Eldritch Telephone

Blitzø wakes up to a wailing shriek from the other side of the Pride ring and knows instantly who made it, and where the sound is coming from.

It doesn't matter that he hasn't spoken to him in months, or that they left things so painfully unresolved, or that he feels like he hasn't gotten a full night's sleep in all that time. He uses his crystal to open up a portal as soon as his brain catches up with what he's hearing, and steps through right to the source of the sound. He's wearing boxers and an old tanktop and nothing else, barely noticing as he shivers slightly in the chill night air.

The sound is painful. He's never heard him make that sound, never heard anything make a sound like this, anywhere in Hell. It's grating, like the squeal of mangled metal contorted in a way it was never meant to bend, but sharper and more like dozens of them all at once in a horrible dissonant cacophony. It shreds through him, dragging painful flashes of memory with it—standing in front of the stage at a party, realizing how badly he'd fucked up, thinking about all the horrible things he'd said, running through them like a Rolodex of misery reminding him that he's a worthless asshole who hurts everyone foolish enough to care about him. He'd convinced himself until that moment the words were hurled at a target who didn't actually care about him beyond what he could do between the sheets, only just starting to realize how terribly stupid he'd been—how much damage he'd done, even when he was trying to avoid it.

He remembers sitting up on the balcony with the oozing slice of cake in his hand, realizing he was right: Stolas deserves so much better than anything he has to offer. And if Blitzø leaves, then surely he'll realize that, and be free.

It took a couple hours, for Blitzø to decide he honestly wants that for him. Wants him to be happy, wherever he ends up, whoever he ends up there with.That part wasn't difficult at all.

He tried, so hard, to stay away. To give him space to move on, to find someone worthy of him, of all his attention and affection and praise. Someone kinder and more patient and stronger and better than Blitzø. A... a good person, and not a pathetic massive fuckup of an imp. That's all he wants for him—someone that's actually capable of making him truly happy.

So seeing him, inky black and enormous, edges fuzzy as his form wavers and shifts, wailing like he's being torn apart molecule by molecule, isn't something he expected to see. Part of Blitzø still thinks of him as immortal and untouchable, even now. Inevitable, and forever out of reach, even though he's learned that he's not invincible. That he can be hurt.

That Blitzø, of all demons, has the capacity to hurt him.

"Stolas?" He asks, because even though he knows it like he knows he's an imp and lives in Hell and will never quite recover from fucking up so bad he lost his chance with the only demon who wanted to keep him, who saw him as so much more than a convenient tool, it's hard to believe the huge dark screaming creature in front of him and the lanky bird he knew (thought he knew) so well are the same person.

There's a stutter in the wailing, a hitch, and the creature that is Stolas quiets, and slowly looks down. Tilts its head in confusion, and that is familiar. Blitzø knows that head tilt immediately, intimately, down to his bones.

Blitzø...?

Blitzø flinches, the voice familiar but layered with other sounds, horrible and grating and both inside and outside of his head. It's overwhelming and it hurts, but he can handle it.

"You, uh. Having a bad day, there, Stols?"

Stolas gives a warbling cry, a mournful sound, and turns away. He curls a giant, inky talon into his own feathers, digging them in. Blitzø interprets that as, What the fuck are you doing here? I don't want you here.

It wouldn't be the first time he's said it.

"Sorry, I know. Last person you wanna see, trust me, I get it. But you kind of screamed and woke me up, and you look like you might be in trouble."

Stolas clenches tighter, and obviously he's not happy, but that's definitely not a denial, either. Blitzø takes a deep breath, and pushes away the ache to deal with later.

"Is Octavia okay?" Blitzø asks, because he can't think of anything that would make Stolas lose his cool faster or more completely. Stolas uncoils just a little and raises his head, still facing away, but he dips his head in what looks like a nod.

Blitzø sighs in relief. "Okay, good. That's good. But... are you stuck like this?"

Another nod.

"Can... Can I help? I mean, Is there something I can do to help?"

Stolas blinks, and turns far enough that he can look down at him. Blitzø doesn't know what he's looking for, he just hopes Stolas isn't still too pissed at him, or hurt, that it's not more painful with him being here than it would be if he just left. Because he can't leave, not until he knows for sure that Stolas will be okay. And he doesn't see anyone else around.

Finally Stolas looks away, dipping his head, his whole body drooping down and he slowly shakes his head.

"Is that a no, like, there is no way, or a no because you don't know how?"

Stolas gives a soft grumble, and then lifts his wings a little and drops them again. Was that a shrug?

"I'm gonna interpret that as the second one, then," Blitzø says, and again Stolas doesn't deny it.

Well, he's definitely not leaving, then. Not yet. He wants desperately to go sit with him, just to show him he's not alone, that he's not going anywhere, but he knows that would be crossing a line. No, after everything he's done, everything he's said... Stolas deserves better than that, from him. He deserves more respect than that.

He sits down right where he is, looking up at him, and Stolas shifts, just slightly. Blitzø watches one of his smaller sets of eyes—he's got a few—follow him, and knows he's watching him. Good.

"Got your book?" Blitzø asks, and Stolas goes still, and then gets up and takes a step back. Blitzø sees it, on the ground, where one of Stolas's massive talons was, a moment ago. He looks at it, then up at Stolas, and hesitates. When Stolas doesn't move or do anything else, he bites at his lip, thinking, but he doesn't see another way.

"Can I see it?" He asks, and Stolas makes a low warbling noise, and lowers his head to the ground and closes his eyes. The book is just to the side of his talon, sitting there, inches from him.

Blitzø gets to his feet, and when Stolas doesn't react, slowly walks over, watching him. Stolas sighs, and it's loud because he's huge, but he still doesn't move. Tenses a little, he thinks, but doesn't react otherwise. Blitzø grabs the book, and thinks about rushing back over to his spot at a respectful distance, but he doesn't want Stolas to think he's going to leave with it, or that he's scared of him. He looks over where he was just sitting, then up at Stolas, what he can see of him, and the way he's just lying here, breathing, eyes closed. He looks... defeated, and tired.

Blitzø sits, close to his talon. Not touching, but close. He starts to flip through the book.

Most of it is runes he can't begin to interpret, even when they don't dance and wiggle as he looks at them and tries to figure out what they mean. He's not even sure if it's regular dyslexia or magic, preventing him from understanding. But most spells do have imagery, decoration, that hint at their purpose, around the edges of the page and between the blocks of text, and those he can interpret just fine.

There's the portal page, with an elaborate door around the edges of the spell, closing it in, showing what it's purpose is.

There's a page decorated by drawings of statues that look like they're made of stone, all rigid lines with a stippled texture to them, in dramatic poses that aren't what people tend to look like standing normally. They look contorted and uncomfortable, expressions terrified.

There are many more that Blitzø flips past—pages with constellations mapped in the sky, pages covered in eyes blinking out from a dark void, pages with elaborate decorations and designs around the text that Blitzø can't even begin to decipher.

Then, finally, he finds a page with an illustration that looks familiar.

There's a dark, shadowy creature—not a bird at all, this one seems to have features more like a big cat of some kind, with long whiskers, a smooth, thin tail, and pointy, triangular ears—but it has the angry red glowing outline, and seems to be made of ink and void.

Once again, the runes are useless. He holds up the book to Stolas.

"This is the page, right? Something went wrong with whatever's on here?"

Stolas looks over, and doesn't react other than sinking into himself a little more. That is... not really an answer.

"Hey." Blitzø reaches out a hand, and hesitates, inches from his inky feathers. He hasn't seen him in months. Stolas probably hates him. Or maybe he's moved on. Maybe he doesn't care about Blitzø at all, anymore.

But he didn't chase him away. Blitzø is pretty sure he doesn't want him to leave at all, actually. And Stolas, in this form... well, he's a little terrifying. He can't imagine many demons would be willing to—to touch him, or. Y'know. Give him a hug. The way he used to squeeze Octavia, the way he used to think Blitzø couldn't tell he wanted to ask for. The way Blitzø pretended he didn't notice, that way he could see him wanting but not asking for it.

Blitzø reaches out, slow enough that Stolas has time to see, to move out of the way or make a noise if he wants to. Stolas doesn't. Blitzø lays his clawed hand on Stolas's giant talon, patting lightly, then rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion. He can feel the roughness of the scaled skin, even as it shifts and blurs underneath his hand every now and then.

Stolas lets out a soft whine.

"I'm sorry, Stols. We'll fix this. Okay? You're gonna be fine, we'll figure it out."

Stolas turns his head away from him, with another high, choked-off sound.

"I—" Blitzø can barely get the words out through his tight throat, emotion choking him, cutting off his air, but he knows he has to. "I'm so—I'm so sorry about what I said you, Stolas. About... ugh. Everything. I was an idiot. And a jackass. And I... really, honestly didn't believe you. Not until—until your song."

He keeps his hand on Stolas's talon, rubbing back and forth lightly, the connection keeping him sane because otherwise he thinks he might lose his mind.

"I've been... thinking a lot, about what you said. That... p-people care. Even when it's... when they're angry, and going to a party about how much they hate someone. And. How I hurt them. And I regret it, I regret a lot of it, but..."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Cards on the table.

"There's nothing I regret more than the way I treated you, Stolas. You deserve... so much better than that."

Stolas shifts, finally turning his head back, just a little. His talon lifts, just slightly, and then comes back down. He whines, soft and short. A question.

Blitzø huffs out a laugh, exhausted and desperate and morose. "I've never meant anything as much as I mean that. I'm really, really sorry. And I'm going to make it up to you by getting this fixed, I swear it. Okay? I owe you that much, at least."

He owes him so much more than that, but this is something he can offer. Something he can do.

Stolas looks down at him, and then slowly lowers his head to lay it on the ground next to Blitzø. Blitzø knows he doesn't deserve it, shouldn't, but Stolas does deserve it, so he reaches out and finds soft feathers that he can't quite distinguish from his shadowy, inky body but he can feel them, and he runs a hand along Stolas's cheek, because that's the spot he can reach.

"We're going to fix this," he says again, and Stolas closes his eyes and makes another soft noise.

Blitzø is warm.

He hasn't felt this warm and comfortable in— and this doesn't feel like his shitty, lumpy, torn up couch, or his blanket. It's too soft. And it smells like—

Blitzø sits up, and tries not to freak out.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but reading the book with his hand in Stolas's feathers, listening to him breathing— he'd leaned back a little, just for a minute, and closed his eyes and listened, and then he'd been out. And now it's day, and he feels like he slept for a week, and Stolas—

Stolas is curled around him, tall, leggy, back in his owl form. Also he's not wearing anything. Because he wasn't wearing anything when he was a big terrifying inky chicken creature, so why would he suddenly manifest clothes? And this isn't bringing back all kinds of memories that make him feel twisted and contorted and sick as they remind him of what he used to have, not at all.

Blitzø watches the gentle rise and fall of his ribs where he's curled up around Blitzø, his knee digging into Blitzø's hip, and Blitzø has never wanted to move less in his entire life. He wishes he could stay here. That he could just snap his fingers and make everything since the morning of that awful full moon disappear.

But he doesn't want to go back to then, either, not really. Maybe what he actually wants is to skip forward, to where they've both moved on and are happier.

Or, at least, to where Stolas has moved on and is happier. Blitzø is starting to wonder if he'll ever get there. He thinks he might've missed his chance for that a while ago.

Stolas stirs, and Blitzø hurries to wipe at his face, shaking off his thoughts and doing his best to put on a nice, neutral, cheerful front.

"Looks like you figured it out," he says with a small grin, and Stolas blinks up at him sleepily, his feathers all mussed and sticking out in all directions, and Blitzø's resolve crumbles a little. He wants to reach out and smooth them down so badly.

"Blitzø? What are you— oh." Stolas blinks, and waves his hand, a robe falling to the ground next to him, and he quickly tugs it on. "My apologies, I don't quite recall— I did not intend—"

"It's fine," Blitzø says, scooting back to give him some space. "Really, it's not a big deal. I didn't mean to fall asleep either. I'm just glad you're not stuck anymore."

"Um, yes," Stolas says, and frowns. "I am... not entirely certain what happened."

Blitzø opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it again. Frowns. Stolas tugs his robe more tightly around him, eyes locked down on his own lap. Blitzø clenches his fists, forcing them to stay where they are, and tries again.

"I don't... know if it will help, but. You could tell me about it? Talk it through. If you want to."

Stolas closes his eyes. "I... am not sure that would be wise."

Right. Yeah, of course. Blitzø doesn't know shit about demon magics, he wouldn't be able to do anything, anyway. "Uh, sure. You're probably right," he says, and feels hollow and empty.

Stolas gets to his feet, looking up at his new residence, an apartment complex. It's certainly a step down from the palace, but it's also a lot bigger and nicer than Blitzø's building. He supposes even a former Prince still has some advantages, some resources. He even has a giant park right across the street, which is convenient for large demon birds who have some sort of crisis in the middle of the night and no longer fit indoors.

