hey @nedryn-laughs :3 (there be spoilers under here, but this one has VERY enthusiastic consent!)
“She didn’t cause you too much trouble, did she?” Erik mumbles, so softly that Eleven almost doesn’t catch it. “Mia, I mean. She can be a handful…”
Eleven shakes his head. Mia’s certainly high-spirited, and it can be hard to keep her sticky fingers off of any valuables they don’t want to steal, but her presence has always been welcome, and the two of them in particular had become pretty close once El had found her and Jade. He’d spilled his guts to her one night, about how he thought it was his fault that Jade had been separated from him and from her father, and she’d seemed to understand. Even in her memoryless state over the past few weeks, she seemed to get it, somehow, when he vented about his perceived role in Yggdrasil’s fall.
And, well, now he knows why; she blamed herself for Erik’s condition, too.
“Glad to hear it…” Erik trails off; when Eleven glances at him, his face is a twist of so many emotions that Eleven doesn’t really know what to make of it. “Look, I’m…I’m sorry about what happened in the Gyldenhal. That…wasn’t cool.”
Eleven shrugs. “You weren’t yourself. I know what that’s like, believe me.”
“No, I…it’s not like Mordegon made me do that! I wasn’t not like Grandpa over there, asleep in his own head while Mordegon pulled the strings. He didn’t make me turn Sniflheim to gold, or Mia, for that matter. That was me. I—”
Eleven cuts him off. “Let me guess. He took some little part of you and twisted it, so it clouded your head and made you do some stupid stuff.”
Back in Octagonia, Eleven saw how things could have gone if he wasn’t in the picture, if he had seen through Mordegon’s puppet show, if he had spotted Dave before Yggdrasil’s fall was set in stone…he’d wanted to forget, and forget he did. He understood all too well what Mordegon and his minions are capable of doing to the human mind.
Erik pauses a moment, but nods, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. That.”
“No one blames you,” Eleven tells him, scooting his chair closer to Erik’s bed. “We get it. You were a statue for five years, no one expects you to be completely free of bitterness.”
Erik sighs, apparently having been defeated by Eleven’s nigh-flawless logic. When he finally opens his mouth again, he just mutters, “Yeah, it’s real weird to look at her now. My little sister’s not so little anymore!”
Eleven laughs for the first time since Yggdrasil came crashing down. Something in Erik’s face softens at that, and he murmurs, “You know, I wasn’t lying back there. I saw your face when you first looked at me. And, uh, I’d be lying now if I said I didn’t look at you the same way.”
Oh, goddess, Eleven isn’t prepared for this, either. (Spending eighteen years in constant training with Carnelian—well, Mordegon, technically—didn’t leave much room for romantic exploration of any variety.) His face feels warm, and judging by Erik’s smirk, it’s probably a vibrant red now.
“So, uh,” Erik begins, pushing himself into a seated position on the bed, “can I get a do-over? You know, now that I’m not trying to sway you to the side of darkness or—”
Eleven silences him with a kiss, and even though he has no idea what he’s doing, he knows that this is a far nicer experience for both of them than their kiss inside the Gyldenhal. Erik pulls Eleven into his arms, almost falling backwards from Eleven’s great enthusiasm towards this idea.
The door creaks open, Mia peering through the crack and then immediately slamming it shut once more. Eleven can hear her faintly through the door, grumbling, “Can’t leave them alone for five minutes, can I?”
