crooked moon: draža and gideon

[onefellswoop]

-The Crooked House. shut the fuck up eustace. WHY ARE INFINITE WEASELS?
-A private word. jack you can't slip away from the bird that easily.
-Where you belong. hello puppy, hello daddy. hello gideon?



supplemental:
-Jack's notes. revelations in the margins.

Comments

day 2: a private word.

[onefellswoop]

After talking to Jean, the party exits the smithy. Jack has, until now, been following along peacably enough, but now announces, "I'm going back to the Inn." When Cala looks torn in response, he tells her not unkindly, "You can do what you want. It's okay. Stay with them."

<.>

Orev's response is immediate, unwavered though there's a warning bite at the edge: "You'll find that's simple, Calamus." And, Looking At You Jack, "We could all use a stop at the inn.

"As I said, I'm not of a mood for bread."

Still watching Jack. Absolutely ready to strike down any argument.

(Anyway, going to the inn means Walt can refill on sausages and give his filthy romance some attention.)

<.>

It's true. Walt will get plenty of read time.

Jack stiffens and his jaw clenches, but he doesn't look at Orev. Unable to back out now, he simply turns and heads for the inn. Cala hurries to keep up with his stride, casting a bemused glance between him and Orev. For now, she says nothing, however.

Back at the inn, Jack says nothing to the party, but makes a beeline for the stairs; it could be he believes he just needs to get to his room and Orev won't follow, or that Cala WILL follow and provide a buffer if Orev is going to try and corner him.

*Cala does not, in fact, follow him.

<.>

Orev hadn't anticipated the lack of pushback. He had, however, absolutely expected the boy to attempt retreat, and follows that beeline quietly, without remark. However close he's able to trail Jack, he will be following him stuck-on-you-like-glue. There isn't any need to speak just yet; best keep words behind closed doors. Well. And. He may be hoping the boy doesn't notice he's been followed.

[orev, stealth check: 19]

<.>

Yeah Jack doesn't actually notice he's being followed.

When he gets to his room, he starts to close the door immediately behind him, so make an acrobatics check to dodge or an athletics check to stop it from hitting Orev in the face.

[orev, stealth check: nat 20]

Orev soundlessly catches the door, preventing it from closing and not alerting Jack to his presence. Jack, assuming the door has closed and he's alone, heaves a sigh of relief, snatches the new hat off his head, and throws it irritably on one of the chairs in the room. His coat follows and he drops onto his bed with a weariness he didn't show at all outside. He buries his face in his hands, shoulder slumped, scrubs his palms through his hair, and then raises his head to stare out the window.

<.>

Orev is going to keep to the room's perimeter, making his way toward the chair.

He's careful with his motions; graceful, focused. And for a moment, he permits himself to stand behind the chair, observing, thinking— He'd like to draw his fingers through the man's hair.

(Thinking— Does he knows its softness?) (It seems not alien to him.)

What he does is settle a hand on Jack's shoulder, speaking soft-firm as he does—

"What was it."

<.>

Although Jack didn't perceive him, when Orev's hand meets Jack's shoulder, the man doesn't seem to startle more than a sudden tensing - almost as though he's not surprised. The only indication he gives that he might have been caught off-guard is an angry snort and a side-long glance.

It's almost bitter, the way he looks at Orev.

"You're not big on boundaries, are you?"

<.>

That's... odd.

How little the boy reacts. Orev might not have intended to give Jack a particularly heinous startle, but surely there ought to have been something more to his reaction. He blinks. Considers.

(Doesn't like the way Jack's watching him.)

"And you're not inclined toward transparency.

"You've avoided the question."

And, after a moment: "You knew I was behind you." It isn't a question. (It's. Kind of a question.)

He hasn't moved his hand from Jack's shoulder.

<.>

"No." Jack doesn't indicate which un-question he's answering, but then again, he's not inclined towards transparency.

He's a gambler, after all.