"I should go," he says, still not looking at Blitzø.

"Yeah, I'll get out of your way," Blitzø says, and tries to pretend it isn't tearing him apart. That the one thing he wants isn't to stay near him.

"Do you need—"

"Nope," Blitzø says, patting his crystal. "I'm good. I'll—" He'd been about to say see you, but he probably won't, will he? He opens a portal and steps through it before he can do something truly stupid, something he can't take back. Like cry and beg Stolas to let him stay.

He won't do that. Stolas deserves better than that from him. If Stolas has moved on and doesn't want to see him, then Blitzø will respect that. He will find the self-control to keep from messing that up, too.

Stolas is much better off without him, anyway.

One week passes, and then Blitzø is woken up by the exact same demonic screeching.

He gives it a minute, waits to see if it will stop, but it doesn't, and Blitzø can't take it. The sound cuts right through to the center of him, down to his marrow, and he can't just sit here and listen, he can't.

He opens a portal. He finds exactly what he expects to—Stolas, in demon form, pacing out in the park. Blitzø watches him for a minute, sitting down against a tree, before he realizes something odd.

He doesn't hear the screaming. It had stopped as soon as he stepped through the portal.

"Uh, Stolas?" He says, and Stolas flinches, slowly turning to face Blitzø, but he doesn't look surprised. "I know you don't want me here, but something woke me up again, and you're—I don't understand."

Stolas's feathers all stand up, he fluffs up and gets even bigger, before he lets out a low, mournful sound and drops to the ground, not far from where Blitzø is sitting. He presses his talons across his beak, like he's trying to bury his head under them.

"Do you want me to leave?" Blitzø asks, fully aware that there's pretty much nothing he can do, and his being here is pointless. Stolas doesn't say anything, though, just sits there, so Blitzø takes advantage of it. He goes over to lean against him, his back warm where it rests against Stolas's leg, and he closes his eyes.

It worked last time, right? Maybe it just has to wear off, whatever it is. But at least this way, he doesn't have to hear the awful screaming.

As soon as Stolas changes back, he'll leave. It's fine. This is... it's all fine.

Part of him wonders how much control Stolas has, like this. Something is clearly wrong, and from what Stolas has told him, magic is delicate and finicky. It takes precision and concentration to do it right. This demon form may not be the kind of magic that Stolas normally does, it may not require that precision and control in the same way, but it is still magical. He thinks there must be some element of control.

And if Stolas isn't in control enough to choose when he's in this form and when he's not, there's something wrong, right?

He wonders if Stolas can change the sharpness of his talons, or the length of his beak. He wonders if he can change his size, or how solid he is. He can basically move in and out of shadows, right? Does he control that?

Could he possess Blitzø, if he wanted to? Puppet him around, like driving a car? Using him, his body? His mind? What would it feel like?

Blitzø sinks a little further into his feathers. They're not fluffy, and they don't smell like him, or—they still do, he supposes, but with a bunch of extra things on top. Hell, ink, and acrid smoke are layered over the faint traces of his preening oil and regular soap and the many scents he can sometimes pick out from working in his garden. Dirt, sap, flowers, fertilizer.

The smell still hits him like a train, then it reverses and runs him over again, a few times, and he recalls when he last could smell Stolas, and the painful, deep ache of loss threatens to consume him from his ribcage out.

It doesn't take as long this time, he thinks, he doesn't even have time to fall asleep before suddenly he's leaning against the correct, fully corporeal feathers. He jerks upright, looking at him, and Stolas turns away, curls into himself, his tail feathers wrapping around his legs, a shield.

"Stol?" Blitzø reaches out, but Stolas flinches, and he stops.

"I can't," Stolas says, a choked-off half sob. "Please."

Blitzø doesn't want to leave. It hurts, to see him like this, and he wants so desperately to touch, to soothe, to apologize more. But Stolas clearly doesn't want him to.

"Okay," he says, and is horrified at how lost, how pained it sounds. Stolas turns around to look at him, but all he catches is a glimpse of tail before it vanishes into the portal and then the portal closes with a swoosh.

Stolas stares at the spot for another hour before he moves.

Two days later, the screeching is back.

This time, Blitzø doesn't go. He's been told to fuck off twice; he's not stupid, and he's not a monster. He can stay away. He will. He's going to leave Stolas alone, for good this time. He'll... he'll figure out how, he has to.

The screaming doesn't stop.

And as the night goes on, it sounds more and more like a scream of pain, like actual vocal chords, rather than dissonant demonic wailing. It gets less harsh and abrasive, less nerve-destroying.

But no less painful.

After a couple hours, Blitzø can't take it anymore.

He leaves his apartment, goes to his van. He can still hear it.

He portals to Lust, and then Greed, and then Wrath. The screaming follows, never even fades the littlest bit.

Blitzø drives, and drives. The screaming drives with him, weighs him down, sinks into his skin. He's trying so hard to ignore it, to wait it out, to leave him alone, but he can't. He can't do it. He's not strong enough.

He opens another portal.

He parks his van, and stalks angrily into the park. Stolas isn't pacing this time.

"What do you want from me?!" Blitzø screams, hot tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. He's so tired. Stolas flinches, and he feels sick.

"I'm trying. I'm trying to do what you asked, but I—you're in my head, Stols. I can't." Blitzø drops to his knees in the grass. "I can't."

The sound has stopped, but Blitzø still hears screaming in his head. This time, though, it's not Stolas.

The large black ball of inky feathers twitches, uncurls. Stolas looks at him, and gets up, slowly takes a step toward him, and then another.

Blitzø wants to leave, to run. To do as he asked, and give him space. To just cry until all the awful, sick emotions churning in him leak out through his eyes and leave him empty enough to sleep for a while. They'll still be there when he wakes, but at least it'll be a brief reprieve where he doesn't have to be awake with them boiling and crashing around in his body, ruining him from the inside.

Stolas drops down next to him, and then leans over to curl around Blitzø, flapping a huge wing, covering them both with it. The dark is a relief to Blitzø, blocking out the harsh wind, the empty night, surrounding him with eldritch feathers and magic and stillness instead. He can't stop himself from reaching out, grabbing feathers, pressing his face into them.

It's even shorter, this time, before the change. Blitzø doesn't let go. Stolas has a talon pressed into his back, between his spines, and it stays there. Blitzø shakes, drags in a stuttering, shaky breath, lets it out.

He needs to go. He needs to leave him alone, but he still can't make himself do it.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, and he wants to be better, he does. He's trying so hard.

"I—" Stolas squeezes tighter, for a moment, and then pulls back, dropping his hand. Blitzø forces himself to let go.

"I can't stop," Stolas says quietly, a secret, small and desperate. "I don't mean to, and I know this is the last place you want to be—"

"Shh. Shut up," Blitzø says, cutting him off, and then clenching his teeth together painfully. "It isn't." He reaches out, hesitates, but forces himself to keep going, to rest his hand on Stolas's arm, to hold tight.

Stolas shudders at the touch, and then leans into it, all four of his eyes falling closed.

"I miss you."

Blitzø freezes, ice and burning heat warring within him at the words. Stolas doesn't move, and neither does he, for seconds. Maybe a whole minute, one that stretches endlessly, until Stolas sniffles and starts to lean away. Then Blitzø finally shakes off the rest of the ice, curling his claws into Stolas's feathers harder, probably enough to be painful, to pull loose a few feathers. He can't let go.

"Is it because of me?"

Stolas blinks at him, and then frowns a little, thoughtful. "You mean my transformation?" Blitzø nods, and he hums, a quiet, musical note, so familiar, and Blitzø has to hold back the prickle of tears as he aches.

"I don't—it could be. Considering... that you seem to be the solution to my changing back, it does... seem likely."

Blitzø can't stop the tears from spilling over this time.

"You should move on. Just... forget about me," he says, voice gravelly. "You would be happier."

He braces himself, preparing himself for Stolas to see that he's right, to agree with him. To let go and turn around and walk into his apartment without looking back at Blitzø at all.

*

"Is it because of me?"

The question is so startling it breaks Stolas out of his misery for a moment. "You mean my transformation?" He hasn't seen him in months, how could he be the cause of his... difficulties? But as he watches him nod, he thinks about every time he comes back to himself with Blitzø here, sitting with him, asking if he's okay, and how something inside of him feels calm and whole again.

"I don't—it could be. Considering... the way you seem to be the solution to my changing back, it does... seem likely." As soon as the first tear spills over, Stolas realizes how that sounds, like Blitzø is responsible, but before he can convince him that's not the case, not at all, Blitzø is speaking again, and the words squeeze all the air from his lungs.

"You should move on. Just... forget about me. You would be happier."

Stolas lets out a soft whine, and reaches out with the hand that isn't trapped by Blitzø's vicelike grip to run a talon down his cheek. "I doubt that very much."

He doesn't wipe the tears away as they continue to spill from Blitzø's eyes, just watches them, his talon tracing a gentle path along the side of his face.

"I have been... terribly unfair to you," Stolas says, and when Blitzø starts to shake his head, clenches his talon around his jaw firmly, pulling his face up so he's forcing Blitzø to look into his eyes instead of the ground, or the mussed feathers of his arm. "I have. And I owe you an apology, and since you are here, I am going to give it to you."

"Stolas, you don't—"

"Be quiet," he says, firm, before he adds more softly, "please. I need to say this."

Blitzø scowls, but he stops arguing and Stolas nods, mollified.

"Thank you." He releases Blitzø's jaw, trailing his hand down and pressing his palm into Blitzø's chest instead. He takes a breath, and then another, frowning as he searches for words.

"I did not realize what—how much of a change I was asking for. Demanding. When I gave you the crystal. I have thought about that night... so many times, every day since. How I might have done it differently, wondered if it would have changed anything."

Stolas pulls his hand away, rests it on Blitzø's claw, still twisted firmly in his feathers. Blitzø starts to let go, to pull it back, but Stolas holds it there instead, preventing him from moving it away, although there is enough room for Blitzø to loosen his fingers and release Stolas's poor, abused feathers from their death grip.

"I meant everything I said. And I realize that you had no reason to believe me, then. That... that I had not been clear, had not been listening to you, or been... respectful, towards you. That I had built up a fiction in my head, instead of... instead of seeing what was actually in front of me."

Stolas curls his talons around Blitzø's hand, fingers filling in the gaps between his knuckles, holding on tightly.

"You had every reason to be angry with me, and... and I wish I had been able to listen, then. I'm sorry I could not."

"Stolas—"

"Let me finish, please? I'm almost—Just this one last thing."

Blitzø's tail flicks toward him, and then pulls back, swishing back and forth in agitation in the air behind him.

"I know you... must be very upset with me, even more so, now that I continue to make demands of you. I promise I will figure this out, and not bother you with it any further. I have been looking into some sort of—of muting spell, but to be perfectly honest I haven't been sleeping particularly well, except for when—"

Stolas can't get the words out through the thickness in his throat.

"When I was here," Blitzø finishes for him, and Stolas nods, hanging his head in mortification. "Yeah, me either."

Stolas's eyes go wide, and Blitzø scowls at him, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat. "Is it my turn now?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Stolas pulls his hand back, holding it tightly against himself, clinging to the shreds of his control. Blitzø sighs, digs his palm into his eye, and as he does, his tail inches forward until it coils around Stolas's leg.

"I'm shit at this," he says, and Stolas tilts his head at him.

"At... being woken up in the middle of the night?"

Blitzø snorts. "No, that I'm actually pretty good at. I mean... talking, and. Y'know. People... stuff."

"People stuff?"

"Relationships," Blitzø grumbles, and Stolas refuses to let himself feel a bubble of hope, because hope very nearly killed him last time.

"I'm... working on it," he says, his cheeks getting darker, or at least it looks that way, from the bits Stolas can see around his hand as he continues rubbing at his forehead.

"Oh. Um, good?" Stolas offers, unsure what to make of the admission.

Blitzø lowers his hand to glare at him. "I'm working on it for you, jackass!"

Stolas squawks. "W-what?"

"Fuck. I didn't mean—shit. Sorry for calling you that, you're not actually—I just—you just—!" Blitzø lets out a strangled, enraged sort of growl, burying his face in his hands again. Stolas watches, transfixed.

"Are you saying," he says slowly, carefully, because he can feel his edges fraying, "that you—you don't hate me?"

"Fuck, Stols, no. I never hated you, not at all."

"Not even when—when I scream and wake you up in the middle of the night, after we haven't spoken in months?"

Blitzø huffs out a laugh. "Nope, not even then."

"Are you quite certain?"

Blitzø drops his hands to his sides, frowning at Stolas, and then the frown fades, replaced by something softer. Blitzø reaches out, running fingers through the feathers on the side of his face.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Stolas closes his eyes, feels the tears welling up and slipping down his face as he leans in to the touch. "That is... a great relief to hear."

