Wings

34: I Don't Think I Could Stand To Be Where You Don't See Me

NPOV

Track: Francis Forever, Mitski

Will's breathing has finally steadied, and I hold him close, feeling the residual tremors in his body slowly fade away. I want desperately to protect him from everything, to be his shield against the world, but I am already too late. He calms down in my arms, though, and I will have to try to live with that being good enough.

We stay like that for so long, I'm not entirely sure how much time passes of us just holding each other, grounding ourselves in the warmth of each other's bodies for the first time in so long. I don't know how much time we have, but I'm determined to make every moment count. We've lost so much time already—I dread having to find out how much time is left on the clock as it ticks down to nothingness.

"I love you," I whisper to him again. I love you, I love you, I love you. You are golden. I never want to leave your side. There is so much to say and not enough time to say it, so I just keep repeating over and over: "I love you." If the universe were silent, if everything were to end in darkness, I'd scream it from the stars: "I love you."

He murmurs it back, exhausted and emotional, and yet there's still some semblance of hope in his eyes that nearly rips me apart and kills me. He's talking as if there is a chance the treaty won't be signed. Is the treaty gone for good? he had asked, as if humanity and Guardians have ever agreed on anything except tearing each other apart. Destroying the old treaty would mean admitting they were wrong, that Guardians and humans cannot follow different rules while claiming that the game is fair. The treaty might have been bearable in another universe where I did not fall in love with Will and where both humans and Guardians followed the treaty perfectly. But even in that universe, there would always be a divide between species—a fence between two worlds while we attempt to live on the same planet.

It was bound to fail from the start. We cannot live on this planet together and follow a treaty like that. We need something completely new, something that treats both sides as equals.

Not a fence, I think. What we really need is a bridge.

But Hades and humanity will never build a bridge.

Eventually, Will pulls back slightly, looking up at me with those beautiful, expressive eyes. There's a question there, a glimmer of hope mixed with fear. I know he's wondering the same thing I am—how do we fight a battle that seems already lost?

"Nico," he says softly. "What if we don't get another chance? What if this is it?"

I lean in and kiss him again, pouring all my love and conviction into that single act. (I need more time with him. This can't end. I can't survive another treaty. I can't survive without his body heat, without his soft skin, without his smile, without his gentleness.)

But then something shifts. At first, it's just a flicker in the corner of my eye, a movement in the shadows of the dim room. I break the kiss, and Will makes a sound of disappointment as I glance toward the fireplace on the far side of the room—meant to keep the space reasonably warm even when the workday runs long, except now that it's caught my attention, something feels wrong. The embers, mostly burnt out now, reveal a faint twisted shape among the ashes. What could someone have possibly tried to burn that would leave something like that behind?

"Hold on," I say, still working to catch my breath, and Will leans away from me. "What...is that?"

He twists in my arms to look over his shoulder, tilts his head a little, and goes, "Huh."

To my great dissatisfaction, he shifts and then leaves my arms entirely—standing up to go see what's in the fireplace. I'm starting to think I shouldn't have said anything—we're supposed to be kissing until the end of the world right now—but somehow Will looks even more confused as he approaches the fireplace. That piques my curiosity, so I finally cave in and stand up.