#me buried too deep in a hellish canon of my own making: but he never left | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orangebatsanctuary · 8 years

Photo

Get ready to mind-blown!

Saxifrage

by paperballoon

Heavenly & Hellish is quite a drastic theme, but no matter how ‘hellish’ this fic is about to be, I can guarantee with the OrangeBat divinity that you will head over heels with the ‘heavenly’ part, enormously!

Find your salvation here.

click ‘Keep reading’ below and read the Author’s Note first for warning.

***Please wait a while for reading on OrangeBat-Sanctuary website, due to some technical problem occurred. I could only post on Tumblr at the moment, and soon the authors will post on AO3***

Heavenly Reading!

Love,

Rosiel

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Warning: this fic contains contents that could potentially be disturbing, though those contents are never exactly stated or described, so proceed with caution. Please read the tags! All of them!

This fic is yet another experiment with Slaine’s POV. This means that there are huge plot holes I tried to find a normal way to explain, but since the story is solely focused on Orangebat and not the Vers-Earth politics and diplomacy, I hope you can ignore them.

Also, some parts of this fic were inspired by: an amazing 1994 movie which name I won’t reveal since I will terribly spoil those you haven’t seen it (but the rest, I am sure, will soon know which movie I’m talking about), a plot from another famous mecha anime, AND the amazing discussions with everyone in the Blue Roses Network, especially TururaJ and Ambyrfire and hakumei_hogosha, who helped me out with many scenes in this fic.

Again, a HUGE thanks to hakumei_hogosha for their wonderful help formatting this little monster, and also helping me unstuck and proceed with the fic while having great (AZ) discussions.

Last but not least, I want to thank Rosiel_AZ for organizing this amazing event, and giving me the opportunity to take part in it. Thank you so, so much for everything you have done for the AZ fandom.

And as a very last thing, this fanfic contains poetry lines from William Carlos Williams. I do not own those parts I used. No copyright infringement intended.

TAGS / Warnings: Post-canon, angst, romance, sexual content, non-consensual elements, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, brief mentions of mental illness, vague mentions of torture, lots of stuff remains vague and unmentioned and so it will stay, disability, brief descriptions of violence and blood, chronic pain, also: dancing (?) and a puppy

Saxifrage by paperballoon

18+

∞

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo— If I cannot bend the will of heaven, I shall move hell

Earth, 2019

“A new warden will soon be appointed to this facility.” A voice says. Slaine needs some time to recognize the person talking to him across the metallic, cold table he is currently sitting. The person with the black eyepatch and dark blue jacket.

Slaine takes his time. His thoughts seem so grey and tired today. The small black and white squares in front of him make his eyes hurt; his head hurts, as he is trying to remember what exactly is happening in his life.

A name surfaces: Kaizuka Inaho.

He is an important person to me, isn’t he? This…Kaizuka Inaho.

“The new warden will arrive tomorrow.”

First, I’ll have to find her Highness.

“So I expect your cooperation…” A pause. “Troyard?”

No. No cooperation yet. I’ll have to warn her Highness. Who will protect her if I’m gone? Who will ensure that the temperature in her garden will stay constant? The flowers shouldn’t die. The trees must grow taller like on Earth—no, no. Only destruction is awaiting Earth. Kaizuka, too. I must destroy Kaizuka Inaho. Like he destroyed me.

“Slaine Troyard. You are not listening.”

Slaine’s eyes form slits. I must remember who this is.

“You are obviously not feeling well again today…”

His face is showing no expressions, but his mouth is twisted…he is hurting. So many years…everyone, hurting for my sake. Her Highness…always hurting for my sake.

Slaine swallows down the sudden acidic taste in his mouth, and his throat burns. “How many years…has it been…?” His voice is hoarse and broken. Whether from hours of screaming or years of silence, Slaine cannot remember.

“…It’s been three years, Slaine Troyard.”

The door opens and Slaine jerks. A guard speaks. The door closes.

Slaine feels warmth. He looks down, there is a hand barely touching his, there are two hands now on the gray table, his own and…and…

His fingers curl around Inaho’s. Inaho’s eye widens.

Ah. I’ve found you, Orange.

Inaho’s hand is so warm.

Slaine withdraws his hand and murmurs,

“Yes…three years. I forgot. The Warden has patiently explained to me many times…”

“The warden will be dismissed, as he abused his power. As I said, his replacement will soon arrive. Slaine Troyard, you need to enlighten me on the incidents that occurred between you and the warden from December 16, 2016 until June 25, 2019—“

“I don’t remember.” Slaine whispers. He doesn’t exactly understand why, but the words leave his mouth, even if they feel twisted, even if they somehow feel —forced on him. (The Warden has visited his cell many times, that he remembers. Slaine can’t remember if he bowed his head and obeyed the orders or not.)

“You must tell me what you know.”

Slaine stays silent.

“Troyard…The man is gone. I personally took care of it.”

Silence.

“Never again will you be forced to—”

Blurry memories surface. They aren’t enough to provoke emotion, but they are enough for Slaine to slowly realize, eyes widening: “Don’t.”

“Do you remember now?”

“Yes.” Slaine whispers, “I am in hell.”

Inaho’s silence fails to give Slaine that wild, addictive satisfaction that (now he remembers) it once did.

“And you will never be able change that, Kaizuka Inaho.”

“…We’ll see about that.” Inaho whispers. It is the first time Slaine hears him whisper in such a way. He is usually exasperatingly confident, that Orange. But Slaine doesn’t want to curl his fingers around Inaho’s throat and count the seconds until it’s over, not anymore. He finds himself unable to care any longer about his once blazing hatred for Kaizuka Inaho.

Kaizuka is talking, but Slaine keeps staring at the blue color of his uniform pants. It reminds him of the sky, and of the multitude of birds flying in their blissful freedom towards every corner of the Earth. And all of that reminds him, her Highness will watch the birds with him one day, after she is free. So he needs to be ready for that day. He needs to keep trying to clear that sick, putrid fog off his mind. Perhaps he should stop taking all five pills—he should find a way to stop the guards from forcing them down his throat each morning, and soon. He becomes lost in memories of a happy past, until he notices that there is someone else in the room.

“…oyard?”

Slaine lifts his head. There is a young man sitting opposite of him, wearing a black eyepatch and a blue jacket. Slaine blinks, because something buried deep, very deep inside shudders painfully when their gazes meet.

The young man with the eyepatch is staring at him in a way that makes Slaine believe that person is in pain.

His face is showing no emotions…but his mouth is twisted. He seems to be hurting.

Slaine narrows his eyes and tries to focus.

I must remember who this is.

Slaine’s eyes snap open. He is awake now, swallowing gulps of air, his lungs burning. Still lost in the haze of the nightmare, Slaine grasps his pendant and lets out a low, pained whine, his shirt and thin sheets drenched with his sweat.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, to no one in particular.

The sound reaches the dark corners of his small cell, making the air stale. During the last few days, he has found the way to avoid consuming the pills; he forces himself to empty the contents of his stomach into the small sink of his cell each time the guards leave him alone. And despite the livid dreams and sometimes distracting thoughts, he has made progress, and bits of his crushed memory keep returning day by day.

He has learned to use his dreams and his drug-induced thoughts in order to ensure he keeps remembering things correctly. Talking aloud helps, too. “The person who keeps visiting every day…he is Kaizuka Inaho.” Slaine leans his body against the cold concrete of the wall, closing his eyes.

A memory flashes though his mind; at least, he hopes it is a memory and not another broken fragment of his imagination. He concentrates on it, on the weak neon light falling on Kaizuka’s expressionless face, as Kaizuka’s sad mouth opened and he spoke, as if reciting aloud from a text: ‘Perhaps you might not remember this, later…but I promise you, Slaine Troyard: things will never be this bad again.’

“That’s what Kaizuka said.” He stops his whispering, fingers now buried into his knotted hair, nails breaking into the skin. His head feels like splitting open from the pain. “The Warden—his sick games—I’m so tired of them—”

Slaine whimpers. His head is hammering with pain, making him feel weak and sick. His knees give away, and his back sweeps the wall as he sits on the chilly floor. He knows what his half-drugged brain is trying to remember; just under his sink runs the large sewer pipe which drains the water and excrements of the whole prison. Slaine knows because in rainy days, a smell so thick and unpleasant fills his cell, his head starts hurting.

The proximity of the pipeline makes it accessible. The walls of his cell are indestructible, but that doesn’t apply to the floor—most of the tiles are cracked, the materials under them moldy and easily to dig through after three years of fluids constantly leaking out of the pipeline. In a night with a thunderstorm, Slaine will wait for a power failure. The red light over the small camera in his cell will stop blinking at him—such a thing happened before, and the camera didn’t record his movements for half the night until the system was back online. Slaine shall use the opportunity to smash the old sink with the metal from his cot, break the already cracked floor tiles, dig with his hands through the molded materials, smash the pipeline with the sink, crawl through it and reach the sea.

His plan is impossible, full of flaws. He is malnourished and sick. He might drown, get caught. The pipeline might flood, or it might not lead to the sea, condemning Slaine to a cold, filthy death. Slaine might die, but he refuses to give up—he needs to find her Highness. And he needs to free her from whatever prison the UFE is holding her, no matter the cost.

And he must do this soon, because the Warden is leaving, and Slaine soon won’t have that protection against the guards any more, and he knows he won’t be able to survive much longer if, in the end, it comes down to him alone against fifteen, twenty people.

The door opens.

From his kneeling position, Slaine can’t see the Warden’s face, but he has come to know very well what happens next.

A few months later, he succeeds.

Slaine almost drowns under the sea, but after crawling like a wounded animal through the beach and the mud, he manages to find a road. There is asphalt now under his feet and this makes things easier, so Slaine keeps limping and dragging himself as far away from the Warden and the guards as possible. The thunderstorm is one of the worst he has ever experienced; the cracking, rumbling noises, the angry wind, the rain falling furiously, making everything blurry, impossible to tell apart.

Slaine has lost his blue shoes and shirt, the latter tore somewhere near the end of his crawling through the pipeline. Somewhere in his delirious mind he can still recognize the familiar weight of the pendant, hanging secure around his neck. He keeps going on and on for seconds, minutes, hours; crawling, limping across the road. Despite the icy water cascading and drenching him to the bone, he is still crusted and filthy in places, the smell nauseating him, or perhaps it’s the caked blood on his lips—but all stops bothering him the moment two rays of light move toward him in a terrifying speed—like a rabbit spotted by its predator, Slaine freezes and whimpers and thinks that this is it, this is where all suffering ends—until the screaming sound of abused breaks resonates around him, and the next thing he knows, a car door opens and closes, and Kaizuka Inaho is standing a few steps ahead of him, his blue jacket almost black, drenched in the rain, hair wet and plastered on his forehead. Slaine stands up from his crouched position, detaching his hands from his head and lowering them, slowly. Slaine gulps for air. The abused muscle of his heart is beating frantically, spreading dark spots across his vision.

Slaine knows what he must look like—baring his teeth at Inaho, battered and bruised from the very last visit of the guards, his scars exposed, his protruding ribs covered in filth. Merely the shivering carcass of a human being.

All those years, Kaizuka has never, ever let his emotions distort his impassive features. It’s almost terrifying to see Kaizuka lose that control, and openly display, even if it’s for a few seconds, a face so disturbed, Slaine momentarily thinks Kaizuka Inaho has lost his mind, too.

It is Inaho’s motion (perhaps reaching for his gun) that makes Slaine’s mind scream at him to attack. He is faster than Inaho and mad with pain and rage; it is the only reason he manages to grab Inaho’s gun first (Inaho was not holding it, why?) and throw him down on the wet asphalt.

Kaizuka slowly stands up, always showing Slaine his hands. He is the first to speak. “Slaine Troyard…what is that smell?”

Slaine is still disoriented and out of breath, so it takes him a few moments to cough and answer, hoarsely, “I crawled through the sewer pipe to get out.”

Inaho’s answer is weird, “Did you injure your leg before or after crawling out?”

My leg… Slaine notices the large red gash on his right leg. He frowns, “I don’t remember—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “This is unhygienic and dangerous. We must disinfect your wounds immediately—“

“Shut up!” Inaho stops talking, the gun always in Slaine’s hand. Despair and loathing so intense fill Slaine, he has trouble whispering the next words, “Where is her Highness.”

“…I believe she is currently visiting the UFE Headquarters in Russia.”

“Russia?”

Kaizuka says then, carefully, “Princess Asseylum is dividing her time between Earth and Vers...helping people in need.”

Slaine tries, he really tries not to scream in frustration and be patient with Kaizuka’s depraved schemes. “Where is the UFE keeping her? Tell me the location of her prison. She wasn’t held with me—I would’ve known, otherwise.”

“…She is not, or was ever, imprisoned—“

“This is your last warning, Kaizuka Inaho.”

“Enough. Put this gun down, or you’ll eventually hurt yourself.”

