Summary: Losander’s life spirals in a string of unfortunate firsts…
In the year since his first kiss, he’d done everything to push the memory from his mind. He kept himself busy- it was easy enough to do as a Reaper. There was always a mission to go on, always an undead something-or-another to track and dispel, always reports to dig into. Even when things grew quiet, no one in the Altum- the Reaper’s fragmented society- would bat an eye at an unhealthy obsession with training. His family was impressed by his sudden drive- how he took up every report that filtered through, even those no one else thought deserved the time of day. It was working for a time, constant travel and distraction. It kept his mind from wandering too far. And when the memory of what happened with Sebbe dared enter his mind, he’d taken to biting his lower lip as hard as he could until the thought subsided.
Atticus was thrilled that Losander was finally taking him up on the sparring sessions he was always inviting him to. Of course, Sebbe would be there, but in good fashion he had refused to spar against Losander.
“I can’t hit your little brother!” he gawked, face ever so slightly red, “He must be ten years younger than we are!”
And though Atticus had protested that it was only four years, he mercifully hadn’t pushed the issue. In time, Losander found he could talk to Sebbe again, like they use to, though his heart still threatened to punch a hole through his chest when they got too close. Sebbe’s face heated whenever they were alone, and Losander knew it was because of what he’d done. But despite it all Sebbe never treated him differently. He still laughed and patted his shoulder, still told the others to knock it off when their playful jokes at Losander’s expense dug a little too deep. For six months, it seemed like everything would be alright. Six months of repair, six months of distraction, six months of relative normalcy before all hell broke loose.
It started with Sebbe’s engagement. The announcement was so sudden that even Atticus seemed a bit confused, though he hooped and hollered and patted Sebbe’s back at the news. It was during the Spring Solstice celebrations, one of the Altum’s biggest gatherings, that Sebbe’s father had tapped his glass and shared the news that “Sebastien Pryor and Florence Harkross” would be wed that coming June. Though his heart squeezed in his chest, he could see why the match was perfect. Florence Harkross was gorgeous, standing a foot taller than most of her peers, with long brown hair done up in elaborate pleats and sharp, piercing blue eyes. That, and as the oldest of her siblings she was to take up her father’s position as Judge and become one of the 12 most powerful and influential Reapers in all of the Altum. Beautiful enough for Sebbe, powerful enough for his family’s status. A perfect match. He drank a toast with the others, then feigned feeling ill and excused himself to get some fresh air.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. His heart pounded hard against his chest, his stomach twisted and squeezed. He could feel the tears burning behind his eyes even as he spoke the words, and gods if he were to lose his composure- he didn’t even want to consider it. He had always loved Myriv in the spring. It was the closest the Reapers had to a homeland, the tiny city where their parliament buildings stood, where the Altum had been formed centuries ago. He wondered numbly if the whole season , the whole city, would be tainted for him after this.
He made his way to the side of the parliament building and pressed his back against the cold stone wall, shaky breaths teetering on the edge of sobs. He willed the tears to disappear back behind his eyelids. He would not cry about this like a child, he refused to! The entire situation was ridiculous, what difference did it make if Sebbe got married? He bit at his bottom lip, staring through the slushy March snow at his feet. He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly on his toes, and Sebbe’s quiet “Hey” nearly broke any resolve he had mustered up.
They stared at each other a moment in the dim evening light. He couldn’t quite decipher the look on Sebbe’s face; angry, scared, sympathetic, confused, all wrapped up in one. Losander swallowed, taking a shaky breath in. Eventually, through the thick feeling in his throat he managed to croak, “Congratulations, Sebastian. Florence is… shes lovely.”
This only seemed to make things worse. Sebbe let out the breath he was holding, his whole body slumping just a little bit where he stood. “Don’t… just don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t congratulate me, Losander, just-” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “Gods, this is all your fault.”
His fault? Losander kept his eyes trained on Sebbe’s face, trying and failing to figure out just what he meant. When Sebbe stepped suddenly towards him, he’d half expected a punch. But then Sebbe’s hand was in his hair, the other cupping his cheek as he pressed their lips together. He didn’t know what to do with his hands… what did one do with their hands while kissing? He settled them on Sebbe’s shoulders, worrying at the shoulder straps on his coat. Sebbe ran his tongue over Losander’s swollen bottom lip, and after a moment of him not knowing how to respond Sebbe moved his hand to Losander’s chin, pressing it gently, parting Losander’s lips so he could-
Oh.
Oh that’s how it worked.
It must have only been a few moments but when they parted Losander’s face was practically aflame. He was squeezing the shoulder-straps in his hands now, so tightly he feared they may rip. Sebbe’s dark brown eyes bore into him- why did he still look so sad?
“What,” Losander’s voice was rough, and he paused to clear it, “What does this mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“This.” Losander insisted, pulling slightly at the shoulder-straps. Sebbe’s gaze fell.
