He calls himself Ardan and tries very hard to look human, hiding his ears behind his hair and keeping his wings outside of human sight. He can’t do much about the unnatural height but though he’s never encountered violence himself, he’s heard the stories his parents and his family tell, about what humans do to things they can’t explain.
They’d kill you, he’s told, or take you away to cut you to pieces. Or worse, he’s told, because the humans are short-lived and strange but they are clever, and they are the ones who control the world now. The humans are why so many fae must now claim as their domains the concrete corners and sickly asphalt-breathing trees of the cities.
Which is why the changeling pisses him the fuck off when he first encounters them as he’s cutting through the park. They’re standing barefoot, in public, in the city, staring up at the starless night sky, smiling with open empty eyes and unhidden teeth, and short enough that he knows immediately that they should want to hide even more than he does, they must have been human raised and he can’t imagine what hell comes from that. Their skin is that almost green that Ardan has only seen on his relatives when they’re all truly alone and behind at least two doors, as well as a ward and only after they’ve actually received an offering, as rare as those are. He has spent more time than he wants to admit perfecting the glamours that change what his teeth and hands and skin and eyes look like to humans and the here is this changeling who just doesn’t seem to care. They’re just standing there, smiling at the nothing of the sky, where anyone could see.
At least they don’t have their wings out. At least they have that decency and Ardan has to clench his hands and force himself to change directions. He wants to say something to the changeling, ask why they want so badly to be killed but he can’t. That would reveal him as fae, and he can’t do that, that goes against everything he’s been told.
“It’s so empty!” the changeling calls out, and he turns around to look at them. Are they addressing him? They’re looking at him, anyway, smile wide and full of teeth. “The sky, I mean, you can’t see the stars at all here, it’s a such a relief,” they say, “it means I’m far away from where I was, when I thought I was a person.” They’re made all out of corners and angled elbows. “I can see you,” they say, “I know you’re not a person, too.”
“Quiet,” Ardan says, “please.”
“Why?” the changeling asks. “I only just managed to get away and I don’t know, anyway, how to hide.”
That has to be it, then, they just don’t know how to hide, which makes sense, they’re a changeling child, after all, and those creatures just don’t know any better. They’re rare, too, now, because no one dares anymore to try and steal a human child, and who would want one, anyway, but that has to be why this one won’t hide. They just don’t know. “Then I can teach you,” Arden says, stepping towards the changeling, “don’t you know how badly a human could take seeing you like this?”
They stare at him, and their smile vanishes, “I don’t want to hide,” they say, “and I don’t care, I can’t care.” Their tone has dropped, and despite what they’re saying they’re a lot quieter, now. They continue to look at him, and swallow. “I only just figured out how to throw off all the personhood, I don’t want to put it back on quite so soon.”
They clench their fists and the air behind them shimmers, and two pairs of light blue and green wings become visible. Ardan, without thinking about it, runs entirely over to them and grabs them by the shoulder. “No,” he says, “anything but that, that’s too obvious,” he says. Before he can say anything else, the changeling hisses and shoves with the shoulder he’s grabbed.
“Don’t touch me,” they say, but their wings have vanished again, “please don’t touch me.”
“Oh,” Ardan says, “you were raised by humans, right, I’m so sorry,” he says, and he looks down. “I’m sorry.”
What he doesn’t expect is for the changeling to grab him around the waist in a hug, clutching tightly, face pressed into his chest. “I haven’t seen anyone else,” they say, “only people, and you’re wrong, no one cares, no one looks at me at all.”
Ardan awkwardly wraps his arms around the changeling’s shoulders. “Do you have any place to sleep?” he asks, and they shake their head, which he feels against his chest more than he sees. He really is a lot taller than them, even though they’re pretty average for a human, he thinks.
“I can hear your heart beating,” they say, “since I have my head here.”
They look at up him, and pull away. “I think my parents would let you stay, at least for the night,” he says, and the changeling starts. Ardan doesn’t know why he’s asking, there are bits of that rage that haven’t disappeared yet but he can’t unask it, and he knows for certain now that they have no place to go. They hugged him, a stranger who’s done nothing but be upset at them, after all.
“I don’t know if I could hide, even for them,” the changeling says, still subdued and quiet. They’re still too, and looking straight at him, instead of moving around like a really jumpy waterbug. “Would that be okay?”
“Yes,” Ardan says, not sure if he means it, but his parents have to be okay with it. This is a changeling, after all, someone raised by humans, someone hurting and looking for a place to be free from the fear of having their wings cut off, or something. “Or I’ll make them be okay with it.” He lets out a nervous breath, “I’ll guide you there,” he says, and sticks out his hand for them to take. “I was heading there and cutting through here when you called out to me.”
They grab his hand, and smile at him, still subdued. “I could you see that you were like me,” they say. Ardan begins to leading them in the direction of his house, “and I didn’t know what else to say but comment on the stars,” they say as they follow him. “I haven’t that much time where you can’t see them.”