“Orange!” Slaine is so angry, his hand can’t stop trembling, his head feels like exploding into a million pieces. He levels the gun to Inaho’s eye, shaking his head, “Where is the UFE keeping her?!”

“…I can show you.”

Staying on guard, Slaine observes as Kaizuka takes out his tablet. With Slaine watching his every move, Inaho shows Slaine a live news video of her Highness addressing the people of Earth, smiling at Klancain…the gulls are flying towards the horizon of the sea…

The rain keeps pouring down, falling into Slaine’s eyes, into his open mouth, drenching him until he cannot longer feel the iciness of his own skin. Slaine tries to gulp down all the new information, even if he misses half of it, his eyes following every single detail of her Highness’ figure. In that hellish place, the thought of being able to see her just one more time was all that kept him alive. In the video, her gaze is following the birds; she seems so happy. More beautiful and graceful than ever before. Without thinking, Slaine reaches out, his fingers touching her face on the screen…but he forgot about the path he took while escaping prison, so he smears her face with the filth trapped under his fingernails, and Slaine almost sobs.

“Troyard—“

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” He screams, thunder cracking angry above their heads. He means it—he knows that the only thing stopping him from pulling the trigger is the thought that he needs information, he needs to know the truth, he needs to remember the catastrophe that he obviously has forgotten.

Inaho starts explaining, but it confuses Slaine even more. His mind frantically tries to understand— he is dead to the world, he is accused of starting the war, of killing and lying and betraying, he is a million evil things and Slaine can accept that, he can accept anything, but: “Assassinate her? I never—I would never lay a finger on her…”

And then Kaizuka starts talking again, how she asked Kaizuka to save him from his misery, and Slaine wishes he could shut Kaizuka up with a bullet, because there is no way that everything he is saying is true.

Inaho is silent now.

“Is this…another one of his schemes?”

“…I didn’t say anything.”

Slaine grimaces. “I’m not talking to you.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “Slaine Troyard, are you…hallucinating?”

The rain has long washed away his tears. “The medication…no, I mostly have it under control now.” He talks his thoughts out loud in order to reassure himself, not Kaizuka.

“Since when has this been going on?”

“As if you ever cared.”

“Slaine Troyard, listen to me. If you get caught, the punishment—“

Shut up. “I hate you. I hate you so much, it makes me sick.”

“I know.” Slowly, Inaho takes off his jacket, then reaches inside his pocket to take something out—

Slaine makes a low, strangled noise. Kaizuka’s red eye is fixed on him and Slaine braces himself. He knows very well the humiliating pain that follows—Slaine groans aloud, clutching at his head, because this all feels wrong somehow, because Kaizuka never hurt him inside that building, Kaizuka never—he can only stare wide eyed as Kaizuka places his jacket and the object from his pocket on the ground, then takes a step backwards.

“Here.”

Slaine blinks, returning to the present.

“You need to wear something, or you’ll catch pneumonia. And you must eat.”

It’s a fruit sandwich, secured in a plastic package.

Slaine doesn’t accept Inaho’s jacket, but the sight of real food makes his mouth salivate so much, it starts dripping down his chin. Before he knows it, he kneels and tries to tear the package with his mouth and one hand, always pointing the gun at Inaho with the other—but he is simply too weak and too soaked and cold to hold his hand steady and tear the damned package. Slaine laughs bitterly, somehow finding the situation ridiculous.

“Open the package. Open it!”

Inaho does so, then steps back.

Slaine approaches the food, still pointing his gun at Inaho, then grabs it with one hand, frantically shoving it into his mouth and taking his first bite—after three years of intravenous feeding and rotten-vegetable soups, his taste buds explode, the fruits are sour and burning his tongue and he coughs, his lungs hurting from it, tears filling his eyes again. He must be whimpering, but he barely registers the sound over Inaho’s voice,

“Slower.”

“What?” He grumbles.

“Eat slower, or you’ll choke.”

“And what’s it to you, if I die?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Why? Many would benefit from my death.”

Kaizuka’s mouth is a thin line. “Her Highness…she wishes for your happiness, too.”

“Happiness?” Slaine shakes his head, fuming, “The warden and the guards—you’re saying I tolerated their—their sick games all those years—”Slaine laughs, loud and bitter, it is so ridiculous, “While everyone wished for my happiness?!”

“What,” Kaizuka’s face loses all of his color, “do you mean, the guards—“

Slaine snarls, “You’re a liar, Kaizuka, you’re a liar. You promised—that things would never be this bad again—you promised!!”

Inaho makes an expression, it’s as if he was hit by a bullet, he’s in pain, and Slaine wonders for a moment if he really pulled the trigger, but then Inaho calms his features and says, “I thought—no, I was too blind to see—“

“Shut up, just shut up.” Slaine keeps murmuring it, nursing the bitter words under his tongue.

It takes Kaizuka’s shouting to bring him out of his stupor. When Slaine looks at him, Inaho is still shouting things like, “Slaine Troyard!” and, “Slaine Troyard, listen to me!”

He stares at Inaho.

“I want to help you.” Inaho says, voice calm now, the calmest Slaine has ever heard in his life. “And I will do anything in order to achieve that.” Kaizuka’s hands tighten into fists, “Hear me out, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine is just starring at Inaho. A lightning bolt above them splits the dark sky in two.

Kaizuka’s mouth drops at the edges in a single moment of unmasked desolation, and then he says, “Eat. And after that, I can—”

“You have no right to command me.”

“And after that, I will disinfect your wounds and cook a proper meal for you. What kind would you prefer?”

“What?”

“Food, Slaine Troyard. Meat, rice, fish, eggs…I will cook for you any kind of meal you wish me to. Anything you wish.”

He never expected such a move. Slaine swallows. The food burns his throat and his eyes fill with tears, mixing with the heavy rain, because no one has spoken in such a way to him before, and it is simply cruel to have Kaizuka Inaho be the first human being saying such a thing to him. He growls, baring his teeth. He is tired of Kaizuka’s games, so he just keeps devouring the sandwich, gun always pointed at Inaho, still not ready to listen to his instincts and kill him.

He must seem completely deranged and disgusting to Kaizuka, covered in filth, pushing the food down his throat as if he’s a feral animal. But Kaizuka keeps staring at him without betraying anything about his thoughts, almost patiently, staying immovable as a statue, despite the howling wind and the thunderstorm ragging around them.

He doesn’t know why. He really doesn’t.

But Slaine takes a step back, and then another, still not putting that fated bullet through Inaho’s right eye. Inaho realizes what Slaine is doing, and his eye widens—but Slaine screams at him to stay where he is, so Inaho reluctantly obeys.

When Slaine breaks into a run, gun still in his hand, he is certain that Inaho is chasing after him. They run and run through the storm, Kaizuka never manages to reach him.

It is then that Slaine spots the ruined house.

He steps inside, observing that the door and a wall have crumbled down to nothing, perhaps due to a Martian attack, years ago. The ceiling is full of holes and beams that keep creaking under the assault of the wind and rain, leaking into the construction.

Slaine swears he can hear Inaho shouting his name. Inaho’s voice is covered by the occasional rumbling of thunder, so loud that Slaine thinks the Earth is shaking under his feet—or it is just that he is exhausted, as he realizes when his world sickly tilts to the side and his body collides with the cold floor tiles, the sharp edges of small stones digging into his naked back.

Shivering from the cold and hiding from Inaho, Slaine lies under the broken roof of the dark, stone-walled building, observing the paintings on the walls in his effort not to pass out. He is too disoriented to understand what kind of house he is in. Despite its small size, it is heavily decorated. There are so many paintings and other works of art—perhaps the owners were unable to secure them when they abandoned the place under the Martian attacks.

A lightning bolt slashes through the skies, illuminating the room for a few seconds, and Slaine whimpers; the wide, disturbed eyes of a madman are looking right at him, the man is reaching out an arm—Slaine’s scream dies in his throat when another lighting cracks the darkness and Slaine realizes that that an angel’s spear is sinking into the demon’s head, painting one side of the creature’s face dark red. It is just an old, molded painting.

He can only think of how expressionless, how devoid of emotions the angel’s face is while he skewers the demon, until the agony and turmoil of the last few hours catch up on him, and Slaine’s vision turns black as he passes out, half-naked and sprawled and shivering on the cold floor.

∞

ii.

Non est ad astra mollis e terris via— There is no easy way from the earth to the stars

Vers, 2027

His leg has been bothering him all of these years. Slaine knew, the few nights he stayed in that abandoned house after he crawled though endless filth towards his freedom, that his infected leg would be a problem one day, since it never had the chance to heal fully.

Kaizuka Inaho, once again, has been right.

Slaine is standing on a platform delivering a speech to the citizens of Vers—and citizens of Earth among them, of course. Many took the opportunity to flee the continent the UFE controls and resettle in a free, receptive and technologically advanced society. The New Vers Empire is currently controlling four of Earth’s continents, the entire planet of Vers, the remains of the Moon, the ten space stations on Vers orbit, even some parts of a newly discovered planet, since the use of Aldnoah technology enabled humanity to make underground parts of the planet habitable, therefore providing more territory and resources to the citizens of the Empire. Slaine, the Emperor, is currently explaining the colonization of new planets to the thousands of exhilarated people gathered in Vers’ capital.

At one moment, however, as he approaches the edge of the platform in order to answer a question from a woman in the audience, a package left in the wrong place causes him to trip. He falls off the platform, and the leg is broken.

His guards calm the crowds down, Slaine’s speech is canceled. The pain is unbearable. The leg develops a severe bacterial infection which spreads within a few hours, and despite the Empire’s advanced medicine and the doctors’ desperate treatments, the skin and nerves of his right leg are permanently damaged, despite the soft tissues’ partial removal.

Slaine has to choose between using a cane or an exoskeleton. When the doctors announce their diagnosis to him, Slaine feels like laughing aloud at the irony—it’s not the pain that bothers him, he has experienced enough in his life to know how to handle it. No, even after fourteen years, he is more afraid of the cane than his permanent limp and increased scars. And the exoskeleton reminds him too much of Lemrina and her death during the Third Interplanetary War, where her aircraft was destroyed in what the UFE described as ‘collateral damage’. So he chooses the cane, and is left amused by the games fate keeps playing with him.

Sometimes, he looks back and has difficulty believing he is the same person that hated Kaizuka Inaho with all his soul, while obeying every whim of his jailers, wanting to free a jailed Princess who was never even imprisoned in the first place.

After staying and nearly dying in that forgotten house, Slaine survived by eating plants and the contents of expired cans, until he could stand on his own and hobble away, still suffering from the aftereffects of the withdrawal from the prison’s pills.

In the nights, lying at the side of a road, waiting for his dark sleep, Slaine wished and wished; he wished that Inaho had pulled the trigger first, wished the bullet took his own eye; he wished that Inaho’s shot was on target in the Moon Base, wished that Inaho never reached for his hand, falling towards Earth. He wished for the echo of a shot on that dark night on the beach, his own body hitting the sand, and the last sight he would ever see as his blood soaked the stones would be the millions of shimmering stars in the black skies above.

Surviving seemed like the best punishment, so he endured it. He stole clothes, disguised himself, avoided all surveillance cameras while wandering from village to village. He worked on the fields, performing hard manual labor every single day. The villagers avoided him, since he sometimes kept talking to himself—he still wasn’t able to control himself each time he was upset or afraid.

One day, a pirated broadcast announced to the world that Slaine Troyard was indeed alive, and that he had escaped prison three months ago. Truths were revealed. Slaine was soon recognized. They dragged him to the village square, the mob being cruel and unforgiving. Slaine was certain, for another time in his life, that this was the end. But he was then arrested by the UFE and drugged, only for the vehicle carrying him to be attacked, and in the end he woke up in an aircraft and Lermina’s careful arms, who started sobbing like a child while telling him that Harklight and Barouhcruz and so many others died in their effort to rescue him.

His time in the UFE prison and under the warden’s ‘care’ was a precious lesson; he learned to never repeat his mistakes, and he swore to never let anyone order him around again, be it Martian or Terran. He supposed that the UFE’s medication had done its part at this; sometimes, he would find himself starting plans and then analyzing them as if another person came up with the ideas; he became emotionally distant, and simply woke up each day because of old promises he remembered and now needed to fulfill. But it was almost permanent: after that nightmarish night he escaped prison, after the encounter with Kaizuka, his emotions began to dry out and wither like doomed flowers blooming in the dessert.

In the next few months, he and Lemrina grew close, the social gap between them long gone, though he never allowed her to perceive his scars, or the night terrors his years in prison left him with. Lemrina wanted to sleep with him, give him children, heirs and heiresses for a new Empire, but Slaine knew he was now forever unfit to be a father, or a lover, or even anyone’s friend—and, that new, strange part of him kept whispering, never a servant again. But it wasn’t her fault, and he explained that to her, even if she constantly kept trying to change his mind.