He leaves Orev's hand on his shoulder far, far longer than seems reasonable before standing and moving away from the man. Folding his arms across his chest, he comments, "If you're here to ask me about your little identity problem, I can't help you."

<.>

The little shit.

He remains in place, hand shifted only enough to rest on the back of the chair, fingers tapping, tapping, claws pressing light into the fabric. Straight-faced, he offers, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

"No, 'Jack.' We've other concerns at present.

"What the woman in the bakery told you.

"What you were doing with Tolliver."

<.>

Jack seems thrown by this, then laughs incredulously. With an ugly sneer, he bites out, "I'd say I didn't take you for the jealous type, but it's more like I'm not sure why you think you've got a right to be jealous."

<.>

Oh, he doesn't like that.

Orev's lip ticks briefly, briefly to flash teeth before he can regain composure.

There's a question in mind: Why should Jack assume jealousy at all? Why the biting, the sneer? Just what does he know about Orev.

(And there's a question for himself: Why in fuck's name should he care. Is he jealous, and why, and what is it about this man?)

And Orev. Is going to go for cast number two of Detect Thoughts.

Which is maybe not wise and he's fairly certain it isn't wise, but that's not going to stop him.

<.>

[jack, perception check: 28]

Jack immediately starts with the PUT ON YOUR SUNDAYS WE'RE GONNA DIG A HOLE.

Orev looks as if he'd like to jump out a window.

But.

He's going to ride this out for the moment. Because he would like to trY to get a little deeper.

<.>

Jack manages his willpower save (18 on the die) and shouts, "Get out of my head!"

<.>

That's the spell done and over with.

And Orev is now clutching the back of the chair with both hands, claws clamped a little too harsh. Yes he is frustrated. (And in the back of his mind, he feels as if he's going about this all wrong, but for fuck's sake how else is he supposed to do it?)

His voice low, he offers, "As you wish."

And, "This might be simpler if you'd afford a measure of cooperation.

"We'll put it in your terms, shall we? If you're...muddling about with our potential suppliers, we'll all need to know. Simply to understand our own footing for dealing with them."

That is. Absolutely not what he's concerned about. But it sure is what he's going with right now.

<.>

The Crooked House

[onefellswoop]

Jack rejoins the party and has some bread and cheese, despite Cala’s warning not to spoil his dinner (and ignoring Orev’s encouragement that yes he should eat; he was going to eat anyway, so no one tolD him what to do!).

The party travels to the pavilion, a Very Large (house-sized! whoa!) open-air gazebo. Everyone’s wrapping up their day of trade etc., and the party meets the Jenkins family - Walter, Gilly, Dani, and their dog Shuck - coming from the Druskenvald’s home. Orev is super good at talking with people. They learn the Jenkins family was assigned to the house three years ago by Mayor Summerton, when the house was dedicated to the Druskenvalds.

[Q: Why was the house dedicated to/set aside for the Druskenvalds?]

Walt and Walt shake hands hell yeah! Gilly mentions being surprised that the Druskenvalds ended up showing at all. The subject of previous house residents seems to cause discomfort in the Jenkins family. The Jenkins rarely leave the estate, and grow food their themselves. The Druskenvalds do sound like night people, and Walt-not-undead makes a little joke ooOoOO. Cala is able to approach the dog; Orev is not. Shuck is, according to Dani, much better than Wisp the cat, and protects her. Shuck and Wisp both came with the house. Dani has concerns about ghosts, and is hoping to get a ghost-based book from the bookshop.

Gilly: "You know children and their imaginations. Their fits of interest.”
Orev: "I know how children can be."
Jack (clearly fucking around): "Oh, do you have children?"

The Jenkins family walks off, and though Dani doesn’t look back, Shuck sure does.

As the party approaches the Druskenvald estate, an old man appears ranting about death, doom, pain, the Crooked Man, the Crooked House, the Crooked Queen, death, annihilation, and btw can you spare a copper? Old Man does a lot of pointing. Jack tries to calm Old Man down. Jack gives Old Man a copper to get a drink at the inn; Orev gives Old Man a gold piece for who knows what reason, he’s helping. Orev shares what he’s heard of the Crooked Man with the party - that he takes a myriad of forms, that he has a rebirth every century or so - thinking it a myth.