Blitzø continues to run his fingers through Stolas's feathers, almost preening them. Several fall loose, as Stolas has not been maintaining them well. "I'm sorry I ever let you think that, Stols. I told you I was an asshole."

Stolas lets out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"I gotta be honest, though. I think I am way too tired to keep having this conversation right now."

"I... am much in the same state." Stolas sniffles, and neither of them move.

"Would you... I know it is a lot to ask, but—could you stay? For a while? Please?"

"Yeah, I can stay. This, uh. This is your place, now, I guess?" Blitzø nods his head in the direction of the complex behind him, and Stolas sighs.

"Yes. I admit it's not quite as luxurious as the palace, but... I find I quite prefer it. I just wish..."

They start walking towards the building, through the gate that separates the apartment complex from the street, and Stolas still doesn't continue, so Blitzø prompts, "What?"

"Hm?" Stolas looks lost in thought for a moment before he focuses on Blitzø, and pulls himself back out of his head. "Oh. It's... Octavia. She... the divorce is still not finalized, Stella has been dragging out the proceedings interminably, and she—for the time being, has asked to remain with her mother."

"Oh, Stolas, I'm so sorry." Blitzø pulls Stolas down into a hug, and Stolas very nearly falls to pieces. It's... too much. It's all too much.

"I—I don't—"

"Shh, I know. Come on, we're both exhausted, we need to sleep." Blitzø pulls back, enough to gently tug Stolas to his feet, and they both walk further into the complex, up to Stolas's door in the second building they pass. Stolas fumbles for his keys, and then realizes he doesn't have them.

"Oh," he says, and Blitzø chuckles.

"Gotta get a purse or a magic bag or something," he says with a grin, and pulls out a set of picks, bending down to unlock the door.

"Surely, it can't be that—" The door swings open with a click, and Stolas gapes at it, horrified.

"Don't worry, it's not really that bad of a lock. I'm just good," he says with a wink, and pulls Stolas in after him. Stolas is thoroughly distracted from the pathetic lock, thinking instead about how he feels like his head has been stuffed with cotton candy, and allows himself to be dragged wherever Blitzø wants to take him.

Blitzø pulls him past a small sitting area with the couch and TV, past the kitchen and bathroom, and toward the bedroom at the end of a short hallway.

He peeks his head in, eyeing the bed that looks like it's barely long enough for Stolas, and then turns to him.

"I can stay on the couch," he starts to offer, but Stolas squeezes his hand, desperate.

"No, I—w-well, if. If you are more comfortable, yes, of course, but—"

"Bed's fine, too," Blitzø says with a soft smile, and Stolas feels champagne giddiness fizz in his chest, delight and relief and desperate, aching want all threatening to overwhelm him. He nods, and follows Blitzø into the room. He digs out a spare shirt to hand to Blitzø, because sleeping in his jacket can't be comfortable, and then grabs a set of pajamas and starts to panic when Blitzø heads for the door.

"Relax, I'm just gonna go piss. I'll be right back." Stolas immediately feels like an idiot, and nods, clutching tightly to the pajamas in his hands.

"Oh, I have—um, an extra toothbrush, as well, if you want it."

"Uh, I was just gonna use my finger, but sure, that's easier."

Stolas nods, and follows him. Blitzø raises an eyebrow. "You don't really wanna watch me piss, do you?"

"Oh! I didn't—"

"Take it easy, I'm teasing you. It's fine, it's your place, you can do whatever the fuck you want."

Stolas frowns. "That is not—"

Blitzø runs a hand through the feathers on his lower back, probably meant to be soothing, and normally, would be. "Stolas, it's fine. I get it. I'll stay nearby, I promise. I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to."

Stolas goes still, hadn't even realized that was what was bothering him. "I'm being silly," he says, a quiet protest.

"After everything that's happened? No you're not." Stolas can't think about much besides Blitzø's hand on his back, touching him, a soothing caress of the feathers there, and how many times he's dreamed about this scenario occurring, in hundreds of different iterations, and how none of them prepared him for the reality.

Blitzø, in his apartment, not angry or shouting or upset. He isn't sure what his reasons are, exactly, beyond perhaps some ridiculous feelings of responsibility after their argument, but right now that doesn't even matter to him. Blitzø is here.

"Stolas?"

Stolas looks down at him, crashing back to the present. "Yes, right, I was—toothbrush. Um, in here." He pulls open a cupboard, grabbing the spare he'd bought when he first moved in, remembered hoping eventually he would have a chance to offer it to someone, not daring to imagine who it might be.

"I'll leave you to change," Stolas blurts out in a rush as he bolts out of the bathroom, immediately missing the loss of warmth on his back but determined not to mess up his chance to get Blitzø to stay with him. He doesn't know what he'll do if Blitzø leaves now, if he ruins that chance, again.

But he promised.

Stolas quickly changes his clothes while Blitzø is in the bathroom, a soft button-down and shorts his recent favorite to sleep in, because it's chilly. And sleeping without clothes would be—a bad idea. A terrible idea. And it would also be weird! All Blitzø offered was to stay, and he is going to respect that, to take the offer but absolutely nothing more.

Stolas jumps when he feels a hand at his hip again, and realizes he didn't hear Blitzø leaving the bathroom. "Ah, my turn then," he says, and dashes in before he can embarrass himself by asking for Blitzø to keep touching, touch him more, anything.

Stolas washes his face, combs through his feathers briefly, trying desperately to not look like such a total mess, and does his best to stay calm and not think about the fact that Blitzø is in his bedroom, waiting for him. That he's staying. That Stolas doesn't have to try to fall asleep alone again, with only painful memories to keep him company.

It doesn't work very well.

Stolas jumps again when there's a knock on the door. "Stolas? You okay?"

"Fine!" Stolas says, giving himself one last once-over, deciding there's nothing more he can possibly do right now, and opening the door. "Yes, sorry, I'm finished."

Blitzø, wearing Stolas's oversized shirt, looks intently at him for a moment, studying, and then holds out a hand—not touching him this time, just offering, palm-up. Stolas stares at it for a moment but can't stop himself, and takes it, squeezing hard, and Blitzø's grip is just as tight as he pulls him the few short steps to the bed, climbing in and dragging Stolas along behind him. He uses his other hand to lift the top sheet and slide under it, Stolas following, and then Blitzø lets go of the sheet to pull Stolas up close against him, and Stolas rests his head on Blitzø's chest, adjusting their hands so they can rest comfortably on Blitzø's stomach, Blitzø's other hand burying itself in Stolas's feathers, scratching lightly at the skin at the base of them, soothing and wonderful.

Stolas is asleep within minutes, not quite managing to give voice to the gratitude dancing on the tip of his tongue. His face is buried in the shirt he gave Blitzø to wear, and it's already beginning to smell like him, the scent finally opening up some space between him and the aching loneliness he's been unable to escape for months.

The last thing he thinks before he falls fully asleep is that he's going to have to find a way to show Blitzø his appreciation tomorrow, and every day after for as long as Blitzø will let him.

It doesn't take Blitzø all that long to remember where he is when he wakes.

He hasn't slept here before, but he recognizes the scent of his particular brand of soap, recognizes the lavender from his favorite oil, recognizes a blanket from the palace that he must have taken with him.

He still has fucking curtains on his bed, for Satan's sake.

The fact that Stolas isn't in the bed does surprise him, and he tries not to read too much into it. They're not—they didn't—he just wanted Blitzø to stay with him, it's not like it means anything. Not by itself.

Blitzø washes his face in the bathroom, because he feels like ass. He slept well for once, but it's late morning, which means he slept a lot. He needed it, sure, but he feels heavy and groggy and lethargic, like he always does when he sleeps this much.

He tries not to dwell on how settled and comfortable he feels, because that's a road that leads... nowhere good. Nowhere he's stupid enough to hope for.

He can hear cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen, because there's only one wall separating the rooms instead of multiple endless hallways each taller than six of him stacked on top of one another, so he leaves the bathroom to investigate and is immediately slammed in the face with the smell of eggs.

Burnt eggs.

"Stolas?"

He yelps, flinging egg onto the ceiling (only inches above his head, that must be maddening) and spinning around to stare at Blitzø, until his shoulders slump, morose.

"Oh I have made a mess, I hope I didn't wake you, I'm so sorry," he says, the words tumbling from him in a rush. "I couldn't sleep any longer and I just wanted—but, well, I'm not very good at, you know, anything to do with a stove yet, you see, do I—oh, shit," he curses emphatically as he knocks the rest of his pile of burnt eggs onto the floor. He leans down to scoop them into dustbin so he can tip them into the trash, and then stands up, sighs long and defeated, and tosses the empty egg carton in as well.

"There is... cereal?" He gestures at a cabinet, and Blitzø glances at the pan on the stove, covered in a thick layer of blackened, inedible egg stuff, and then over to a plate set off to the side, with more egg piled on it. It's not totally blackened, but it doesn't look... great.

Blitzø grabs it.

"Dar—U-Um, I mean, what are you—?"

"No point wasting food," Blitzø mumbles, setting the plate on the little table between the kitchen and the small sitting room. The table is barely big enough for two plates. "I don't suppose you've got any hot sauce? Or ketchup?"

"Oh!" Stolas darts over to the fridge, yanks it open with a loud clink of glass as several bottles bump into one another and wobble precariously, from the sound of it. Hot sauce and ketchup are both set on the table in front of him.

The hot sauce is the same brand Blitzø always buys. Stolas having hot sauce at all is odd, because unless getting all transform-y and stuck as an eldritch ink-chicken fundamentally changed Stolas' taste buds, he's pretty sure Stolas can't even taste the heat.

He wonders if maybe Stolas has had other people in his apartment that can, and shoves that thought away violently. He reaches for the bottle with a nod. "Thanks," says, shorter than he means, and shakes out a generous amount onto his eggs, also getting a drop or two on the table, which he wipes up with a finger that he shoves into his mouth. Wasteful not to, it's his favorite damn hot sauce.

Stolas watches for a moment, before straightening abruptly and going to a cabinet, pulling out the last couple slices of a loaf of bread. "Toast?" He asks, showing it to Blitzø, who chews on a bit of burnt, rubbery egg that tastes mostly like hot sauce.

"Sure," he says with a shrug through a mouthful of egg. Stolas busies himself with cutting the two slices of bread apart and staring at the toaster for a moment before placing the bread inside the slots, and then looking warily at the dial.

"Set it to three," Blitzø says, and Stolas only glances at him briefly before turning the dial to three. "Press down on the lever," Blitzø adds when Stolas continues to stare at it, and Stolas does, letting out a delighted, Oh! when the lever clicks into place, and the light turns on, the little timer tic-tic-tic-ing away.

"Don't use it much?" Blitzø asks, setting his eggs aside while they wait for the toast to finish, and Stolas ducks his head.

"I, um. Wasn't quite sure how, and—well, untoasted bread suits me just fine, mostly."

"It's not great when you want it with butter," Blitzø comments, mouth quirking up in a grin. "Unmelted butter on cold bread sounds pretty lame."

Stolas huffs. "I'll have you know it is perfectly adequate for salami sandwiches, which is generally my preference!"

"Salami? Really?" Blitzø raises an eyebrow. Stolas scowls.

"You're going to be critical of my food choices? When you're the one who eats cheese with hot sauce?"

"Tell me that isn't the best shit and I will shut up about your gross sandwiches forever."

Stolas stares at him, unimpressed. "Hot sauce remains unimpressive to me, as you know."

"So why do you have it, then?"

"I got it for—" Stolas freezes, cheeks flushing as his eyes go wide. "Um, you know. Guests."

Right. So, no fancy new tastebuds then. Which means he doesn't want to know about that, not in the slightest. Luckily, he's saved from having to abruptly change the subject when the toaster dings loudly.

"Toast!" Stolas plucks the slices from the toaster, dropping them on a plate, and grabbing butter from a shelf (in a fancy ceramic butter dish, wow) and setting it in front of Blitzø, right next to the eggs. Then he goes back to the fridge, pulling out lemonade and orange juice and holding them up in offering, so Blitzø points to the orange juice and Stolas pours him a glass and sets it in front of him before gasping, "Silverware!" and darting over to a drawer.

"Stolas, I'm fine. Sit and eat yours," Blitzø says as he takes the knife Stolas hands him and slathers his slice of toast in butter before it cools off.

"Oh, um, I suppose I... should eat something." Stolas stays standing as he leans over the table, eyeing the other slice of toast skeptically before he copies Blitzø, spreading a generous heap of butter on it, and waiting for Blitzø to take a bite before he does the same.

His eyes go wide, and Blitzø chuckles. "Told you."

Stolas's eyes narrow again as he turns to glare at him, offense obvious. "I did not say—"

"Is it better?"

Stolas scowls, then lifts his chin in the air, putting the toast back on the plate and setting it on the table. "It is fine."

Blitzø grins. "Liar."

