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A mound with a lighthouse beaming, full of tombstones and spirits, a howl echoed through the land of Nod Krai. It was the dead of night, yet two warm bodies were restless.
A man with eloquent attire, long hair trailing down like an endless waterfall, golden eyes that pierce through any soul, working diligently on notes. Meanwhile, a burly golden-haired man with a dagger scar on his neck and chin sat beside him, knees bouncing uncontrollably. The burly man kept looking over at the notes, then the golden eyes. After some time, a heavy sigh left their lips.
“Flins… how much left do you have to report on the findings of Renir?”
The golden eyes shifted, looking sharply at the icy blue eyes, something so uncanny during the new moon.
“Well, Varka, the lightkeepers and your knights like things super long and detailed…I can't simply write a sentence to summarize it.”
The used quill was placed gently on the paper as Flins stretched his arms above his head, hearing a loud pop from his back. The arms were then rolled around and returned to the desk. Varka continued to gaze at the keeper; however, a smirk began to emerge.
“Stiff aren't we? Why don't you take a break? My knights can wait.”
The golden eyes looked directly at the teal eyes, which lit up the night's gloom, full of pondering.
“If you give me an out, I need to muster the will to finish this report somehow…I already procrastinate enough on these overly embellished papers…”
The grandmaster bellowed a hardy laugh and patted the lightkeeper's back.
“Now that's something you don't hear every day! The only and only Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins procrastinates~”
Flins just sat stiff as a board, not knowing to make a sudden touch from the Grandmaster. As a Ratnik, Flins knows the ins and outs of physical gestures, but for some reason, this one made his pale cheeks heat up.
“Varka, I would kindly ask you to refrain from touching me…”
An eyebrow rose from the grandmaster, followed by a smirk.
“Oooooh? Is the lightkeeper shy…?”
The color on Flin's face intensified. They grabbed their quill and wrote at an achingly slow pace.
Nothing gets unspoken in front of the Grandmaster. Varka couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance; he had to get this answer, regardless of what it would take.
Varka shifted his body closer to the working lightkeeper. Their knees touching, shoulders pressed firmly against one another. Varka felt a sudden shiver through his spine, but then a surprising amount of heat emanated through the keeper. It was quite an intoxicating feeling, as if Varka felt his limit at the Flagship. Buzzed, buzzed for more physical contact. The grandmaster leaned his head against Flin's right shoulder, feeling the sturdy steel belts that adorned the keeper's coat. It was soothing, peaceful…
The quill dropped from Flin's hand as a gasp left their pale lips. He glances over to see the Grandmaster, leaning against their shoulder, eyes closed, sound asleep. Flin's mind went haywire trying to figure out the most gentlemanly approach to get out of this scenario. Not once did he think that the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius would be so exhausted to take a nap on the lightkeeper's shoulder. Sure, Flins had his fair share of travelers needing an escort or a place to crash, but the Grandmaster!?
Flins took another look at Varka. His choppy blond hair covered his eyes, accompanied by heavy eye bags. His heart swelled at the scene, not having seen someone like himself with such a lack of sleep before. As a good Raknik, Flins knew precisely what to do.
The lightkeeper twirled his finger around, lifting up a blanket stored in a nearby chest, and floating it to them. He placed it gently around the two of them. The fleece was soft yet hardy, perfect for the chilly air. Flins leaned up against the wall, shifting his weight to have Varka lying on his chest by wrapping his arm around him.
Comforting maidens and weary travelers was something he hadn't done for centuries. It was nice to be in a position like this again. However, Flin's heart beamed with many feelings, jumping at the scene. One could call these feelings love.
Working with the Grandmaster was exciting and thrilling. Varka was someone who was proud, confident, and honorable. A man with such high values. It was truly a rare sight to see him be so vulnerable. But then a question arises, why him?
Why Flins, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, was someone Varka could inaudibly trust? Varka does know Flin's proper form, a fae, meaning he can twist any truth to his will. A spirit that can come and go as he pleases.
The lightkeeper pushed these thoughts aside. Right now, Varka needs rest, and rest is what he shall have. Flins leaned in close, taking in the moment. The faint smell of burgundy and cider. Streaks of blonde hair tickling his nose. It was serene, peaceful.
Time seems to sleep for the two men, Flins fights to keep his eyes open, yet sleep claws at his fire, and it smolders for the night.
Dreams were something Flins were accustomed to. After all, he slept for nearly half a century. However, this dream was unlocking many feelings that had been locked and buried.
Varka appeared, reaching out towards Flins. The old fae reached his hand towards the Grandmaster. Screams of hatred, torches, and pitchforks towards Flins. The lightkeeper shielded Varka, taking every hit and blow, his body shredding to pieces, all left was blue smoke, crying, aching for acceptance.
Flins shot up with uncontrollable breathing; he felt salty streams crawl down his cheeks…then a palm, cupping his face.
“Light keeper…? Are you alright…?”
Through the cloudy golden sight, it focuses on the piercing blue eyes, grounding back to reality. Flins feels the heat transferring over to his face, embracing the warmth by putting more of his weight towards the sturdy palm.
“I think…I think I'm fine now…”
A small smile formed on Varka's face.
“Good.”
The golden eyes shift downwards, seeing wide chapped lips flexing slightly. A pulse quivers, and longing swells through the keeper's heart, swallowing hard.
Time passed, and Varka's hand didn't move much, besides thumbing away the streams of tears. Nothing shook it away, staying there as long as it was needed. The blue eyes also drifted, looking down at the lightly parted pale lips.
Without thinking, Varka closed his eyes and leaned towards Flin. He felt their lips brush lightly, then clash at an instant, as if lightning struck at the scene. As fast as it started, the exchange ended, their lips parted, as if nothing had happened. The two locked eyes once again, only this time, the blue eyes were dilated entirely, as if he claimed the whole moon.
Flins handed the pile of papers to the grandmaster the following day.
“Be sure to get this to your knights ASAP.”
Varka snickered and took them; however, something else was in the pile. A letter.
“Oh yeah, that's for you…don't let your knights see that piece of paperwork.”
The grandmaster smirked and took the items with ease.
“Noted. Well then, until next time, Flins…”
Varka waved as he left the cemetery, and as he reached the mainland, he tore the letter and began reading it.
Varka,
After the surprise exchange we had last night…I must confess.
Oh Varka, oh Varka, oh how I love you.
From the first drinks to your sheer valor shredding the wild hunt, it is something maidens should dream of.
However, a war of feelings rages within my aching heart.
I have battled these feelings in a past life, a past love, only for it to fall apart. Maybe it was the culture, the time, but it was the reason I slept for half a century.
I want to be strong, a flame that never smolders. Truthfully, I am afraid. Afraid of history repeating itself.
But…I want to ignite our flame. I want to feel your hands around my waist. I want to feel your tongue around mine.
I just need a promise,
Do not let my demons get the best of me.
Your newfound light,
Flins
It was evening, and the yellow lab at the cemetery ran around Flins with a letter in its mouth. A sigh followed by a gentle command, ‘drop it', the keeper got hold of a letter. His lips curled, and a light flickered as the letter was opened with flame.
To my newfound light,
As Grandmaster, I must say these feelings are mutual. I, too, feel for a man with sheer eloquence, a cunning tongue that many fight for.
When Renir is finished, I want you to flee with me. Flee to Mondstadt. Wine, song, and freedom would welcome you with open arms, and of course, a knight who is now in servitude to you.
I'll fight your demons alongside you because it has been a long-time dream to have love as bright and genuine as yours.
Your knight in shining armor,
Varka