Surprisingly, the nights he woke up disturbed from his nightmares, Slaine kept thinking of Kaizuka in order to calm down: Kaizuka’s shocked expression when he first saw him in the thunderstorm, Kaizuka screaming his name while searching for him during that hellish night; Kaizuka’s soft voice, offering to cook for him anything Slaine wished.

The first six months after his escape, Slaine was hiding with Lemrina in an abandoned corner of the Earth, the surviving members of the Stygis squadron providing them with food and safety. He reached an acceptable weight, and he could climb a staircase without wincing from the pain. His leg was better than ever before. But aside from his emotions, something else had died inside after those three years in that prison; his love for protecting what he holds dear, perhaps, or his once relentless ability to always smile despite the pain.

His actions after that completed his transformation into that being from hell, the screaming demon of the large painting he kept observing each minute of his stay in that broken house. Using Lemrina’s Aldnoah activation factor, he stole Kataphrakts, he negotiated with Counts and falsely promised them more riches if he was to become Emperor, lying, deceiving, betraying once again. He then literally barged with the rest of the Stygis Squadron into Asseylum’s chambers and took her hostage.

She was surprised and angry, then hid in cover behind her fiancé. Klancain shot at him, but Slaine did not even flinch when the bullet caught his shoulder. He did not hesitate, this time, and he could see it in Klancain’s eyes; the man was afraid of him. Klancain was arrested, and in a single night, Slaine took the throne for himself.

In prison, the only thing Slaine was allowed to do was read history books and play chess with Kaizuka. He learnt much from the battlefields and politics of the past, which he quickly put into use. Within a few weeks, four of Earth’s continents were under Martian rule. He never met Inaho on the battlefield; he never wished for it, either. And on the second to last battle, he lost Lemrina. Slaine was adamant about one thing, however; the Orbital Knights were forbidden from killing both Terran soldiers and civilians. His objective this time wasn’t destruction, but invasion and assimilation.

After Lemrina’s death, Slaine discovered that, during his three years in prison, she and Harklight and a couple of Vers scientists who supported them had discovered a way of transforming the power of Aldnoah into a new energy, which could be stored into huge battery compartments, hidden in the old Moon Base. The system was designed so that it could respond only to his DNA; the Aldnoah factor of the royal family was not needed for activating the compartments. Only Slaine could activate them and harvest the stored power of Aldnoah.

When Slaine first discovered those plans, when he walked alone into the ruins of the Moon Base, only to find endless roads of metal and cables and machines, everything transformed into the largest energy source human civilization ever made, his heart missed a beat in his chest. According to his calculations, those ‘batteries’ have enough power to provide both electricity and the power of Aldnoah for the needs of trillions of people, lasting at least five hundred years.

As the new Emperor and single wielder of endless sources of power, Slaine abolished Vers’ military uniforms and autocratic code of dressing, he created laws, and a constitution, he planned the ways his Empire could later become a democracy. He changed the Versian education, introducing literature and arts, culture from Earth, flowers, trees, even small animals, which previously both the lower and upper classes of Vers considered insanitary to be near. The Counts lost all their privileges—the structure of Vers’ society started to resemble that of Earth’s.

With the use of this ‘new’ Aldnoah power, new technology was created. The cities of Vers changed; people could see the sun now, no longer having to rely on artificial lights. People did not starve, agriculture bloomed in artificial fields, the lower classes were not overworked to death in Kataphrakt and weapon factories, and any racist behavior was banned; the offenders were caught and educated on their crimes or jailed. Slaine tried to punish the Counts responsible for massacres on Earth during the Second War, he tried to find the warden and the most sadistic of his guards, fearing that other people could fall prey to their abuse, though to little success, so he appointed a team consisting of Lemrina’s old guards, people he knew he could rely on, for the purpose of hunting such criminals down.

Slaine expected uprisings and revolutions, but to his surprise, millions and millions of people welcomed him as one of their own; the people who once formed the lower classes of Vers. Some UFE fractions on Earth tried to move against him, but they were bloodlessly subjugated. The UFE withdrew, resettled on the single continent the New Vers Empire never invaded, and with their military almost dismantled, they admitted defeat. The Third War ended with less casualties then the Second War.

And Inaho survived, withdrawing with the rest of high-ranked UFE officers on the only piece of land that still belonged to the UFE.

During that first year, Asseylum and Klancain were kept under house arrest. The confiscated Kataphrakts were destroyed by Slaine; very few Aldnoah weapons remained on Vers, all under Slaine’s control. Slaine made an announcement then, dressed in his old crimson uniform, informing the citizens of Vers and Earth of his objective; that of an united Empire, where Vers and Earth can coexist in peace.

Slaine exiled Asseylum and her fiancé on Earth, monitoring her closely in case the UFE decided to use her in order to benefit from Aldnoah. Other than that, she was free to go and live her life however she wished. It was then that the UFE approached him and asked for negotiations and a peace treaty.

Slaine knew, the final part of his plans was approaching. Slaine had long ago decided on the single condition he wanted to set for that valued peace. Slaine had long ago understood that every single one of his actions would be judged by one person only, and he had made his peace with it. So when the UFE asked for peace, Slaine asked of the UFE to hand him over Kaizuka Inaho.

∞

iii.

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant— The stars incline us, they do not bind us

Vers, 2028

Capital of Vers, Dioscuria

Interplanetary airport

“You have set your aim on a new objective, Slaine Troyard.” Inaho’s crimson gaze is burning with anger. “Still, taking hostage of a higher ranked UFE officer would benefit your plans more. Why me?”

Supporting his weight on his cane, Slaine speaks. “Your face looks terrible. Did my demands upset you?”

“Why am I here?”

Slaine says, “When the time comes, you will know.”

Inaho’s mouth twitches, he strides forward, grabbing Slaine’s arm—Slaine reacts like a lion under attack. More of instinct than anger, his palm connects with Inaho’s chest, shoving him violently away.

“Never do this again.” Slaine’s blood is boiling, he’s panting from the exertion of pushing Kaizuka away, his knuckles white on the grip of his cane.

“I need explanations.” Inaho says, Slaine’s guards now restraining him, hands behind his back.

“For your sister? Or your friends? Be patient for a few years and you will see them again, Kaizuka Inaho.”

If there was a moment Kaizuka would be close to snarling, it would be this. “I never expected you could become like this.”

“You are not in a position to make your dense remarks, Kaizuka.” Years ago, Slaine would spit out the name with all the malice he could master. Not anymore.

“Am I here in order to argue with you? Or is it loneliness?”

Slaine sighs. Patience, he tells himself. Patience with the idiot.

Kaizuka keeps protesting, “You are the idiot.”

What…? “I never said—“

“Chances are high that this was what you were thinking. Still, you are an idiot. The UFE temporarily agreed to this in order to—”

“You are obviously trying to provoke me.” Slaine says, bored, “And it is not working, Kaizuka.”

Kaizuka’s eye twitches.

Slaine is overwhelmed with the sudden urge to smile—something he hasn’t done in years. He stills, the dark feelings inside him stirring, demanding to be acknowledged. Slaine snaps his head to the side instead, “This is not a battle you can win, Kaizuka Inaho. Now follow me.”

Slaine turns around and then realizes; Kaizuka doesn’t know of his leg.

Slaine inhales deeply through his nose, closing his eyes. He takes the first step; then the next, careful one. As always, it hurts, and he is conscious of his right foot dragging a bit against the floor, the way it becomes when he is too stressed or tired, when he abandons the effort of lifting it higher in order not to limp. His cheeks are burning with exertion. He tries not to feel Inaho’s crimson gaze stabbing him right between his shoulders.

Kaizuka stays silent, then follows closely behind.

Slaine planed for Kaizuka’s rooms to be on the same wing with his own in order to make Inaho’s escape impossible. It is the only place in the enormous building with the highest security levels. As they pass through the corridor leading to Slaine’s (and now Inaho’s) rooms, Inaho stops and regards the painting with the angel and the demon hanging there—which, Slaine found out months ago, was a work of a famous Terran painter who died hundreds of years ago. The original was restored under Slaine’s orders and placed in museum on Earth, for every Terran and Versian to admire. He never found out who that stone house he spent his first days of freedom belonged to, however.

That night, the blaring sound of alarms wakes him up, but he dismisses it as Kaizuka’s escape attempt #1.

The days pass, Inaho constantly wandering though the Landing Castle, refusing to talk to him. Kaizuka’s delusions that the UFE might ask for his return are soon shattered, as the peace treaty is announced, together with Kaizuka Inaho’s ‘voluntary’ stay on Vers.

In three weeks only, Kaizuka’s failed escape attempts reach the number 63. Apparently, wanting to hide in an empty food container for half a day until it is shipped back to Earth, only to discover that it actually had packages of frozen peas inside did not par well with Kaizuka; after that, even the sight of an ice cube is enough to drain the color from Inaho’s face.

Slaine starts craving cold drinks. Kaizuka keeps refusing the offered iced beverages, the small crease on his forehead deepening each time, betraying his growing annoyance. Slaine realizes he has found a new way to pass his free time besides reading; finding ways to annoy Kaizuka Inaho.

Soon begin the long days when Slaine asks of Kaizuka to accompany him on his weekly strolls through the cities of Vers, his everyday councils, his negotiations with the UFE representatives, his signing of treaties and arranging of new laws. They don’t speak; they don’t even hold eye contact. He soon gets used to Inaho’s silent presence beside him, however—and when Slaine’s leg goes numb during one of their visits to Earth and he trips, almost humiliating himself in front of thousands of people gathered to listen to him, he is somehow glad that Kaizuka is next to him, grabbing his arm and steadying him before one of his bodyguards can.

(The fact that Slaine flinches and tears his arm away from Kaizuka’s grip as if burned is another story, which, judging by the widening of Inaho’s eye, Inaho is probably almost ready to grasp.)

Every morning, they have breakfast together. Every afternoon, it’s dinner. Always silent and cautious of his movements, Inaho keeps eating his food while his red eye never stops watching Slaine. Slaine keeps ignoring him, reading newspapers and reports during these awkward silences.

If a fragile discussion starts, it will usually turn into a fierce argument about politics or physics or the lack of Kaizuka’s knowledge about literature and generally arts.

One day, Kaizuka, clearly at his limit, barges into Slaine’s study and demands more eggs to be served for breakfast. Instead, Slaine decides to increase the amount of food Kaizuka dislikes, banning the eggs for a few days, just because Kaizuka’s irritated face is pleasant to look at.

Soon a day comes when Kaizuka barges into Slaine’s study again and demands something, which Slaine is too absorbed reading about plants to hear. Kaizuka notices the open botany books on Slaine’s desk. Since the books rarely leave Slaine’s library, Kaizuka asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m researching saxifrage seeds.”

“Sa—“

“Saxifrage.”

Kaizuka steps closer, spreading his palm over old illustrations of small, purple and white flowers depicted blooming among rocks on desolate lands.

“Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.”

Kaizuka’s eye narrows.

Slaine nourishes Kaizuka’s bewilderment. “It’s from a poem, Kaizuka. I still cannot believe that you are so ignorant about literature and—“

“Tell me more about the flower.”

Slaine sighs. “On the harsh and cold temperatures of Vers, it might be the only flower capable of surviving and blooming on this soil, without the aid of a greenhouse.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Stone-breaker. That’s the literal meaning of its name. Despite being a mere flower, it can break through the hardest of rocks, spreading its roots and surviving.”

Kaizuka frowns.

“You see, Kaizuka Inaho, if you walk on endless Artic planes for days and days on end, you will eventually encounter this flower. But I’ll never be able to obtain it; the UFE insisted that only certain flowers are to be planted on Vers, and Saxifrage was not included in the treaty. It seems that I must find another solution…”

“Why do you need this flower so desperately?”

“Flowers on Vers can grow only inside greenhouses. However, Saxifrage might be able to survive on the streets of Vers, gaining the nutrients it needs for its survival directly from the soil of the cities. And I want to provide the Vers cities with flowers—I want every Versian to understand that flowers are something to be—admired, perhaps, and not feared, not any longer. Never again.”

Inaho is silent. Slaine continues reading his botany books, and Inaho leaves, the metallic door of the study closing after him with the usual soft, brushing sound.

“You were lying. About the flower. Not only doesn’t it grow in the arctic, its name came from its medicinal use—it cannot break through stones.”

Slaine snorts. “But you became interested in it, didn’t you? Our conversation made you read about it.” Slaine arches a pale eyebrow. “Did you read the poem too?”

Inaho’s silence is rewarding.

“So you did…!” Slaine’s tone is mocking now, “Unbelievable.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “Slaine Troyard, if you…allow me to visit Earth and convince the UFE to allow you to search for it—“

“I’m no fool, Kaizuka Inaho. This will be just another of your escape attempts. So…no.”

