The Importance of Moss.

The Importance of Moss 9.

Drew turned to his side and peered over at his new friend, his wings pushing out just slightly to balance himself as he rolled to his stomach. The other wasn’t looking at him, more so smiling sadly into the ground. It made Drew frown slightly because he didn’t like the idea of Cyrus being sad just because he couldn’t fly. It wasn’t like it was something that they couldn’t fix, because they could, because was flying really so hard without the help of two full wings? Even if it was, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t at least try. 

“Are you alright, Cyrus?” Drew asked him quietly, leaning over and nudging his fingers up against the others arm, touching the weird white stuff that was around his arms. The other boys’ wings twitched just slightly as his shoulders lifted in this half-arsed shrug.

“Yeah. I’m good,” the other smiled, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He pushed his hands against his knees, pushing them down slightly before he just let them rest there. “Shall we try again?” 

Drew grins, glad that he wasn’t too sad about not actually flying. He too pushed himself up, spreading his wings out to keep himself from falling to the ground. Cyrus gave him smile from behind his dirty blonde hair, that fell over his eyes and covered the corners of his smile. It was kind of adorable, but it’s not like Drew would admit that he thought that. He didn’t even know Cyrus. He shouldn’t be thinking of him as adorable, nor should he even be trusting him. Hell, he shouldn’t have even bought him back to the troop because he was basically bringing back a spy! He was stupid for doing it but it didn’t make him regret his decision. Drew knew he wouldn’t have actually been able to leave the poor soul shivering under his pitiful pull of moss. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” asked Cyrus from where he now stood on top of the pale rock they’d been stood on before. He had his wings slightly drooped but still spread. It was a pretty sight. The sunlight caught in the wings and made them practically glow, and the clean slice of the half wing looked as though it were glistening.

Drew blinked. “You have pretty wings.”

He could already see the doubt on Cyrus’ face, and he wasn’t graced with a reply, which Drew might have been thankful for. What if Cyrus had said that he disagreed and their time together had become sad? He didn’t want Cyrus to be sad about his wings, because, like he had said before, he thought they were very pretty. Even if they weren’t intact.

“We going to fly then?” whispered the other one, looking more timid than he normally did. 

And Drew says yes because he liked to fly and he liked the idea of teaching someone else how to do so. Even if the someone else already knew how to do the flying. 

“Well, yeah. That’s what we’re here for,” Drew agreed, and gave him a bright smile.

They practice for so long and the best they get is this little hover that’s slightly off, but it makes Drew smile so huge and bundle Cyrus over with the weight of his excitement- because he’d made some sort of progress, right? Even if it was stuff that infants were capable of. It didn’t make him feel like any less of a proud friend, and all that. He didn’t stop twice to think that maybe Cyrus didn’t want to be hugged or whatever. 

Cyrus still felt kind of stupid that he couldn’t fly. It was basic things of being a fae. It was something that even the little ones could do and it made him feel pathetic, and not a proper fae. He wasn’t, was he? Not without his wings. Maybe he’d be better off without them at all, then at least he’d have a real excuse as to why he wasn’t flying. He felt like a sorry case that Drew simply pitied. He didn’t think that Drew actually wanted to help him; it was probably because he had nothing better to do unless he wanted to collect moss and that was boring.

But here they were, with Luke, collecting up food and whatever else that they could find. One of those black fruits managed to explode over Luke’s face which had given him and Drew amusement for a couple of minutes. It had left them near hysterical.

“Where do we find these, though?” Luke asked- after wiping his face off with a leaf- and tugged at the white clothing that Cyrus wore.

That would probably be something that made little sense to this troop, Cyrus thought, because they weren’t like the Corrigans. They were completely different troops, and not just because his troop were so-called demons and not fae, but because of where they were from and which resources they had. Cyrus pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Not on the ground,” Cyrus mumbled, and gave a shrug. He didn’t really want to say where his old troop had lived during the months because he felt as though that would be a deep betrayal to them, even if they had betrayed him into exile. He felt like he should protect them, no matter what, and maybe that was only because that’s how he’d been raised.

“What even are they!” Drew exclaimed, exasperated, as he tugged on the black waistcoat that Cyrus wore. It was awkward because it made Cyrus’ wings shudder just slightly from where they poked out of the clothes. He didn’t like being touched, but Drew seemed to think he did. “They’re not proper clothes!” he says as he tugged at the top of the fur pelt that his entire troop wore.

Luke nodded. “They’re not.”

“Well, what else could they be?” Cyrus had asked, kicking the ends of his shoes against the ground. Drew and Luke didn’t have shoes; their feet were bare and showed all the vines down their skin. It might have been beautiful if Cyrus allowed himself to look.

Drew shrugged as his fingers clamped over a bit of moss. He tugged. “Imposters,” he suggested.

The moss popped free and Drew stumbled back. He looked triumphant, though his wings didn’t look happy. They were pointed like Kier’s were this morning, seemingly pissed off that he’d near fell on them without so much as a friendly warning, or something.

“They don’t feel like imposters,” Cyrus had protested, his fingers running over the material. His wings twitched, a nervous twitch. What if they were imposters? Meant only to hurt him and his troop? He suddenly wanted them off but did not want to show signs of weakness, because he was not weak.

Luke shrugged, looking over his shoulder from where he was tugging at moss. “Imposters aren’t meant to feel like imposters. What if they’re tricks?” the moss fell loose and he put it onto the pile on top of a slightly dried up leaf. He looked at the pile as if calculating if they needed more, before going to pluck at more.

Cyrus sat on the floor. He crossed his arms over his stomach and let his wings slump slightly. He didn’t reply and Not just because he felt uncomfortable about what they were saying, but also because he didn’t like to talk. He didn’t even like speaking to his own troop, let alone another troop of fae that was tiny- it only had four members, which was so opposite to his plus thirty. A troop that he knew nothing about. A troop that he shouldn’t be trusting. They were probably planning war or something against the Corrigan.

It was while he was thinking so deeply, ignoring the others’ talk of his imposter clothes, that Kier and Laurence walked back. Their hands were a little close and their wings were brushing and Cyrus imagined them to be together, but he didn’t say anything, and just tugged with the string in his boots and kept his wings still.

“Awesome job, guys!” Kier says, and he’s smiling, and there’s something about it that makes Cyrus uneasy. Maybe he just doesn’t feel well today. Maybe it’s this troop. Maybe they were magic or something and were fucking with his head. “Moss is deeply important.”

And with that, Kier launched into a ramble about the importance of moss and everything seemed normal.

A/N: Sorry that this took a while to update, but I've been working on another Frerard fic. I really hate myself for the whole getting more into My Chem after they've broken up, how depressing is that?? Anyway, please tell me what you think!!