Stolas titters, feathering puffing up just a little, before he sighs, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, yes, it's so much better toasted, are you happy now?" Blitzø is horrified as the sentence rises in pitch and Stolas sounds more strangled as it goes on, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Wait, wait, I'm just—I'm fucking with you, Stols, I didn't—"

"I know I ruined the eggs, okay?! I know! I can't do anything right, not breakfast, not buying the right condiments, or furniture, or decorating, or telling my daughter how much I—"

Blitzø shoves his plate aside so he can climb on top of the table, which puts him at a very convenient height for burying his claws into the feathers on either side of Stolas' head.

"Hey, you're doing fine, come here," Blitzø says, pulling him against him, digging his claws through the feathers until he reaches the skin underneath, scratching gently at the spot at the back of his neck that always used to have him humming in contentment.

"The condiments are perfect. Bread is fine untoasted, but now you know how to use the toaster, so you can have it whichever way you want," Blitzø says softly, tail coiling around Stolas's arm when it wraps around Blitzø's back and his talons dig into the shirt he's wearing.

"Deep breaths, you're okay."

"I don't—I can't do anything right," Stolas sobs, talons digging into Blitzø's back, holding him fast. "Not a thing."

"Horseshit," Blitzø says, and it's enough to startle a laugh out of Stolas.

"You h-have—no idea what you're talking about," he says, voice muffled where it's pressed into Blitzø's shoulder.

"So? You fed me breakfast just fine, that's one thing right there."

"I made a m-mess of it."

"We both got food, calories and nutrition and all that shit, so, mission accomplished. We can practice the rest."

"You're—are you o-offering to help me?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

"No!" Stolas pulls back, and it dislodges several loose feathers, which flutter to the ground. "No, not whatever I want," he says sternly, pointing a talon into Blitzø's face. "That's—I won't do that anymore! I d-don't want to!"

"Okay, hold on, that's not what I mean," Blitzø says, grabbing at his arms, running his hands from his elbows up to his shoulders and back down, soothing. "If you'd like me to, I can help. That's it. It's not a big deal, really."

Stolas frowns, but he relaxes slightly with a sniffle. "You're just saying that because I'm crying all over you."

Blitzø snorts, but when Stolas starts to curl in on himself, he digs his claws into Stolas's arms until he has his attention again. "Actually, I'm offering because I want to. I'd offer even if you weren't crying."

Stolas sniffles again, wiping away a tear. In a small voice, he asks, "You promise you're not just saying that?"

Blitzø ignores the way it squeezes the useless lump of muscle in his chest to hear him sound so unsure. "Yeah, I promise."

"Okay," Stolas says, barely louder than a whisper, before he takes a deep breath, scrubbing at his face, and pulling himself upright. "In that case, I would very much appreciate your assistance. If... If it's not too much trouble."

"Sure thing, feathers."

Stolas's mouth curls in a small grin, and Blitzø suddenly feels a thousand times lighter. But it's shortlived, because Stolas frowns again almost immediately after.

"What now?" Blitzø asks, not quite able to keep all of his frustration from leaking through. Can't anything just be simple and good for two whole seconds?

Stolas flinches, looking down at the table. "Oh, it's—nothing important."

"Stolas," Blitzø says, dipping down into his line of sight.

Stolas rubs at his talons, nervous and withdrawn, and doesn't say anything. Blitzø waits, but Stolas just fidgets a little more before grabbing his plate with half his slice of toast still on it. "I should clean this up!"

"Stolas, you didn't even eat it all!" Blitzø's tails darts out to wrap around a leg, and Stolas freezes, talons clenched tightly around the plate.

"I can't," he says, still facing away from Blitzø. "I've already—I'm being selfish again."

"I can't explain to you how big of an idiot you're being until you tell me what it is. So just say it. Be selfish or whatever, it's fine."

Stolas finally turns around to frown at him, and Blitzø is so close, he can feel it. Stolas clicks his beak a couple times, and then sighs.

"You... you must have work soon," he says, pressing the plate with the piece of buttered toast to his chest, probably getting butter all over his shirt.

"M&M will probably be at the office in a bit, yeah."

Stolas fidgets, shifting his weight from talon to talon. "And you... You will have to go as well, then."

"Stolas. Ask."

"What? No, I can't, your business is so important to you, and—and I don't have the right—"

Blitzø scowls, and holds up his hand. Then he realizes he's not wearing the crystal he was going to point to, because it's in his pile of clothes back in Stolas's room, and frowns. He points at his hand anyway. "Usually there's a crystal right here."

Stolas tilts his head, looking confused. "Um. Yes?"

"You gave it to me."

"I... I haven't forgotten."

"You wanted me to have a choice, right? To be fucking—free, or whatever?"

Stolas nods.

"So if I leave, no consequences. You're not gonna hunt me down or hurt me or my employees or anything like that, right?"

"Blitzø, I would never—!"

"Right, I know. So. Ask."

Stolas shudders. Slowly looks at Blitzø's hand, where the crystal would be.

"I didn't mean—"

"Stolas. Ask."

Stolas looks terrified. He bites down on his tongue with a stubborn frown. Blitzø growls in warning, and finally Stolas relents.

"Please... please stay?"

"Okay."

The response is instant, no hesitation. Stolas looks at him.

"You're here because I was—I can't—"

Blitzø isn't sure what he's about to say, but it doesn't matter. "I'm here because I want to be here. Next."

Stolas frowns. "You said you were trying to stay away and couldn't, that's not—"

"Only because I thought you—" Blitzø reaches out to poke the plate Stolas is holding to his chest, for emphasis, "—didn't want me here. You just said you do, so that's canceled. Crossed off the list. Next."

Stolas tears up. "You... you want to be here? You're not just... it's not out of p-pity, or because you feel you owe me something?"

"No."

Blitzø's tail coils around Stolas' waist, and Stolas doesn't resist when he pulls him into a hug and holds him tightly, tight enough to squeeze all the air out of his lungs, ignoring the way Stolas' arms dig into his chest because he's still holding the stupid fucking plate and it's pinned between them.

"Let's finish breakfast, birdbrain," Blitzø mutters into his neck, and Stolas nods. He releases him so they can sit down at the table, and Stolas finally puts the plate down, letting out a distressed whine as he swipes uselessly at the butter slathered all over his shirt. Blitzø laughs, and makes fun of him (I don't think that look is ever going to catch on, Stols, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you), and eventually Stolas laughs, too.

Blitzø doesn't think he's ever loved a sound more.

*

Blitzø ends up texting Loona to say he won't be in that day, for them to make do without him. She responds with her typical middle finger emoji, which is exactly what he was hoping for. She's fine, she's okay with him staying out, and he knows he doesn't have to worry if she's mouthing off at him.

His phone immediately starts buzzing with a flurry of texts from Moxxie, but he just puts it on silent and ignores it. He can deal with that later.

Stolas talks a lot. He tells him about what he's been doing, about needing to get out of the palace, about the divorce. His edges go a little fuzzy sometimes, especially when he's talking about his bitch ex or his kid, but he doesn't transform or anything, which Blitzø finds interesting. He never seems out of control, although he does seem on edge, almost fragile.

It's... an odd thing to see from a Goetian prince, if he's being honest.

They watch some of Stolas' favorite soap operas, since there are reruns playing, and Stolas talks over them because he's seen them all before, and Blitzø asks questions so he'll keep talking. It seems to cheer him up. After a few episodes, Blitzø offers to make lunch.

"Are... Are you sure? I do not wish to trouble you," Stolas says, blushing. "I can always order something, and of course I would pay f—"

"Stolas," Blitzø says, cutting him off before he can work himself up into any more of a panic. "I offered because I don't mind. Besides, you made breakfast."

"Hardly," Stolas says, blush darkening. "But, if you're sure, that—that does sound lovely," he says, hugging himself and staring at the floor.

He looks... small. It shouldn't be possible for a 9 foot tall demon prince, but he manages it somehow.

"Cool," Blitzø says, and can't watch him anymore without the almost overpowering desire to pry his hands away from his body and put them literally anywhere else, so he circles around him to go for the fridge instead, taking a moment to appreciate the cool brush of air when he opens it and starts rummaging through its contents.

The contents of the fridge are... not impressive. Certainly not what he'd had at the palace. But it's also not as bad as he's seen in his own fridge, so he figures he certainly can't judge.

"Hm," Blitzø hums as he thinks, trying to figure out what he can cobble together with the odd assortment of ingredients.

"Is there enough for a meal?" Stolas asks, hesitant and like he's dreading the answer.

"Sure, just haven't decided what," Blitzø mutters, wrinkling his nose. Normally his go-to would be a sandwich, but he doesn't see any more bread, or cheese, two fairly critical sandwich ingredients. He rummages around, and there's plenty of rodents, and quite a bit of green things, and of course there's his hot sauce, but that doesn't leave him with a whole lot of interesting options.

He eventually finds a package of instant noodles, and pulls out some vegetables he can add to it, and figures Stolas can put whatever he wants in his own, rodent-wise. He looks for a pot, and only finds a frying pan and a very small stovepot, but not really anything big enough for the both of them. But he has a kettle...

"Is... Is something the matter?" Stolas asks, and Blitzø flinches because Stolas is hovering near his shoulder now, but he hadn't heard him approach.

"Fuck," he says, setting down the frying pan in his hand before he can fling it across the room, or spill its contents everywhere. "Don't do that."

"Ah, my apologies," Stolas says, backing up several steps. Blitzø resists the urge to pull him closer again with his tail, but only barely.

"No, it's fine, just—fuckin' warn a guy. Or wear a bell or something," Blitzø grumbles, filling the kettle with water.

"A bell? As in, a collar with a bell?" Stolas asks, blinking at Blitzø with wide eyes.

"Oh for Satan's—to make noise, you horny bastard, not like a sex thing," Blitzø says, but his mouth curls into a smile as he continues assembling food, and Stolas giggles, a cheerful chittering sound, and Blitzø feels warmth spread from his chest all the way to his fingertips.

"If Blitzy says s—I mean. Ahem. If you, um, say so," Stolas says, sobering immediately at his slip, and Blitzø hates the way the warmth vanishes, hates the way Stolas' arms immediately curl back around his middle.

"It's okay." This time, at least, but Blitzø doesn't quite know how to explain the difference between then and now, other than... today, he doesn't feel like he was being talked down to, or being treated like some imp toy instead of a person.

"It's not," Stolas argues, frowning. "I... I am truly sorry, I should know better."

Blitzø clenches his teeth, putting a lid on the pan and turning down the heat to let the ingredients continue to warm up with less risk of burning. "Stolas," he says, turning to face him. "Joking and teasing is fine. People do that, it doesn't bother me. And even if it did...." He frowns, thinking, because he wants to try and get the words right. "You're not gonna get it right all the time. That's not bad, that's just... whatever. It's figuring shit out."

Stolas still looks distraught, although perhaps marginally less so. "You... you will tell me, then, if I do or say something, and it upsets you?"

Blitzø is about to automatically reassure him, but then he takes in Stolas's earnest expression, his stiff shoulders, and realizes that he's serious. That this means a lot to him. He thinks about it, about Stolas making a comment that irritates him, and what it might be like to call him on it. It... might take some getting used to, not to automatically push away his irritation, cover it up to save his own neck and keep from getting murdered because he can't keep his damn mouth shut, but... they're not in the palace anymore. He's not worried Stolas is going to turn him into stone, or take the book away, or rip out his insides or anything.

And... Stolas is waiting, for him to give an honest answer.

"Yeah, I can do that," he says, matching Stolas's seriousness, and finally the tension seems to drain out of Stolas, and his arms slowly begin to loosen their tight grip across his middle.

"Okay," he says, nodding. Blitzø turns back to the pan, checking the food, which seems adequately warmed up, and turns the other burner on to start heating the kettle.

The rest of lunch goes fairly smoothly, and after that they spend some time looking through books for more information on Stolas' whole transformation problem. They don't find anything helpful, and Blitzø isn't entirely sure if it's because there actually wasn't anything in the books he looked thrugh, or if he was completely distracted by how Stolas kept putting his talon into his mouth while he read, or the way his thighs are barely covered at all by his little shorts, or how sometimes his tail would brush his leg under the table and he would immediately lose his train of thought.

Probably the books. Yep. They've always been stupid and useless and it has nothing to do with Blitzø getting distracted.

Eventually Stolas notices his preoccupation and asks, and Blitzø can't be completely honest, so he tells a half-truth.

"I can't fucking concentrate. You know how I am with fucking... words and shit."

"Would it help if I read aloud?" Stolas asks, and that's stupid, because Stolas doesn't need the words read aloud, so it would just be the two of them basically reading one book much slower. But Blitzø is a selfish bastard.

"Yeah," he blurts, before he can stop himself. "Yeah, that would help."

So instead Blitzø zones out as Stolas reads to him, until Stolas pauses to talk about what he's read. Usually Blitzø can remember just enough to make one or two comments or mhm's so he doesn't give himself away, and then go back to zoning out as he listens to Stolas for a little while longer.