Despite Slaine’s best efforts, animals are still feared on Vers, the teachings of the Counts still permeating the beliefs of the Vers people; that dogs and cats carry horrible diseases, for example. In order to disband those beliefs, Slaine established monthly events, were the people of Vers can be informed about the reality and, if they wish, even select and adopt a pet of their choice. Most of the animals are stray dogs and cats from Earth, which after a long stay at the vet, are healed and fed and ready for their adoption.

The events take place in the largest artificial park on Vers, secured under an enormous glass dome.

Slaine is sitting on a bench and cradling a white-and-beige trembling puppy in his arms, trying to calm her down with his caresses. He’s observing the tenths of exhilarated children dragging their parents by hand towards the fence the dogs and cats and bunnies and other pets are being held, the place surrounded by tall, sheltering trees, the flowers in full bloom. The place is colorful and radiant. Slaine’s mouth almost twitches into the ghost of a smile. It is impossible, however: the place never stops reminding him of Asseylum and her garden, and the blue roses that fell from his grip when he realized how foolish his ambitions have been, back then. The puppies’ howls remind him of sounds and an agony he has spent nights and nights erasing from his memories.

He spots a crying, small child, a white bunny next to her. Without thinking, he places the puppy on Kaizuka’s lap—who is sitting in silence next to Slaine on the bench. “Hold her for a moment.”

Kaizuka’s mouth opens in protest. His hands fumble awkwardly around the small animal, as if he is afraid to touch her.

“How…?” It is the murmur that escapes a clearly bewildered Inaho that makes Slaine snort.

He turns to his side. Without thinking, he takes Kaizuka’s hand in his, then places it under the puppy’s belly. It’s warm. It amazes him, how warm it is—Kaizuka’s touch. Slaine’s pulse quickens. Even his cheeks feel warm.

Inaho raises his head, their gazes lock. “You are kind towards weaker things, aren’t you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine swallows, throat tight. “Just—just hold her like that, Kaizuka.”

He detaches his hand from the warmth, turns away and uses his cane, standing up and carefully walking the rest of the distance towards the crying child and her bunny.

It turns out that she is afraid of the small animal. Slaine has to, very, very slowly, rest one knee on the ground, pick up the bunny and explain to her that bunnies are harmless, and that when he was her age, all he ever wanted from his life was to have a bunny as a pet. Soon the girl’s worried parents approach them—apparently she run off on her own, chasing after the bunny.

“Here.” Slaine says, placing the animal in her arms, after he is doused with approval of his political actions from the parents, “He won’t hurt you. He’s scared too, you know.”

The child mumbles something, now shy, stroking the bunny’s ears.

“Of course he’s scared.” Slaine almost, almost smiles in order to pacify. “With that many people surrounding him—” His hearts reacts like something frenzied and wild. Slaine clutches at his pendant. A fragment from his past, sharp and vicious, slashes through his mind. He can’t breathe. He’s in his cell again—

“Slaine Troyard.”

Kaizuka Inaho, Slaine wants to whisper, to ensure himself of his reality, but he doesn’t. He rises again, slowly, the cane dipping into the soil under his feet. He says his goodbyes to the family, reminding the child once again that the bunny is harmless and only needs her to take care of it. He tries to even his breathing, ties to lock the memory away, until Kaizuka speaks again,

“Slaine Troyard, I need your help. Immediately.” Inaho sounds…unsure.

Really, now.

Slaine turns, only to find the puppy (still in Kaizuka’s arms) chewing softly at Kaizuka’s fingers. Inaho’s features are not famous for their expressiveness, yet Slaine swears that a flicker of tenderness lights up, if only for a second, Kaizuka’s emotionless face.

Inaho catches him staring, and Slaine’s cheeks flush with annoyance. “What are you looking at, Kaizuka?”

“You are the one staring at me, Bat.”

Slaine’s heart skips a beat at the sound of that long-forgotten nickname. “Staring at the puppy, you mean.” He then notices the stain of drool on Kaizuka’s blue tie. “Did she chew on your tie too?”

Kaizuka nods, and Slaine comes up with an amusing idea.

“She’s yours, now. Take care of her.”

Inaho blinks. “You want to give me the dog? This is unnecessary and ridiculous.”

“Unnecessary or not, you are now responsible for her. You can name her Eggs, for all I care. I just want to see you suffering, trying to control her.”

“Fine.”

“…What?”

“Eggs,” Kaizuka says, lazily lifting the trembling puppy towards his face, “Nice to meet you.”

“Kaizuka Inaho!”

“Yes?”

How much does Slaine want to punch that idiot. “This was supposed to be sarcasm, you wouldn’t dare name a poor animal after your favorite food?”

“Either way, she doesn’t understand—“

“But this is irrelevant!”

“She is a dog, Slaine Troyard.”

“She is a…an infant! What did she even do to you to deserve this?!”

“I’m still naming her ‘Eggs’.”

Slaine groans. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are in no position to impose on me the name of my—“

The puppy lets out a long, sad sound, one that makes Slaine’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Perhaps their yelling made her upset.

“You made her upset. Well done, Kaizuka.”

He sees the obvious, annoying effort Inaho puts into keeping his features at check. “It wasn’t my fault. Your yelling surely affected her—“

Another cry, this one longer, louder, capable of turning some of the children’s heads in alarm.

“Kaizuka. This is your last warning.”

Inaho sighs, cradling the puppy closer. “Fine. But I’m not changing my decision; her name is Eggs.”

Later in the night, lying in the darkness of his bedroom, Slaine realizes that he can’t get the image of Inaho holding the puppy out of his head.

Inaho barges again into the library, already hacked into the codes that keep the single metallic door closed.

“Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine lifts his gaze from his book, not surprised to see Inaho here. “What is it this time.”

“Mars’ average distance from the sun is about Earth’s distance, and half again.”

“So…?”

“Therefore, the intensity of sunlight reaching Mars is much reduced.”

Slaine sighs, impatience breaking through his forced apathy. “Get to the point.”

“Furthermore, the dust on Mars’ atmosphere scatters the light—“

“Is this about the Rayleigh Scattering again? Spare me the explanations, Kaizuka, I’ve already read about this—“

Inaho steps closer, placing his hands on Slaine’s desk, his features calm and open into what Slaine translates as…enthusiasm. “The fine dust on Mars’ atmosphere is responsible of the color of Mars’ sunsets.”

“Yes.” Something similar to excitement, too, awakens inside Slaine, but he is too absorbed by the way Inaho’s features soften to notice, “Mars has less than 1% of the Earth’s atmosphere—“

“…so the scattering is different than on Earth. At sunset and sunrise, the sun is surrounded by a blue corona. It must be an…interesting sight.”

Slaine’s eyes widen, “I thought you’ve seen it—“

But Inaho hasn’t, since he is never leaving Slaine’s side as of the few months he is on Vers, partially as a way to disagree or sometimes agree with Slaine on the structure of various laws and negotiations, and partially because Slaine is very busy, having no time at all for watching sunsets.

After a few hours, they are dressed in spacesuits, slowly walking up a large sand hill, endless barren terrain and rocky hills spread at their feet as they reach the top. Without the punishing force of an artificial gravity, Slaine’s leg is hurting less than usual, even if he has walked far more than what he’s capable of.

The sun reaches the horizon. The sky slowly darkens. They are alone.

And Slaine needs to be left alone with Inaho, he yearns for it each night he wakes up, lost, drenched in his sweat—the part of him that is ready for this has always whispered that perhaps being shot and forgotten on a cold, desolate Vers plane will be much better than a slower, painful death on Earth. The blue planet never held much of his heart, or if it ever did, it was years and years ago, when he was still a boy chasing after rabbits through the hot summer air and ripening wheat fields.

But Inaho has to always, constantly defy him. Kaizuka doesn’t pull out a gun—despite Slaine ‘accidentally’ forgetting an UFE licensed gun in the library, a week ago.

They are looking at the blue, faint light radiating from the white sphere hiding behind the horizon as Inaho murmurs,

“The scars on your chest and back…”

Slaine stills, pulse soaring.

“I am responsible for them, aren’t I? They happened after I shot you down. Cruhteo tortured you.”

After a long silence, after the sky becomes black as ink as the sun is gone, Slaine exhales, his breath dampening the glass of his helmet. “Does it matter? It’s in the past, Kaizuka. And that past is long gone.”

“So Cruhteo did torture you.”

Slaine snorts, “Were you testing me right now?”

“It was necessary. I needed to confirm my suspicions.”

Slaine doesn’t answer.

Inaho’s voice is quiet, “…Should we sit?”

Slaine chuckles. “Is this your way of asking me if my leg hurts? You’ve become surprisingly subtle about it.”

Inaho doesn’t miss a beat. “Does your leg hurt?”

Slaine’s lips form a little smile, and he doesn’t even realize it. “You noticed, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I always notice.”

Slaine’s face heats up at this, and he can’t understand the reason, because this isn’t anger—it is much calmer and quieter than anger, this feeling.

“We should go back.” Slaine whispers, so they do.

Days pass by and Eggs keeps destroying Kaizuka’s shoes and pants despite Inaho’s best efforts to teach her otherwise. Inaho keeps hacking into every piece of machinery that has a running program, in a way of getting his revenge for having to take care of Eggs, Slaine supposes—though the puppy has grown very attached to Inaho, and Slaine thinks that the same applies to Kaizuka, too.

Vers space territory, 2028

Saazbaum Space Station

A few hours after the departure of the UFE’s ambassadors, Kaizuka barges into Slaine’s office (destroying the door codes again) his hair disheveled. “There is an intruder—“

From behind his desk, Slaine sighs. “Let my guards deal with him.”

“By then, it will be too late. That person is heading straight for here—“

Slaine is now having real trouble concentrating on his reading. “Because you kept feeding the UFE information these six months since you arrived on Vers. I know, Kaizuka.”

Inaho doesn’t even blink. “Yes. I suspected you knew.”

Slaine puts his notes aside, clutches at his cane and gracefully stands up, trying not to grimace at the pain shooting up his thigh. “Do they have orders to assassinate me?”

“Yes.” Inaho is now observing him, carefully, though Slaine won’t give him the satisfaction of betraying his emotions.

And you are to assist them…but you’re obviously ignoring your orders. Why. Why now, Kaizuka. Why must you keep destroying every single one of my plans…! Slaine has been waiting hours, months, years for that day. He sighs, suddenly feeling so, so tired. “Step outside, Kaizuka, and close the door. I will deal with him myself.”

Inaho’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Why are you refusing my assistance?” His eye widens slightly. “Of course. You don’t trust me.”

“It is not a matter of trust.” I don’t want you to see how I— Slaine groans, halting his thoughts. “Just go, Kaizuka.”

“No. Come with me. Just…” Kaizuka swallows, “Just come with me.”

Slaine follows Inaho more out of curiosity than anything else.

Inaho leads him towards the huge, metal hangar, even supporting him the few times Slaine’s tired legs drag against the floor and he almost trips. The intense activity has made Slaine’s leg muscles tremble with pain and effort, sweat tricking down his nape. At one point, Inaho takes his hand, and Slaine clutches onto it as if he is trying to squish it in his grip, though Kaizuka never complains about it. Instead, Inaho pulls him even closer, and together they hastily make their way through the hangar’s open doors, which close after Inaho fumbles with some cables and controls for a while.

They keep staring at each other, Slaine almost amused at how the situation unfolds, his leg not bothering him much now, even if he has trouble speaking from his harsh breathing. “Orange—may I ask—why you brought me here?”

“It’s the safest place in the Landing Castle. And only I can open the doors.”

Slaine smiles, coldly. “We are alone.”

Inaho blinks. “So?”

I know. I know you are carrying a gun, Orange. But why, why do you keep refusing to turn it on me…?

A notification lights up the screen of Inaho’s tablet. Inaho frowns. “The intruder has now control of the cameras and voice transmitters in every room. We need to find a way to overcome this and communicate with your guards.”

Kaizuka fumbles with some cables, connecting them with his tablet. The lights go out, leaving only Kaizuka’s tablet to slightly illuminate the area. Music fills the room.

Slaine takes the two stumbling steps separating him from Inaho, his hand finding Inaho’s shoulder in the dark. “What on Earth and Vers are you doing, Orange?”

“This song is now being transmitted from every room of the Landing Castle. It will slow him down for about 900 seconds. Furthermore, the unusual computer activity in the hangar will notify your guards of your location—”

Slaine snorts, “But you…? Music?”

Inaho turns off his tablet, complete darkness surrounding them. He covers Slaine’s hand with his own, now both resting on Inaho’s shoulder. Slaine shivers. He doesn’t understand why. He can’t see Inaho, but he hears Inaho’s breath near his ear as Inaho speaks over the music, “Yuki added some songs to my tablet, almost a year ago. She thought I could impress a certain…woman if I knew more about music—“

Slaine’s eyes widen, “Your sister…did she…did she try to set you up with a date?”

The sound that Inaho makes is low and gentle, and Slaine has trouble believing his ears. “Exactly, Bat.”