A bit of info gleaned from a local (most are adamently Not Helpful and don’t wish to speak of these things): The estate was previously inhabited by the Lockwoods. Eustace Lockwood killed his family and the servants. Orev cannot talk like a human, and as they leave, Jack repeats back, “We’re sorry for your loss?” For a moment, Jack seems to show something like… fondness? Then covers it quickly.

They approach the estate and— Well this house that looked well-maintained from a distance is suddenly Very Spooky, huh! A very tall and toothy man-figure greets them, and Jack kind of. Takes Orev to the side. Jack asking whether Orev remembers anything at all from before, because he’s realizing that though he thought Orev simply doesn’t know his own identity, it’s becoming clear he doesn’t remember anything. Orev is not particularly reassuring, but yes he does have magic.

Jack: “I need to know what you remember. I thought this was a joke. [+illegible]”
Orev: “Does it matter?”
Jack: “It matters to me.”

Orev can tell that Jack is distressed, maybe a little scared.

Orev: “I remember enough to get myself through anything. We’re fine.”
Jack: “You don’t remember the Druskenvalds?”

Orev absolutely does not remember anything about the Druskenvalds pre-train.
Jack notes that Orev is a warlock and asks if Orev knows who his patron is. Orev would like to know how Jack knows this! Jack like, ‘because the spells??’ Orev does not catch this not-quite-truth. Jack is concerned that Orev doesn’t recall his own patron.

Orev (lying through his birdman-teeth): “I know who my patron is.”
Jack (relieved, not seeing the lie): “That’s something.”

Meanwhile, Cala and Walt and The Toothy Figure have been standing awkwardly. Walt offered Toothy Figure his book, Toothy Figure flipped though it, and tosses it back to Walt as Jack and Orev finally rejoin the party. (The Toothy Figure and the house itself may be getting pretty sick of their shit, oh no ah dear how sad!) Tells them the Druskenvalds are waiting inside. Seems off his game. But does say something something about all of them returning from whence they came in blood and fire, cool cool cool.

The party enters the house and is met with creepy goddamn portraits, including one with all of them sans teeth, which definitely isn’t weird at all! Orev fails a check and finds a tooth on the ground, which seems strange, but Jack thinks being a bird and having teeth is stranger really. While they argue about teeth, Orev has a sense of deja vu.

The party moves to a gallery room. A bloodstone is taken, a marble peacock is fought (and absolutely, beautifully destroyed by Jack’s final sneak attack) (Orev both turned on and a little uneasy because Jack was that a pointed killing of a bird hold on??). Also there was a ghost or something. Whatever, Jack’s got a nice and presumably decently valuable stone now!

Onto the next room! A parlor with a spirit board, to which Calamus and Orev move. Orev tells Jack to sit. Jack sits at Orev’s right hand, not looking at Orev, though he does have goosebumps. Something about this feels Very Familiar to Orev, and it seems almost like Jack was following a habit.

Cala, Jack, and Orev speak with a spirit that identifies itself as Patrini, oho one of the servants from one of those creepy creepy portraits! They learn that he served the Lockwoods for twenty years and was indeed killed by Eustace. But and also possibly a hag was involved in the death? And also there is a hag in the house, up in the attic. And also it’s mementos time! Patrini tells them to find his son, who still lives.

Jack: “Can I get up now?”
Orev: “You may rise.”
Calamus (spelling it out with the planchet): “Now kiss.”

Jack will noT be kissing Orev, as he says plainly. Orev tries to order Jack to open the door to the next room. Jack resists the command, though and Orev can tell Jack is actively working to resist the pull of (some kind of) command. Orev goes to the door and opens it himself.

Jack (little shiT!): “Good birdy.”