“Nothing, Losander, it can’t.” He sighed, swiping at his own mouth, as if it could erase what had happened, “I’m.. I’m marrying Florence.”
“Noone has to know.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Sebbe’s eyes grew wide.
“I won’t do that to her.”
Losander pried his hands from the shoulder straps, wrapping his arms around himself. Sebbe brushed a thumb along his cheek, “I’m sorry Lo.”
“So am I.”
That was the last time they allowed themselves to be alone together, and it was probably for the best. Wedding preparations started soon after the announcement, and Atticus was to be the best man, of course. Sebbe’s twin sister Rebecca was also heavily involved in the proceedings- she stopped by nearly once a week to instruct Atticus on how to walk down the aisle, how to hold her arm, how to properly tie his tie. She was kind like Sebbe, but more authoritative, and despite it all Losander found himself laughing at his brother’s expense as he tried and failed to meet the girl’s strict standards.
“I can’t believe he’s getting married!” She said one afternoon, more to the air than to Losander, but as he was the only other person in the room he gave a small noise of agreement.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m excited,” she didn’t really sound it most of the time, “But it’s just happening so fast! They didn’t even go on dates before the announcement- my father just wanted to get the ball rolling, I suppose.” She worried her skirt in her hands, “Say, Losander-”
He never did get to hear what she had to say. Atticus had entered the room and she went instantly quiet, face lighting up bright red. She fussed over Atticus’ tie, remarking that he’d done better that time before adjusting it.
He tried to keep his cool as the date grew closer, but after a time it became obvious to everyone that something was wrong. The way he jumped every time Sebbe entered the room, the blank stares into space as he mulled over his latest personal failing (because yes, this discovery was only the latest). He wanted to pull Sebbe aside, kiss him, beg him to run away together. It wasn’t unheard of, though he knew without a doubt that they’d be struck from the Altum’s record like any other deserter. Gods, he hardly cared anymore. Of course Atticus could tell more than anyone that something was wrong. He bore into him one evening, demanding he open up and explain why he was acting so strangely, but how could he possibly tell his brother, of all people?
So he started to pull away from it all. From the political spotlight, Altum proceedings, Atticus. It wasn’t too hard. Teasing became true jabs, ones he knew would get under his brother’s skin, make him stop asking what was wrong. Stop wondering, even. It was best that way. His brother had enough to worry about, keeping up with the Altum’s politics, preparing to become the next Judge Cardwell. He didn’t need this on top of everything else.
He had attended Sebbe’s wedding, of course. His father was a Judge, it would be poor form for him to miss it, even if his stomach did threaten to empty itself onto the floors from nerves. He shook Florence and Sebbe’s hands as he left, and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, staring through the ceiling, hoping it would open up and swallow him whole.
Two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, just as summer was coming to a close and a cold autumn wind blew through Myriv’s streets, his father gave him the good news. Another engagement. Losander’s engagement, to Rebecca Pryor. He nearly passed out, though he tried his best not to let it show. He supposed it made sense. The Pryor family was influential in the Altum; rich, powerful Reapers with a strong bloodline, and Dean Pryor seemed more-than-eager to get his children married into Judge’s families. But why him?
“You should be happy.” His father said plainly, not even looking up from his papers, “She’s a beautiful girl.”
“Yes, she is…” Losander said, slowly, “A shame, then, that you’re marrying me off to her, rather than Atticus.”
His father looked up then, and Losander did his best to keep his face neutral.
“I mean, Atticus will be taking up your position soon enough, and his children after him. Wouldn’t it be prudent to have someone of such status and power by his side?”
“Losander…”
“It would be a good match, I think. She’s grounded, has a good head on her shoulders, and by gods you know Atti needs to be reigned in by someone or else he goes off the rails. Besides, Atticus is the older of us, shouldn’t he be the one to marry first? I’d say it’s much more important to secure him a suitable wife before we start searching for m-”
His father slammed a hand down on his desk, rattling the pens and inkwells scattered around him, cutting off Losander’s increasingly desperate rambling. The man took a deep, measured breath, regaining his composure before he said, “There have been rumors, Losander, ones that your mother and I would like to dispel.”
“R-rumors?”
“Don’t make me say them aloud, I’m sure you know exactly what they are.”
There was no reasoning with his father. The ceremony was set for December 3rd. His first date with Rebecca was… strange. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, they had a lot in common. They laughed and smiled, discussed literature and their mutual love of crackling fires. She looked somewhat like her brother, the same dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes, and for the life of him Losander couldn’t decide if that was a curse or a blessing. They kissed, awkward and chaste, hands by their sides, nothing like-
No. He wouldn’t think of it.
It was November when they sat across from each other in the Pryor family’s greenhouse. Rebecca was knitting a scarf, wrapping the finished half over Losander’s shoulders to gauge the proper length, while he stared up at the stars through the glass roof. Sebbe had given them the news that morning- Florence was pregnant. Rebecca had jumped and squealed with excitement, but as soon as they parted ways with the married couple she had wrapped her arms around Losander like she was afraid he’d fall to pieces. They spent most of their time together now. He dared say Rebecca was the best friend he’d ever had- he wished they’d begun spending time together sooner.