They still don't find anything, and Blitzø feels a little bad for how useless he is, but he could swear Stolas seems lighter, happier, than he had earlier, and he thinks that's its own victory.

Eventually it begins to get dark, and while Blitzø really, really doesn't want to leave, he also doesn't have any excuse to stay.

"You must be missing your own apartment," Stolas says quietly, closing his book.

"Oh. Uh, I guess," Blitzø says. He misses Loona, sure, but... the apartment? Okay, maybe a little. He should probably change his clothes, at the very least.

"Thank you for your help today, and—and yesterday. I cannot even begin to tell you how much it means to me," Stolas says, still staring down at the cover of the book, leather and worn at the corners, with a shiny golden printed title and author. "If there is anything I can do to repay—"

"No deals," Blitzø interjects, harsher than he means, and then huffs out a sharp breath through his nose. "I mean— fuck. People help each other. It doesn't have to be, y'know. A whole-ass thing."

"But," Stolas begins, and Blitzø growls, tail thrashing, so Stolas falls silent again.

"Maybe there will be some way you can help me later, maybe there won't be. Either way is fine. Alright?"

Stolas hesitates, looking unconvinced, but eventually he nods. "Okay. If that is what you want."

Blitzø groans, running his hands over his face. "Not just me," he grits out, and Stolas looks confused, and withdrawn again. Blitzø realizes he's gotten louder, and focuses on speaking normally, calmly, trying to shove away the anger.

"It... it goes both ways. We can just do stuff for each other, help each other out, with no strings, or expectations. Okay?"

Stolas finally perks up at that. "Oh. Yes, I understand. I can do that."

"Good," Blitzø says, and jumps off the chair, stretching his arms up high over his head, trying to ease the stiffness in his shoulders from hunching over the table for so long. "I got work tomorrow, but I can keep helping you look for answers after."

"Oh, that won't—" Stolas pauses, frowns, and then starts again. "I mean... I will be alright, but. If... If you don't mind helping, and have time, I would appreciate your assistance very much."

"Great," Blitzø says, giving him a wave. "See you tomorrow."

"S-See you," Stolas says, looking awestruck, waving absent-mindedly as Blitzø uses his crystal to open a portal back to his apartment.

As soon as the portal closes behind Blitzø, he feels a cascade of emotions begin to swirl into a turbulent, destructive twister in his chest, which he immediately shoves down because Loona's door slams open.

"Where the hell have you been?" She asks, and she doesn't look at him, heading instead for the kitchen, but Blitzø watches her tail swish from side to side in agitation, her fur standing on end, and knows that the question is not an idle one.

"I, uh. I had to go help out Stolas, he was... having a bit of a crisis. It's okay now, though. I think."

Loona freezes, her hand hovering over a bag of chips without grabbing it. Slowly she closes the cabinet, and turns to look at him, and Blitzø swallows, feeling his skin start to get clammy under her scrutiny. She raises her nose into the air and sniffs, and then grimaces.

"He still going to fucked up parties, or has he finally removed his head from his ass?" Loona growls, still watching him intently, tail flicking back and forth.

"No parties from what I can tell. I think he's kinda... all alone, actually," Blitzø says, and just thinking about it has his tail coiling around himself at the ache. He remembers what it had been like, after the fire, when he'd had no one. Honestly, Stolas is handling it like a champ, compared to him.

Loona bristles, but she turns back to the cabinet, opening it again and pulling out the bag of chips. She tears it open, shoves several in her mouth, and then heads back for her room. Before she closes the door, she pauses.

"If he asks you to make some sort of fucked up new deal, I'm gonna bite him," she growls.

Blitzø can't help the laugh that bursts out of him. "Thanks, Loonie. I'll tell him that."

"Good," she says, and disappears into her room, closing her door behind her with a quiet click.

Blitzø knows better than to follow her into her room, so he contents himself with hugging the shit out of his stuffed horse as he curls up on his couch, and then sends her a heart emoji over text. She sends back a fuck off, but she also sends a heart back a few minutes later, and Blitzø thinks maybe everything will be fine, somehow.

Blitzø wants to text Stolas, too, and ask him if he's okay. He's not sure he'll he able to sleep at all, all the thoughts and feelings swirling around inside him are making him feel on edge and a little unsteady. He desperately wants to, but he isn't sure Stolas is even awake. He spent all day there. It would be invasive and annoying, right? He puts his phone to the side, and goes to get ready for bed.

He takes a long shower. Jerks himself off, because he spent all day around Stolas, so obviously that was necessary. Brushes his teeth, feels warm and lethargic and like he might actually be able to sleep.

He goes to the couch, drags the blanket over himself, closes his eyes.

His thoughts start spinning, and he stops feeling tired, his mind filled with thoughts of Stolas, of him transforming, of his smile, of the terrible, rubbery, burnt eggs, of sitting next to him with his feathers just brushing against him as he reads aloud to him, his voice melodic and soothing and easing a deep ache inside of him.

After two hours of tossing and turning and thinking too much and too loud and too erratic, he grabs his phone and sends a text before he can stop himself.

[2:47 am] u asleep?

He gets a reply back almost immediately.

[Stols 2:47 am] I am not. Clearly

Blitzø stares at the message. It's short, which is—which used to be unusual for Stolas. No more typing, no long explanation or tangents, just... a simple answer. Blitzø knows he could probably leave it there, could turn over and try once again to go to sleep.

He also knows it wouldn't work.

[2:58 am] wan me 2 cum ovrr?

Blitzø sends the text, and immediately feels his face heat up. He shouldn't ask that. Should he ask that? He follows it up, just for clarification.

[3:01 am] I cn't slep eethur

There's another pause. No sign of typing. Did he fall asleep? He swipes over to Sinstagram, only to scroll through three pictures and then switch back to his text messages. Still no typing. He's such an idiot. What the hell is Stolas supposed to say to that? It's just a statement. An obvious one. And you don't ask friends if they're asleep or not. Are they friends? Is that what they established, today? He offered his help. Stolas told him it would be welcome. He supposes coworkers might have a similar arrangement, if they don't hate each other. Are they just coworkers who don't hate each other?

Blitzø can't think of very many arrangements he would feel worse about, actually. He would take it, if it was the only option. But he would hate it.

Finally, there's a brief flicker of Stols is typing...

[Stols 3:04 am] Yes

Blitzø writes a note for Loona to find so she doesn't wonder where he is in the morning, and then goes through a portal to stand in front of Stolas' door, and when he knocks, Stolas lets him in. They don't say anything; Stolas just turns with a nod of his head and a sweeping gesture of his arm, and Blitzø follows him, all the way into his bed where he climbs in behind him and plasters himself to Stolas' back, claws reaching around to cling to Stolas' fluffy chest.

They're both asleep within ten minutes.

*

Over the next week, they establish a pattern. Blitzø goes to work in the morning, kills a couple humans, maybe three if it's a busy day. He spends about an hour at the office where he pretends to do paperwork that he dumps on Moxxie at the end of the hour (playing with his ponies and doodling at his desk, shut up) before he goes to Stolas'.

On one of the days he leaves early, skipping his hour of bullshit only to knock on Stolas' door and get no answer, and no reply to a text he sends, and he starts to worry but has no idea where to go. Stolas approaches his door about half an hour later to a panicked Blitzø asking where the fuck he was, until he takes a breath and looks a little harder at what Stolas is wearing.

"Is that an apron?" Blitzø asks, pointing at the green fabric with the logo in curly white script embroidered over the pocket.

"Um, yes, this is my uniform. Why are you laughing?"

"Seeds and Sprouts?" Blitzø asks, through barely restrained giggles.

"It's a plant nursery, they have agreed to hire me on a trial basis despite my complete lack of work history! They have been quite accommodating, despite the many areas in which i lack the knowledge—"

Blitzø watches his huge smile and the way his feathers lift and fluff out as he talks about his new job, but then he concentrates on what he's actually saying, and gets suspicious. "What's your salary?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What are they paying you, Stolas? And how long is this 'trial' gonna be?"

"Well, they initially said a week, and I've been there almost two now, so I imagine—"

"Yeah, they're exploiting the shit out of you, Stols. They're just getting free labor. I'll go in with you next time, and I can—"

"Absolutely not! You will do no such thing! I am perfectly capable of negotiating my own salary, Blitzø!"

Blitzø wants desperately to argue, to bully Stolas into just letting him take care of it, to make sure he gets a fair deal. But he looks at Stolas' face, sees the distress and misery crouching at the edges, ready to pounce and take over, and hears not a single thing in the back of his mind, full of anguish.

"Yeah, okay, fine. I'll walk you through it so you can make sure you get a fair deal where they can't keep scamming you, but we'll do that later. I'm freezing because you locked me out so I had to wait at your doorstep for a whole ass hour because you didn't tell me you had a fucking job."

Stolas scoffs with a mumbled, "hardly an hour, it was thirty minutes at most," as he lets him in and starts boiling water for tea and hot cocoa, and then reads to him until they get hungry, at which point they have an argument about whether Blitzø is going to make food or they're going to order it. Today Stolas wins the argument and they order, but Blitzø wins the fight over paying, on the grounds that he has just learned Stolas doesn't even have a fucking salary yet, and telling him he can pay after he negotiates a fair paycheck.

After that day, they trade off paying, when Blitzø doesn't cook. Once they even decide to get groceries together, and Blitzø decides he's going to pay for them because Stolas isn't going to grab the slightly more expensive shrews he likes, so Blitzø puts them in the cart and doesn't let Stolas take them back out. Stolas only tries to stealthily return them once after that because Blitzø gets so mad he yells at him, and then when Stolas gets quiet he immediately feels like garbage, and it takes a few minutes of nonstop apologizing before Stolas is back to normal, but at least he's forgotten about the damn shrews. When they get to the checkout counter, Blitzø hands over his card to the cashier and tells Stolas it's because he yelled.

It's almost worth it when Blitzø gets to watch the way he sighs happily over dinner, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his pathetic imp body to keep from touching him, from digging his tail into soft feathers. He wants to so badly. But now it's off-limits without a really good reason. Friendly touching only.

So Blitzø watches, and wants, and listens to Stolas' voice, and makes food for him when Stolas lets him.

(Nighttime platonic cuddles are in the allowed friendly-touching category because they can't sleep otherwise, shut up about it.)

And it's fine and great and Blitzø is happier than he's been in a long fucking time, even though it's also a kind of torture every second he's in the same room as Stolas, and even worse when he's not. He's happy for him! He wants him to succeed and do well and it doesn't matter that he'll eventually figure everything out and move on and leave Blitzø behind.

Honestly, it's better that way. Stolas will be happier, in the long run, not having to deal with Blitzø's... everything.

And until then, he'll take whatever scraps he can get, and he will cling desperately to them while they last, and he will do everything he can to be the best goddamn friend Stolas has ever had.

*

"You seem... oddly energetic today, Sir," Moxxie says, completely distracting Blitzø so badly that he loses his chance for the clean shot.

"Fucking excuse me?" He barks, because it was perfectly lined up, dammit, and now he's going to have to wait for another chance if they're going to avoid getting spotted by other humans.

This is a busy little party they're crashing, and even though humans don't matter, they still can't go showing themselves all over the place or Oz is gonna get even more pissy than he already is after they accidentally left a witness alive that one time.

Okay, it might have been more than one time. He's not a fucking stealthy ninja spy, he's an assassin. Shit gets messy.

So now he gets to interrogate Mox until he has another chance to get the kill without making a scene. Or, he opens his mouth to, before Millie gets there first.

"He's right, you've been kinda quiet lately, but today you seem like your usual self! Feelin' better, B?" Millie asks from her hiding place where she's keeping a lookout, to make sure no one can sneak up on them.

"Fuck you, I'm always energetic as shit," Blitzø snaps, but then he remembers waking up feeling rested, and actually eating breakfast because he was never gonna throw away food that someone made for him. "And I guess I've been sleeping better," he mutters, and then returns his attention to the scope because their target is once again isolated and about to give him the perfect opportunity.

"You weren't sleepin'?" Millie asks, and of course that's the part she latches on to.

"I sleep fine," Blitzø grumbles. It's true now, so who cares. It's none of their business.

He catches Loona narrowing her eyes at him out of the corner of his eye, and winces. She's the only one who knows that his sleeping arrangements have changed, slightly. Fuck, he really hopes she can't smell Stolas on him.

There's pretty much no way she hasn't smelled Stolas on him. Fuck.

Blitzø wonders what Stolas' apartment would smell like, to her. If it smells like his soap, or his feathers, or maybe all the rats he keeps in the freezer, or his candles that he still insists on buying, even though Blitzø told him where he could get cheaper ones that smell almost as good—

"You're about to lose your shot, Sir," Moxxie says, and Blitzø manages to keep his cursing in his head, returns his attention to the target, and finally finishes the job.