And a rumbling sound leaves Slaine’s throat, because this is...ridiculous. “I can’t imagine you being on a date.”

“I had to go.” Inaho sounds almost…sad.

Something small prickles at Slaine’s heart as he imagines Inaho with another person, so he asks, “Who was the…unlucky lady?”

A pause. “Asseylum.”

Slaine blinks. “She is married.”

“Not any longer.”

Slaine’s throat starts closing, he can’t breathe, and Inaho asks, “Are you alright?”

“What do you expect.” Slaine snaps, and is surprised with himself, because he thought his anger towards Inaho long forgotten, but this is not anger, he realizes, this is—at that moment, however, the gravitational field weakens and they find themselves suspended into the air, clutching at each other in surprise.

Slaine explodes, “Kaizuka!”

He can hear Inaho’s calm voice near his ear, “True, I did not include that factor into my calculations.”

How is this even—? “You do realize that if gravity returns to its original state we will land on the floor and break every single bone—“ Slaine stops, something dark and cold filling his chest. “No, worse than that—“ My leg still hurts when I’m walking. If it breaks, the bone could develop an infection again—

Inaho is fumbling in the dark, his palm across Slaine’s chest, his shoulder, and Slaine almost flinches, but thinks it’s strange when Inaho’s palm comes to rest on the side of his neck, and Inaho whispers, fiercely, “I won’t let such a thing happen to you.”

Slaine wonders if he whispered this out loud, but he didn’t, so how did Kaizuka know—his breath leaves his lungs when Kaizuka takes his hands in his own and, with the music filling the air around them, Inaho says, “Think of the positive part: you can move here freely, without experiencing the…consequences.”

You mean the pain. Why are you so careful around me? Slaine stops these thoughts. But the past is a cruel thing, and with a pang in his chest, he is reminded of Lemrina once again, how she moved through another hangar where Kataphrakts were being kept, happy for once, being able to—

“You are thinking about your past again, am I right? Stop thinking about the past, Slaine Troyard...”

Slaine groans. “Stop telling me what to do!”

Inaho is silent but says then, “We should find a way to move towards the upper west corner of this construction. There is a metal ladder there, ending at a roof hatch. We can escape from there.”

Sad and longing, the music fills the air, reminding Slaine of things he never had and things he will never obtain. A stripe of light falls across Inaho’s face and Slaine’s cheeks flush because of the newly perceived closeness of their bodies, Inaho’s thighs sliding between his, Inaho’s chest brushing against his, in this mockery of a dance. And he realizes that he is suspended in the air, Inaho’s hands on his waist, and they are twirling and twirling in the dark and this place with no gravity, and just for a moment, just for the new, hopeful breath he takes, his life is a miraculous, painless illusion.

Like everything in his life, it doesn’t last long. The moment they reach the ladder, the music stops, the hangar’s lights scatter away the darkness. The UFE agent hunting for his life barges through the hangar’s doors. And gravity returns, causing Slaine to plummet rapidly towards the ground, crying out in surprise—Inaho catches him, already standing on the ladder, face barely betraying his alarm, and then helps him climb the narrow stairs, opening the roof hatch.

A gunshot echoes in the room. Slaine’s side feels hot, and he realizes that it hurts to move, his whole body shivering. He cries out when Inaho hurts him, pulling him through the roof patch. Slaine lands with his right leg folded on the floor and he chokes on air, clutching helplessly at Inaho’s clothes, because it hurts, his leg hurts, Inaho is talking to him, soothing—the severe pain from his badly-folded leg escalates, wipes out the pain of the gunshot—his leg is now on fire. Inaho’s hands are cradling his face, but he is blind, desperate from the agony. He screams; blackness envelops him.

Slaine comes to in his bed, warm, well-rested, his head groggy with the aftereffects of the painkillers. Just for a moment, he expects the bites of his scars to start hurting again, and a man long dead to greet him, sitting on the chair next to his bed. But this is not Saazbaum.

“Inaho…?”

His voice is a rasp, but Inaho straightens from the chair he is sitting, looking at him and betraying nothing, but Slaine knows, from the dark purple circle under Inaho’s eye, from the way Inaho’s shoulder are hunched in apprehension, Slaine somehow knows that Inaho won’t leave, even if he’ll ask him to.

“Are you in pain?” Inaho seems so serious.

Slaine’s gaze is languidly sweeping over Inaho’s eyepatch, Inaho’s lips, as if seeing them for the first time, before he realizes what Inaho asked and answers, “No.”

“You did not develop an infection. The diaphysis of your tibia simply—“

“Yes, I know, Orange. It was likely to happen if I put pressure on my leg. Doctors have warned me in the past.” Seeing how the corners of Inaho’s mouth drop, Slaine adds, “It was not your fault.”

Inaho keeps staring at him, a crease on his forehead. Inaho looks…sad. “The man was arrested.”

“And you became a traitor.” Slaine murmurs.

“He never saw me helping you.” Inaho says, “I took care of that.”

Slaine’s breath leaves his lungs in a long, relaxed exhale. “Good…Now go.”

“No.”

Slaine closes his eyes. “You should. I will be fine in a few days. Just…go.”

“I don’t want to.”

Slaine chuckles. “You sound like an obnoxious child.”

There is a warm hand covering his, resting on the sheets. Slaine’s eyes snap open. His hand is trembling, even if…even if his skin craves for Inaho’s warmth, permeating his tired bones and making him feel whole and alive again. He meets Inaho’s gaze, extremely puzzled. “What—what are you doing?”

It doesn’t help, of course, when the obstinate fool answers, “Don’t deny what is happening between us, Bat.” Inaho withdraws his hand. “Get well soon.” He walks out of the room.

Slaine is left wondering about Inaho’s strange words.

Vers space territory, 2029

Saazbaum Space Station

One quiet evening, almost a year since Inaho’s arrival on Vers, Inaho steps inside the library, steps determined. Slaine is sitting on his favorite couch, one of his beloved books resting on his lap. He lifts his head from the passage he is currently reading, eyes taking in Inaho’s unusually casual appearance. Inaho is not wearing his trademark blue jacket; the white shirt beneath flexes with each movement of his arms, hugging Inaho’s firm torso. Slaine’s heart starts beating faster, sending more color to his already warm cheeks.

Slaine keeps his tone immaculate, “Should I remind you again that this place is off-limits for you?”

Inaho blinks. “I hacked into the surveillance system and destroyed the codes of the library door.”

“Tch, Orange. Did you really have to destroy them? Again?”

There. The corner of Inaho’s mouth rises a bit. “I couldn’t resist the temptation. Your algorithms were…nice to destroy.”

Slaine chuckles. “You truly are insufferable. Do you know how long it took me to encrypt those—” Slaine sighs. “Never mind. Why are you here?”

Kaizuka, ever stubborn, refuses to answer to him, a small smile now evident on his face—the sight is enough to spread a sweet pain in Slaine’s chest. The sunlight makes his hair almost auburn, a shy, new part of Slaine whispers, before he silences it immediately. Inaho, oblivious, merely stands a few steps ahead, staring at the hundreds of wooden bookshelves and old, yellowish books that are surrounding them. “I wanted to see you.” Inaho says.

Slaine throat suddenly itches with a strange, almost happy feeling, and this is the only reason he asks, “S-So…? What is the matter? Did Eggs chew at that ridiculous blue jacket of yours?”

Inaho falters. “…Yes, such a thing did actually happen today.”

Slaine snorts, half amused, half in a teasing mood. “So you want consolation, because your dog doesn’t like you.”

“No, that’s not—“

“It was a joke, Orange. Albeit a poor one.”

But Inaho’s features have lost every hint of cheerfulness. “We need to talk.”

Slaine sobers. “About what?”

“You. Your past, your objectives.” After a small hesitation, “After your escape… I found enough evidence about the…actions of warden and the guards. Still, I need to hear everything from you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine’s eyes form slits. “You can’t be serious. It’s been nine years.” You stubborn fool.

“I have been reading books on that subject.”

“You—reading books…?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. “On what subject, Kaizuka?”

“Professionals insist that one must eventually talk about—“

“No.” Slaine’s blood starts boiling, because how, how on Earth and Vers can Kaizuka ask such things in the calmest afternoon of his week. His voice is oozing with anger, “I’m not your damned psychology experiment, Kaizuka.” Slaine’s breath hitches. “There is nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know.” Slaine resumes reading, ignoring the frantic, almost panicked beating of his heart.

“That painting on the corridor near your room.”

At this, Slaine snaps the book shut, knowing that nothing will be able to stop Kaizuka from annoying him to no end. “It is a copy of a famous Terran painting, Kaizuka. Unlike certain others, I do know how to appreciate art.”

“…You believe that you are evil, Slaine Troyard, but I disagree. You should stop believing that. You won’t be able to accomplish anything like this.”

It is difficult to breathe. Slaine gracefully stands up, his leg sending a jab of pain in protest. It is finally time. Finally… “For your information…” Slaine tries to support his full body weight with his palm pressed on the arm of the couch, perspiration already gathering on his brow. “I don’t plan on accomplishing anything. You will—in my place.”

Inaho blinks.

Slaine turns his head to the side, gaze traveling to the furthest of the shining stars outside, longing for something better that this discussion, longing for the impossible—like he always did. “I had long ago planned to be ‘assassinated’ after the first five years of peace would be accomplished. And as soon as I could find a suitable predecessor, of course. And…as much as it pains me to admit it…you are the perfect candidate for the job, Kaizuka.” He looks up to meet Inaho’s gaze. “So, when the day comes, I will provide you with a UFE licensed gun. Thus, you will be able to end this monarchy…while finally getting your revenge for everything I have done to you.”

Inaho’s eye widens.

Hah. I rendered him speechless. Slaine smiles, for once being honest, for once being able to smile as he did ages ago, a smile full of warmth, his eyes closed. “You are just and honest, Kaizuka Inaho, more than anyone else I have ever known in my life. You have the ability to turn this Empire into something…beautiful.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “I refuse.”

Slaine laughs. A twisted, loud sound escapes his lungs. “But you can’t! It’s too late now, isn’t it? You have already seen what you’ll be able to accomplish. All you have to do is put a bullet through my head. Admit it: it is your fate, Kaizuka. It is in your destiny to help me…” Slaine raises his hand, index coming to rest at his forehead, exactly as he did years ago on that dark beach, even if it now seems to him that the night they fell together on Earth happened under another moon, in another lifetime. Slaine is smiling, his voice comes out as if he’s pleading; broken. “Help me, Kaizuka Inaho. Help me end this.”

Inaho is silent.

Slaine drops his arm, still smiling for some reason. “Well. I am happy to see there are no objections here.”

Inaho rushes two steps forward and grabs Slaine by the arm. Slaine has to put all his effort into maintaining his indifferent expression and not wrenching his hand away from the confining hold, even if this is Inaho, and he can’t exactly breathe, his leg is hurting terribly for standing for so long without the use of the cane, the dark red of Inaho’s eye staring at him, relentless and furious. “How can you say there are no objections?” Inaho’s voice is even; not loud, not quiet. But still, there is something in it, something laced with so much anger and pain, Slaine’s breath catches in the chest.

“What…do you mean?”

“I care for you.” Kaizuka whispers, and it feels like a caress—Slaine can feel Inaho’s breath hitting his face, they are so close. He can only stare at Kaizuka’s lips, his own cheeks flushing, his breaths coming short—Slaine swallows all of it and closes his stinging eyes, whispering, “How can you say that? You know what I have done to you.”

“I know what I’ve done to you, too.”

Slaine attacks where he knows, he will hurt them both. He raises his voice, “Do you even know what they did to me in that place?!”

Inaho closes his eye. “Yes…Yes, I do.”

Slaine breaks out of Inaho’s (now weak) hold and takes a few steps back. It takes discipline to remain silent as a statue, silent like a servant once again. It takes all of his discipline not to shout in pain, because of his burning leg, his feverish emotions. “Good. I still can’t remember everything.”

A flicker of surprise slashes across Inaho’s face. “You…can’t?”

“Aftereffects of the medication.” Slaine sighs, heavily. “Just…leave me alone, Kaizuka.” Slaine knows just how tired he sounds. “Just go away.”

“No.”

Slaine can’t stand it any longer, he drops on the couch, covering his face with his palm, the other hand constantly massaging, soothing his leg. “You always seek the most useless answers to the most annoying questions. Why do you even care—“

“I care.” Inaho says again, carefully sitting on the couch next to him. “I truly do, Slaine Troyard.”

“Stop it. I don’t need pity from anyone, especially you of all people.”

“This is no pity and you know it.”

“Cruhteo. The warden. The guards. You still blame yourself for what they did to me. And I still blame myself for what I did to you. There. We are such a sick pair, aren’t we?”

His heart thuds twice against his chest before Inaho answers. “No. We are not sick. We are healing, together. We need to stay like this…”

Slaine can’t stop the surprised widening of his eyes. “What are you talking about…?”

