as time flies by through the callous lights
this is Not what i should be doing, but super-late bday present for @attago, ft. my continual struggle w/writing owain and some fe14 spoilers. i’m just v intrigued by the things inigo says wrt beginning to doubt his own memories so chronically, so i may revisit this concept again at some point. also couldn’t resist applying a bit of the owain-robin hot springs scramble convo to this scenario www
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His memory is so faulty of late that he wonders if he's unknowingly suffered a horrendous head injury. Lazwald makes charming excuses to win himself examinations from Felicia and Elise, waiting each time for one of them to finally grow suspicious when he asks the same questions about concussions he asked the previous day. At best, he has worked himself up into a hypochondriac. He does not dwell on the worst when he knows he is by far doing the best in comparison to Odin and Luna.
"Maybe we've just died without realizing it," Lazwald posits to Odin. His fault lines rise to the surface easier around Odin these days, but they are each softer now about the other's flaws. Still, he feels the remnants of guilt whenever he unburdens himself so, like he should be all the more obliged to stay airy and cheerful in a world where he would be twice the fool for it. "Maybe we died once when we left our time, then again when we left our world." He rubs at his temples, though they do not ache. "It feels like I've had three separate lives in the span of, what? Twenty-two years? I almost fear I'll start to forget what's really happened in this one, now."
Odin tuts in a startlingly good impression of Leon. "Can't keep your continuities straight, comrade? It's only natural for someone so unenlightened in the ways of the elder magics to feel confusion over the endless cycle of reincarnation. Allow me to part the foggy veils of doubt that cling so cloyingly to your cranium."
"You're pushing it," Lazwald says dryly. Despite the pointed look he shoots Odin, he knows that the theatrical wind-up is a prelude to a (usually) more serious response.
"Hey, it's alliterative," Odin retorts in his own defense. "Seriously, though. If you forget, I'll remember for you."
"Oh? I suppose you'll remember me jumping into a hot spring trying to fight a Risen in excruciating detail."
"I mean, technically, you fell into the hot spring, but yeah." Odin's smile is warm and feckless, no performative edge to it. Lazwald can't help but laugh, backwards as it is for him to be the one getting cheered up. "I'll remember that, and I'll remember you running off by yourself to go wallop some bandits who could've eaten you for breakfast, all so that your village maiden of the day and her family could sleep safely. I'll remember you being the first to say you'd follow Lucina to the past and Luna to this world. I'll remember you dancing for me for the first time, and I'll talk your ear off about it as many times as it takes until you remember it all for certain, too."
Lazwald considers, then, that Odin has probably been working on this monologue for weeks. It's ridiculous, bottlenecking his throat and leaving him heavy with a gratitude that too often remains implicit. "I hate it when you're romantic," he murmurs softly.
"Like you hate that I'm a better kisser than you?" At this, Lazwald is able to salvage what he's sure is a face on the brink of tears into a watery, wry smile.
"I rest my case. Your memory's just as selective as mine, you ass." A dozen moments have passed between them like this, and he's certain they will continue to pass. Each one will be a flash of deja vu that leaves him doubting everything but the constant of Odin's earnest, fumbling, and arguably ill-placed affection. "I am a perfectly fine kisser, thank you very much."
"Perfectly fine?" Odin repeats with an incredulous snort. They've each said their piece, and now they bundle up their fault lines again, caulking them over in soft touches as a stopgap they both know will always be temporary. "Yeah, if you're talking about a perfectly fine imitation of a dying fish."
"By all means, feel free to find someone else to kiss," Lazwald carries on, snaking an arm around Odin's waist and pulling him close. Their chests touch, and gods, Lazwald wishes Odin would put a proper shirt on. Mostly for his own sake, of course. "I can direct you promptly to Pieri's horse--I'm sure you'll find her a sweeter armful than me." Odin presses a kiss just underneath Lazwald's ear, grumbling when his lip clips against an earring point.
"Does the horse have to make sure her hair looks perfect and that her collar is popped up high enough before we kiss? Because if so, sign me up." For an inane moment, Lazwald is sorely tempted to ruin the atmosphere for them both just to keep the bickering running. Comebacks start themselves up in his mind, just to peter out in favor of placing a kiss of his own against a patch of Odin's peripherally unruly hair. They trade light, breathless little gestures of affection across each other's faces and shoulders, all wordless murmurs that require no real meaning anyhow. Feeling flustered and perhaps a little more at peace with himself, Lazwald pulls away to look at Odin head-on. If he has died twice over, perhaps, he could stand to do it again right now.
"If the Nohrians catch us at this and have us executed for sodomy, I'll be blaming you all the way to the headsman's block." He says it as a joke, for the most part. Even so, an uneasy part of him tries to recall if Xander has ever mentioned awkwardly kissing one's male best friend as a capital offense. Odin leans over and cups Lazwald's cheek in his hand, absurdly sentimental.
"We are the Nohrians, remember?" Lazwald is summoning up a retort when Odin's mouth meets his--and he would come up with a pre-kiss one-liner, just to get the last word in.