Orev glares. And they move on to the conservatory! Where Orev tries to… buy… the cup Petunia is holding, because see he definitely collects things like this. Calamus achieves he cup by offering to get Petunia a fresh round of tea.

Now it’s kitchen time! The kitchen is just a mess and there are spirits in the fire and yes Jack unlocks it when Orev suggests maybe the rogue should try that lock (which was not a command but sure sounded like one to Jack oooops).

Jack: “Stop ordering me around!”
Orev: “I didn’t…?”

The party takes a short rest, during which Orev realizes Jack is playing with a rabbit’s foot and HOLD ON THAT IS HIS?? It looks really familiar and his focus is honed. Orev asks where Jack got the foot. Jack says it’s been in his pocket this whole time, and in fact has been with him for nine months. Orev orders Jack to give it to him. Jack hesitates, resists, resists, but eventually shoves it into Orev’s hand. Orev now recognizes it as his arcane goddamn focuS.

Orev: “You’ve been using this for nine months?”
Jack: “It’s been in my pocket.”
Orev: “And how long has your luck been awful.”
Jack: (…has… nothing to say to that)
Orev: “I’d be interested to know how you came into possession of this. If I’m not mistaken - and I’m not - this is mine.”
Jack (sounding furious): “Oh, you recognize a rabbit’s foot. Are you saying you have memories?”
Orev: “I’m saying that I recognize it now.”

Jack does not seem pleased at all. Seems to speak with hurt, anger, resentment and he’s not even trying to hide it.

Orev: “Did I give this to you?”
Jack: “You never gave me anything.”

(Oh. No. :c)

day 2-3: Where you belong. // Daddy and Puppy

[onefellswoop]

He wasn't going to sleep in Orev's room; he was tempted to stay in the tavern until the proprietress cleared him out - and sleeping anywhere else wasn't an option, no matter what he said to Orev. Draža made sure of that more than a year ago.

(Not that Jack intends to tell Orev. That, or much else. Or. Much else other than what he's already put to paper. Probably.)

It's the darkest part of night, just before dawn, when he picks the lock on Orev's door. He creeps in, stealthy enough not to stir the other man regardless of whether he's awake or asleep. When he reaches the bed, he pauses, watchful, then sheds his coat, vest, gun, and hat onto a nearby chair. He toes off his boots, quieting their muffled thuds on the floor. Without a word, he slips under the covers and lies on his side, watching Orev's silhouette in the darkness.

He keeps a few inches between them, careful not to do more than barely breathe. Careful not to think about how any of this feels.

<.>

He wakes only when the mattress dips, when he knows the presence of a familiar/unfamiliar body suddenly drawn very near. (Not so very near. He feels the inches as a gulf, abyssal.)

Orev doesn't open his eyes. Schools his breathing to retain its steadiness. And— Listens. Feels the subtle warmth of another body. (Feels how little he recoils from this man's nearness. How he feels nothing but welcome; something like (peace?) (safety) an absence of hazard.)

He hadn't thought Jack would return. He doesn't want to scare the boy away. He's... Very, very certain that if he speaks, he'll shatter whatever this might be.

So he lets a moment, a minute pass. Waiting. Then opens his eyes slowly, and extends a hand toward Jack.

<.>

Jack thinks Draža would have woken immediately. He would have grinned his feral little grin and pressed Jack into the mattress, a winged shadow that towered over him and filled his vision, blocking out all the light.

Mostly. More often than not.

(There were times, though. Softer moments, just like this, when Draža waited for Jack - Gideon, Puppy - to come to him. A hand extended and patient, gentle silence.)

Salt tears sting his eyes and he crams them closed, jaw clenched, turning his head towards the pillows. (He can't help but think -) (Better not to think it. He's getting out of that contract, getting away from Orev-Draža-Daddy forever.) (But for now...?)

He sniffs quietly and forces himself to relax, then edges closer. He had meant only to bring himself nearer, maybe slip his hand into Orev's, but the nearer he draws, the less he can fight the pull. Jack presses himself to Orev's side, he rests one hand on the other man's stomach, head on his shoulder.