Well, they had their whole lives now, he supposed.
“I’m sorry Lo.” She broke the silence, the all-too-familiar sentiment instantly bringing tears to his eyes. He turned his head from her quickly, but she didn’t back down, “I know you’re upset. I know what’s wrong.”
When Losander dared glance back at her, he found that same penetrating stare, the kind but insistent eyes that the twins shared. He bit his lip, then hazarded to ask, “What… what do you know?”
She laughed, humorless and tired. It made her sound far older than she was, almost world-weary. “I know my brother, Lo, and you’re not the hardest person to read, especially for an empath,” she rested her hand atop his, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want.”
“It isn’t what you want either.” Losander sighed, “I tried to convince my father that you and Atti would be good together, but he wouldn’t listen…”
There was a little more humor in her laugh that time. She squeezed his hands in hers, “Well then, aren’t we a pair?”
I will never let you let me leave I promise I'm not lying,
Go ahead ask anybody who has seen me trying, I'm not going,
If it seems like I did I'm probably waiting outside...
♥ Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me by Sara Bareilles
♥ Blood- End Credits by My Chemical Romance
♥ Bust Your Kneecaps by Pomplamoose
♥ I’ve Got You Under My Skin by Frank Sinatra
♥ The Caravan Cabaret by Skybox
♥ Caress Your Soul by Sticky Fingers
♥ Dream A Little Dream Of Me by Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong
You say you feel sorry for me, I'm not sorry,
This is the best that I've been, I'm not happy,
The truth is that I'll never be, but at least I don't need to pretend...
♟ Sad and Bored by Bulow
♟ Saint Bernard by Lincoln
♟ My Boy by Billie Eilish
♟ Kiss The Go-Goat by Ghost
♟ Body by Mother Mother
♟ Twisted by MISSIO
♟ That’s Me by ABBA
♟ Love Me Dead by Ludo
♟ Hey Momma’ by Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground
♟ Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time by Panic! At The Disco
♟ Choke by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME
♟ I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift
♟ That’s What You Get For Getting Out Of Bed by Grandaddy
I don't know why I just feel I'm better off,
Stayin' in the same room I was born in,
I look outside and see a whole world better off,
Without me in it tryin' to transform it...
I'll hold your hand when you are feeling mad at me,
Yeah when the monsters they won't go,
And your windows wont close,
I'll pretend to see what you see...
Summary: Losander’s life spirals in a string of unfortunate firsts...
Losander’s first kiss had been an irrevocable disaster. He hardly knew it had happened at first. He’d downed so much wine at the party, glass after glass, the sickly sweet drink settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. His brother, Atticus, had convinced him to attend. Or, rather, he’d nearly pushed Losander out the door despite his protests and wide-eyed stares. He only ever went to parties that he was required to attend, for traditions and holidays, and their father’s politics. These frivolous get-togethers that Atti always raved about had never been his speed. Too fast, too much alcohol, too great a focus on mingling for its own sake. Pointless, and terrifying.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad, if Atticus and his friends didn’t keep sicking women on him when he tried to escape the noise. Any attempt to stand by the wall, observe for a bit, was met with a sudden introduction and an uncomfortable conversation. He knew his brother meant well. He always did. But his friends were getting some sort of kick out of watching him flounder and stumble, and throw back more wine than he’d ever dared drink before. Or… most of them were.
Sebbe had always been boisterous and excitable but… kind. And when Losander found his speech slurring and his legs uncooperative, he was the first to step in and take his arm, shush his hiccuping and panicked words. Perhaps it was embarrassing to be carried out of a party by your brother’s best friend, but Losander hardly cared at that point. Not when the world spun circles around his clogged-up head and his limbs felt like lead and clouds at the same time.
Sebbe carried him all the way to his chambers, all the way to his bed, tucked him in. He was about to leave, should have left, when the crying started. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it until Sebbe was there asking if he would be alright alone, reassuring him that the sickness and dizziness would wear off by morning and all that would remain was a nasty headache. So kind, he was always so kind…
Shock was probably the only reason the kiss lasted more that a second, but once that had worn off Sebbe was at the door. He’d pushed Losander near off his bed, mouth set in a firm, pressed line.
“You’re confused, Losander.” He’d said, forcefully, “You’re very drunk, and you’re Atti’s baby brother.”
The room spun wildly as Losander pushed himself up to sit, fingers pressed against his own lips. Processing.
“That’s why I won’t tell anyone about this.” Sebbe warned, “But once you sober up, you need to get some help.”
He stuck true to his word, at least. As days and weeks passed, it was like nothing had happened. He still smiled and waved, still ruffled Losander’s dark hair when he passed him by, like one did to their kid brother. Not even Atticus seemed to know what happened.
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
dededos
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart