Traced Lines

Ethari dipped a brown cloth into a heated bowl of water just as another bolt of lighting screeched outside. Water dripped down his wrist, to his elbow. He brought the cloth to Runaan's healing face. His husband, his brave, brilliant, beautiful, alive, husband looked him in the eye. As he always did when Ethari did his tattoos.

In gentle strokes -as not to upset the bruised, healing skin on Runaan's face- Ethari brushed away the old faded blue henna on his straight nose bridge. Runaan said nothing, only looked on at Ethari. As if he could will them back to normality with just a hard stare.

It was stubborn, to wish for normalcy, when both their lives had been anything but for such a long time.

Ethari rubbed some more. The dark bruises dotting Runaan's face, under his chin, on his eye were, not normal. The missing horn, edges rough from the break, was not normal. The wooden arm was not normal.

They would never be their old normal again, and for Runaan to will his back to that part of life long lost, was stubborn, just plain stubborn.

The thought of Runaan in that- that prison. At the mercy of that dark mage. Ethari hardened his strokes, wiping faster. Runaan had given one insight on how that coin was. He had simply said "I relived what I most wanted to forget, over and over." And he had not said a word since. The man had walked out to greet their baker after that statement. He wiped harder.

"Ethari." Runaan said. Rain pattered against the window, candle light flickering. "Your wiping is rather

hard."

Ethari backed away, as if that could remove the angry red splotch at Runaan's cheeks.

"Sorry my love I just-" But Runaan held up a hand, silencing him into continuance.

Ethari rinsed the cloth, watching the water turn a light blue from the henna. They had settled themselves in their bedroom. It was moderate in size, cozy. Teal wallpaper, darker green swirls dancing along that teal. The bed was rumpled, silver bed sheets spilling over the frame and onto the planks of the floor. The nightstand housed many candles, the natural light was dim due to the storm. Ethari had asked Runaan if he wanted to wait until the next morning, when the clouds cleared, when the sun shined in through the window. But he had said no. Ethari could not blame him.

He brought the cloth to Runaan's shoulder, and with light hands, washed away the crumpling tattoos. A pang of sadness raced through Ethari, taking its sted in his heart like rod, as Runaan tilted his body so his wooden arm was a little more out of eyeline. More thunder, more wiping.

"Okay," Ethari said, as he cleared the last of the old henna. He reached for the brown transparent bag that had the new. "Are you sure you don't wanna try yourself?" He asked, his voice quiet.

"No, you've always done this before, and you'll do it now. Nothing has changed."

"Runa-" started Ethari.

"Just, please." Runaan did not look at his eyes, and that rod drove deeper. The silver of Runaan's promise ring glinted soft in the candle like. Ethari wondered if Runaan's felt as heavy as the ones gracing his horns did now.

Without another word, Ethari brought the bag to Runaan's nose bridge and began tracing the fight blue line of were the old henna as stained his skin.

,-,-,

Runaan shivered as the cold paste pressed to his pores. He could feel it sinking in already. Ethari's eyes were a little crossed in focusing on his nose, and his lips, so usually set in jovial manner, locked into concentration. He looked beautiful. Just as beautiful as the day they first met, Ethari has fixed his blades. Just as beautiful the day they said I do, I will, I always will. Ethari had been smiling, tears in his eyes. Just as beautiful the day Runaan came back, from the human kingdoms. From that prison. Ethari had not been smiling, but the tears were there. Runaan had wiped them away.