Rewriting His Past

Plans

"Dusk, ya..." Inviting him in for a hug, Pyrite shook his head. His arms were around his waist, keeping his head close to his chest. Pyrite's waves of thick brown hair encircled Dusk, and he tucked him into his shoulder. Pyrite's words, which were barely audible in his ear, were, "I got ya."

He is ignoring the kiss. Although Dusk smiled, his stomach turned as he did so. Its acids gave off a burning sensation. He leaned his head against Pyrite's solid chest. Years of effort had built up a lot of muscle on his chest. It did not make the most comfortable pillows. Never before had Dusk felt more at ease in another person's arms. Never before had he felt more at ease.

It was an impulsive kiss. Dusk's lips tingled at the memory of it, but he was unable to identify what drove him to do it. Dusk sighed and touched his lips. Why was everything so difficult to understand? Dusk was worn out—exhausted from hiding, running, and running in particular. He had had enough of worrying. Pyrite's hand massaged the small of his back as his chin sat atop his head. This seemed appropriate. It seemed typical. That feeling was there. If he was being completely honest with himself, that was the most terrifying situation he had ever encountered. Even the Duchess, whom he would not call mother.

"Can I ever feel normal?" Without intending to, Dusk said it aloud. When his teeth clicked, he closed his mouth, grazing his tongue. By the lay-lines. Dusk closed his eyes, his heart pounding. He had not intended to speak those words aloud. His absence of normality was the root of all his problems. In front of him, Dusk's hands curled. He fell short of expectations, even when it came to being a blood mage. Despite Pyrite's close embrace, he continued to feel incredibly lonely. Not that the sensation was particularly novel.

"Ah, Sunshine." Pyrite said, tucking him in closer until Dusk was essential to lay on top of him. "I wish I could show ya how amazing ya are, as ya are." Dusk scoffed at Pyrite's words, like he had dismissed his initial interest in Micah. It hurt less to push things away than to pull them in. What resulted from his efforts to bring his family closer to him? Intense nightmares and scars. Dusk closed his eyes and fought back the urge to cry. He was unable to cry out for help. He had established this as his first self-imposed rule: he would not even

"Are you howling? Are you howling?" When Pyrite began to sing, his voice grew deeper in pitch. Never before had anyone sang to Dusk. The words made his chest, which was beneath his face, rumble. Dusk listened without saying anything. "Little wolf, little wolf. The night birds are singing! The night birds are singing!" Due to Pyrite's soothing repetition of his words, Dusk noticed his mind beginning to wander.

"Still, listen, sleep. Still, listen, sleep." Dusk fell not to sleep but to a place between awake and asleep. Pyrite's song briefly brought some calm to his frantic thoughts. His stomach did not stir him from his resting position until a potent, spicy scent filled the air.

"Feeling better, Sunshine?" In response to Pyrite's question, Dusk gave him a slow blink and raised his head to face him.

"You have my thanks, Pyrite." Pyrite held two fingers to Dusk's chin, stopping him from dipping his head.

"Just a simple thank ya, but only if you need to." Pyrite moved closer and gave him a forehead kiss. He was reminded of his hasty actions by the soft lips on his forehead, and he felt his face begin to heat up. "Micah is waiting with a small surprise for you in the kitchen. By the smell, it's food." Pyrite took a whiff of the air and licked his lips. "The best kind of surprise, unless..." Pyrite raised an eyebrow.

"That subject is too soon for ya, I say." Pyrite put his head on Dusk's head and ran his fingers through his hair. He then put it back in position. Dusk blinked. Not by the hair ruffle he had accepted, but rather by the delicate manner in which he had put his hair back into its proper part.