Inaho abruptly lifts his hand from where it rests on his knee, and it stays there, hovering, as if Inaho’s unsure of what to do with it. Years of practice have made Slaine capable of reading the patterns of sudden motions; and though this is no violent one—he knows, he is certain that Kaizuka is now attempting exactly the opposite—he can’t stop himself from flinching, perhaps because Kaizuka grabbed his arm previously, so Slaine is still on edge.

Inaho notices, of course. His hand drops like a dead bird on his knee again, and Slaine is overwhelmed by such a deep sadness, he turns his head away from Inaho, keeping his gaze lowered, fixed on Inaho’s hand.

“Slaine—“ A pause. “I shouldn’t have grabbed your arm. I’m sorry.” Inaho’s voice is so quiet.

Slaine stays silent.

Inaho’s hands ball into fists. “In my entire life, I’ve never wanted to understand anyone as much as I want to understand you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine lowers his head more, blinking away that aching lump in his throat. “So you won’t kill me.”

“No. Never.”

Never. Slaine expected a Perhaps, or I can’t, or at least, We’ll see. But perhaps Inaho’s opinion can later be changed, with a little (a lot?) effort.

“I want to read in peace, Kaizuka. At least, let me have that.” There, he admits it. He doesn’t know if it’s the truth, wanting Inaho gone, wanting Kaizuka out of his sight, but either way he admits it; he needs peace.

“Do you have any books to recommend?”

“Why?”

“You don’t want me gone. Otherwise, you would have said so. Besides…I want to stay with you.” Inaho’s gaze rises to meet his, and Slaine sighs. Such an idiot. Such an arrogant, stubborn, amazing— “…Fine.” After thinking a bit, he grabs one for Kaizuka.

They spent the rest of the day in the library, sitting on the couch with their legs almost touching, reading in silence.

A few days later, Slaine’s plans crash and burn, exactly as they always did in his life. They are having dinner together, sitting on a similar table Slaine once sat with Saazbaum. Slaine is trying to focus on the final changes there need to be made in a new legislation. Instead, his thoughts keep returning on how hot Inaho’s breath felt on his skin, that afternoon Inaho found him in the library.

Lately, his dreams have been warm and full of Inaho, too. Slaine keeps waking up in a haze of half-arousal, with his underwear sticky, his lips and skin tingling and burning from Inaho’s imaginary kisses. He knows that those dreams will destroy him, if he keeps going on like this.

“Slaine?”

“Hmm?” He is not meeting Inaho’s gaze. Instead, he focuses his attention on his pumpkin soup, as if dipping his spoon into the orange-colored, thick liquid is currently the most difficult task on the world.

“I am attracted to you.”

Slaine almost chokes, the soup scalding his throat. “What…?”

Inaho is looking at him in an almost…tender way. “Slaine, I want you to know—“

“Kaizuka—what are you even…” His mouth feels so dry. “Talking about…?”

“I believe that you feel the same way about me.”

Almost on reflex, Slaine blurts out, “Do you even know what I have—“

“Slaine Troyard.” Inaho’s voice is so calm. “We’ve repeated this discussion before. I’m not changing my objective.”

Slaine’s doesn’t know what to feel; the one moment there is shame, replaced by fury as he is forced to admit, “I have scars.”

“…I know.” Inaho murmurs, sadly. “I remember.”

“I have more scars now.” Slaine spits out, not wanting to remember that hellish night. “And my leg.”

“So?”

“So?” he slams his palms on the table, mocking, “So? Is this the only thing you have to say?! You haven’t even seen me, Kaizuka, really seen me—“

“It doesn’t matter—“

“It does!” Slaine shouts, hurting, “It does, for me…!”

Kaizuka’s eye widens, and then he says, reaching a hand to him, “Slaine Troyard, you are—“

Disgusting. Fingers close around his throat. He can’t— You really are disgusting.

Slaine’s spoon falls and clatters on the table. He stares at it, not realizing what just happened, the memory usually confined in his nightmares attacking him from nowhere. His heart rises up his throat—he feels like throwing up. Slaine abruptly gets up, breath ragged. “This—this conversation is over.”

It is difficult to run with his leg and the cane, but he tries his best to get himself as far away from Inaho as possible. He can’t think properly; he doesn’t even know what he’s running away from, while behaving like a naïve child once again.

“Slaine!” Inaho’s frantic shout fades away as Slaine slams the door of the dining room behind him shut.

When Slaine reconnects with his surroundings, he is sitting in a corner of the huge room that serves as his living room, arms wrapped securely around his knees. He hasn’t tried to make himself that small since ages. To curl his body like this into the corner of a room—he hasn’t done this since the early days under Cruhteo’s servitude, when the whole world swore and cursed at his existence, where Cruhteo’s cane left him too weak and dizzy to stand. In prison, he never used the corners, because despite everything, he never felt truly threatened, there. Slaine closes his eyes, but opens them when the door opens, steps echoing inside the dark room. The stars are the only source of light, and the light is enough for Slaine to realize that Inaho just found him in his most weak, pathetic state.

“Can I come closer?” Kaizuka sounds…sad.

Slaine murmurs, “As if my words ever stopped you.”

“Can I?”

“Just—get on with it, Kaizuka.”

Inaho approaches, then drops on one knee in front of Slaine. They are now eye to eye.

It’s only a murmur, “I didn’t wish for it either, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine forces his eyes away from Kaizuka’s annoying—beautiful, Inaho is so beautiful under the weak light of the stars, how did he never notice before?—away from Kaizuka’s expressionless face.

Still, the words betray him, “You mean…?

“That whatever it is you are feeling…I am feeling it too.”

Slaine swallows, closing his eyes. “Kaizuka. Tomorrow morning, you are leaving for Earth.”

Vers, 2029

Capital of Vers, Dioscuria

Slaine is staring at the stars.

He is in his bedroom, and it’s the fourth night since Kaizuka’s departure. Eggs is gone, too.

He hasn’t felt so broken since the night that crimson uniform finally became his.

The days go by. One morning, he steps into the library, only to find a mysterious package left behind on his favorite couch. He is ready to call security and have it destroyed, until he notices the open botany book next to it, and his breath catches in his throat.

How did he…?

Slaine’s fingers frantically tear at the package until it opens and then he slowly, carefully grabs a handful of the small, brown seeds. They roll down his fingers, stuck in the creases of his palm.

His knees go weak. He sits down.

Kaizuka Inaho sent him Saxifrage seeds, and Slaine finds himself unable to do anything else than close his eyes and stay quiet in his loneliness, the silent library echoing with Kaizuka’s absence.

When the streets of the Versian cities fill with flowers, Slaine excuses himself in his rooms, sits on his bed and covers his face with his palm. He laughs like an overjoyed child who was given the best gift in the world; until he’s stabbed by Kaizuka’s absence, and his laughter turns into angry, bitter tears.

∞

iv.

Omnia vincit Amor—Love conquers all

Vers, 2030

After Kaizuka’s return to Earth, Slaine makes sure that every single second of his day is filled with ongoing projects, with councils, with endless hours in the labs and streets of Vers, listening and giving advice to scientists and citizens, diplomats and politicians alike. Each time his head meets his pillows late at night, Slaine is out like a candle in less than two seconds. He (purposely) never seeks to find out what exactly Kaizuka Inaho has managed to accomplish with his life on Earth.

It all changes a few months later. Slaine is carefully sipping his tea while reading the newspaper in his library, waiting for an important UFE ambassador to arrive from Earth. His gaze lands on an article about Kaizuka Inaho’s engagement to Asseylum Vers Allusia, previous Empress of Vers.

A few seconds tick away, the world seems to hold its breath. Slaine carefully folds the newspaper, puts it away, then grabs a random tome from the nearest bookshelf, opening it on his lap. It feels as if his heart is being violently squashed in his chest. For the next ten minutes, he keeps rereading the first paragraph without understanding a word.

The book slides from his lap and lands on the floor with a soft thud. Slaine’s hands are clenched so hard on his knees, his knuckles have gone pale.

Slaine sighs and leaves the room, his chest aching with each breath he takes.

Asseylum Allusia tries to contact him twice, and Slaine has to find a few minutes between an important meeting and the opening of a new power plant to answer her with a letter, congratulating her on her engagement, and wishing her a happy and long life.

She never writes back, doing exactly as Slaine requests.

Time passes by. Slaine concentrates his efforts on discussing new laws with the representatives of the Vers people, in his fight to eradicate racism and social injustice. The punishments become harsher, but after he is thanked for his efforts by both Terran and Martian citizens on the streets, Slaine for once doesn’t know if he has become more evil after his actions.

Two months and nine days after the announcement, two months and nine days filled with constant reminders and gossips and photographs in newspapers and magazines about Kaizuka’s romantic accomplishments, it is announced that Kaizuka canceled the engagement, and that the couple parted ways in friendly terms. Kaizuka is heavily criticized for his choice; it is not clearly stated in the articles, but his friends and family have observed that ‘the time he spent on Vers changed him’. Two days later, Kaizuka makes headlines again; the UFE is accusing him of insubordination.

There are no more details on the article, so Slaine has to order his intelligence services to reveal the truth for him: Kaizuka was caught hacking into confidential government files and gathering information…about him. About the Vers Emperor, Slaine Troyard.

Slaine is furious.

He really can’t understand what’s gotten into Kaizuka, behaving in such a dangerous, reckless way. But it’s been eight years since the end of the Second Interplanetary War, and Slaine realizes that he is still clinging onto the past, making again and again the same mistakes, putting someone else’s life above his own.

He can’t continue like this. He knows that his life never belonged to him from the beginning, but at least now, it can belong to the people of Vers. He has shouldered a destiny meant for Asseylum, giving her a chance to live her life as she wanted, watching her beloved birds from Earth while not having to carry the future of an entire nation, the future of millions of people, on her delicate shoulders.

By taking her throne by force, Slaine did not give her any other choice.

He is evil. Worse than evil. He already knows that.

Every time he passes by the copy of the old painting on the corridor before he enters his bedroom, he always takes the time to observe the demon’s ugly expression, his head crushed under the angel’s spear. The other Martian servants, Cruhteo, the Counts and prison guards, the warden…perhaps, in the end, their words have always been right. Slaine knows how his deformities look like. The screaming demon reminds Slaine of his own true form: that of a lowborn, repulsive being…destined to be forever alone.

Loneliness never bothered him. Yet sometimes, deep in the night where he keeps examining twenty or thirty reports instead of going to sleep, there comes a time where his mind blanks out and the words start blurring, moisture trickling down his cheeks. He catches himself remembering everything; his childhood with his absent father, the happy years on Vers at the side of the Princess, Cruhteo, the war, his imprisonment, the night of his escape and Kaizuka’s expression when he first noticed Slaine through that life-changing thunderstorm.

The discussions with Kaizuka, the time they spent on the streets of Vers, all those endless nights in the library. Slaine realizes that the brightest of his memories are always encircling Kaizuka, just as naturally as the millions and millions of bright stars keep orbiting around the centers of their galaxies.

Still, other memories never leave him alone, tormenting him during the long, dark nights, where he sometimes wakes up in a very unstable state from the occasional nightmare. But he is used to it by now, and he knows that even if his guards have realized that something is wrong (they must have certainly heard his cries a night or two or more) they never dare comment on it.

So many things have changed; there is no one here to hurt him here, or scoff at him, or remind him of what he is, and sometimes Slaine finds that impossible to believe. He has always been a nothing, and he knows that he will probably never see Kaizuka smile again—but this, he thinks, is just another form of punishment he now has to endure. He has long lost the right to complain about it.

At those nights, he wipes his cheeks and walks out of his workplace, until he stops in front of the painting of the angel and the demon still hanging on the wall of the corridor leading to his bedroom. There was a story in his books about the angel who was punished and cast out of heaven, chained by neck and wrists for falling in love.

The one time he wonders if something similar will happen to Kaizuka, if Kaizuka will be viewed differently from his society because ‘the years on Vers changed him’, if he will be punished because he disobeyed his superiors’ orders—Slaine stops the path of his thoughts as if burned.

It is not until a few days later, that Slaine finally stops struggling and sighing and accepts the painful truth.

He needs Kaizuka Inaho. He needs Inaho like his younger, starved self needed the food Kaizuka gave him the night he escaped from prison, like he once needed Kaizuka to stabilize his fall towards Earth, giving him the chance, if one looks at it like that, for a quieter, less painful life.

It’s late at night and Slaine is locked in his bedroom, having ordered all guards to remain outside his personal quarters for the next few hours. He needs privacy and rest, and he highly doubts that anyone will be capable of overriding the new security system. (If he must be honest, he can think of one person, but Kaizuka Inaho must currently be enjoying a happy life on Earth or at least, Slaine sincerely hopes so. The scandals and accusations have long faded away, months and months ago.)

