#sorry to fiend for threads........but the muse voices are strong

[cr4shc0urse]

— OPEN (0/1):

SCENE. several days into arrival week, at the HOTEL. MUSE has given themselves a minor injury, and SUNHEE's the only one around to see.

"WELL, MAYBE THEY'LL SPIN A SIDEPLOT OUT OF THIS and you'll get more screentime," sunhee points out with a wry grin.

it doesn't look too bad. what was a horror reunion without some blood and flesh wounds? "uh, here. you should probably run that under some water or something. is your bathroom near here?" she hands over her towel, silently apologizing to the staff for the stain that that's going to leave on the pristine white cloth.

the whole reason she'd gotten lost in this place for the last two hours was to find that stupid towel, but it would have been more awkward if she'd just walked past someone clearly hurt. her good old father always warned her about sowing good karmic energy anyway, and she can hear his rattling voice in the back of her mind, pointing out that she's literally staying in a horror movie town. sunhee, what if it's you someday?

unlikely, but the blood isn't a pretty sight. she's not squeamish, but her imagination's been running overactive, and morbid, for the last year, and it can't help but paint the possibilities worse and worse. better to see it through now. "what even happened? and don't say anything about the curse, or i'm taking the towel back and letting you bleed out."

[hotheadhero]

🌈!

Recount a memory of when your muse first fell in love.

[ An eternity 22 days later orz

This might be more a first confession than a firs love moment per se, but still! Also, boy did this thing snowball. Cut because it’s very long XD possibly the longest thing I’ve posted here to date. ]

“Heh…I really got myself good there, didn’t I?”

“Hush,Caspar; you’re in no state to talk right now.”

Reluctantly,the man obeyed, relaxing comfortably yet not into Linhardt’s one-armed embrace.Perhaps he should get comfortable; this wound wasn’t one his friend could heal awayquickly; but a sharp pain in his side convinced him otherwise, stabbed him witha force too strong for mere memory; and with a stifled groan that sounded morelike a whimper, he simply fell straight back against the other’s arm.

Stabbed.By the point of his own axe, no less. Careless to take his eyes off it whiledisarmed, scrambling for another weapon like a fool instead of simply nailinghis foe in the unarmed solar plexus first with his equally unarmed hand.

TheCrest of Cethleann glowed faintly over the ravages of his upper abdominal wall,not quite hiding the mess that knit itself back together far too slowly underhis gaze. Caspar averted his eyes. All these years later, and he stillcouldn’t get used to the sight of white magic at work. Even seeing Huberteviscerating enemies on the battlefield wasn’t as gruesome as this somehow, andhe knew the cold organometallic bite of dark magic skittering up hisspine, knew the feel of the malevolent aura oozing off Those Who Slitheredin the Dark or that black, twisted fiend of his worst nightmares who turnedsoulless eyes on him from a chillingly familiar visage. Perhaps it was simplythat those scenes were more transient, more easily distanced; whereas lyinghere in their impromptu infirmary, entrails bared for all to see, he felt moreacutely his vulnerability, his helplessness. His mortality.

Linhardt’s mortality.

Casparknew full well how much Linhardt hated being on the front lines, hated drawingblood even in the most abject cases of self-defense. Back in their academydays, he’d been one of the first students to master Physic magic for that veryreason. That was why Caspar promised he’d fight on the front lines in hisstead, take every hit aimed Linhardt’s way so he didn’t have to. But now…

“You’rea real fool, you know that?” The fern-haired man’s words were accompanied witha long-suffering sigh. “You could have died, reopening that wound—and gettingstabbed in it again…”

“Sorry.”Caspar wanted to say more, but a hacking cough stole his words away. Something insidehis wound trembled with the effort, and his stomach roiled. It was all he coulddo to keep from retching. However many of his foes’ internal organs he saw whenhe laid his axe into them, he couldn’t stand seeing his own, or even lettinghis best friend see them. It shouldn’t bother him anymore; Linhardt probablyknew the internal lay of his body as well or better than he by now… but still.He knew how helpless it made others. Hated how helpless it made him.

Predictably,Linhardt noticed his flinch (how could he not when they were this close?), andhis eyes widened in concern. “Are you alright, Caspar?”

“Just…hurry up with that, would you? This can’t be any easier for you either.”

Atense but comfortable silence settled over the two as Linhardt worked his magicand Caspar forced back his momentary bile. A moment passed, and another, beforehe felt steady enough to look up again.

“Say,Linhardt. Why do you keep doing this?”

“Whateverdo you mean?” The warms pulses of light magic stilled for a moment as hisfriend looked at him, affronted.

“This.”He gestured vaguely at the scene beyond the tent. Far in the distance, shoutsstill echoed across the bloodstained plains, and mere meters from theirencampment lay shallow trenches filled with the newly deceased. “You hateblood. Hate fighting. I asked you once if you’d rather we ran away from it all.Just you and me, far from all this.” Inquisitive eyes dimmed as Caspar flickedhis gaze downwards away from Linhardt and promptly thought better of it. “Maybeit’d have been better that way,” he mumbled, so quietly it might as well havebeen to himself. “Then you wouldn’t have to force it on yourself if I got hurt…”

“You’renot forcing anything on me,” Linhardt protested. “I’ve been taking care of yousince we were children. Why would that change because of some silly war?”

Therobin-haired man immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Linhardt silencedhim with a squeeze to his shoulder. Reluctantly, Caspar subsided; but hisfriend didn’t seem inclined to respond, instead narrowing his eyes on hisabdominal wound, the fascia only now beginning to repair. He could only wait solong before trying again; but Linhardt anticipated this too and began talking,cutting off his response.