<.>

[ insight: 15

Orev recognizes the scent of Jack's hair and the weight of his hand, the perfect fit of their bodies together. Even the way the mattress holds their weight together. He can't remember specifics, but he knows he's spent many, many nights like this. ]

He’s done nothing to deserve this.

(A catch in his throat.) (Something flushed and burning at the edges of his mind.) (He knows this man.) ((Why can’t he remember? Why these glints and these obscure sensations only, taunting, gnawing at him?))

If Orev can’t say why Jack draws near, he senses need in it, something like compulsion, or— Something deeper than that; something that echoes in his own chest.

It’s simple, so simple to shift himself onto his back, even as an arm draws itself around Jack, following his movement or guiding him, or it’s both at once. To feels the man’s hand settle, head settle, and think only yes, that yes, Jack has found his rightful place. To breathe shallow but steady, steady, as if to ease Jack toward calm.

He draws one claw along Jack’s cheek, catching a tear and caressing. (He doesn’t notice the burn at the back of his own eyes.) He ducks his head toward Jack’s hair and— No, he won’t follow the urge to settle a kiss, not yet, but he’ll nestle his cheek and breathe deep, breathe steady.



Thinking, yes. Thinking welcome. Thinking, this is where you belong.

<.>

If he shudders, it isn't revulsion. It's against the urge to sob for everything he lost, everything that is and isn't quite here, now. It's the feeling of a tear traced away, the scent of (Draža) Orev against him, holding him and breathing steadily. It's the feeling of arms, wings around him and a cheek at his hair.

(Why couldn't we keep this? he wants to ask, but asking means breaking the silence. It means inviting conversations he doesn't want to have. It means Orev might stop.)

Drawing his hand upward, he smoothes it into the feathers at Orev's chest, touch delicate and certain because he has done this a thousand times, because he does know how to touch this man. He never forgot. (How could Draža forget him? How? Did he want to be rid of Gideon that badly?)

He matches his breathing to Orev's, in and out, listening to the steady-wild beat of his heart. (Thinking, it could have been like this always.

But Draža didn't want him.

He doesn't belong here anymore.

It's nice to pretend, though.)

<.>

There are things he knows, has begun to piece together about the man he just have been. The journal tells a scattered, broken story, a man bitten by inferno, seeking some manner of exit and given to destruction. A man given to spilling blood, to sacrifice, to words writ in howling and little to suggest softness.

He knows there was something that man wanted, badly.

He knows there was one name repeated, repeated, and redacted.

(What was he trying to lose.) (And.) (What might he have tried to (protect) save?)

Orev can’t understand why he lost this. Why he would have left this. (He must have hurt this man— Oh, infinitely.) (Why. And why. And why?)

There’s so much he can’t put into place, but what he knows in this moment, what he feels with settled certainty (a wild forest stricken with warm light; a breeze speaking home, and a hand gentle, settled at his heart) (Jack touches him now, and something eases in his lungs; it’s so careful, familiarity he knows he ought to recognize), is rightness.

He wants to say—

(How can this thought, the feelings behind these words, exist?)

I’ve missed you.

Instead, he catches his breath gone staggered and once again calms it steady. (Calms it by following the rise, the fall of lungs so near his own.) He shifts, just a little nearer against Jack. Draws his arm closer in hold, and shifts just slightly to his side, the better to curl against this man. And he does speak, soft, nearly inaudible—

“Thank you.”

And he thinks: Puppy.

<.>

Orev turns and Jack moves in tandem, shifting his hand down and around to loop around (Daddy's) the azureborn's back, finding a familiar path through feathers. (He learned so quickly where to touch carefully, where to pull and where to place his palms, his fingertips. He remembers Draža wincing with a too-rough caress that pulled at the feathers of his upper arms.

He remembers Draža's contented, heavy-lidded eyes at the scratch of fingertips at the base of his skull. It's a memory that inflicts itself so strongly, Jack's own breath hitches.)

He breathes in deeply and exhales with a little, lost sound.