Already changed into a light shirt and soft sweatpants, leaving the emperor’s uniform folded on the floor just because he can, Slaine is lying in bed, almost dazing off while looking out of the huge glass pane that separates his bedroom from the outer space. The stars stay bright and unchanging as always, and Slaine finds his thoughts drifting away, recalling the way Kaizuka’s features would soften as he talked about his sister and his friends on Earth, the way the shape of Kaizuka’s mouth would remind Slaine of a crescent moon, the rare times Inaho smiled.

Slaine sighs, the longing too deep to resist. He falls asleep with his thoughts muddled, but still full of Inaho.

Slaine has depended for years on his instincts for his survival. It is not a surprise to him that his eyes immediately snap open when he hears the sound of his bedroom door sliding to reveal an intruder—

Kaizuka Inaho.

It’s Orange, at the entrance of his bedroom, pointing a gun at him, wearing that cursed white UFE uniform.

Carefully, as if not wanting to disturb Inaho or make a sudden move, Slaine sits up. Inaho steps inside, lowering his gun. The door closes behind him, locking automatically.

Slaine’s heart clenches. “Are you here on a mission to kill me?”

“…Technically, yes.”

Of course. This joy—this elation—from seeing Kaizuka again, from hearing Kaizuka’s voice, it all disappears when Slaine realizes the obvious truth: it’s a mission. Of course it’s a mission, this is Kaizuka. He struggles to keep his features in check. An immense sadness floods him. I planned for this. Why does it hurt so much.

“I see.” Slaine’s hands ball into fists, voice icy. “Did you volunteer to assassinate me?”

“Yes.”

“Y-You really did...?”

“After the days we spent together, I considered that you wouldn’t shoot me on sight. I could approach you without difficulty. And I was correct, as it seems.”

White-hot anger consumes Slaine, so much that all his pretenses vanish in an instant, “Just how sick are you, Kaizuka?!”

Inaho’s eye narrows slightly, probably realizing something Slaine ignores. “I said, technically.”

Slaine stops breathing at that. “What?”

“It was the only way.”

Inaho is approaching. Slaine counts each step with his heartbeat. He can see the insignia on the pilot uniform; it seems that Kaizuka is a General, now. Years of endured violence are screaming at Slaine to get up from the double bed, find his gun and fire at Kaizuka—destroy him, destroy his other eye, too—but he can’t, how can he ever do such a thing to Inaho again—until he realizes from the dull, metallic noise that Inaho has discarded his own gun—Inaho isn’t armed—so why—

Inaho is now sitting on the soft sheets of his bed. Inaho’s hand is brushing his cheek, and the touch makes Slaine’s whole body shudder.

“So you finally realized now…” Inaho murmurs.

Heat floods Slaine. He leans forward, placing a hand on Inaho’s waist in order to assure himself this is no dream.

“Inaho…” The name feels different, whispered like this. “Why…?”

“I don’t understand it, either. But…”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you doing here!” Slaine hisses.

Inaho is leaning forward. “I had to see you again.” And then Inaho’s kissing him like he’s burning and only Slaine can put out the flames.

Slaine groans and kisses back, fiercely, hands twisting into the material of Inaho’s uniform, the fabric closes around his fingers, he can’t stop pressing his lips on Inaho’s warm mouth—Slaine pulls away for air but Inaho’s mouth chases after his own, persistent, Inaho pulling him into the tightest embrace and kissing him until Slaine is flushed and dizzy.

Slaine knows, he should stop this, he really should, but he can’t, because since when has life been that kind to him, placing right into his hands what he most desires? Not power, not freedom, but the chance to be held like this, even if it’s for a few bleak hours of a short night, to be held as if being needed, as if—and Slaine would never, ever dare admit that to himself—as if finally being loved.

And he wonders why, why does Inaho’s touch feel so welcoming now? Why not in that library, in what feels ages ago? He could have taken Inaho’s hand in his own back then and kissed him like this, wild and breathless. But then Slaine thinks perhaps it was the saxifrage seeds that did it, or perhaps before then, it was something in the way Inaho cradled his face after the attack, or held his hand—

Slaine’s throat is dry and his eyes are stinging, but he finds the will to put some distance between their reddened mouths and take some breaths, gasping, “So you just used your mission as an excuse—to invade Vers—barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night—and, and kiss me?”

It seems that Inaho can’t form a coherent sentence, too. “Yes…I wanted, no, I needed to return—and not raise suspicions…”

It comes out as a sob, “What made you think this was a good idea…!”

“You.”

“…Excuse me?”

Inaho loosens his embrace and looks at Slaine as if he is seeing the colors of the galaxies for the very first time. “I wanted to see you again. Because it was unbearable.” He leans down, presses his forehead on Slaine’s shoulder, his lips warm on Slaine’s throat, “Your absence was unbearable...”

Slaine throws his head back, “What are you talking about…! You had her—”

“Asseylum—she wanted to forget, like I did. She was a terrible mistake. My mission was an excuse—“

“Your mission is an act of war! You invaded Vers and broke the peace treaty!!”

Inaho snaps, “I told you already. I never intended to harm anyone.”

“Kaizuka!” Slaine shouts, livid, “If your ‘mission’ is exposed, you will destroy years of peace! You will destroy everything I have been striving for!!”

They have long stopped kissing. Only their harsh breathing echoes across the room.

“Slaine…” Inaho whispers, slowly lifting his head, “You have become stronger than I ever thought possible…” Slaine’s eyes widen, but Inaho continues, frowning, “So is a relationship between us…impossible...?”

It is so rare for Inaho to sound that unsure. Slaine is shaking his head, “I don’t know. I don’t know that…”

“Should I stay?”

“No. No.”

“No?”

Why are you always being so stubborn, Slaine thinks, why must you always be like that…!

Slaine takes a trembling breath, meets Inaho’s crimson gaze, but the words wither and die when Inaho gets up from the bed—before he knows it, Slaine’s arm bolts forward, his fingers in a tight grip around Inaho’s wrist, pulling Inaho onto the bed and into his arms. As if this was the catalyst, they start kissing again like possessed.

Slaine whispers while Inaho has latched his mouth onto the soft skin under Slaine’s jaw, “Stay-ah- just stay, at least, tonight.” By now, it’s too late: Slaine is barely lucid of the words that keep spilling from his lips, dizzy with desire and his love—no, this insane, impossible attraction— for Inaho. “We’ll face the consequences— together.” His voice deepens to a moan, Inaho’s warm mouth is sucking onto his skin now, “Just, ah—just don’t leave me, Orange—don’t leave me alone too—”

Inaho freezes, stopping the trail of kisses on Slaine’s collarbone.

Slaine is confused at first, Why did you stop, did I tell you to stop? It takes him a moment to realize what was just spoken aloud.

He abruptly breaks out of Inaho’s embrace, mortified. It feels as if his heart, his stomach, everything is trying to escape from his mouth, so he stays still, frozen in place, waiting for Inaho’s reaction.

It’s as if Inaho didn’t hear him, because for the longest five seconds in Slaine’s life Inaho just stares at him, not saying anything. But then he’s leaning forward, curving his back and resting his forehead on Slaine’s chest in an uncharacteristically fond move. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Always so painfully honest, Orange. Slaine swallows the dryness in his throat, then slips his fingers into Inaho’s brown locks, ruffling them a bit, holding Inaho close. “You won’t.”

Inaho raises his head, and somehow they are kissing again, and Slaine feels dizzy, but in a very, very good way, while Inaho uses the opportunity to slide closer and murmur near Slaine’s ear, hands sliding down Slaine’s back, “I want you—”

Slaine’s skin is instantly on fire, he croaks, “Yes…”

“Slaine, I want to touch you…”

The drag of Inaho’s hand against his crotch almost brings tears to his eyes, but Slaine bites his lip, “You can’t imagine how much—ah, Inaho...”

Inaho pulls back, and Slaine momentarily feels a pang of emptiness, until he realizes that Inaho is waiting for him, eye wide with uncertainty. So Slaine does something he hasn’t done in years; he takes off his shirt in front of somebody else, and Inaho keeps staring at him, his neck moving as he swallows.

Slaine is so aroused, the first slide of Inaho’s hand across his skin sets every nerve on fire. He doubles over, clutching onto Inaho’s shoulders as if his life depends on it. Inaho spreads his palms, slowly, sliding his hands across Slaine’s chest, his naked back—Inaho’s fingers keep traveling across his skin and burning him in ways Cruhteo’s whip never did, because this time, it is a worse kind of pain; because Inaho is being gentle, very gentle, and Slaine hasn’t experienced such tenderness in his life for a very, very long time, perhaps never before, and it both confuses him and scares him—Slaine realizes that he has never been that close to another person before in a way that doesn’t involve violence or torture or everything else he has obediently suffered as punishment for his crimes—

“Slaine.” Inaho cups the side of his face.

“Y-Yes?”

“Relax...”

At this, Slaine’s body stiffens more, sitting hunched on the bed, the muscles of his abdomen occasionally trembling under Inaho’s warm palms, now covering the area around his bellybutton. His back hits the mattress. He tries to calm down, but with no apparent success. He curses at himself, one hand covering his eyes, because he can’t stop the dark thoughts from reappearing, along with old images from his past.

“Bat?” He is not hard anymore, and Inaho notices that. Slaine lowers his hand, refusing to look at Inaho. Inaho seems genuinely concerned now, lips dropping at the corners, staring into Slaine’s eyes. “Did I…are you alright? Slaine, should we stop?”

Slaine buries the left side of his burning face into the pillow. “No. I want us to...undress.” He meets Inaho’s gaze under lowered eyelids, and doesn’t miss the way Inaho’s eye widens in surprise.

Taking a shaky breath, Slaine realizes that he has had enough. He moves, mindful of his leg, detaching his back from the bed and slowly straddling Inaho, who lets out a deep sound when Slaine cups his face and presses their mouths together. Inaho’s hands come to rest on his clothed thighs, his fingers carefully rubbing circles exactly over the parts where Slaine usually hurts—realization hits Slaine like lighting: Inaho has been watching him all of this time.

This is too much. Slaine’s fingers scrabble at Inaho’s uniform, Inaho’s belt, but he then abandons them to wrap his arms around Inaho’s neck, threading his fingers though Inaho’s hair, shaking, desperate, sweat gathering on his nape—Inaho thrusts his hips upwards and Slaine throws his head back and doesn’t even register the broken sound that leaves his open mouth—

Slaine is whispering, “Orange—let’s take them off—please, I need—“

Inaho doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second; their scars are too complicated, too far away from what is happening now between them, because they are safe and whole and undamaged in the darkness of Slaine’s bedroom. The eyepatch is gone, and Slaine sees what he must see, having prepared himself long ago for it, and he then kisses Inaho’s mouth, his nose, his forehead, his remaining eyelid, until Inaho’s cupping his cheeks and kissing him again, short but fierce kisses, their lips clinging together, and when their mouths separate Slaine has to rest his head on Inaho’s shoulder, overcome with a full, heavy emotion.

They frantically get rid of their clothes, lips and hands occupied with touching and exploring and eliciting soft moans, echoing in the dark room.

A moment comes when Slaine realizes that Inaho is fully naked, sitting on his bed in front of him, and the shimmering stars and far-away galaxies at the other side of the immense window are providing enough light for Slaine to see that Inaho is already hard, Inaho is looking at his damaged body and he is hard, and Slaine can’t pull his gaze away from it.

Either way, not much can be seen as the light isn’t enough to fully expose the damage at his body—especially the brown, ugly splotches on his leg—so perhaps—then Inaho wraps his hand around him, and Slaine’s mind whitens out as a wave of so intense pleasure overwhelms him, it brings a sob up his throat. Slaine realizes he is panting as he mutters through clenched teeth, “F-Finish what you started.”

Inaho stares at Slaine silently for two burning seconds, then runs his tongue and lips over Slaine’s mouth and down Slaine’s throat. Slaine’s eyes drift shut through his moans and sighs, his elbows buckle as he lies on the bed. Inaho keeps kissing him lower and lower, until Slaine arches his back with a soft gasp, pushing into the wet heat of Inaho’s mouth—his body suddenly feels fragile like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap—he tries to breathe as Inaho starts moving his lips and hands, clumsily, slowly, burning pleasure into his flesh, and Slaine can only gulp mouthfuls of air as he swims into a sea of sweet fire, fingers pointlessly scraping at the sheets beneath him.

Slaine will later recall that desperate, hungry first time and wonder how he was so fortunate, finding Inaho so eager to please and be pleased. It is as if their bodies know each other for a hundred years, and Slaine cannot ask for anything else; their fingers intertwine, lips hovering over each other, until Inaho moves, making them both moan into each other’s mouths. Just before Slaine comes, he is sinking his fingers into Inaho’s hair, bringing him closer, until he’s shaking uncontrollably, crying out for Inaho. All that’s keeping him together while the blinding-white pleasure crashes into him are Inaho’s hands wrapped tightly around his body, never letting go.

