Mar 17
-👑 and 👓
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Maldives
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Indonesia
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Indonesia
seen from China
seen from United States
-👑 and 👓
Relationships are fickle matters to Fae. Countless of lips have pressed against his. Different warmths filled his bed. And several hands have held him close. Yet not one was ever truly permanent, not even lasting longer than a week or so.
//suggestive
-👓
It felt as if, there was an insatiable desire, that no one could ever satisfy. Not a single person could fill that empty space Fae considers his heart.
Then again, perhaps it simply couldn't be any ordinary, everyday person.
Fae's been assigned to conduct initial reconnaissance for an upcoming mission. As is his specialty. The location was a well-known bar situated somewhere on the corner of some street he doesn't care enough to know.
It's a mildly enjoyable task, since he gets to meet a few faces here and there, mingling with drunkards and making connections.
Equipped with an audio recorder and a few bills to spend, he subjects himself to a neonlight hell.
"Jeez..." Fae mumbles as he makes his way to the bar, assaulted by the bright orange and swirls of green that emit from the stereos.
See, the only downside to performing recon in busy places like these is the overabundance of sound that causes Fae's synesthesia to go ballistic.
"Hey, 'tender, make me a Manhattan," he says as taps his finger on the varnished wood. Then Fae scans the area.
Cinnabar said it'd be a delicate mission. They'd be escorting a huge pile of cash. Tempting for anyone whose got a firearms license, especially in this side of town.
It's not as if bullets were fatal to them fusions anyway, Cinnabar just wanted a clean exchange, no dirt on his reputation.
There's a couple places an ambush could be set up. Lots of nooks and crannies in this place, he ponders, before turning his attention to the liquor set in front of him.
As he raises the glass to his lips, someone takes the seat beside him.
Hmm?
Blue visors.. and a heavy jacket lined with fur.
And that aura is unmistakably...
"Ginger beer, please," they say.
Fae blinks, setting his glass down without taking a sip.
"Hey, hey," he leans towards the stranger, "you new around here?"
"Hm?" Behind those visors, are stark, pale periwinkle eyes. His expression questioning.
Fae grins, "British accent."
"Oh, I suppose you could say that," he said, then he chuckles, turning fully towards Fae, "P-pardon, I'm..."
Then the casual expression on the fusion's face disappears, "You're..."
"Ah! Shhh," Fae lifts his finger to the other's lips, "there's no fun if we say it, no?"
"..Is that so?"
The drink he ordered, ginger beer, is placed on the counter. Fae downs his own drink, as the other fusions sips his.
"Say.. let's call each other something other than our names tonight," said Fae, watching the mix of colors he sees bathe the fusion
His eyes glimmer in the dim light, "Oh?"
Fae leans in, and places his finger right in the middle of the fusion's chest, "Mm... Pretty boy. Your face is quite adorable. It fits."
Maybe it's the bar's mood lighting, but he swears the fusion flushes deeply.
How cute...
"Aren't you a flirt," laughed the fusion, with a hint of bashfulness.
Fae tilts his head, "I take pride in it."
"What shall I call you then?"
"Oh, anything that comes to mind," smiled Fae, leaning against the counter.
And with that his recon mission is long forgotten.
Only minutes later, he finds himself pressed up against the wall, breaths hot and heavy as the other fusion pulls away.
"You're not bad at all, pretty boy," Fae chuckles breathlessly. He was shorter, overshadowed by the fusion's taller build.
He gently places his gloved hand to Fae's cheek, the satin is smooth, "I aim to impress."
"Oh, well," Fae asserts a little more pressure with his thigh, enjoying the way the other fusion's breath hitches.
"I'll let you know.. I'm quite the overachiever."
[Play Audio Recording?]
> Yes
No
Faint rustling.
"..Shall I have the privilege of knowing your name then?
"It's a secret, you know."
"I'll tell you mine."
"And here I thought you liked being called 'pretty boy'."
"I find that names have value."
"Hmph, fine."
"..."
"It's Aurelius."
"...That sounds beautiful."
"How sweet of you, and yours?"
"Xevias."
"Training area. Very big." Zbelth signs swiftly as they stop before a door, "Free to use."
-👓
Xevias nods, "I see. Thanks."
Zbelth slides the door open and motions for him to enter.
Well, Zbelth certainly wasn't exaggerating when he said "very big".
Xevias steps into the room, met with the buzz of elemental energy in the air. It was divided into different areas, for close-range and long-range training, workouts and what seemed to be a small fighting arena.
Natural light entered the room through skylights in the roof. Split-type air conditioners hummed quietly along the walls, keeping cool air flowing.