"Move out, squad," Blitzø says as soon as the target drops to the ground, total dead weight. He opens up the portal, waits for M&M and then Loona to hop through, and follows them into the office.

"So you gonna tell us why you got so distracted, boss?" Millie says with a huge grin, and Blitzø groans. Of course she isn't going to drop it that easily.

"I was imagining turning my gun around and shooting both of you in the leg with a single bullet, so it's not even wasteful," Blitzø says, and Moxxie scowls at him but Millie's grin just gets wider. She knows she's on to something that Blitzø doesn't want to talk about, and he hates that it probably means she's even less likely to let it go.

Especially after she pried out the fact that he went to that stupid fucking party all those months ago, and insisted on hanging out with him until he felt better.

Sure, it helped, shut the fuck up, Blitzø isn't a fucking rock. But that is definitely not the kind of scrutiny he needs right now.

And he most definitely does not need her advice. Nope, not at all. Not from the disgustingly in-love, happily paired off couple. Nooo, thank you.

"I've got work to do," Blitzø growls, "by which I mean: toys to play with," he says with a lewd smirk, hoping that's enough of a deterrent, and retreats into his office, relieved when no one follows him in.

At least, not right away.

"Blitzø?" Millie asks after a soft knock, about ten minutes later.

Definitely not enough time for a really good wank sesh, so she knows he was totally bullshitting her. Fuck.

"Go away, Mils," he says, rubbing at his head, but he hears the door creak open instead.

"Somethin's been up with you, mister," she says playfully, pulling up a chair so she can sit next to him at his desk, perching her chin on his arm. "I ain't gonna force any details outta ya if you really don't wanna talk, but I need to know you ain't keepin' too much shit to yourself. Why ain't ya been sleepin'?"

Blitzø sighs, and spins his chair to face her, knocking her off. "Nothing has happened that's worth kicking up a fuss over, okay? And even if it had, I'm a whole ass adult, I can handle it."

Millie looks at him for a long moment, searching. "Alright," she says with a nod. "But you know you don't have to handle it by yourself, right? We're always here if you want to vent, or need a drinkin' buddy, or wanna have a movie night, or anythin' at all. Okay?"

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Millie." He holds his arms open and wiggles his eyebrows, expecting a smack to the shoulder and an eyeroll, like usual. Instead Millie smiles, soft and genuine, and wraps her arms around him in a hug, squeezing tightly. Blitzø is mortified when hot moisture gathers at the corners of his eyes, but he can't bring himself to push her away, instead slowly bringing his hands around to place them lightly on her back until she's had enough.

"See ya tomorrow, B," Millie says finally, pulling back and sliding off her chair. "Mox and I are gonna go home for the day, unless you need anythin' else?"

"Nope, get outta here," Blitzø says with a wave, feeling like he's just barely holding himself together.

"You comin' with us?"

"Nah, get Loonie to drive you, she can take the van. I gotta make a stop." He points at his crystal, and Millie nods, leaving the room, but before she can close the door behind her, Loona pokes her head through.

She waits for Millie to start talking to Moxxie before turning back to Blitzø, and looking at him for a moment before asking, "you coming home tonight?"

"Uh," Blitzø says, glancing down at the crystal.

"I don't care one way or the other," she says, a light snarl curling her muzzle. "And I don't want to hear about it. As long as he's not..."

Blitzø shakes his head. "I'm just helping out with a problem. It's temporary, but it's—no deals, nothing like that. Just... helping."

Loona sniffs the air one more time, looks at him skeptically, and says, "Sure, whatever. See you tomorrow, then," and then her head vanishes.

Blitzø lets out a long breath, only for Loona to pop her head back in, startling him. "If he fucks with you again, I'm ripping his face off. You can tell him I said that, too."

Blitzø grins. "Love you, Loonie," he says, and she groans in disgust before vanishing again, the door closing behind her this time with a snap-click.

Blitzø has the best daughter in the whole world.

*

When Blitzø steps through the portal and Stolas opens the door to his apartment, it's with a nervous smile and some hesitant shuffling rather than his usual subdued cheeriness.

"What's up?" Blitzø asks, dropping his jacket over a chair and pulling the new book on the coffee table closer, flipping it over to glance at the artwork on the back of the jacket, mostly dark swirling shapes obscured by shadow with eyes peeking out, scattered across an empty landscape.

"Um, well. I was thinking about how—how you had to wait for me the other day, and. Well. Maybe it's a little—but I trust you, and it's more convenient, so perhaps it's not—"

"Stolas?" Blitzø interrupts, dropping the book back down onto the table. "Just say it."

"Oh." Stolas flushes, digs through his pocket, and drops something small onto the table with a metal clink. "If, um, if you want it. Just in case, I had an extra made," he says, staring at the TV on the other side of the room, where it sits, dark and quiet. Blitzø stares at the key and doesn't say anything.

"I have new snacks!" Stolas blurts, and flees to the kitchen, and Blitzø tries to respond but isn't sure whether he's successful or not. But he does pick up the key, and add it to his keyring, next to the one for the van.

He tries not to think too hard about it.

The snacks Stolas picked out are absolutely vile, recommended by his coworkers—he didn't even get anything spicy! Although that makes sense for Stolas, Blitzø is still indignant. Humus and carrot sticks? Really? Blitzø makes sure to give him shit about it at length before they get back to reading, and it smooths away some of the awkwardness.

At least, until Blitzø fucking dozes off against Stolas' shoulder.

"Um, Blitzø?" Stolas says softly, and Blitzø bolts upright, horrified, rubbing at his eyes.

"Shit, sorry, Stols. Where were you?"

"I actually need to use the restroom, but I will return momentarily."

"Don't fall in," Blitzø murmurs, a reflex, as Stolas gets up and circles around the back of the couch.

"Are you going to stand guard, to make sure I don't?" Stolas says, and his tone is joking and playful, but Blitzø glances over at him, and can't help thinking that he probably would follow him if it wasn't a completely weird thing to do, to keep from letting Stolas out of his sight, and of course Stolas picks that moment to glance back at him.

"Uh," Blitzø says, master word-sayer that he is, and Stolas' eyes go wide.

"Don't be gross," Blitzø blurts, desperate to return the situation to normal and failing miserably, missing by a mile.

"Y-yes. It was a terrible, uncouth joke, my apologies," Stolas babbles before dashing into the bathroom and closing the door with a louder-than-usual thunk behind him.

Fuck. I'm an idiot, Blitzø thinks, scratching at his head in agitation, very nearly cutting his fingers on his own spikes. Stupid fucking idiot.

When Stolas finally emerges, he desperately throws himself into the book, but quickly realizes he'd been asleep for a while, and managed to miss almost an entire chapter, which Stolas proceeds to patiently explain to him, making him feel like even more of a useless fuckup.

"We do not have to continue," Stolas says, closing the book and setting it aside. "We could do something else."

"What?" Great, so Blitzø really has been completely useless. And a dick who can't laugh about a dumb joke. "Oh. Uh, alright."

"Did work, um, go well today?"

Blitzø stares dumbly for a moment, the question catching him off-guard, and then clears his throat. "Yeah, went pretty smooth. Except for when Mox interrupted my fucking clear shot and we had to wait forever for another one."

"How inconsiderate," Stolas says, mocking.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try and hold still while a bunch of humans do all sorts of boring shit behind a bunch of trees because they refuse to move two fucking feet into where I've got a clean sight line. Make fun of me after that, dickhead."

Stolas laughs, a bright burst of musical notes, and Blitzø watches, entranced. "Oh, I know all about watching boring people do stupid shit, believe me. I had to wait half an hour for a Sinner to decide whether he wanted roses or daffodils today! They weren't the same color, were different prices, don't carry the same connotation or significance when offered as a gift, and would require completely different arrangements for a bouquet, but nothing I said seemed to be convincing one way or another. So I just had to watch him go back and forth while my coworker managed to see to seven other customers, I counted!"

"Damn, okay, maybe your job is more annoying after all," Blitzø says, before narrowing his eyes. "Bet you don't have to clean blood stains out of your jacket and shoes, though."

Stolas nods. "Quite true. However, I have found grass stains can be almost as persistent."

Blitzø snorts, shoving him lightly. "There's no way you've ever cleaned a grass stain out of shit! When?"

"My entire first week!" Stolas says, affronted. "After that, I leaned not to wear my good shirts on landscaping days, and to bring gloves, and to make sure I had my apron. Now it has been several weeks since I've needed to remove any new stains."

Blitzø keeps staring, and staring, waiting, as Stolas starts to squirm. Eventually he sighs. "Alright, fine, I had to throw the stained shirts out and buy new ones. But I did try to remove the stains! Several times!"

Blitzø grins. "What you need is a tide pen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tide pen," Blitzø says, pulling up an image on his phone. "Keep one on you, use it on any stains right away, before they dry. Works like magic on most shit, if you get it fast enough."

"You don't say," Stolas says, looking at the picture on Blitzø's phone with a frown. "I suppose it is worth a try. Where do I find one of these?"

"Oh, any drugstore," Blitzø says, then shrugs. "I'll grab one for you next time I'm topside. Easier to steal from humans."

"I assure you, that will not be necessary!" Stolas says, and Blitzø just grins at him.

"It's fine, I want to." Then Stolas blushes, and he feels his cheeks heating up. "I mean. It's easy! No big deal. I'll get one for M&M while I'm at it, maybe they'll stop whining at me about needing to do extra laundry every time Millie has to make the kill. Axes, you know how it is."

Blitzø is mortified. Why did he have to open his stupid fucking mouth and make it weird?

"Oh. Very well, then," Stolas says, watching his hands, which are twisting together in his lap. "If it's truly not an inconvenience."

"Nope!" Blitzø blurts, far too loud. "No prob," he adds, completely unnecessarily, and hates himself.

"I... I suppose work is probably the last thing you want to talk about, after a long day," Stolas says, beginning to dig at the feathers on his wrist. "And you must be sick of listening to me ramble on about my silly problems."

Stolas could not possibly be more wrong. "I like listening to you talk," he says, before he can even think about what he's saying, and then the heat in his face is back, tenfold, with the burning power of the sun behind it.

He did not just fucking say that.

"Uh. About... work. And. Y'know, dumb stuff. Normal stuff. Not rich-people stuff." Wow, that wasn't fucking insensitive. "I mean—fuck. Shit. I didn't mean that how it sounded."

Stolas giggles, slightly breathless. "Oh? How did it sound?"

"I dunno, fuckin'. Judgy."

Stolas just giggles harder. "'J-judgy?'"

"Fuck off! It's nice just talking about normal stuff!"

Stolas' laughing slows until he finally wipes away a tear and smiles at him, radiant. "It is nice, isn't it?"

Blitzø wants to kiss him. He wants to do a lot more than that, too. But friends don't jump each other when they're just talking about how much they like... talking.

And Blitzø likes the talking! Almost as much as he would like the kissing. No, he likes it more than the kissing. He can live without the kissing.

He doesn't think he can live without the talking.

"Yeah," he agrees, barely able to get the word out through the lump in his throat, but he manages.

And he doesn't kiss him. And he hates himself for how badly he wants to, and how close he got to fucking ruining everything.

*

They don't find anything to explain Stolas' transformations that day, either. Blitzø is just gearing up for a really good spiraling, self-deprecating tirade in his head about how useless he is when Stolas asks if he wants to borrow a set of pjs again, and Blitzø immediately abandons all other thoughts. They take turns washing their faces in the bathroom, and Blitzø borrows some mouthwash, and then they climb into Stolas' bed.

Blitzø can't stop himself from burying his claws in feathers, and he ends up plastered to Stolas' side, connected from shoulder down to his knee, every inch of exposed skin he can manage pressed into feathers, and he breathes in the scent when he's pretty sure Stolas is asleep, because he isn't yet, and he watches Stolas' slow, easy breathing.

And keeps watching him, for almost an hour as he keeps replaying the whole evening in his head.

Talking. Relaxing. Stolas reading to him. How warm and comfortable and amazing the whole thing felt.

Until he went and opened his stupid fucking mouth.

He has to get it together, to keep a lid on his stupid feelings. Because he's going to fuck it all up at this rate if he doesn't.

He has to find a way to bury them, deep down, locked up tight. Because Stolas hasn't made a single comment, not one, about how Blitzø looks, or about wanting anything other than... this. No joking about costumes, or things to try, or even stuff like going out for food or seeing a movie. They only went grocery shopping, which does not count as a date. So Blitzø is going to get his head out of his ass and stop waiting for Stolas to reach for him, to ask, to look at him with hunger and need, the way he used to.

Because he absolutely refuses to lose this, whatever it is.

It's too important. Far, far too important, and Blitzø will saw his own horns off before he gives it up.

Stolas wakes to find Blitzø gone, only a note on the bedside table and his discarded pajamas piled at the foot of the bed.

Werk prohblm, had 2 run. c u l8r

Stolas reads the note, feels a small weight settle in his chest, and then shakes it loose with frustrated determination.