Before he drowns in memories, a voice eases against the silence and Jack acknowledges it only with a small shift of his head against downy feathers, a barely-there nudge of his nose upward at Orev's jaw - then stillness. Then a reply equally soft, just as quiet.

"What for?"

Maybe, maybe if they whisper, the illusion won't fall away.

<.>

For everything.

For not fleeing with the train’s crash.

For the surety and softness of his touch.

For speaking in kind; Orev hadn’t anticipated Jack’s voice. Had half-expected the boy to flinch from Orev’s words, and had been readying himself to calm Jack, to press forehead to forehead and hold there until ease was restored.

“For being here.”

He thinks he means ‘for coming back to bed.’ He thinks he means, ‘for returning,’ and that returning means a good depth of other things, and Orev knows a rotten wrenching somewhere in his soul.

(He doesn’t deserve this. But gods, he (needs) wants it.)

Careful, slowly, he draws two fingertips through Jack’s hair. (He thinks about that sound - small, conflicted; miraculous - from Jack.) (He thinks there was history rung deep through that sound.) (He wants to know it. (Knowledge bears a cost.) (He’ll pay it.) In time. In a moment less strung with quiet; he doesn’t wish to disrupt this.) Tilts his head just slightly, to press Jack’s nose, Jack’s cheek.

And he dares, now: He sets the lightest kiss to Jack’s hair, not pressing to his skull, only offering, only taking in the presence of this man.

<.>

Jack's answer is a catch of breath, not at the words but at the lightest pressure of a kiss against his hair. Lingering? Offering? He can't tell and he doesn't dare move. He doesn't want to risk shaking Orev off, making him think it's unwelcome.

He's not sure if it is or not. (That's not true.)

If it had been only the words, he thinks he might have been angry that Orev would thank him for being here when Draža left him in the first place. Orev doesn't know, can't possibly understand how it feels. But he's being so careful with Jack, caressing so softly with fingertips and the brush of his cheek, that Jack thinks maybe, maybe he understands very, very well that something important was lost.

Given up.

He wants to say, I never left, but he knows how it would sound; he knows the accusation it would carry. He wants to say For now, but he doesn't want the moment shattered by what the future will hold. Instead, he waits, letting Orev draw out the kiss as long as he likes, before lifting his chin and answering, "Where else would I go?"

Where else but home? he thinks, but doesn't say. He'll never say that. (Look what speaking love lost him.)

His lips brush Orev's jaw when he speaks and linger there, not quite a kiss, for a staggered heartbeat or three afterward.

<.>

‘Where else would I go’; another question sparking countless could-be answers. Because he might be anywhere, anywhere away from Orev. Because there are countless places that might hold existence, here or beyond the shade and shield of this realm’s veil. Because Orev doesn’t know where else Jack might have gone, who and what he’s been, so how could he guess where else Jack might have gone?

(No, he— Knows well enough. Hasn’t he heard it in this man’s voice, seen it in the sadness of his thoughts? Heard it in the music drawn from a harpsicord’s keys. Something profound; something irrevocable and bleeding, lost and too far inflicted to be healed.)

‘Where else would I go,’ another phrase that holdings meanings unsaid and more precise. (What might the boy have said, if he’d felt freer, safer?) (If Orev, if the man Orev was and can’t remember, hadn’t… Done. What he did.) And—

Where has this man had to go, these past nine months.

What has he had, since Orev—

Left him. Abandoned him.

What has existence been for Jack, that he came to Orev’s room and slid so quickly, quietly into bed. That after nine months of absence, of nothing (of being told (Orev had said—) (Orev told the boy he’s missing something, told him—) he wasn’t (how could it ever be true?) wanted, needed; not enough), he moved to the offer of Orev’s hand, and holds (clings) so close to him now, lips light like grace at Orev’s skin.

Orev has closed his eyes. He’s counting, rhythmic, in silence. Trying to sustain. Trying to hold this moment, and not to—

Shatter it. He’s marred enough for this man already; he won’t let this night turn rancid.