The area was empty, save for one fusion.
Zbelth taps his shoulder, prompting Xevias to look back, "Move on?"
He glances back to the fusion leaning against the wall. At his feet were a dozen shredded training dummies.
For a split second, the fusion looks up. Their eyes meet and Xevias feels a strange sense of unease. As if he had gazed into the dark depths of a bottomless ocean. Or perhaps, his own reflection in the mirror.
Blood red eyes... those of a trained killer.
Xevias shakes it off, and turns around.
"Show me more."
Zbelth narrows his eyes slightly, yet doesn't say anything and leaves the room.
Xevias shuts the door behind him.
A few steps away from the training area, Zbelth stops and signs to him.
"That was N-i-c-r-o-m." He spells each letter individually, then he simultaneously taps both his right index and pinkie fingers on his left index finger twice.
"Cigarette?" asks Xevias, it must have been his name sign.
"He smokes," Zbelth clarifies.
Xevias purses his lips, signing,"What fusion?"
"Alacritas-Fotian." Zbelth signs "lightning" and "fire".
Unstable combination by the sound of it. Do I have to worry about him? Xevias ponders. Echo must have sent him here for a purpose after all.
Zbelth then continues with the tour, and Xevias follows after him.
To my beloved Icarias,
(2/2)
-👓
IV. Ever since that day, I visited that mango tree often, hoping to meet him again. And I did. Our idle chatter filled the silence in my life, and lifted my spirit. I loved him so, and thus I swore, “Even after the breath of life leaves us, we will find each other no matter what.”.
Carved marble columns.
Flickering braziers of undying flame.
A fresh, gentle wind.
Donning a thick woolen cloak.
It’s always the same dream, always this place, always these clothes.
Then…
“My Lord?”
A voice says, deep and concerned.
He turns around, a certain name on his tongue.
Yet nothing comes out, and his vision fades before he can see the person who had called him.
Ayer cannot remember anything else besides these.
Even so, each day he wakes up with tears staining his cheeks. His heart plagued with that familiar ache. Dreams should not have these effects, at least, not dreams of things he has never experienced before.
He rises, and carries on with his morning routine.
University thankfully takes his mind off of things, in exchange for giving him stress though. Four projects were due this week, and he took his whole two days of weekends to do them. It pays off, yet he wishes it mattered more.
It’s dismissal time before Ayer even realizes it. He packs his things and takes the bus to the museum. Considerably more punctual than yesterday.
When he arrives, he sees Mr. Xevias talking with another gentleman. This, a more rugged individual with short cut hair and a scowl. At first, it seems that they’re arguing, but judging by Xevias’ relaxed expression and shoulders, it may just be the other man’s resting face.
“Ayer,” Xev’s eyes meet his.
He feels… goosebumps?
“Yes! Good afternoon, Mr—I mean, Xev,” He makes his way to the two, bowing slightly.
“Hello,” smiled Xevias, then he motions to the man beside him, “This is Nicholas, one of our artists specializing in art restoration. He was in charge of restoring that painting in the west wing.”
“Oh! Hello, Mr. Nicholas, it’s an honor to meet you!” Ayer held out his hand, “I adore how you restored that painting, it feels as if it had been painted just a week ago.”
Nicholas stares at him sharply, before shaking Ayer’s hand, “Xevias here told me you showed an interest in it.”
“I figured that you would find it more useful talking to an expert, unlike myself,” Xevias said.
Ayer’s eyes widened. Xevias talked to the restorer himself, simply because Ayer had asked about the painting?
“Oh, it might be a bother, Mr. Nicholas, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
“Eh, it’s fine. I’m not busy today,” was the man’s curt reply.
He looked to Xev, who gazed at him as if to say, Well? Take the opportunity.
“A-alright then!” Ayer straightened. Mr. Xevias took the time out of his day to contact Mr. Nicholas, it would have been a waste if he didn’t take this chance to ask about the painting.
They entered the west wing, where Nicholas chuckled, leaning towards Xevias as they walked, “I thought you disliked the west wing.”
“Who said so?” Xevias replied, raising an eyebrow.
“You, duh.”
“I don’t recall having said such a thing.”
“Pf, well you’re getting old.”
“Pardon me? Who’s getting old?”
“Oh, this painting,” Nicholas said loudly as they stopped in front of the unnamed painting, “Ah, I remember this, it was really faded when we got it.”
Ayer cocked his head, “Where did you recover it from?”
Nicholas frowned, “Where? It was in a private art collection, rotting away in storage.”
“The owner was a man fond of collecting historical art pieces, he wasn’t quite sure what this one was about so he chose to donate it to us instead,” added Xevias.