How absurd, and selfish. He cannot be here at your beck and call whenever you wish for it, he scolds himself. Blitzø was kind enough to stay with him when he suggested it, despite how it must make him uncomfortable; he can't imagine how pathetic it must seem, that Stolas wants someone to stay with him so badly. That he can't even go a night on his own anymore without having some sort of crisis.

That he's gotten so used to sleeping with someone else in his bed, and he can't seem to rest properly when he's not there. Like a nestling, crying for its parent, unable to feed itself, or fly, or survive on its own without constant attention and management.

He can't even figure out what the problem is with his magic, and that's something only he has the answers to. Why is he so fucking useless, even at the things he is supposed to be good at?

He digs his talons into his thighs, and forces himself to get out of bed. He will not wallow here all day, that would be... intolerable. He will go to work, and then do more research while he waits for Blitzø, and he will not text him every hour like some sort of—of needy, clingy dependent. He will handle himself like an adult, damnit.

He pours himself cereal, and gets ready for work.

For some reason it is particularly bad that day—their customers are the same as ever, and his coworkers no more annoying than usual, but the day just won't end, and he keeps making stupid, silly mistakes. He misplaces the shears three times that day, and almost charges someone double for their entire purchase! His manager had to correct the mistake as they were walking by.

Stolas apologizes profusely, and his manager lets him off after a stern warning, which he is grateful for. They could have fired him right there!

When the endless day finally draws to a close, he pulls out his phone and finally gives in, sending a text to Blitzø.

He doesn't expect a response right away, because Blitzø is still at work, and likely on his last hit.

He gets home, and turns to his books, and loses himself in them for a while. It's not until after it has gotten dark, and he realizes he is starving because he never ate, that he checks his phone to see he has no new messages and begins to worry.

Fear and a nagging sensation begin in his stomach, and then, beginning to panic, he sends a frantic text to Via, as well.

He just... needs to hear back from someone. Blitzø is probably fine, he can take care of himself, Stolas knows he is incredibly capable and strong. Honestly, he's probably tired of spending so much time at Stolas', and needs his space. He won't force him to keep tending to his every need, not if he would prefer to be elsewhere.

He just... needs to know that he won't have to be alone for the rest of the day.

He watches his phone desperately, the small device clenched tightly in his talons, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He opens his book again, fear gnawing at him, chewing away his insides, distress building into a terrible, black mass, vibrating and cold and raw. It has been hours, now.

Via has not answered him.

Blitzø has not answered him.

Do they hate him?

Do they wish he was gone, so they could be left in peace?

Would they rather he just... ceased to exist? Would that make their lives easier, simpler? Less frustrating?

Less annoying?

Stolas feels tears drop onto his hands where they rest on the book, closed in his lap. Then he realizes he doesn't feel them anymore, the tears or the book, because his hands have gone inky and smoky, much less solid, bigger, sharper, edged in violent red.

Stolas lets out a sob, but it's also a shriek, and curls in on himself, feeling the magic writhe in his veins, twisting, trying to crush him into nothing, and having the opposite effect—he grows larger, acquires jagged edges, and the ice in his chest condenses, solidifies, and begins to burn. He just wants someone to answer him.

He stops having coherent thoughts after that, and begins to feel the need to claw and tear at the walls, to break free of the prison, the cage he's trapped in.

It's not a palace, not anymore. In some ways, it's worse.

He bursts out of his door, reducing it to splinters, and screams out his distress as he crosses the street, needing the open space and the sky and the stars, but even the sight of them isn't comforting, don't return him back to himself.

Not today.

Blitzø steps through the portal and collapses into a chair.

"That is the last time you take ANY clients who want us to go after cannibals, this is the fourth fucking time they almost killed us, Mox!" Blitzø shouts, using the very last of his energy. "Vet them better from now on," he adds, his head falling back heavily and leaving him to stare at the gross, yellowing ceiling.

"Yeah, idiot," Loona adds before she drops face-first onto the couch without even pulling out her phone.

"Yes sir," Moxxie mumbles, just as exhausted, collapsing into a chair on the other side of the table. "Cannibals. Off limits. No exceptions."

"No complaints here," Millie says, trudging into the kitchen. "We can deal with the loss o' money, it ain't worth it." She comes back with a bag of pretzels, and holds them out for Moxxie to take a handful before tossing the bag to Loona, who catches it flawlessly without looking up from where she's face-planted in the couch cushions.

"Damn straigh—" Blitzø starts to say, before a scream he hasn't heard in weeks tears through his skull without warning.

"Fuck!" He shouts, clutching his head as pain shoots through it, the sound louder and the feeling much worse than the last time he heard it.

"Sir?" Moxxie says, bolting upright, picking his gun up from the table where he'd set it. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh—No, nothing, it's just—ow. Gotta go," he says, and opens a portal.

"Where the fuck're you goin'?" Millie asks, and grabs his shoulder. "We're comin' with!"

"No you're not," Blitzø says, but he can't open his eyes because the light hurts too badly, so he stumbles blindly through the portal, and doesn't close it quickly enough, so Millie, Moxxie, and Loona all follow him through like a bunch of meddling assholes.

"Blitzø?" asks a familiar voice, but it isn't the one Blitzø is expecting because it's coming from outside of his head.

"Via?" He stumbles forward, shielding his eyes as everything in his head screams for attention so much that hearing shit and looking at it is painful in a way it is absolutely not supposed to be.

Stolas shrieks, black smoke and eldritch energy writhing and billowing from his maw and he wails up toward the sky before he turns to a tree and uproots it, lifting it from the ground as though it were resting on the surface with nothing connecting it, as if it were weightless, roots torn free from the dirt, and then Stolas hurls it at another one, both trees colliding with a violent crack, splinters of wood flying off in all directions, leaves bursting into the air, dancing and spinning steadily toward the grass in the aftermath of the violence.

"Okay, so the tree vendetta is new," Blitzø says, deeply grateful for the way the screaming in his head subsides a little in the aftermath of the outburst, as Stolas stops wailing and begins pacing restlessly around the park. He swipes at more trees but doesn't uproot any more of them just yet. It looks like he wants to, the way he keeps starting to grab for them and then letting go and returning to pacing instead, and Blitzø wonders how much of Stolas is aware of what he's doing.

"'Tree vendetta'? You've seen him like this before?" Via asks, turning sharply to face him, desperate and confused. "What's wrong?"

Blitzø scowls, rubbing at his aching head. "I was sort of hoping you might be able to tell me, kid. He was doing better until today. Hasn't gone all monster-y in weeks."

Via trembles, pulling out her phone. "I don't—there was nothing! He just sent me a weird text, and I was with Mum so I couldn't answer, but when I did he didn't reply right away even though he always does, and I—I just got this horrible feeling," she says, teary and clutching her phone to her chest, looking small. "I don't know what happened."

"Fuck," Blitzø curses, pulling out his own phone to see the missed text. "Shit."

"You! What did you do?" Via asks, taking a step toward him. "This has to be about you somehow, he's never done this before, not ever! Not until—"

"Hey," Loona snarls, and Blitzø jumps, because with Stolas still present in the back of his head and Via here he'd honestly forgotten about the rest of them. "This is magic shit. That's your guys' whole deal. Don't you dare blame other people for your problems, ones you probably brought on yourselves!"

"Honey," Blitzø says, holding out a hand in an effort to slow her down, "It... It kind of is a little my fault."

"I knew it!" Via shrieks, "I knew you did something to him! You lying, miserable, selfish little—"

"HEY!" Loona steps in front of Blitzø, putting herself between them. "Your dad was the one who started the shitty deal in the first place!"

"L-Loonie," Blitzø says, trying to interrupt her. He doesn't even remember telling her that the deal was Stolas' idea, but he supposes it wouldn't be that hard to figure out. "It's not that simple."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Loona turns to him, snarl turning into a growl. "Not everything is your fault, shithead! Stop letting her think it was all you!"

Blitzø flinches. How could he have mislead her so badly?

"Have you been spendin' time with the prince, B?" Millie asks, coming up on Blitzø's other side. "After he gave you the crystal an' sent you away? Why?"

Blitzø blinks, turning to Millie. "What? He didn't—Okay, I mean, yeah, he kinda did. But it wasn't like that."

"And then he went to that awful party, right?" Moxxie adds, glancing around Millie to frown up at Blitzø. "The one that left you a mess for a whole month?"

"I was not—"

"Honey," Millie says, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You were."

"Fucking—you're all making it sound like he's some kind of— of—"

"Royal asshole?"

"Entitled dickhead?"

"Um, kind of manipulative?"

"He was right to!" Blitzø says, horrified at how it all sounds, realizing how it probably sounded to Stolas that night when he shouted almost the same exact words.

He hadn't even meant them! Not—not really. Not entirely. They certainly weren't all for Stolas, but...

But Stolas has no way of knowing that.

"Shit, guys, it's not—ugh. I really messed up, okay? You know me, I'm a piece of shit! I fucked everything up."

"What do ya mean, B? Tell us what happened."

"For once."

Blitzø runs a hand down his face. "Look, I just—I was an idiot, and I messed everything up, and now I'm trying to make up for it a little. He needed help, he's been trying to figure it out alone, and I thought—I don't know, I just needed to try. Okay?"

"What the fuck do you mean he's been all alone? He had you, didn't he? His family wasn't good enough for him, but you were!"

Blitzø turns to look at Via as she shakes, tears falling from her eyes. "We were fine, until you ruined it!"

Blitzø takes a breath, but he doesn't have a chance to respond before there's a loud shriek, and Stolas uproots another tree.

Fuck, Blitzø thinks, and throws himself in front of Via, because Stolas is tearing the tree apart branch from branch but some of the debris is flying in their direction, and if anything happened to Via—

"Shit," Blitzø hisses as he feels a branch scrape his shoulder, and another buffets him in the back of the head. He plants his feet and covers as much of Via as he can with his body.

"Boss!"

"Dad!"

Three voices shout and then he's surrounded, and all of them are between Stolas and Via, and Blitzø drops to his knees because the shrieking in his head is so loud, but it doesn't last, the flying wood splinters and leaves settling around them as Stolas' cry fades back into painful background noise.

"Dad?" Via asks, voice small and confused.

Stolas shrieks.

"Okay, fuck this," Blitzø growls, getting to his feet. "Stay here," he says, making eye contact with all four of them. "Don't fucking move!" he turns and runs toward Stolas.

"Be fucking careful!" Loona shouts, and Blitzø just gives her a thumbs up until he's standing at Stolas' feet.

Stolas wails mournfully, and then makes a chittering, hissing noise, birdlike, as he swings his head from side to side, black feathers fluffing up, an angry red glow emanating from them, giving them an eerie shimmer.

"Stolas? It's just me, I'm right here. I'm sorry I didn't answer earlier, when you needed me to, but I'm here now, okay?" Blitzø reaches out a hand, feeling feathers as well as the tingle of magic surging through them, crackling in the air, charging it with arcane, demonic energy. "I'm sorry."

Stolas flinches away, but slowly, little by little, the crackling energy starts to recede, and he hunches down into himself, and looks smaller. But then Blitzø realizes that's because he is actually getting smaller, shrinking down, and slowly his ink-dark feathers gradually shift to blue-grey.

"I hurt you," Stolas says, running a talon feather-light across the skin below the cut on Blitzø's arm.

"I get worse at work all the time, it's nothing." Blitzø mumbles. "I'm really, really sorry."

Stolas sniffs. "I—it's all my fault, I could've—I'm so, so sorry, Via." He backs farther away, and when Blitzø reaches for him he flinches, backing up more, staring down at his hands. "I almost—"

"Stolas, we're all fine, just peachy. Everything is fine," Blitzø says, but Stolas just buries his face in his hands.

"I couldn't even wait a few hours, I'm—I can't do anything on my own, anything at all! I'm just—a horrible burden, I just cause trouble, and pain, for everyone around me. It would be better if I—if I just—"

Blitzø can barely think, the words resonating so strongly with him, words he's thought about himself dozens, hundreds of times, but now—

"You're wrong," he says, forcing the words out around the crushing weight in his chest. "You're not. My life would be so much worse without you in it. And I'm—" His voice cracks, shatters around the words, because he's been trying so hard not to speak them aloud, not to let them poison the air around him, content to let them eat at him from the inside. But if it's what Stolas needs to hear, if it will help him, or at least let him know he's not the only one...

"I'm the one who only causes pain," he says, quiet and blunt. "Stolas, the shit I've done—it can't ever be undone."

"Blitzø?" Stolas says, confusion mixing with his distress.

"What happened?" Via asks, and slowly approaches from behind Blitzø. "Dad?"

Stolas looks at her, and sobs. "I'm so sorry," he says, and Via runs forward to throw herself at him. "I wish—I never wanted—"

"It's okay, Dad," Via says, face pressed into his shoulder. "You're back. It... it will be okay, right?"

