skin there. Illuga does a double-take.
“That’s—”
“The Wild Hunt tried to take my arm.” Flins traces the darkened skin there. “I’m very used to this form that I gave myself, but with some concentration, I was able to manifest this on my skin.” He touches Illuga’s neck scar again. “I was inspired by yours.”
Illuga tilts his head at Flins. His lover, his Fae. This non-human who has so much fascination with such a human thing.
“Why do you like my scars so much? That you’re willing to give yourself one?”
“As I have said, they’re beautiful.”
“There’s got to be more than that.”
Flins falls silent. Illuga is wondering if he needs to coax it out of him when he speaks.
“My deepest wish is to be human. A real one, not a mere illusion of one.”
Illuga blinks. “Why?”
Flins glances down at his hands. He exhales, shakily, before he speaks.
“One day, you will depart from this world, and I will still be here. And I will be here for a long time.”
Illuga’s chest tightens. “That’s still—”
“It will take a while. I know this.” Flins takes Illuga’s hand and rubs the area he kissed all those months ago, in that warm room safe from the Nod-Krai rain. “But as Lightkeepers, death hovers around us more closely. As you are well aware.”
“But you can’t become human. Even if you wanted to.”
“I will never become human, and I will live a long life after you.”
Flins gives him an uncharacteristically melancholic smile. That is when Illuga feels it, the understanding he will only be present for a small part of Flins’s life. He already is— how many years has it been since Flins arrived in this world? Illuga is an insignificant blip in the scale of his lifetime, a second of a millennium. He is nothing, not really, compared to Flins’s experiences in his past and the future years to come.
But despite all that, well, Flins accepted his confession, didn’t he? He chose to accept Illuga into his life, to let them be more than just acquaintances, colleagues, or friends. And perhaps that is why Flins looks at him with such fondness now. Even if Illuga is simply a blip, he still means the world to Flins.
For a moment, Illuga thinks that happiness may not be such an impossible thing after all, even with the desolation hanging over them. He takes Flins’s arm and kisses the skin around the darkened area. Then he tugs at his clothes.
“Take your shirt off,” Illuga orders.
“So eager.” Flins smiles, but does what he’s asked anyway. Illuga rubs the area around Flins’s left shoulder, the area where his own long scar is. He hovers his mouth there, hesitating.
“This is going to hurt,” he tells Flins.
Before Flins can answer, Illuga plunges his teeth into his shoulder.
They’ve bitten each other before, so it isn’t like this is anything new. But Illuga always bit lightly, not wanting to hurt Flins. Now, he bites with conviction, with the intention to leave something that would last forever. Flins’s neck arches back as Illuga bites down, down, down, until teeth break through skin. When he pulls away, there’s no blood, but rather a series of tiny indentations. Illuga traces them lightly, hyperaware of the hitches in Flins’s breathing.
“How was that?” Illuga asks, his voice lower than usual.
Flins reaches up under Illuga’s hand and brushes the bite marks. “These aren’t going to stay.”
“Then I’ll do this every night, so that you’ll remember them, and they will eventually appear on you like it’s second nature.” He kisses the area, softly rubbing it with his lips. “Then in the future, when I’m no longer around… you will remember me.”
Flins looks at him then, really looks at him. He doesn’t look away even when Illuga starts squirming under his gaze.
“Say something,” Illuga pleads.
“Is my shoulder the only part of me you’ll bite?”
Illuga stares. Flins smiles back.
“You’re a pervert,” Illuga groans.
“I asked because it sounded like you enjoyed it.”
Illuga responds by latching his mouth on Flins’s forearm. Flins laughs and responds by running his fingers through Illuga’s hair.
“Mark me with scars of your making,” he whispers to Illuga. “Mark me everywhere. Mark me so I will remember you.”
And so Illuga bites. He bites through the pleasure, through the grief borrowed from the future, through the love. He bites until they both collapse from exhaustion, until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.
“Do you think Flins might be injured?”
Illuga drops his paperwork at the question. He scoops them up frantically as he struggles to keep the worry from his voice. “Why do you say that?”
Anleifr shrugs as he leans down to help him. “He’s constantly rubbing at his side and shoulders, like he’s sore. I heard him asking around Piramida for any balms and salves, or anything that would reduce… what did he say… itchiness? But then he mentioned he didn’t want anything that would heal his scars. Now that I mention it, an injury that leaves scars has got to be a deep wound, right? Isn’t it odd that Flins isn’t worried about them, Illuga? Illuga?”
Illuga hides his face with his arm. He knows he’s blushing. He can’t stop.
“Excuse me for a minute, Anleifr.” Illuga nearly drops his documents again when he stands up. “I’m going to find him.”
He turns to see Flins on the other side of the Piramida plaza, staring right at him.
They stand there for a bit, just looking at each other. Illuga is about to drop his papers again to run towards him, to apologize for hurting him, when he sees his shining smile. Flins rubs his shoulder gently, where the first mark was made. Illuga’s heart soars.
“Never mind,” Illuga says, touching the scar on his own shoulder. “He’s right here.”