“Mr. Nicholas, would it be possible that it would have a relation to another artwork?”
The artist made a face, “Er, just call me Nic. And sure, it’s possible.”
“What about the sculpture in the main hall?”
“Hm, by relation, do you mean that the two men in the painting are the same as those sculptured?”
“Aren’t there similarities to it?” Ayer pressed.
“Sure, there are. Physical features such as the hair, and the faces, in a way. The colors are impossible to compare,” Nic shrugged, “But so far, there’s nothing to link these two artworks together.”
“What about who created them?”
“The artist? Well..” Nic glanced to Xevias for a brief moment before clearing his throat.
Xevias stepped forth, “When we dated the artworks, it was revealed that the sculpture was far older than the painting. Hundreds of years older.”
“Ah… There’s… no information, not even literature describing people similar to the men in the painting?” Ayer asked, tone less excited than it had been.
“If there were, it has been long lost to time,” Xevias said solemnly.
“Then, we can never know for sure if the two men are the same?” Ayer frowned,
Nic shook his head.
Ayer smiled dejectedly, “I see… If only we had some kind of… Rosetta Stone-like information to link the two.”
He faced Nic and Xevias, and bowed slightly, “Thank you for entertaining these thoughts of mine. I thought… I thought it would help me figure something out.”
“May I inquire as to what this ‘something’ is?” Xevias questioned, seemingly genuine.
Ayer chuckled nervously, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just dreams.”
It wouldn’t be too appropriate to divulge personal matters to your senior, right? He has no idea why Xev would take interest. Ah, it’s quite embarrassing.
Yet… he strangely appreciates the concern.
“Well,” Nic coughed, “seems minor enough.”
“Yes! I should… probably change into my uniform,” Ayer says, squeezing the straps of his backpack.
“Oh, go ahead,” Xevias backed away.
Ayer smiled at Nic, “Thank you so much again!”
Nic blinks at him, “You’re welcome. If you want, you could always research, you know.”
He then rushes to the lockers, slightly disappointed, yet also… excited?
The origins of the art pieces were still unknown, yet it just adds another layer to the intrigue. It’s weird. Why does it feel like… they would somehow help him in deciphering his dreams? It was unlikely, yet their mysterious history…
Is it possible?
Ayer stares at himself in the mirror, and he sees that blond man from the painting.
Was it arrogant of him to think that they looked similar?
His dreams. They have to mean something, even as outlandish as it may be. Every night, it plays in his mind, like a broken record. It’s trying to tell him something.
“Ha… Ayer, why do you think of the dumbest things?”
He bonks himself on the head a few times, and sighs.
Time to go to work.
Walking through the museum, he sees that Nicholas and Xevias have gone from the west wing. He looks around for a while, hoping to see some glimpse of them, but he doesn’t.
The rest of his shift was alright, one person had asked him where the washrooms are and he gladly directed them. Other than that, he was free to people-watch.
He could probably write a paper on his observations here, the phenomenon of people appreciating art, whether or not they understood what it meant. Some turn away faster than others, some avoid looking at a piece altogether. Was there some psychological reasoning for it? The colors or the subjects perhaps? Were they putting on airs, seeing as it was such a formal place?
Ah, so many choices, so little time to do something not school-related.
When his shift ended, Xevias was still nowhere to be seen. Ayer informed the museum guests of the closing time, and walked around the different wings, west, east and south.
Each time he passed by the center hall, he gazes towards the sculpture. Displayed with spotlights, sitting in the middle of the room. He remembers the conversation with Mr. Nicholas earlier.
Perhaps, if I searched enough, I would finally find an answer. To my dreams. To the recurring two men.
But… what would I find at the end of it?
After making sure everything was still in place, Ayer went to greet the night guards. There were three of them, to cover each wing of the museum.
Ayer stopped by the surveillance room, poking his head in.
"Hello, have you seen Mr. Xevias?" Ayer asked. He usually greeted the night guards… So he would have been here, right?
"Oh! Kid. Yeah, he went over to his office," one of them said, waving his hand.
"Thanks!"
He made his way to the offices. Ayer didn't know much about museum management, aside from Director Echo and Manager Xevias. But there were apparently a lot of staff behind the scenes.
Finally, he finds the door labeled 'floor manager'. He knocks on it gently.
"Come in." A muffled voice came from within, undoubtedly Xev’s.
Ayer opens the door, met with the strong scent of a cologne. He sees Xevias sitting at a desk.
"Oh, Ayer," Xevias stood up, "Going home?"
"Yes, I checked around the museum already."