"My dear, sweet owlet. I love you so very much, and I wish I could have given you everything you ever wanted, instead of—of this horrible situation."

"I know, Dad," Via says, and squeezes him tighter. "I'm just glad you're here."

Blitzø turns to see M&M and Loona all slowly approaching behind Via, wary. "Everything's good here, I can portal you all back."

"Are you sure?" Millie asks, watching him intently.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. All good. Situation handled." It takes a lot of convincing, and Millie refuses to budge until he lets her wrap up his cuts, but he finally gets them all to go back home. Stolas and Via are still talking quietly, heads bowed, and Blitzø wonders if he should just leave, too, and let them finish talking it out. But then Stolas looks up at him, and waves him over.

"No, Dad, I don't—"

"Please, just a moment, for me," he says, and Blitzø feels horribly like he is intruding, but he's going to do whatever Stolas needs.

"Uh, hey there, kiddo," Blitzø says, and Via glares at him.

Okay, not a great start.

"Via, Blitzø is trying to help me figure out why I keep... doing this. He has been helping me."

She continues to stare at Blitzø, suspicious, and then scowls before she turns back to Stolas. "You used to—you were seeing him," she says, accusing.

"Um, yes. In... In a manner of speaking, I suppose I was."

"But you're not anymore?"

"Um, no. Not anymore."

"But you still want to."

"Via—!"

"Don't lie to me," Via says, the words harsh and cold, and full of hurt.

"It is... complicated. I care for him deeply, and... and I value his friendship a great deal."

I don't deserve this, Blitzø thinks, but he doesn't say it aloud. It alternates, in his mind, with the vivid awareness of the fact that Stolas hadn't told Via she was wrong. Back and forth, dizzying.

Via scowls at Blitzø again, and then looks back at Stolas. "You said... he's been helping you?"

Stolas smiles, and it's tired but radiant. "Yes, very much."

Via gets a sad, heartbroken look for a moment. Softly, she says, "I'm... I'm sorry I haven't been here."

"Oh no, Via, don't be," Stolas says, and pulls her into a hug. "I'm sorry I did not explain better, that I wasn't more open and honest with you. That is my fault."

"Mother said—"

"I know," Stolas says, squeezing her tightly. "This has been very hard on all of us, and... and I don't think any of us have been at our best."

Via whines. "I need to get back before she gets mad," she says, sounding miserable.

"Of course, my darling. I understand."

Via pulls back and gives him a fiery, determined look. "I am going to come back tomorrow, and I don't care what she says! She can't stop me."

Stolas smiles, warm and fond. "No, I don't believe she can."

Via scowls at Blitzø again, which is getting a little old, but Blitzø also feels like he definitely deserves it, and maybe a thousand more, so he swallows down the flippant words that are on the tip of his tongue. "He better not have any more—episodes—until then. Or I'm holding you personally responsible!" She jabs a finger at the space between Blitzø's eyes, and he snorts.

"Got it, princess," he says, it's layered with snark, but he also means it. He looks up and makes eye contact with Stolas, whose eyes widen as his face darkens, and he clears his throat.

"Um, yes. Allow me to open a portal for—"

"I can do it myself," Octavia snaps, and then, more softly, "thanks."

"Of course," Stolas says as she opens her own portal, looks back at him one last time, and then steps through and it closes with a whoosh of magic. Stolas sags immediately, wobbling precariously, and Blitzø shoots out a hand to steady him, resting it on his hip.

"Oh, thank you. It is merely fatigue, I will be alright, there's no need for you to stay if you—"

"I'm not fucking going anywhere," Blitzø cuts him off, twisting his claws into Stolas' clothing, and he can feel the fabric strain, threatening to tear, but he refuses to let go. "I told her I have this."

"Um, I... If you're sure," Stolas says, and Blitzø doesn't bother replying, just drags Stolas along as he heads across the street to his apartment.

As soon as they're through the door Blitzø pulls Stolas over to the couch, pushes him down onto it, gets a blanket that he tosses on top of him, and then goes to the kitchen to start hot water and grab snacks out of the cupboard. Stolas doesn't have anything with enough calories, but he'll start with something salty, and he can always make food later if Stolas is hungry.

He gets out Stolas' evening tea, grabs a plate for the teabag when it's done steeping, and brings it all over to the couch when the water is ready.

Stolas doesn't seem to notice him at first, so Blitzø holds the mug up in front of him, right under his nose, and Stolas chirps, and then takes it, and smiles at him, small and a bit unsteady.

"Movie?" Blitzø asks, and after a pause to think about it Stolas nods, so Blitzø puts one on, and then lifts the blanket to crawl under it and curl up against Stolas. He digs his fingers into whatever feathers he can find until he gets to skin, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder until Stolas finishes with his tea and lifts his arm and Blitzø scoots closer so he can tuck his face up under Stolas' chin and close his eyes.

He starts purring, and he doesn't think he could stop even if he wanted to, because it was a long day and Stolas freaked him out and was hurting, bad, and he needs Stolas to know he's here, that he's staying, and to start to recover.

He knows he needs to say some of that with words, at some point. He's... he's getting to it.

They both blink awake to rolling credits, and Stolas makes his most adorable, softest cooing hoot.

"Bed?" He asks, when he looks down at Blitzø and sees his eyes open, if heavy-lidded.

"Yeah," Blitzø says, and it takes him a minute to find the edge of the blanket to untangle himself, and then they both put their dishes in the sink on their way to the bathroom, and stand side-by-side at the sink as they get ready for sleep.

Blitzø changes into the pajamas he's been using every time he's been here, and Stolas puts on his shorts but hesitates before pulling on the shirt, staring at it, rubbing the material between his talons and scowling lightly at it.

"You don't have to wear it if you'd rather not, it's fine," Blitzø says, taking a guess. Stolas startles and drops it, and then stares at him, wide-eyed.

"Oh. Um, are you sure you don't mind?"

"Yeah," he says, and climbs onto the bed, shoving his legs under the comforter, and then looks at Stolas expectantly.

"Sorry, it's just, sometimes the fabric—"

"Don't need a reason," Blitzø says, "It's fine." He holds up the comforter, and Stolas quietly gets into bed next to him, and when he scoots forward to lay down flat Blitzø climbs on top of him to lay across his chest.

He resumes his purring, but he's not quite as sleepy as he'd been watching the movie. He opens his eyes to find Stolas also still awake, watching him.

"Ah, sorry, I just—"

Blitzø pinches his hip, since that's the closest skin within reach, and snorts. "Stolas. Stop apologizing. You hit your quota for the day about five sorries back."

"Um," Stolas says, and Blitzø can hear the fucking 'sorry' on the tip of his tongue, and scowls at him. "I... I just feel as though I... owe you quite a few more," he says, a quiet admission, and his expression shutters and starts to go blank.

"Hey." Blitzø pinches him again, harder, and Stolas jumps with a squeak. When he has his attention again Blitzø starts petting gently at the spot, soothing it; an apology with his hands instead of words. "I get it. I owe you just as many. Probably, like, at least ten."

Stolas frowns. "I cannot imagine what for."

Blitzø's face heats up, to surface-of-the-sun temperatures, but he refuses to look away. Not this time. "For letting you think for even a second that I don't care about you."

Stolas stares at him, eyes wide, and Blitzø doesn't look away, doesn't stop his tail from curling around Stolas' thigh and squeezing. Stolas keeps staring, and the surprise, the hesitant hope that crosses his face, feels like a blade pressing into the center of him. Why did it take him so fucking long to tell him that?

He reaches up and places his hands to either side of Stolas' face, around the edges of his faceplate, and squeezes. If Stolas had cheeks, they would squish, but since he doesn't, it's not very effective.

"Um. Blitzø?" Stolas says, and at least he's looking more confused than... the other stuff.

"What," Blitzø asks, digging his claws through the feathers underneath his hands, scratching at skin. Stolas' eyes go heavy-lidded, and he trills a little in response. It's a noise of happiness, and contentment, and Blitzø wants to devour it like a starving animal. He needs to hear that noise more, every day, preferably forever.

He lets go so he can get his hands underneath him, plants them on the mattress on either side of Stolas so he can drag himself forward, closer to Stolas' face. Stolas blinks and watches him, and then goes still when Blitzø stops inches from him.

"Blitzø?" Stolas asks, and Blitzø makes himself say the words, even though it feels a lot like staring down the barrel of a gun.

"I care about you." Stolas flushes dark, and his feathers all rise, and after a moment, Blitzø feels where his talons settle between the spines on his back.

"I know," he says softly. "You have been here single every day, and... and have helped me so much, and keep teaching me things, and stayed when I asked, and haven't received anything in return. I—"

"Bullshit," Blitzø says, cutting him off. "I get plenty out of it."

Stolas tilts his head as he frowns, searches his face, so Blitzø grits his teeth and forces himself to make sure it's clear. "I get to see you. And spend time with you. And..."

"And?" Stolas asks, and Blitzø swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"All that, being around you, being near you, seeing you. That's... it's enough, more than enough, if it's what you want. But, if—"

Before Blitzø can get the rest of the sentence out, Stolas leans in, closes the last few inches of distance between them, and presses his mouth to Blitzø's. The rest of what he was going to say melts out Blitzø's ears as he responds, planting his knees on the mattress so he has enough leverage to press closer, can get enough height for a better angle, resting his hands on Stolas' shoulders before changing his mind to bury one into the feathers on the back of his head, the other caressing his cheek, holding him close, needy and desperate.

Stolas licks into his mouth with a whine, and Blitzø can't believe how long it's been since he's had this, the taste of Stolas on his tongue, feathers in his grip, gotten Stolas to make that exact sound. Too long, far too long, he never wants to go that long ever, ever again.

With a wet smack, Stolas breaks the kiss, pulling back, breath heavy. "I'm—I'm so sorry, darling, I did not mean to interrupt you. Please continue, I just—"

"You fuckin' heard me just fine, bitch. Get back here." Blitzø chases him down, and Stolas stops trying to continue the conversation, thank fuck.

Blitzø spends a good long while getting reaquainted with the feeling and taste of Stolas' tongue in his mouth, because he has a lot of time to make up for, and he hasn't even gotten started. He licks and sucks and bites, testing out all the old favorites, reveling in triumph when he gets the noises he's looking for, when Stolas digs talons into his skin in pleasure, and is positively delighted when he gets a couple new sounds out of him, too.

Deep, low hums that sing of contentment, and high, happy trills accompanied by fond nuzzles.

After a while the kisses slow, shift from desperate and heated to langorous and soft. Blitzø is turned on, of course he's turned on, he's lying on top of Stolas. He feels no particular need to act on it, though, especially with the day they've both had, with what it took to finally say the words that have been trapped under his skin, deep in his chest, since that horrible full moon.

Stolas eventually notices the dick very obviously pressed into his stomach, though, and glances down in its direction.

"Um. Are—Do you—"

"No," Blitzø says, and settles back down into Stolas' feathers, making himself comfortable.

"N-no?" Stolas asks, frowning.

"I'm comfy," Blitzø says, and lets his eyelids drift shut. He's tired enough to fall asleep, but Stolas has gone still beneath him, and does not appear to be making himself comfortable, or making contented, sleepy hooting noises, or any of the other things he should be doing.

"What's the problem?" Blitzø asks, and then opens his eyes to look up at him when Stolas doesn't answer.

"Do... Do you not want—"

Blitzø snorts, grinning, because that's hilarious. "I always want. But you don't."

Stolas' feathers fluff up, and he gets an indignant look on his face. "Excuse me?"

Blitzø huffs out a breath, and then gets up on his hands and knees so he can get off of Stolas and crawl up next to him without the distraction of so much physical contact.

He misses it immediately, but he would rather make sure he gets this right, and he's tired, can already feel himself starting to get distracted.

"No dirty talk? No touching any farther down than my shoulders?" Stolas flinches, and Blitzø slowly reaches out to rest his hand on Stolas' talon, gently lacing their fingers together when Stolas doesn't pull away.

"Usually you would dive right in, or tell me exactly what you want. This... it's new, and different. Maybe that's all it is, nerves or whatever, but I'm pretty sure there's other stuff, too. And that's fine. We can go slow, or talk about it more, whatever you want. I'm not going anywhere."

Stolas is still staring down at their entwined fingers, and Blitzø leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Kissing is good, right?"

"Yes," Stolas says, quick and breathless, and then turns to look at him, blinking back tears. "Are... you're not—Is this really okay? You... You're not—d-disappointed?"

"Fuck no. I got a super hot makeout session, better than I've ever had in my entire life. What's there to be disappointed about?"

Stolas chokes out an embarrassed laugh, and then gives a wet sniffle, and Blitzø tugs him until he leans over to rest his head against him and pulls the comforter up to their shoulders.

There's still a lot more to talk about, but that's gonna have to wait until they've slept. And maybe kissed a whole bunch more. Like, a lot more. Just because they can, and because they both want to.

Stolas still wants to.

"I've got everything I want already."