“Rememberwhen you promised you’d always fight right in front of me so I never had totake a blow myself?” he asked. His gaze did not move from the steady repairline advancing towards Caspar’s broken lower ribs, his voice taking on the sameairy quality it did when he was simply repeating his thoughts aloud. “Maybe Isimply found something equally worth protecting.”

“You…you did?” His voice dropped to an uncharacteristic (but still decently loud)whisper. Dare he hope that something was what he thought it was?

“Come,now. Are you really going to make me say it? It’s you.” Linhardt pausedin his efforts to trace a line down Caspar’s exposed sternum. “I can hardlyleave you to do all the hard work for me; and besides, you have so muchworth protecting. You’re optimistic; you’re honest; you’re hardworking; youalways lend me an ear or shoulder even if you’re not interested in everything Ihave to say or would rather be doing something else; you always know what to sayeven so…” A smirk. “And you’re always so good about getting me up in themorning and fired up, even when I least expect it. What’s not to like?”

Casparcould feel his ears turning red, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was just theway Linhardt was touching his chest. Normally, he didn’t have a problem withit; sometimes these things were necessary for white magic to work; but he didn’tsee Linhardt’s crest anywhere between fingertips and skin, and this felt atouch more intimate than he was used to. But there was something more to it, aninternal heat of sorts…

Washe… reciprocating?

“B-But none of those require us to be here, in the thick of it all,” hehedged, in an attempt to distract himself. “You could have all that even if we’drun away. And besides, isn’t fighting this war keeping you from doing all thatnapping and researching you keep talking about?”

Linhardtsnorted, but the sound was gentle. “You’d never rest if you knew someone elsewas out there fighting for justice and you weren’t right there fighting at theirside.”

Andwherever you go, I’ll be right there with you, said the featherlighttouch of his fingers as he lifted them away. Always.

…If his cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly were now. Th eloquent smile onLinhardt’s face that said he knew exactly where his friend’s thoughts had gonedidn’t help matters at all.

“…Hoo boy,” he laughed feebly. “I dunno what I was expecting, but it certainlywasn’t that. Now I’m all flustered. Got all these emotions inside, and now Idon’t know what to do with them.”

Thefern-haired man laughed softly. “Just let them out, Caspar,” he advised simply.“Isn’t that what you always do, anyways?”

“Yeah,but—This isn’t the kind of thing you just spring on people, you know!All this time I’ve been waiting for you to say something, waiting for a perfectmoment to tell you, and I—!”

Abruptly,he fell silent, eyes wide, cheeks red and puffed like they had been when theywere children and Linhardt and caught him with his hand in the cookie jar inthe imperial pantry in Enbarr. It didn’t last long. “Isn’t this the point whereyou tell me to stop yelling or I’ll reopen my wound?” he demanded. Anything todistract him from the wild tumult of his thoughts right now.

“No—yourwound is mostly healed now, though you will have to be careful not getting thesame site injured again. There’s only so much scar tissue my magic can keepback. But I’m quite curious now: What is it you’ve been waiting so long to tellme, Caspar?”

Ilove you?Such tender words ill befit this bloody battlefield, this land of murder where words died beneath axe and lance. If Caspar had his way, he would sweep Linhardt off his feet and smite all their foeswith a single strike of the axe, would spirit them away from this horror andeven lay down his head on the executioner’s block if it meant Linhardt may livehappily. Actually, if he had his way off the battlefield, he would tellhim this over a fire-grilled feast of his own design, say the words whilst threadingupon his finger the symbol of his care. Linhardt was his best friend, but hewas so much more than that. His teacher, his adviser, the first to extend ahelping hand when he was most laid low. This and more he would pour out to himwhen the time was right; but now was not that time. But if not now, then when?The war was not yet won, the dream their leader sought not yet realized. Eitherone of them could die tomorrow; and if it was him, then Linhardt would neverhear for himself how much he meant to him. Besides, Linhardt was asking now—sowhy not say something now and spare them both the uncertainty? Even so,the words tangled on his tongue, foreign as the magical tenets the professorhad imposed on him during a week of Faith training… Caspar frowned. This reallyshouldn’t be so hard. Maybe if he focused on something else—

“Earthto Caspar? Are you there?” Linhardt was waving a hand in front of his face, hisown hovering mere inches away. “You’ve gone awfully quiet; what’s going on?”

“Wah!Linhardt! Ha- Have I ever told you you have really pretty eyelashes?”

“I—What?”The other man seemed taken aback, as he well should be. Not even Caspar knewwhere those words had come from. He’d tried to flinch away from him in embarrassment,but his efforts were in vain; his friend held him too fast. (He’d always beenthe one to hold him back from some ill-advised fight back then…)

Theyhung like this for several moments, Linhardt’s wide teal eyes reflected inCaspar’s robin blues, before Linhardt sighed again; but his sigh was one of bemusementnot exasperation, and a faint blush colored his cheeks, no less red than Caspar’sown. “You’ve been thinking too hard,” he remarked. “Your brain must haveshort-circuited. We’ll pick this up another time.” Slipping his leg out from underhis friend, he stood and stretched. “Make sure to sweep me off my feet when wedo, Caspar,” he advised. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ashe walked away, Caspar could only stare after him, flabbergasted. How didLinhardt always manage to read his mind like that? He traced the path Linhardt’sfingers had taken on his skin, a remembering flush tinging his cheeks eventhough the other had already departed. He curled his fingers into a fist, rightover the heart Linhardt had mended, so close to where his enemy’s stolen axehad gotten him that day.

Ipromise, Linhardt. And when the time comes, I’ll tell you everything.