A small smile wound up on the manager's face, "I see. Good. I'll be going home as well."
"Ah, early tonight?" Ayer asked, a bit surprised.
"Mm, since you've already done the rounds," Xevias said, grabbing his bag that was hanging on the coat rack. Then he looks at Ayer, "Mind walking with me?"
"N-not at all!” Ayer stepped back, “I’ll just get my things.”
He rushed to the locker room, heart pounding.
Walking together?? What for? Was he in trouble or something?
Closing his locker with a clang! He shrugs on his backpack and turns to the door. But as he opens it, he nearly hits Xevias in the face, if the other hadn’t stopped it with his hand.
“Oh, sorry—!”
“It’s fine,” Xevias replies softly, “let’s go?”
Ayer gives a bashful smile, “Let’s.”
V. There came a day, that a new, tiny mango sapling began to take root. At this stage, it would take five to eight years for it to bear its own fruit. Nevertheless, it would be well taken care of. After all, trees like these are precious.
“Ah, it’s cold,” Ayer rubbed his hands together, “the snow’s gotten stronger.”
“It’s midwinter,” said Xev, holding out a hand. It seemed as if he wasn’t bothered at all by the cold, despite his breath being visible, “you… take the bus, right?”
Ayer shivers, “I do.”
Xevias then gestured forward, to which Ayer began walking to the bus stop a few ways off.
They both kept a steady pace, he feels as if Xevias has slowed down for his sake, considering how fast he usually walks inside the museum.
“You have… something,” Xev said quite suddenly, “on the back of your neck.”
“Huh?” Ayer instinctively brought his hand to the back of his neck. He felt nothing, only his bare skin.
“I mean, is that a tattoo? Or?”
Oh, he means my birthmark.
“Ah, it’s not. Don’t worry… I’m not that bold,” Ayer said, “it’s a birthmark. It’s been there ever since.”
Xevias stares as they walk, “Ah, I see… I was just wondering.”
“I’ve had people ask me that too. My teacher even asked my parents to make sure it wasn’t a tattoo,” he lets out a laugh, “it’s gotten me into more trouble than it’s worth.”
“It does seem… unnatural,” said Xevias, “I mean no offense.”
“None taken.” He was right, it was really odd for a birthmark. It was shaped like a triangle, not at all the usual abstract birthmarks others have. Ayer’s gotten into the habit of covering it up with the hood of his jacket.
Ahead, he saw the bus taillights through the snow fall. It was heavier than the weather station predicted it to be.
Xevias reaches the door first but waits for him. The sight makes him feel… warmer?
Ayer avoids his eyes and hops up onto the bus, taking a seat beside the window in the fourth row. Xevias follows and sits beside him. Then he’s struck with realization.
“Oh! The fare, I forgot—”
“I paid for it,” Xev replied as he looked through his bag.
Ayer stared, “But—”
“It’s just a few dollars, it’s no harm,” reassured Xevias. He pulls out a flip phone from the depths of his bag, opening it with his thumb.
“Is…” Ayer trails off as Xevias looks to him.
“Hmm?”
“Oh, nothing…”
Xev raises an eyebrow, and Ayer looks away, embarrassed.
“You can tell me.”
Why do I feel compelled to talk??? This guy’s effect is… beyond anything.
Ayer cleared his throat, “You… you have a flip phone.”
Xev looks at him as if it wasn’t unusual at all.
“Flip phones… They’re pretty old, right?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Xev blinks, his tone a bit confused, “however, they still get the job done. Phones today are… too much. It’s all these ‘app’ things.” His voice is softer at the end, his expression almost sheepish.
Ayer gazes at him, then laughs.
Despite his intimidating stature and speech, Xev uses… a flip phone.
And it looks cute..?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh!” Ayer covers his mouth, resisting a giggle at Xev’s bright, wide eyes.
“That’s funny, huh?” Xev says, but he doesn’t sound offended at all. In fact… was that red on his cheeks?
“I just didn’t expect it from you,” he replied.
Xev gives him an inquisitive look, “Then, what did you expect?”
Ayer pauses, “I guess.. I don’t really know.”
The older man chuckles softly, “I see.”
They lapse into silence. Ayer’s stop is still half an hour away, give or take, so he makes himself comfortable. Sinking into the stiff bus chair with his bag on his lap, he looks out the window. A dark landscape, snowflakes fluttering by, his reflection in the glass.
Suddenly, he sees someone else, and the hairs on the back of his arms raise.
“About earlier.”
Xev’s voice pulls him away from the window.
Ayer turned in his seat, “Earlier?”
“You said something about having dreams,” Xevias elaborated, “pardon my curiosity, but what were they about? You thought that the sculpture and the painting were related to these dreams of yours.”