Their bodies are still connected when Slaine’s breathing calms down, the blissful daze of his orgasm slowly fading away, until Inaho lifts himself with quivering thighs and drops into the mattress right next to Slaine. If it wasn’t for his whole body radiating warmth like the brightest of all suns, Slaine would believe that the last few minutes where the warmest and most earnest dream he has ever experienced in his life.

Some more minutes pass, and after his breathing returns to normal, Slaine murmurs while ignoring the sticky mess on the sheets and between his legs, “Inaho?”

Inaho sits up, the blanket sliding and revealing parts of his body. There isn’t much to see with the faint light from the window, but suddenly, a strong feeling similar to hunger stirs inside Slaine.

Slaine sits up too, leans forward and kisses Inaho on the corner of his mouth. “I want to go again.”

Inaho blinks in confusion. Slaine feels his cheeks and other parts of his body growing hot.

“Now?”

Slaine nods, and kisses Inaho again, murmuring on his lips, “Do you need more time…?”

Inaho lets out a sound surprisingly similar to a chuckle. “No. I must admit…that your sight alone…” Inaho caresses the inner part of Slaine’s thigh, and Slaine has to open his mouth in a silent moan and smile. He has never felt so alive before, so full of wonderful feelings.

Slaine lies on his back and grasps Inaho’s hand in the darkness, guiding it to where he wants it to be. This time, it’s different; not driven by the same rush and despair as the first time. Inaho’s more in control of his movements, kissing Slaine’s mouth, breathing shakily against his shoulder, and Slaine licks and bites at Inaho’s lips, and more than appreciates it.

“What now?” Slaine whispers, lying on his side, both hands tucked under his head, just like he used to sleep ages ago, at times where no nightmares would violently disturb his nights.

Inaho whispers back, fingers running (a bit clumsily) through Slaine’s hair, “I will not complete my mission. Obviously.”

Slaine rolls his eyes. Inaho swifts, so that they’re both lying on their sides. Inaho’s mouth almost rests on Slaine’s temple, so Slaine can feel every word when Inaho whispers, “This may sound ridiculous…”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“When I was on Earth, I tried reading the books you are so…fond of. Many UFE officers ended up displeased with me, as reading your favorite books always made me distracted during our meetings.”

Slaine certainly did not expect that. A snort leaves his lips. “Wait, let me get this right. You read my favorite books…?”

“Yes, as every single one of those books—“

“Orange…you remembered every single title from my library?!”’

“Of course.”

Slaine doesn’t know how to answer that. He blinks in the semi-darkness of his room.

“As I was saying, every single one of your favorite books keeps mentioning love, or is centered around a romantic plot. So that ascertained my theory that you are a romantic person.”

It is amazing, how much Slaine’s cheeks flush in embarrassment, despite the things they have been doing the last hour. Trying to get revenge, his palm travels downwards, hoping this will distract Inaho from making Slaine reach record levels of blushing, but apart from a shiver and the faintest catch in Inaho’s breathing, Slaine doesn’t succeed. Inaho gently pushes his hand away.

“Kaizuka Inaho…what are you trying to accomplish…?”

“Recite poetry, of course.”

That makes Slaine almost double over in disbelief. “What—”

“My sweet—”

It doesn’t help that Inaho’s features stay unmoving as if he’s made of stone, and his voice lacks all enthusiasm. “O-Orange…!” Slaine thinks his face must be redder than a beet. “Is that really necessary…?”

Inaho sighs, “Then I guess …” When Inaho speaks, his voice is calm, quiet. Slaine finds himself unable to interrupt him. It’s a…poem.

(I cannot say that I have gone to hell for your love

but often found myself there in your pursuit.

I do not like it and wanted to be in heaven. Hear me out.

Do not turn away.)

“Slaine.” Inaho murmurs. “Slaine…” There is a warm palm on his cheek now, so Slaine turns his head, previously buried into the pillow, because the emotions are chocking him. He meets Inaho’s gaze, and it hurts.

Slaine whispers, very puzzled, “You can’t possibly believe that you seek my…” Slaine chokes, “…love.”

Inaho’s hand is still on his cheek. “Why?”

“Because—“ Slaine whispers, eyes wide. “Because I’m—“ The cane strikes his cheek. The door of his cell bursts open. “Inaho. Inaho, I’m—“

“Breathe with me.”

It takes him a few minutes, but Slaine succeeds. He feels exhausted, his arms dropping onto the mattress, numb, he’s not fighting Inaho any longer.

He buries his burning face into the pillow, ashamed, and murmurs, having calmed down a bit now, “I see... You will expect of me to agree with your plans, to agree with all your stupid ideas about reforming Earth and Vers.”

“Stupid…?”

Slaine sighs, his throat is dry. But he continues, almost inaudibly. “You said it yourself; you prefer heaven, and I wish I could give that to you…but I can’t.” Somehow, Slaine feels like crying, and he doesn’t even understand why. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“I know who you are, Slaine Troyard.” Inaho kisses him again, slower, more careful than ever before. “I know.” Inaho’s shy smile is different, when Slaine is looking at it sideways, Inaho’s head resting on a pillow, his mouth slightly wrinkled.

“Then stay.” Slaine blurts out, not even thinking, heart aching in his chest, in the best of ways. “Stay...”

Inaho hugs him so close, it cuts off Slaine’s breath. “I’m never leaving you again, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine slowly closes his eyes at Inaho’s answer, heart thudding faster. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Inaho, but before he knows it, he is clutching onto Inaho so hard, burying his nose into Inaho’s neck, taking deep, uneven breaths.

Slowly, carefully, Inaho starts trailing his fingertips over Slaine’s back, over the crisscrossing scars. Eyes still closed and stinging, Slaine’s thoughts soar to the skies. He can imagine it; Inaho’s palm carving new patterns into his flesh, overwriting the years and years of hatred and violence, making his broken skin whole and undamaged again.

When he wakes in the following morning, after a merciful, undisturbed sleep he hasn’t experienced in ages, Slaine notices that Inaho is lying on his side next to him, propped on his elbow and staring at him, not wearing his eyepatch. Slaine realizes that his chest is uncovered and in full view, the dim Martian sunrays falling on the red mash of his scars—he puts his arms beneath the sheet, and pulls it up to his chin.

Inaho simply reaches over and strokes his cheek, in that trademark awkward way of his (after last night, Slaine knows too well how Inaho touches, how Inaho’s hands feel on every part of his skin, and he shudders pleasantly at the thought.)

“What now…?” Slaine asks.

“I already answered that question last night.”

“No…I mean—“

Inaho blinks. “Do you want to have sex again? I admit that last night I wanted to but you fell asleep—”

Slaine groans. “Orange, let’s leave this discussion for…later. No, I what I mean is…what happens now?”

Inaho says, smiling a bit, “We eat breakfast, Bat.”

For once, Orange has come up with a good idea. However, that smile… “No. Not again.”

“Yes.” Inaho seems too satisfied with himself. “How do you want your eggs? Omelet or scrambled?”

As a punishment, Slaine has to- slowly- straddle Inaho and push him into the sheets, and from Inaho’s soft smile Slaine understands that lots and lots of egg-breakfasts are awaiting him in his near—and perhaps distant— future.

∞

~Epilogue~

Earth, Summer 2032

Kaizuka Inaho’s residence

“Bat…”

Last night they were both very tired as they dived under the sheets, having spent the day swimming in the ocean and walking Eggs across the shore. They made love, Slaine panting softly each time Inaho slowly pushed into him.

“Slaine.”

Inaho’s lips on his forehead are trying to wake him up. Slaine buries his head into the pillow, hair disheveled, treading the dizzy steps in his dreams between sleep and wakefulness, yawning. “Hmm…?” He can feel Inaho’s hand treading through the ends of his tangled hair, untangling the stubborn strands.

“I think I was infected with something last night.”

Slaine is fully awake, eyes snapping open, turning towards Inaho, the delicious warmth and softness of the sheets long forgotten, lost in that feeling of sharp trepidation. “Are you not feeling well?”

“It’s the opposite.”

Inaho is smiling. Slaine wants to kiss him, but he snaps out of it and focuses on the problem at hand, a bit annoyed in case Inaho woke him up for another one of his silly obsessions: chess and discounts. “…I don’t understand.”

“Think of it as the bacterium of happiness.”

Slaine snorts, all worries gone. This is yet another one of Inaho’s crazy attempts to show him affection. Last time was when Inaho dragged an upset, shaking Slaine into the kitchen at 3am and baked him cookies which they later ate together on the couch, Eggs sitting between them and licking at Slaine’s face, while Slaine held her close and tried to find the words to describe to Inaho the agony that woke him up.

Inaho is getting better and better at showing affection through the years, though this time his methods are rather ridiculous.

“Orange, you’re ridiculous.”

“It is highly contagious.”

“Inaho... It’s too early in the day for that. And I don’t understand—“

“Kiss me. Kiss me, and you will find out.”

Wait. Is he trying…? Realization slowly dawns, spreading its soft colors everywhere. “Is this your way of saying…” Slaine’s throat tightens, “…that you want to make me…happy?”

Inaho leans forward, head tilted to bring their mouths together. He lingers for a few seconds, his warm mouth on Slaine’s. Slaine closes his eyes. Each time Inaho kisses him like that, chaste and careful, the kiss never fails to soothe him. Inaho draws back, starring into Slaine’s eyes. He is so serious. “Now you’re infected too.”

Slaine snorts, deciding to play along, despite feeling like a happy fool—even if happiness was something never meant for him. (But on the other side neither was Inaho, yet…) “Is it…incurable?”

Inaho’s serious expression morphs into a soft smile.

Slaine kisses him, which Inaho fervently reciprocates, his arms boldly sliding down towards the curve of Slaine’s ass, and that makes Slaine laugh at first and then groan into the kiss. They soon end up naked once again and breathless under the sheets, Inaho sliding his hands along Slaine’s scarred back, his chest, his tights, igniting fire everywhere, and Slaine is left shivering, unable to bare it any longer, sighing when Inaho starts stroking him in the way he knows Slaine likes, slow at the beginning and then faster and faster, until Slaine groans, clutching at Inaho’s shoulders, jerking in Inaho’s hand, coating Inaho’s fingers. He then sinks, blood humming with pleasure, spent and smiling into the mattress.

Inaho, blushing, uses the same hand to take his own arousal in hand; Slaine smiles again, propped on his elbows, flushed and tired and a bit wicked when he notices what Inaho is doing, brown strands of his hair sticking out in every single direction. When Inaho comes, he is staring at him, never looking away from his eyes; his other hand hovers near Slaine’s flushed, sweaty cheek, until Slaine leans into the caress, then kisses Inaho’s palm, the tips of Inaho’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth.

And after so many years, after so many nights filled with tenderness and pleasure, Slaine still tries to grasp the truth of it, Inaho finding him attractive—Inaho whispering, those moments just before he finishes, words like Slaine, or beautiful, or love.

They end up spending the rest of the morning in the bedroom, Slaine mostly on his knees and palms on the bed, Inaho mercilessly dragging pleasure out of him, making Slaine hide his reddened mouth and release deep, hoarse moans into the sheets.

The political situation between Earth and Vers has evolved much through the last few years. The words ‘Versian’ and ‘Terran’ have begun to lose their acerbic meaning, the younger generations being confused when hearing them, not able to grasp their implication. Since the last Emperor of Vers negotiated with Kaizuka Inaho and abandoned his position, the two planets and many space resettlements prosper in peace and under a democracy, with the cities of Vers still filled with saxifrage flowers—rumor has it that the flower can break through the hardest of stones.

After their hot morning activities, Slaine realizes that he tired his leg more than usual, straddling Inaho at one point and then lowering himself—

“Bat? You’ll burn the eggs. Let me.” Inaho steps next to him in front of the stove, taking the pan from his hand.

Slaine walks—in his own slow way, as always— towards the kitchen chairs, and Eggs barks happily and strolls next to him, nudging at his knees with enthusiasm when Slaine manages to sit down next to the table, so Slaine snaps his gaze away from Inaho and starts indulging Eggs with caresses and smiles.

Inaho places their breakfast on the table—pancakes and honey and eggs and bacon and fruit, because ‘We need the vitamins, Bat.’ –then sits opposite Slaine, starring at him in silence.

“What is it?” Slaine asks, chewing on his breakfast, “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” Inaho says, with a soft, satisfied smile, cheek resting on his palm.

Slaine tries to, he really does, but his eyes close as he surrenders into it, smiling back. He loves Inaho. Inaho loves him. That much he understands, and he is happy.

“W…Why are you making me smile?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Eggs barks happily again, so Slaine pets her quickly, looking out of the kitchen window, Inaho’s gaze still focused on him. The sky is blue and endless. And for the first time after all those years, Slaine thinks that it is truly beautiful.

~Fin~

∞

#ALDNOAH ZERO #inaho kaizuka #inasureanthology #slaine troyard #az anthology #Saxifrage #by paperballoon #orangebat #inaho x slaine

27 notes · View notes