He’s like to respond to Jack’s words. He’d like to say, You won’t need to go elsewhere. He’d like to say, I’m here, I’m here, I’m not going to leave.’ And, ’I’ve been waiting for you, my—‘

My Jack. (My Puppy.) ((My Dearest.))

He breathes, and he nestles his cheek against Jack’s head. Nudges, nuzzles against his hair. And says—

“The night has been long.

“It has been so long.”

Then softly, deep in his throat, at his chest, he hums. Not thinking, not allowing thought to enter in with questions that might break this song he knows, though he doesn’t remember it. This song that’s gathered somewhere in his bones, and yes, and yes he hums it now, gathering Jack close against him, offering the song Jack played to a haunted parlor, the song they both witnessed on the train, the song connected to a hand at his waist, and a smile from this beautiful, matchless man.

<.>

"Every night," Jack answers. He doesn't need to explain, he thinks, how every night crawled across his skin with Daddy's absence. He doesn't need to explain how he tried to find relief in gambling, in drinking, in walking dark streets, trying to escape that last conversation.

He hates himself for how his voice breaks, but doesn't hate that maybe, maybe, Orev feels it all, too: the absence, the wanting, the sorrow. (Right now, the relief.)

Because Orev is humming their song. (Theirs, when he was Gideon and Orev was Draža.) (Theirs, now? Maybe tonight, at least? Please?)

Jack clings tighter and nuzzles his face into the crook of Orev's throat, eyes closed, feathers tickling his nose, and for just a moment, he's not Gideon. Orev isn't Draža. They're just...them, together, and it feels safe. It feels like someplace he could have stayed once. (Think of Orev's grin when Jack obeyed him and sat. Think of the steady beat of his heart and the lead of his lungs. Think of the ways he reaches. (It's not enough, but it's something for now.))

(Just listen. Just hear the familiar tune and feel Orev's cheek a comforting weight against his head. Just feel the warmth of their bodies, the bed, the blankets.)

Slowly, he relaxes against Orev, and Jack eases into a dreamless sleep.

<.>

He doesn’t sleep.

(He’s slept enough, for the night.) (He’s been— Gone. Far too long.) ((How do you miss what you can’t remember ever having?) (How else to explain the leaden weight in his chest, how he’s known it since awaking without memory, how it’s light now, or simpler to bear?))

Orev hums until Jack’s breath turns to the tidal fall of sleep, and continues humming long after. Picks up the song again, again, throughout the waning night, the growing dawn, as his hands continue in careful soft caressing, as he gazes on the wonder of this man’s face, lit in time by distant purples, rising oranges, softest, growing gold. (How many nights, how many dawns did he watch this way, stricken?) (Perhaps the count is hundreds. Or. Perhaps he never saw. (Perhaps he never stayed.))

Once or twice, he dares another press of lips against Jack’s hair. Still soft, still without claim. Only wondering. Only wanting to, trying to recall, and if not that, if memory won’t come to him, then at least taking in these moments fully, and keeping them for always.

(His, his, his.) ((This man is his.) (And doesn’t he belong… Here. With Jack.) (To. Jack?))

‘Every night,’ Jack said, and those words grew a stone in Orev’s chest. Seep through him as the hours carry onward, and yes, and yes, there’s more aching to those words than can be fathomed in a word or an instant or a march of days, of years.

(Orev would like to mend— Something. (Whatever he’d done.) Everything.) (He doesn’t know whether it’s within his right, or power. Or whether any attempt to mend might only hurt this man deeper.)

The hours pass, and though he doesn’t sleep, he begins to drift within a pleasant haze. Not entirely real. Not needing (not wanting) what’s only real, the convolutions and conundrums of existence that wait yet to be solved, eased. Only knowing Jack is with him. Only knowing steady breath and heartbeat, and the brush of skin beneath his hand, the soft give of blond between his fingers.

Whatever Orev has been, whatever he has done, he knows that here and on this night, he has been blessed.