He pursed his lips, slow to answer, “Ah, it’s just… I dream that I’m in some… temple? I can’t really remember anything except pillars and braziers along the wall. And somebody calls me… ‘My Lord’? Or at least, I think it’s me they’re calling. Yet when I try and turn around… I always wake up.”
Xev’s brows knit together, “That’s certainly a strange dream.”
“Right?” Ayer sighed, “I don’t know… I even enrolled as a Psych student just to figure out what it might mean. But… I don’t think it’s explainable even by science. I think it’s… beyond that.”
“Beyond science?” Xevias repeated, “You mean… myths?”
Ayer scratched the back of his head, “It’s silly, isn’t it? Maybe it’s all just a meaningless, wild-goose chase.”
“I don’t think so.”
“..Huh?”
His eyes meet Xevias’, his expression was serious, “Perhaps, you just haven’t looked in the right places for answers.”
Then he takes out a book from his bag.
Xev hands it to Ayer.
“You’re right. It’s beyond science. But it’s not beyond you.”
Baffled, he takes the book.
The man beside him smiles fondly, “Let’s meet again, when the snow has melted.”
And the next second, Xevias is gone.
“W-wait!”
Ayer stands up immediately and looks around the bus. Yet all he sees are other passengers, some looking down at their phones and others half-asleep. A few are looking at him as if he’s deranged.
“S-sorry…” he said before sitting back down.
Where in the world did he go? He was just here a moment ago??!
Ayer look under the seats, but only sees gross wads of chewing gum stuck to the undersides. He looks around again, just to make sure Xevias really wasn’t on the bus anymore.
Was I… hallucinating?
No… the book was still here.
He stares at the book Xevias had left in his hands. Its outside was unassuming, plain worn leather. Engraved in gold lettering in the top-center of it was ‘The History of Mango Trees’.
How was a book on a fruit tree supposed to help him…?
Ayer turns the cover, and finds a dedication handwritten on the first page.
‘To my Beloved Icarias’.
That night, Ayer’s dream was different. He dreamt of viridian leaves, a clouded sky, and cold, familiar hands.
VI. Mango trees can live up to 300 years, and still, they can bear fruit. They can very well outlive humanity, becoming remnants of a bygone time. At least, that tree on the hill would never be lonely even as decades pass.
“You’re ready, right?”
Nic appeared beside him, his arms crossed.
“...I think so,” Xev admits, looking to his old friend, “Do you think I am?”
Nic shrugged, “I think you are. After all, all those years of waiting, you have to be, right?”
Xev remains silent, turning to the view outside.
Indeed… it has been so long. He remembers when this place was naught but a humble village. Far from the bustling city it is today. So many things have changed, and here Xev was, immovable, timeless. He watched over everyone as his beloved had asked of him. Was it enough? He doesn’t know, but nonetheless, he has done his best.
Am I ready? The question lingers on his mind, What will I say to him? Will he remember?
“Don’t be so negative now,” Nic raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never met a stronger person than you. He’ll be proud.”
Xev laughs, “Since when were you a ray of sunshine, Nic?”
The other scoffs, “Excuse me for trying to cheer you up then.”
He smiles, and walks away. Nic follows wordlessly behind him. They enter the west wing of the museum.
…Am I ready?
Xev stares at the painting before him, of him and Ayer.
Ah, it is beautiful. He is beautiful.
“You really did well restoring this one,” Xev said, his voice barely a whisper. He remembers the time as if it were yesterday.
Beneath the branches of the mango tree, they enjoyed each other’s company. Those days of peace and tranquility that were so few, compared to the years he’s lived, the wars he’s fought over the centuries of human history.
My last war… perhaps, it is finally over.
“Hmph, I have to give credit where credit is due,” Nic elbowed him, “this is the best painting you’ve done. I’m surprised you’d donate it.”
Xev smiled at him, “...I’ve no need for it when I have the real thing.”
“X-Xev!”
A voice rang out through the museum, the sound of frantic footsteps on marble echoed.
He turns and meets wide, cerulean eyes. Within them lies recognition and familiarity, that look he’s been waiting to see.
“You… you’re..” Ayer stammers, voice choking, “you’re him, aren’t you?”
He stumbles into the warm light, “You’re Icarias.”
Xevias smiles so wide, he feels as though his face would split. His heart beating faster than it has ever before.
Slowly, he kneels, still gazing at Ayer softly.
I would not dare take my eyes off you again.
He gently takes the hand of his beloved, and presses it to his lips.
“I am, my Lord.”
Signed, Ayer